I only am the man
And though my shoe did wring
I would not make my moan,
Nor think my neighbours’ chance
More happy than mine own.
Yet court I not my wife,
But yield observance due,
Being neither fond nor cross,
Nor jealous nor untrue.
From John Dowland’s Second Book of Songs or Airs, 1600.
I saw my Lady weep,
Sorrow was there made fair,
And Passion wise; Tears a delightful thing;
Silence beyond all speech, a wisdom rare;
She made her sighs to sing,
And all things with so sweet a sadness move
As made my heart at once both grieve and love.
O fairer than aught else
The world can show, leave off in time to grieve.
Enough, enough; your joyful look excels;
Tears kill the heart, believe.
O strive not to be excellent in woe,
Which only breeds your beauty’s overthrow.
From John Wilbye’s First Set of English Madrigals, 1598.
I sung sometime my thoughts and fancy’s pleasure,