From Thomas Weelkes’ Madrigals, 1597.

Now every tree renews his summer’s green,

From Pammelia, 1609.

Now God be with old Simeon,

From Robert Jones’ Ultimum Vale or Third Book of Airs (1608).

Now have I learn’d with much ado at last

What hast thou left wherewith to move my mind,
What life to quicken dead desire?
I count thy words and oaths as light as wind,
I feel no heat in all thy fire:
Go, change thy bow and get a stronger,
Go, break thy shafts and buy thee longer.

In vain thou bait’st thy hook with beauty’s blaze,
In vain thy wanton eyes allure;
These are but toys for them that love to gaze,
I know what harm thy looks procure:
Some strange conceit must be devised,
Or thou and all thy skill despised.

From Thomas Ford’s Music of Sundry Kinds, 1607.

Now I see thy looks were feignèd