Of thine eye I made my mirror,
From thy beauty came my error,
All thy words I counted witty,
All thy sighs I deemèd pity,
Thy false tears, that me aggrievèd
First of all my trust deceivèd.
Siren, pleasant foe to reason,
Cupid plague thee for thy treason!
Feigned acceptance when I askèd,
Lovely words with cunning maskèd,
Holy vows, but heart unholy;
Wretched man, my trust was folly;
Lily white, and pretty winking,
Solemn vows but sorry thinking.
Siren, pleasant foe to reason,
Cupid plague thee for thy treason!
Now I see, O seemly cruel,
Others warm them at my fuel,
Wit shall guide me in this durance
Since in love is no assurance:
Change thy pasture, take thy pleasure,
Beauty is a fading treasure.
Siren, pleasant foe to reason,
Cupid, plague thee for thy treason!
Prime youth lasts not, age will follow
And make white those tresses yellow;
Wrinkled face, for looks delightful,
Shall acquaint the dame despiteful.
And when time shall date thy glory,
Then too late thou wilt be sorry.
Siren, pleasant foe to reason,
Cupid plague thee for thy treason!
From Thomas Weelkes’ Ballets and Madrigals, 1598.
Now is my Chloris fresh as May,
From Thomas Morley’s First Book of Ballets, 1595.
Now is the month of maying,
The spring clad all in gladness
Doth laugh at winter’s sadness,
And to the bagpipe’s sound
The nymphs tread out their ground.
Fa la la!
Fie then, why sit we musing,
Youth’s sweet delight refusing?
Say, dainty nymphs, and speak,
Shall we play barley-break.
Fa la la!