From Thomas Campion’s Third Book of Airs (circ. 1613).
Now let her change! and spare not!
When did I err in blindness?
Or vex her with unkindness?
If my cares served her alone,
Why is she thus untimely gone?
True love abides to th’ hour of dying:
False love is ever flying.
False! then farewell for ever!
Once false proves faithful never!
He that boasts now of thy love,
Shall soon, my present fortunes prove
Were he as fair as bright Adonis:
Faith is not had where none is!
From Thomas Weelkes’ Madrigals of Five and Six Parts, 1600
Now let us make a merry greeting
From Robert Jones’s Second Book of Airs, 1601. (Attributed to Sir Walter Raleigh.)
Now what is love, I pray thee tell?
Now what is love, I pray thee say?
It is a work on holyday,
It is December matched with May,
When lusty bloods in fresh array
Hear ten months after of their play:
And this is love, as I hear say.
Now what is love, I pray thee feign?
It is a sunshine mixed with rain,
It is a gentle pleasing pain,
A flower that dies and springs again,
It is a No that would full fain:
And this is love as I hear sain.