From Thomas Weelkes’ Ballets and Madrigals, 1598.
Sweet Love, I will no more abuse thee,
From Robert Jones’ Ultimum Vale, or Third Book of Airs (1608).
Sweet Love, my only treasure,
If in her hair so slender,
Like golden nets entwinèd
Which fire and art have finèd,
Her thrall my heart I render
For ever to abide
With locks so dainty tied.
If in her eyes she bind it,
Wherein that fire was framèd
By which it is inflamèd,
I dare not look to find it:
I only wish it sight
To see that pleasant light.
But if her breast have deignèd
With kindness to receive it,
I am content to leave it
Though death thereby were gainèd:
Then, Lady, take your own
That lives by you alone.
From John Dowland’s Pilgrim’s Solace, 1612. (The first stanza is found in a poem of Donne.)
Sweet, stay awhile; why will you rise?
Dear, let me die in this fair breast,
Far sweeter than the phœnix nest.
Love raise Desire by his sweet charms
Within this circle of thine arms!
And let thy blissful kisses cherish
Mine infant joys that else must perish.