Her loving looks, her beauty bright,
Is such delight!
That all in vain
I love to like, and lose my gain
For her, that thanks me not therefore.
Hey ho! chil love no more.
Ah wanton eyes! my friendly foes
And cause of woes;
Your sweet desire
Breeds flames of ice, and freeze in fire!
Ye scorn to see me weep so sore!
Hey ho! chil love no more.
Love ye who list, I force him not:
Since God is wot,
The more I wail,
The less my sighs and tears prevail.
What shall I do? but say therefore,
Hey ho! chil love no more.
[19] Distracted.
From Thomas Weelkes’ Airs or Fantastic Spirits, 1608.
Though my carriage be but careless,
No; my wits are not so wild,
But a gentle soul may yoke me;
Nor my heart so hard compiled,
But it melts, if love provoke me.
From Robert Jones’ Musical Dream, 1609. (This song is also printed in Thomas Campion’s Two Books of Airs, circ. 1613.)
Though your strangeness frets my heart,
When your wish’d sight I desire,
Suspicion you pretend,
Causeless you yourself retire
Whilst I in vain attend,
Thus a lover, as you say,
Still made more eager by delay.
Is this fair excusing?
O no, all is abusing.