From "The Noble Spanish Soldier"

By Thomas Dekker (1572?-1630).

O, Sorrow°, Sorrow, say where dost thou dwell?
      In the lowest room of hell.
      Art thou born of human race?
        No, no, I have a furier face.
      Art thou in city, town, or court?        5
        I to every place resort.
O, why into the world is Sorrow sent?
        Men afflicted best repent.
          What dost thou feed on?
            Broken sleep.        10
          What takest thou pleasure in?
            To weep,
      To sigh, to sob, to pine, to groan,
      To wring my hands, to sit alone.
O when, O when shall Sorrow quiet have?        15
      Never, never, never, never,
      Never till she finds a grave.


Notes:

Line 1: O, Sorrow. Prof. Schelling comments on the popularity of this dialogue form in Elizabethan songs, citing a stanza from a recently discovered play of Heywood’s, The Captive, or the Lost Recovered, 1624 (Bullen’s Old English Plays), beginning:
  O charity, where art thou fled
And now how long hast thou been dead?
O many, many, many hundred years.
In village, borough, town or city,
Remain there yet no grace no pity?
Not in sighs, not in want, not in tears, etc. [Braithwaite]

Prologue To Book II Of The Fairy Queen

By Edmund Spenser (1552-1599).

Right well I wote, most mighty sovereign;
That all this famous antique history,
Of some, th' abundance of an idle brain,
Will judged be, and painted forgery,
Rather than matter of just memory;         5
Sith° none that breatheth living air, does know,
Where is that happy Land of Fairy,
Which I so much do vaunt, yet nowhere show,
But vouch antiquities, which nobody can know.

But let that man with better sense advise,         10
That of the world least part to us is read;
And daily how through hardy enterprise,
Many great regions are discovered,
Which to late age were never mentioned.
Who ever heard of th' Indian Peru?         15
Or who in venturous vessel measured
The Amazon's huge river now found true?
Or fruitfullest Virginia who did ever view?

Yet all these were, when no man did them know;
Yet have from wisest ages hidden been:         20
And later times things more unknown shall show.
Why then should witless man so much misween,
That nothing is, but that which he hath seen?
What if within the moon's fair shining sphere,
What if in every other star unseen,         25
Of other worlds he happily should hear?
He wonder would much more: yet such to some appear.

Of Fairyland yet if he more enquire,
By certain signs, here set in sundry place,
He may it find; ne let him then admire,         30
But yield his sense to be too blunt and base,
That no'te without an hound fine footing trace.
And thou, o fairest princess under sky,
In this fair mirror mayst behold thy face,
And thine own realms in Land of Fairy,         35
And in this antique image thy great ancestry.

The which, o pardon me thus to enfold
In covert veil, and wrap in shadows light,
That feeble eyes your glory may behold,
Which else could not endure those beames bright:         40
But would be dazzled with exceeding light.
O pardon, and vouchsafe with patient ear
The brave adventures of this fairy knight,
The good Sir Guyon, graciously to hear,
In whom great rule of Temp'rance goodly doth appear.         45


Notes

Line 6: sith. Since.

Upon Julia's Hair Filled With Dew

By Robert Herrick (1591-1674).

Dew sat on Julia’s hair,
  And spangled too,
Like leaves that laden are
  With trembling dew:
Or glittered to my sight        5
  As when the beams
Have their reflected light
  Danced by the streams.

My Lady's Hand

By Sir Thomas Wyatt (1503-1542).

O goodly hand!
Wherein doth stand
      My heart distraught in pain;
Dear hand, alas!
In little space        5
      My life thou dost restrain.

O fingers slight!
Departed right,
      So long, so small, so round;
Goodly begone,        10
And yet a bone,
      Most cruel in my wound.

With lilies white
And roses bright
      Doth strain thy colour fair;        15
Nature did lend
Each finger’s end
      A pearl for to repair.

Consent at last,
Since that thou hast        20
      My heart in thy demesne
For service true
On me to rue,
      And reach me love again.

And if not so,        25
There with more woe
      Enforce thyself to strain
This simple heart,
That suffer’d smart,
      And rid it out of pain.        30

Canzonet

By Michael Drayton (1563-1631).

To His Coy Love

I pray thee, leave, love me no more,
  Call home the heart you gave me!
I but in vain that saint adore
  That can, but will not save me.
These poor half-kisses kill me quite—        5
  Was ever man thus servèd?
Amidst an ocean of delight
  For pleasure to be starvèd.

Show me no more those snowy breasts,
  With azure riverets° branchèd,        10
Where, whilst mine eye with plenty feasts,
  Yet is my thirst not stanchèd;
O, Tantalus! thy pains ne’er tell
  By me thou art prevented;
’Tis nothing to be plagued in Hell,        15
  But thus in Heaven tormented!

Clip me no more in those dear arms,
  Nor thy life’s comfort call me,
O these are but too powerful charms,
  And do but more enthral me!        20
But see how patient I am grown
  In all this coil about thee;
Come, nice thing, let my heart alone,
  I cannot live without thee!


Notes

Line 10: riveret. Rivulet.

A Renunciation

By Henry King (1592–1669).

We, that did nothing study but the way
To love each other, with which thoughts the day
Rose with delight to us and with them set,
Must learn the hateful art, how to forget….
We, that did nothing wish that Heaven could give        5
Beyond ourselves, nor did desire to live
Beyond that wish, all these now cancel must,
As if not writ in faith, but words and dust.
Yet witness those clear vows which lovers make,
Witness the chaste desires that never brake        10
Into unruly heats; witness that breast
Which into thy bosom anchor’d his whole rest—
’Tis no default in us: I dare acquite°
Thy maiden faith, thy purpose fair and white
As thy pure self. Cross planets did envỳ        15
Us to each other, and Heaven did untie
Faster than vows could bind. Oh, that the stars,
When lovers meet, should stand opposed in wars!
Since then, some higher Destinies command,
Let us not strive, nor labour to withstand        20
What is past help. The longest date of grief
Can never yield a hope of our relief:
Fold back our arms; take home our fruitless loves,
That must new fortunes try, like turtle-doves°
Dislodgèd from their haunts. We must in tears        25
Unwind a love knit up in many years.
In this last kiss I here surrender thee
Back to thyself.—So, thou again art free:
Thou in another, sad as that, resend
The truest heart that lover e’er did lend.        30
Now turn from each: so fare our severed hearts
As the divorced soul from her body parts.


Notes

Line 13: acquite. Acquit.

Line 24: turtle-doves. The turtle-dove is traditionally a symbol of devoted love.

Penthea's Dying Song

By John Ford (1586-1640?).

Oh° no more, no more, too late
  Sighs are spent; the burning tapers
Of a life as chaste as fate,
  Pure as are unwritten papers,
Are burnt out; no heat, no light        5
Now remains; ’tis ever night.
  Love is dead; let lovers’ eyes
  Locked in endless dreams,
  Th’ extremes of all extremes,
  Ope no more, for now Love dies,        10
Now Love dies—implying
Love’s martyrs must be ever, ever dying.

Notes

Line 1: Oh. From The Broken Heart, 1633. [Braithwaite]

The Merry Month Of May

By Edmund Spenser.

Is° not thilk° the merry month of May,
When love-lads masken in fresh array?
How falls it, then, we no merrier been,
Ylike as others, girt in gaudy green?
Our blanket liveries been all too sad        5
For thilk same season, when all is yclad
With pleasance°; the ground with grass, the woods
With green leaves, the bushes with blossoming buds.
Young folk now flocken in everywhere
To gather May buskets° and smelling brere°;        10
And home they hasten the posts to dight°,
And all the kirk°-pillars ere daylight,
With hawthorne buds and sweet eglantine°,
And garlands of roses and sops-in-wine.


Notes

Line 1: is. From the Shepherd’s Calendar: May: sung by Palinode and Piers. Mr. Quiller-Couch, in his Golden Pomp, says: “This is one of the few instances in which I have ventured to make a short extract from a long poem and present it as a separate lyric.” Mr. Couch’s action has proved so successful for his purpose I have followed his example here. [Braithwaite]

Line 1: thilk.  This, the same. [Glossary]

Line 7: pleasance. Pleasure.

Line 10: busket. Small bush; sprig; bouquet.

Line 10: brere. Briar. [Glossary]

Line 11: dight. Dress, adorn.

Line 12: kirk. Church. [Glossary]

Line 13: eglantine. The sweetbrier, a pink-flowered rose.