Bulchevy's Book of English Verse Part 14

But at the coming of the King of Heaven All 's set at six and seven; We wallow in our sin, Christ cannot find a chamber in the inn.

We entertain Him always like a stranger, And, as at first, still lodge Him in the manger.

Numbers from Elizabethan Miscellanies & Song-books by Unnamed or Uncertain Authors. 1601

61. The Now Jerusalem Song of Mary the Mother of Christ (London: E. Allde)

HIERUSALEM, my happy home, When shall I come to thee?

When shall my sorrows have an end, Thy joys when shall I see?

O happy harbour of the Saints!

O sweet and pleasant soil!

In thee no sorrow may be found, No grief, no care, no toil.

There l.u.s.t and lucre cannot dwell, There envy bears no sway; There is no hunger, heat, nor cold, But pleasure every way.

Thy walls are made of precious stones, Thy bulwarks diamonds square; Thy gates are of right orient pearl, Exceeding rich and rare.

Thy turrets and thy pinnacles With carbuncles do s.h.i.+ne; Thy very streets are paved with gold, Surpa.s.sing clear and fine.

Ah, my sweet home, Hierusalem, Would G.o.d I were in thee!

Would G.o.d my woes were at an end, Thy joys that I might see!

Thy gardens and thy gallant walks Continually are green; There grows such sweet and pleasant flowers As nowhere else are seen.

Quite through the streets, with silver sound, The flood of Life doth flow; Upon whose banks on every side The wood of Life doth grow.

There trees for evermore bear fruit, And evermore do spring; There evermore the angels sit, And evermore do sing.

Our Lady sings Magnificat With tones surpa.s.sing sweet; And all the virgins bear their part, Sitting about her feet.

Hierusalem, my happy home, Would G.o.d I were in thee!

Would G.o.d my woes were at an end, Thy joys that I might see!

Numbers from Elizabethan Miscellanies & Song-books by Unnamed or Uncertain Authors. 1601

62. Icarus Robert Jones's Second Book of Songs and Airs

LOVE wing'd my Hopes and taught me how to fly Far from base earth, but not to mount too high: For true pleasure Lives in measure, Which if men forsake, Blinded they into folly run and grief for pleasure take.

But my vain Hopes, proud of their new-taught flight, Enamour'd sought to woo the sun's fair light, Whose rich brightness Moved their lightness To aspire so high That all scorch'd and consumed with fire now drown'd in woe they lie.

And none but Love their woeful hap did rue, For Love did know that their desires were true; Though fate frowned, And now drowned They in sorrow dwell, It was the purest light of heav'n for whose fair love they fell.

Numbers from Elizabethan Miscellanies & Song-books by Unnamed or Uncertain Authors. 1602

63. Madrigal Davison's Poetical Rhapsody

MY Love in her attire doth show her wit, It doth so well become her; For every season she hath dressings fit, For Winter, Spring, and Summer.

No beauty she doth miss When all her robes are on: But Beauty's self she is When all her robes are gone.

Numbers from Elizabethan Miscellanies & Song-books by Unnamed or Uncertain Authors. 1602

64. How can the Heart forget her?

Davison's Poetical Rhapsody ? F. or W. Davison

AT her fair hands how have I grace entreated With prayers oft repeated!

Yet still my love is thwarted: Heart, let her go, for she'll not be converted-- Say, shall she go?

O no, no, no, no, no!

She is most fair, though she be marble-hearted.

How often have my sighs declared my anguish, Wherein I daily languis.h.!.+

Yet still she doth procure it: Heart, let her go, for I can not endure it-- Say, shall she go?

O no, no, no, no, no!

She gave the wound, and she alone must cure it.

But shall I still a true affection owe her, Which prayers, sighs, tears do show her, And shall she still disdain me?

Heart, let her go, if they no grace can gain me-- Say, shall she go?

O no, no, no, no, no!

She made me hers, and hers she will retain me.

But if the love that hath and still doth burn me No love at length return me, Out of my thoughts I'll set her: Heart, let her go, O heart I pray thee, let her!

Say, shall she go?

O no, no, no, no, no!

Fix'd in the heart, how can the heart forget her?

Numbers from Elizabethan Miscellanies & Song-books by Unnamed or Uncertain Authors. 1603

65. Tears John Dowland's Third and Last Book of Songs or Airs

WEEP you no more, sad fountains; What need you flow so fast?

Look how the snowy mountains Heaven's sun doth gently waste!

But my Sun's heavenly eyes View not your weeping, That now lies sleeping Softly, now softly lies Sleeping.

Sleep is a reconciling, A rest that peace begets; Doth not the sun rise smiling When fair at even he sets?

Rest you then, rest, sad eyes!

Melt not in weeping, While she lies sleeping Softly, now softly lies Sleeping.

Numbers from Elizabethan Miscellanies & Song-books by Unnamed or Uncertain Authors. 1603

66. My Lady's Tears John Dowland's Third and Last Book of Songs or Airs

I SAW my Lady weep, And Sorrow proud to be advanced so In those fair eyes where all perfections keep.