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 frownàed,
     And now drownàed
     They in sorrow dwell,
It was the purest light of heav’n for whose fair love they fell.

72   Madrigal

Davison’s Poetical Rhapsody, 1602

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.

73   How can the Heart forget her?

Davison’s Poetical Rhapsody, 1602

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 languish!
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?

74   Tears

John Dowland’s Third and Last
             Book of Songs or Airs, 1603

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.

75   My Lady’s Tears

John Dowland’s Third and Last
     Book of Songs or Airs, 1603