Chosen and Edited by Arthur Quiller-Couch

FOR this Anthology, I’ve aimed to cover the entire scope of English Verse from the beginning, or from the Thirteenth Century up to this final year of the Nineteenth, and to select the best pieces. I haven't limited my search to just these Islands but have looked wherever the Muse has graced the language she most enjoys celebrating. My main challenge has been to gather and present such a vast collection concisely. It’s up to the reader to decide if I've succeeded in catering to those who already appreciate poetry and igniting that passion in some young minds that are yet to discover it.

My plan is straightforward. I've organized the poets as closely as possible by their birth dates, including anonymous pieces where it makes sense. To keep things simple and avoid any major arguments, I've placed most of the Ballads in the middle of the Seventeenth Century; they fill a sluggish gap between two bursts of creativity—the Italian influence fading with Milton and the French following closely behind the restored Royalists. Additionally, I've established some spelling guidelines. In the very early poems, inflection and spelling are essential, and modernizing them would be like destroying their structure. However, as old inflections evolve into modern forms, the original spelling becomes less crucial, so I’ve aligned it (not too abruptly, I hope) with what is commonly accepted and familiar. I felt this approach was better than discouraging many readers just to appeal to a few with a sense of age that should really reflect something rarer than just an unusual arrangement of letters. However, I recognize that there are scholars who may not agree with my choices; to address this, I have excluded Spenser and Milton from the rule.

Glosses of outdated and difficult words are provided at the bottom of the page, but the text hasn't been cluttered with reference marks. To keep the book manageable, I've avoided notes—though I reluctantly considered them for some unclear passages or references that seemed to need explanation; I felt more at ease when the urge was to critique or 'appreciate.' The role of the anthologist also involves critiquing without comment.

Care has been taken with the texts. However, I sometimes believed it aligned with the book's goal to choose the more beautiful readings over the ones better supported by evidence. I often removed weak or unnecessary stanzas when I was confident that doing so would enhance the work, and I didn't hesitate to pull a few stanzas from a long poem when I felt they could stand alone as a lyric. The justification for such changes can only be their success, but I believe the anthologist should take that risk. A few minor corrections have been made, but only when they were completely obvious.

The selected pieces are either poetic or succinct. In fact, I’d be wrong to think that any included epigram doesn’t carry at least a hint of the emotion it went through before it found its way to the Muse's lips, no matter how carefully chosen. However, the poetic spirit is unpredictable and notoriously difficult to define; it seems to become more untamed over time. For the anthologist—like the angler who recognizes the catch at the end of his line—the ability, if they have it, comes from intuition, refined through experience. Any definition, if they’re clever enough to come up with one, comes later. I'm not sure that it's helpful, and I’m certain it can easily lead one astray.

Having decided to choose the best, I made up my mind not to be swayed by the usual complaints about anthologies—that they just keep repeating each other until the saying loses all meaning—or bothered if my opinions often matched those of respected critics. The best is the best, even if a hundred judges say so; it wouldn't be impressive to find and include the mediocre just because it's obscure. Of course, someone tackling a task like mine has to deal with the memories of their youth and the favorites they cherished during a time when they had a lot of passion but not much reading experience.

A deeper meaning
Lurks in the stories from my childhood
Than what we come to understand as truth.

Few of my peers can forget—or would want to forget—the influence they got from the late Mr. Palgrave's Golden Treasury. Those who have revisited it repeatedly, with an affection developed through many shared journeys, will remember not just what the Golden Treasury contains, but also the moments when particular poems resonated with them, and even how they appear on the page. I owe a more considered debt to Mr. Bullen's Lyrics from the Elizabethan Song Books and his other collections. I'm also indebted to more recent anthologies—like Archbishop Trench's Household Book of Poetry, Mr. Locker-Lampson's Lyra Elegantiarum, Mr. Miles' Poets and Poetry of the Century, Mr. Beeching's Paradise of English Poetry, Mr. Henley's English Lyrics, Mrs. Sharp's Lyra Celtica, Mr. Yeats' Book of Irish Verse, and Mr. Churton Collins' Treasury of Minor British Poetry; however, I typically consult these after making my own selections. Still, I can assert that while I've gratefully benefited from these sources, their contribution is minimal compared to the focused and varied effort that has gone into creating my book.

For the anthologist's work isn’t just a casual hobby that people often criticize without understanding. I say this, and then I regret it, because I want the reader to enjoy the book so much that they forget about the editor’s work, which has also been enjoyable. By stepping back, I hope this book has made it easier for the Muses to connect with the reader when they come at the perfect moment to inspire or comfort them— [Greek]

My thanks go out to everyone who has helped me by allowing me to include recent poems: Mr. A. C. Benson, Mr. Laurence Binyon, Mr. Wilfrid Blunt, Mr. Robert Bridges, Mr. John Davidson, Mr. Austin Dobson, Mr. Aubrey de Vere, Mr. Edmund Gosse, Mr. Bret Harte, Mr. W. E. Henley, Mrs. Katharine Tynan Hinkson, Mr. W. D. Howells, Dr. Douglas Hyde, Mr. Rudyard Kipling, Mr. Andrew Lang, Mr. Richard Le Gallienne, Mr. George Meredith, Mrs. Meynell, Mr. T. Sturge Moore, Mr. Henry Newbolt, Mr. Gilbert Parker, Mr. T. W. Rolleston, Mr. George Russell ('A. E.'), Mrs. Clement Shorter (Dora Sigerson), Mr. Swinburne, Mr. Francis Thompson, Dr. Todhunter, Mr. William Watson, Mr. Watts-Dunton, Mrs. Woods, and Mr. W. B. Yeats; the Earl of Crewe for a poem by the late Lord Houghton; Lady Ferguson, Mrs. Allingham, Mrs. A. H. Clough, Mrs. Locker-Lampson, Mrs. Coventry Patmore; Lady Betty Balfour and Lady Victoria Buxton for poems by the late Earl of Lytton and the Hon. Roden Noel; the executors of Messrs. Frederic Tennyson (Captain Tennyson and Mr. W. C. A. Ker), Charles Tennyson Turner (Sir Franklin Lushington), Edward FitzGerald (Mr. Aldis Wright), William Bell Scott (Mrs. Sydney Morse and Miss Boyd of Penkill Castle, who has been kind enough to let me include an unpublished 'Sonet' by her sixteenth-century ancestor, Mark Alexander Boyd), William Philpot (Mr. Hamlet S. Philpot), William Morris (Mr. S. C. Cockerell), William Barnes, and R. L. Stevenson; Reverend H. C. Beeching for two poems from his own works, and for letting me use his version of Quia Amore Langueo; Messrs. Macmillan for confirming permission for the extracts from FitzGerald, Christina Rossetti, and T. E. Brown, and especially for allowing me to include the latest edits in Lord Tennyson's non-copyright poems; the owners of Mr. and Mrs. Browning's copyrights and Messrs. Smith, Elder & Co. for a similar favor, also for a copyright poem by Mrs. Browning; Mr. George Allen for extracts from Ruskin and the author of Ionica; Messrs. G. Bell & Sons for poems by Thomas Ashe; Messrs. Chatto & Windus for poems by Arthur O'Shaughnessy and Dr. George MacDonald, and for confirming Mr. Bret Harte's permission; Mr. Elkin Mathews for a poem by Mr. Bliss Carman; Mr. John Lane for two poems by William Brighty Rands; the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge for two extracts from Christina Rossetti's Verses; and Mr. Bertram Dobell, who allows me not only to select from James Thomson but to use a poem by Traherne, a seventeenth-century poet rediscovered by him. It's not possible to name everyone else who has supported me in other ways in this short Preface; however, I must express special thanks to Dr. W. Robertson Nicoll for his many suggestions and the effort he has kindly put in, and to Professor F. York Powell, whose help and wise advice have been generously given, making me one of the many who have found his knowledge to be a blessing. October 1900 A.T.Q.C.

Anonymous, circa 1250

Cuckoo Song

SUMER has arrived,
  Loudly sing, cuckoo!
Seeds are growing and meadows blooming,
  And the woods are springing up anew—
          Sing, cuckoo!

Awe bleats after lamb,
  Loud after calf cow;
Bull snorts, buck turns,
  Merry sings cuckoo!

Cuccu, cuccu, you sing well, cuccu:
  Don't ever fail now;
Sing cuccu, now, sing cuccu,
  Sing cuccu, sing cuccu, now!

lhude] loud. awe] ewe. lhouth] loweth. sterteth] leaps. swike] cease.

Anonymous, around 1300

Alison

BYTUENE Mershe and April
  When the spray begins to spring,
The little bird has its will
  To sing on its branch:
I live in longing for love
For the fairest of all things,
He can bring me bliss,
  I am in her power.
A lucky fate I've caught,
I believe it's sent to me from heaven,
From all women my love is granted
  And rests on Alison.

On her head is fair enough,
  Her brow is brown, her eye is black;
With a lovely smile, she looks at me;
  With a slim waist and well-shaped;
But if he wants to take me to her
To be her own creation,
Long to live, I will give up
  And gladly fall down.
A lucky fortune, etc.

At night when I sleep and wake,
  For my heart grows heavy;
Lady, all for your sake
  Longing has been given to me.
In the world, there's no one so wise
That can fully explain all her beauty;
Her skin is whiter than the swan,
  And she’s the fairest in town.
A fortunate event, etc.

Ich am for wowing all awake,
  Worry like water in a storm;
Lest anyone take away my mate
  I've yearned for you before.
  Better to endure pain for a while
  Than to mourn forever.
    Gentlest under the cloak,
    Listen to my tale—
A lucky chance, etc.

on hire lud] in her language. ich libbe] I live. semlokest] seemliest. he] she. bandoun] thraldom. hendy] gracious. y-hent] seized, enjoyed. ichot] I know. lyht] alighted. hire her] her hair. lossum] lovely. loh] laughed. bote he] unless she. buen] be. make] mate. feye] like to die. nihtes] at night. wende] turn. for-thi] on that account. wonges waxeth won] cheeks grow pale. levedi] lady. y-lent me on] arrived to me. so wyter mon] so wise a man. swyre] neck. may] maid. for-wake] worn out with vigils. so water in wore] as water in a weir. reve] rob. y-yerned yore] long been distressed. tholien] to endure. geynest under gore] comeliest under woman's apparel. roun] tale, lay.

Anonymous. c. 1300

Spring tide

Lent is here, bringing love to the town,
With blooms and birds all around,
  That brings us all this joy;
Day's eyes in these valleys,
Sweet songs of nightingales,
  Each bird sings its tune;
The thrush threatens with its call,
Gone is the pain of winter's thrall,
  As the woodbine blossoms;
These birds sing countless songs,
And delight in their winter's bounty,
  That fills the woods with sound.

The rose raises her red,
The leaves on the light wood
  Grow all with desire;
The moon commands her color,
The lily is lovely to see,
  The fennel and the filly;
Wolves this wild drakes,
Miles mourns her mates;
  As a stream that flows quietly,
Proudly they mean; so do more
(I know I’m one of those)
  For love that brings pain.

The moon guides her light,
So does the lovely sun shine bright.
  When birds sing loudly;
Dew wets the downs,
Animals with their secret sounds
  Speak to judge;
Worms crawl under clouds,
Women become wonderfully proud,
  So well it suits them,
If I must go with a will of one,
This pleasure I will give up
  And not be chased into the woods.

to the town] in its turn. him threatens one] is always chiding them. where] their. woodruff] woodruff. many] many. whistle, or look] whistle or glance. clothes herself in red] dresses herself in red. sends forth her light] radiates her beauty. lovely to see] delightful to see. thyme] thyme. woo] woo. males] males. make merry] celebrate. mates] mates. flows, trickles] flows. the moody man makes moan] the moody man complains. so do many] so do many. one of them] one of them. lustily] energetically. dews] dews. make dank] make damp. dears, lovers] dear ones, lovers. their secret tales] their secret stories. to give (decide) their decisions] to give their judgments. clod] clod. wealth of joy] abundance of joy. I will forgo] I will forgo. wight] person. banished] exiled.

Anonymous. c. 1300

4. Howl, Northern Wind

ICHOT a burden in a bright bower,
That fully lovely is to see,
A graceful maiden of great strength;
  Fair and free to behold;
In all this wonderful world
A girl of blood and bone
Never yet have I found any
  More desirable in the land.
    Blow, northern wind!
    Send me my sweetheart!
    Blow, northern wind! blow, blow, blow!

With hair beautiful and long,
With a fair forehead and face to match,
With many merry laughs among her,
  That bride so fierce in the chamber.
With large and good eyes,
With brown blissful under the hood,
He who rests on the Road,
  That life honors beautifully.
    Blow northern wind, etc.

Hire lure lumes light,
As a lantern at night,
Her color sparkles so bright.
  So fair she is and fine.
A sweetly sway she has to hold,
With arms strong as one would,
And fingers lovely to fold,
  God would she were mine!
    Blow northern wind, etc.

Heo is the coral of goodness,
Heo is the ruby of righteousness,
Heo is the crystal of purity,
  And the banner of beauty.
Heo is the lily of generosity,
Heo is the violet of bravery,
Heo is the sunbeam of sweetness,
  And the lady of loyalty.

For your love, I lack joy and care,
For your love, I feel lost and dare,
For your love, my bliss is bare
  And all I have is gone,
For your love, in sleep I find relief,
For your love, all night I stay awake,
For your love, I grieve my grief
  More than any man.
    Blowing northern wind!
    Send me my beloved!
    Blowing northern wind! blow, blow, blow!

Ichot] I know. burde] maiden. menskful] worshipful. feir] fair. fonde] take, prove. wurhliche] noble. won] multitude. y nuste] I knew not. lussomore in londe] lovelier on earth. suetyng] sweetheart. lefliche] lovely. fonge] take between hands. murthes] mirths, joys. mote heo monge] may she mingle. brid] bird. breme] full of life. Rode] the Cross. lure] face. lumes] beams. bleo] color. suetly swyre] darling neck. forte] for to. hue, heo] she. clannesse] cleanness, purity. parvenke] periwinkle. solsecle] sunflower. won] wan.

Anonymous. c. 1300

This World's Happiness

WYNTER wakes all my worries,
Now these leaves are growing bare;
Often I sigh and mourn deeply
  When it comes to my mind
  How the joys of this world all come to nothing.

Nou it is, and now it is not,
As it never was, for sure;
That many say, it's true:
All goes but God's will:
All we shall die, even if we don't want to.

All that green grows green,
Now it fades all around:
Jesus, help that it be seen
  And shield us from hell!
  For I don’t know where I will go, nor how long I’ll stay here.

this leaves] these leaves. sike] sigh. nys] is not. al so hit ner nere] as though it had never been. soth] truth. bote] but, except. thah] though. faleweth] fades. albydene] altogether. y not whider] I do not know where. her duelle] here dwell.

Anonymous. c. 1300

6. A Hymn to the Virgin

OF on that is so fair and bright
        Like the star of the sea,
Brighter than the light of day,
        Mother and maiden:
I cry to you, you look to me,
Lady, pray your Son for me,
        So gentle,
That I may come to you
        Mary.

All this world was lost
        Eve the sinner,
Until our Lord was born
        Of you the mother.
With "Hail" it went away
Dark night and comes the day
        Of salvation;
The well springs out of you,
        Of virtue.

Leady, flower of all things,
        You rose without thorns,
You bear Jesus, heaven’s king,
        Divine grace:
Of all, you bear the praise,
Leady, queen of paradise
        Chosen:
Gentle maiden, mother is
        Perfect.

on] one. levedy] lady. thuster] dark. pris] prize.

Anonymous, circa 1350

7. About a rose, a beautiful rose, A rose is all my song.

LESTENYT, lords, both old and young,
How this rose started to bloom;
Such a rose is to my liking
    In all this world, I know none.

The angel came from heaven,
To greet Mary with great honor,
And said she would bear the flower
    That would break the devil's bond.

The flower sprang in high Bethlehem,
That is both bright and shining:
The rose is Mary, heaven's queen,
    From her bosom the blossom sprang.

The first branch is full of might,
That sprang on Christmas night,
The star shines over Bethlehem bright
    That is both broad and long.

The second branch sprang into light,
The fends' power fell down to fight:
In it no soul could dwell;
    Blessed be the time the rose sprang!

The threefold branch is good and sweet,
It sprang to heaven, root and shoot,
There to dwell and be our remedy;
    Every day it showed in the priest's hand.

Prey we here with great honor,
She who bears the blessed flower,
She be our help and our support
    And shield us from the fiend's bond.

lestenyt] listen. word] world. xuld] should. schen] beautiful. hevene qwyn] heaven's queen. bote] salvation.

Robert Mannyng from Brunne. 1269-1340

8. Women's Praise

Nothing is as dear to man
As a woman's love in a good way.
A good woman is a man's bliss,
Where her love is genuine and steady.
There's no comfort under heaven
In all that a man can name
That could please a man so much
As a good woman who loves truly.
And there is none dearer in God's realm
Than a chaste woman with lovely words.

nevene] name. glew] gladden. hurde] flock.

John Barbour, d. 1395

9. Liberty

Ah! Freedom is a noble thing!
Freedom makes a man have preferences;
Freedom gives all comfort to man,
He lives easily who lives freely!
A noble heart may have no ease,
Nor else anything that might please him,
If freedom fails; for free choice
Is valued above all other things.
And he who has always lived free
Cannot fully understand the suffering,
The anger, nor the wretched judgment
That is tied to foul servitude.
But if he had experienced it,
Then surely he would know it well;
And he would think freedom is worth
More than all the gold in the world.
Thus, opposing things always
Reveal each other.

liking] liberty. na ellys nocht] nor anything else. yarnyt] yearned for. perquer] thoroughly, by heart.

Geoffrey Chaucer, 1340?-1400

10. Genuine Love

O YOUNG fresh people, he or she,
In whom love grows with your age,
Return home from worldly vanity,
And direct your heart’s gaze
Toward the God who made you in His image,
And realize that all this is just a beautiful
World, which quickly passes like lovely flowers.

And loves him, who truly loves for love's sake
On a cross, to redeem our souls;
First suffered, then rose, and sits in heaven above;
For he will not betray anyone, I dare say,
Who will give his heart completely to him.
And since he is the best and most humble to love,
What’s the point of pretending to search for love?

repair you. star died.

Geoffrey Chaucer, 1340?-1400

11. Walk

HYD, Absolon, your golden hair shines bright;
Ester, lay down all your gentleness;
Hyd, Jonathas, with all your friendly ways;
Penelope, and Marcia Catoun,
Don’t compare yourselves as wives;
Hide your beauty, Isolde and Elaine;
My lady is coming, and this may all fade away.

Your beautiful body, let it not be revealed,
Lavina; and you, Lucretia of Rome,
And Polyxena, who bought love so dearly,
And Cleopatra, with all your passion,
Hide your truth of love and your reputation;
And you, Thisbe, who have such pain of love;
My lady is coming, and all of this may be stained.

Herro, Dido, Laudomia, all of you,
And Phyllis, waiting for your Demophon,
And Canace, noticed by your look,
Ysiphile, betrayed by Jason,
Makes of your truth neither boast nor sound;
Nor Hypermnestre or Ariadne, you two;
My lady is coming, so all this can settle.

disteyne] bedim. y-fere] together.

Geoffrey Chaucer. c. 1340-1400

12. Merciless Beauty

YOUR eyes two will kill me suddenly,
I cannot endure their beauty,
So it wounds throughout my sharp heart.

And yet your word will quickly heal
My heart's wound, while it is still fresh,
Your two eyes will suddenly kill me,
I can't bear their beauty.

Upon my truth, I tell you faithfully,
That you are the queen of my life and death;
For with my death, the truth will be revealed.
  Your two eyes will kill me suddenly,
  I cannot endure the beauty of them,
  They wound me deeply throughout my heart.

So has your beauty chased away
Pity, making it useless for me to complain;
For Danger keeps your mercy in his chain.

Guilt has brought me to this death;
I tell you the truth, I don’t need to pretend;
Your beauty has chased away all compassion
So much that it doesn’t help me to complain.

Alas! that nature has given you such
Great beauty, that no man can attain
To mercy, though he suffers from the pain.
  So has your beauty driven away
  Pity from your heart, that it does me no good to complain;
  For Danger holds your mercy in his chain.

Sin I escaped from Love, I feel so heavy,
I never thought I’d end up in his lonely prison;
Now that I’m free, I don’t count him as anything.

He might respond and say this or that;
I don’t care; I speak exactly as I mean.
  Since I've escaped from Love so far,
  I never plan to be in his prison again.

Love has struck my name out of his slate,
And he is completely erased from my books
Forevermore; there is no other way.
Since I have escaped from Love so far,
I never intend to be in his thin prison again;
Since I am free, I don't care about him at all.

halt] hold. sclat] slate.

Thomas Hoccleve. 1368-1450?

Lament for Chaucer

ALAS! my worthy honorable master,
This land's true treasure and wealth!
Death by your death has brought irreparable harm
To us all: her vengeful oppression
Has stripped this land of the sweetness
Of rhetoric; for there has never been a man
So much like Tullius among us.

Also who was here in philosophy
To Aristotle in our language but you?
The themes of Virgil in poetry
You followed too, people know well enough.
You burdened the world that my master struck—
I would slay were it possible!—Death was too hasty
To rush at you and take your life…

She could have delayed her revenge for a while
Until someone was equal to the beast;
No, let’s not go there! She knew well that this year
No man can bring forth anyone like him,
And she must do her duty:
God commanded her so, I hope for the best;
Oh master, master, may God rest your soul!

hier] heir. combre-worlde] burden of the earth. slow] killed.

John Lydgate. c. 1370-1450.

14. Voice of the final Cross

Tarry no longer; move towards your legacy
Hurry on your way, and stay in good spirits.
Keep going every day on your pilgrimage;
Remember how little time you've spent here.
Your place is built above the clear stars,
No earthly palace made so magnificently.
Come on, my friend, my dearest brother!
For you, I offered my blood in sacrifice.

built. palace.

King James I of Scotland. 1394-1437

15. Spring Song of the Birds

Worship all you lovers who enjoy this May,
For your happiness is here to stay,
And sing with us, Goodbye, Winter, goodbye!
  Come, Summer, come, the sweet season and sun!
  Awake for shame! you who have won your paradises,
    And lovingly lift up your heads all,
    Thank Love who chooses to call you to his mercy!

sweet. Love.

Robert Henryson. 1425-1500

Robin and Makyne

ROBIN sat on a nice green hill,
  Keeping watch over a flock of sheep:
Happy Makyne said to him,
  'Robin, you feel sorry for me:
I've loved you, openly and quietly,
  For these two or three years;
My sorrow in secret unless you care,
  Without a doubt, I’ll die of sadness.'

Robin answered, "By the Rude
  I don't know anything about love,
But I keep my sheep under that wood:
  Look, where they graze in a row.
What has troubled you in your mood,
  Makyne, show me;
Or what is love, or being foolish?
  I would gladly learn that lesson."

'At love's lair if you will learn
  Take there an A B C;
Be kind, courteous, and fair of appearance,
  Wise, brave, and free:
So that no danger does you harm
  What sorrow in secret you dread;
Try with effort at all power
  Be patient and discreet.'

Robin answered her again,
  'I don't know what love is;
But I'm curious for sure
  What makes you so uneasy:
The weather is nice, and I'm happy;
  My sheep are all up high;
And we would pray in this field,
  They would both scold us.'

'Robin, listen to my story,
  And do everything as I say,
And you will have my heart completely,
  And also my virginity:
Since God sends help for sorrow,
  And a remedy for grief,
If I don’t share my fate with you,
  I will surely be dead.'

'Makyne, tomorrow at this time
  If you will meet me here,
Maybe my sheep will wander by,
  While we lie so near;
But despite that, I’ll stay here,
  Until they start to stir;
What’s on my heart I won’t hide;
  Makyne, then cheer up.'

'Robin, you take away my joy and peace;
  I only love you.'
'Makyne, goodbye! the sun is going down,
  The day is almost done.'
'Robin, I am so dressed in sorrow
  That love will be my downfall.'
'Go love, Makyne, wherever you like,
  For I love no one else.'

'Robin, I’m standing here so still,
  I sigh and it hurts so much.'
'Makyne, I’ve been here for a while;
  At home, may God help me.'
'My honey, Robin, talk for a while,
  If you won’t do anything more.'
'Makyn, distract some other man,
  Because I’m heading home.'

Robin was on his way
  As light as a leaf on a tree;
Makyne mourned in her thoughts,
  And thought she would never see him again.
Robin rushed over the hill:
  Then Makyne called out loudly,
'Now you can sing, for I am embarrassed!
  What is love doing to me?'

Makyne went home without fail,
  Very tired after working hard;
Then Robin in a very nice dale
  Gathered all his sheep.
By then, a part of Makyne’s ale
  Had crept out through his heart;
He followed her quickly to attack,
  And took good care of her.

'Abyd, abyd, you fair Makyne,
  A word for anything;
For all my love, it shall be yours,
  Without departing.
All hail your heart to have mine
  Is all my longing;
My sheep tomorrow, while hours nine,
  Will need no keeping.'

'Robin, though he has a tough exterior and speaks,
  In old stories and tales,
The person who doesn’t act when they can
  Will have nothing when they want it.
I pray to Jesus every day,
  May my worries be eased
That whoever first tries to play with you
  Be it river, forest, or field.'

'Makyne, the night is soft and dry,
  The weather is warm and nice,
And the green woods are right nearby
  For us to walk around everywhere:
There, no gossipers can spot us,
  That would be against love;
In that place, Makyne, both you and I,
  Unseen, we can go.'

'Robin, that world is all gone,
  And completely brought to an end:
And never again, for sure,
  Will it be as you intended;
For of my pain, you made it a game;
  And all in vain I spend:
As you have done, so shall I say,
  "Grieve on, I plan to fix things."'

'Makyne, the hope of all my well-being,
  My heart is set on you;
And forever I will be loyal to you,
  Until I can live no more;
Never to fail like others fail,
  Whatever grace I ever receive.'
'Robin, with you I won’t deal;
  Goodbye! for this is how we meet.'

Makyne went home happily enough
  Through the woods there;
Robin mourned, and Makyne laughed;
  She sang, he sighed deeply:
And so she left him both sad and troubled,
  In sorrow and despair,
Keeping his herd under a bush
  Among the woods there.

kepand] keeping. fe] sheep, cattle. him till] to him. dule in dern] sorrow in secret. dill] soothe. but dreid] without dread, i.e. there is no fear or doubt. raik on raw] range in row. lude] loved. leir] learn. lair] lore. heynd] gentle. feir] demeanor. deir] daunt. dre] endure. preiss] endeavor. wanrufe] unrest. haill] healthy, whole. aboif] above, up yonder. and] if. tak tent] give heed. reid] advise. bute for baill] remedy for hurt. bot gif] but if, unless. daill] deal. mawgre haif I] I am uneasy. reivis] robs. roiff] quiet. drest] beset. lemman] mistress. sicht] sigh. in hir intent] in her inward thought. brayd] strode. bent] coarse grass. schent] destroyed. alis] ails. be that] by the time that. till] to. tuke keip] paid attention. hard] heard. gestis] romances. mot eik] may add to. be] by. janglour] talebearer. wend] weened. howp] hope. but lett] without hindrance. anneuche] enough. holttis hair] grey woodlands. leuche] laughed. wreuch] peevish. huche] heuch, cliff.

Robert Henryson, 1425-1500

17. The Bloody Circle

THIS hinder year I heard it said
  There was a noble King;
Dukes, Earls, and Barons called,
  He had at his command.
The Lord was ancient and old,
  And sixty years could reign;
He had a daughter fair and lovely,
  A lively young lady.

Of all the beautiful girls in the land,
  And also her father's heir;
Of cheerful ladies and high honor,
  Gentle and easy-going:
She lived in a grand house,
  On earth, there was none so beautiful,
Princes loved her dearly
  In countries everywhere.

There lived a little way from the King
  A foul Giant of one;
He stole the lady away,
  Gone with her is he,
And threw her in his dungeon
  Where she could see no light;
Hungry and cold and great thirst
  She found in her distress.

He was the most horrifying to look at
  That anyone on the ground could be:
His nails were like a devil's hook,
  And five quarters long;
No one could outrun him,
  In right or even in wrong,
But all in pieces he shook them off,
  The giant was so strong.

He kept the Lady day and night
  In his deep dungeon,
He wouldn’t give her a glance
  For gold or any ransom—
But if the King could find a knight,
  To fight with him in person,
To battle him both day and night,
  Until one was beaten down.

The King was sick both far and near,
  Both by sea and land,
If any knight could hear
  Would fight with that Giant:
A worthy Prince, who had no equal,
  Has taken death into his hands
For the love of the fair Lady,
  And held true cunning.

That prince came proudly to the town
  Of that giant to hear,
And fought with him, himself,
  And took him prisoner,
And threw him in his own dungeon
  All alone without fear,
With hunger, cold, and confusion,
  As fully well deserved war.

Syne broke the bank, had home the bright
  To her father free.
So badly wounded was the Knight
  That he had to die;
Useless was his body tight,
  His shirt was all bloody;
In all the world was there a person
  So pitiful to see?

The lady mourned and her maid cried hard,
  With all her great strength—
'I’ve only loved once,
  And that love is now gone;
I wish my life would be taken from me
  Before I had to see that sight,
Or else I’d rather be begging forever
  Than going forth with that rude knight.'

He said, "Fair lady, now I pray you,
  Trust me, I beg you;
Take my bloody shirt
  And hang it by you;
First think of it, and then of me,
  When men come to woo you."
The lady said, "By Mary, I swear,
  I promise to do that."

When she looked at the shirt
  She thought of the person,
And prayed for him with all her heart
  To free her from captivity,
Where she used to sit in darkness
  In that deep dungeon;
And as long as she was in silence,
  That was her lesson.

Sa well the Lady loved the Knight
  That no man would she take:
So should we love our God of might
  Who made everything for our sake;
Who fully to death was destined,
  For sinful man's sake,
So should we do both day and night,
  With prayers to Him make.

This King is like the Trinity,
  Both in heaven and here;
The man's soul to the Lady,
  The Giant to Lucifer,
The Knight to Christ, who died on the cross
  And paid dearly for our sins;
The pit to Hell with painful cries,
  The Sin to the worm.

The lady was amazed, but she said no
  To men who wanted to marry her;
So we should write all sin away
  That is born in our hearts.
I pray to Jesus Christ for real,
  For us, His blood that shed,
To be our help on judgment day
  When the laws are strictly enforced.

The soul is God's daughter,
  And also His creation,
That was betrayed by Lucifer,
  Who sits in hell, so dark:
Borrowed by Christ's clear angel,
  Gentle people, will you not listen?
And for His love that bought us dearly
  Think of the BLOODY SHIRT!

hinder your last year. reign. enfold. young. beauty. heir. manners. and also. she dwelt. well-built. earth. lovingly. all the world over. a little, beside. as any. cast. dungeon. in her lodging. hell-claw. until. beaten down. himself. without companion. the fair one. body. loosed her from thraldom. prison. bought. strictly carried out. gentle.

William Dunbar, 1465-1520?

To a Lady

SWEET queens of virtue and kindness,
Delightful lily of every pleasure,
    Richer in goodness and in beauty bright,
    And every virtue that is greatly valued,
Except only that you are merciless

Into your garden today I went;
There I saw flowers that were fresh in color;
Both white and red, they were lovely to see,
And healthy herbs on green stalks;
Yet I could find neither leaf nor flower of rue.

I doubt that Merche, with his cold, violent winds,
Has killed this gentle plant that I care about;
    Whose painful death brings such sorrow to my heart
    That I would try to replant its root again—
So comforting are its leaves to me.

rois] rose. wenit] weened, thought highly of. garth] garden area. to seyne] to see. that I of mene] that I complain of, mourn for.

William Dunbar, 1465-1520?

19. In Honor of the City of London

LONDON, you are the city above all others.
  The ruler of cities, the most beautiful to behold,
With great fame, wealth, and royalty;
  Filled with lords, barons, and many noble knights;
  Home to the most delightful, lively ladies;
With famous clergy in their religious garb;
  Full of merchants with substance and power:
London, you are the flower of all cities.

Gladdith now, you lively London,
  City that once was called New Troy;
In all the earth, as grand as you are,
  Princess of towns, of pleasure and joy,
  No richer rests under any Christian king;
For strength and natural skills,
  None is fairer since the flood of Noah:
London, you are the flower of all cities.

Gem of all joy, jewel of happiness,
  Most powerful gem of virtue and bravery;
Strong Troy in strength and endurance;
  Of royal cities, the best and most beautiful;
  Queen of towns, elevated in honor;
In beauty wearing the imperial crown;
  Sweet paradise excelling in pleasure;
London, you are the best of all cities.

Above all rivers, yours has the fame,
  Whose sparkling streams, lovely and bright,
Run beneath your vibrant walls,
  Where many a swan swims with beautiful wings;
  Where many a barge sails and rows with oars;
Where many a ship rests with its royal mast.
  Oh, city of cities! Matchless and unique,
London, you are the flower of all cities.

On your sturdy bridge of white pillars
  Merchant ships are truly a sight to see;
On your streets stroll many a handsome knight
  In velvet gowns and chains of gold.
  By Julius Caesar, your tower built long ago
Could be the house of Mars, victorious,
  Whose artillery can't even be described:
London, you are the finest of all cities.

Strong are the walls that stand around you;
  Wise are the people who live within you;
Fresh is your river with its lively banks;
  Joyful are your churches, and may your bells sound well;
  Wealthy be your merchants with abundant resources;
Fair be their wives, lovely, fair, and petite;
  Pure are your virgins, lively beneath their coverings:
London, you are the finest of all cities.

Your famous Mayor, with princely governance,
  Rules you wisely with the sword of justice.
No lord of Paris, Venice, or Florence
  Is close to him in dignity or honor.
  He is an example, a guide, and a leader;
The main patron and original rose,
  Above all Mayors as the most worthy master:
London, you are the cream of all cities.

gladdith] rejoice. Troynovaunt] Troja nova or Trinovantum. fourmeth] appears. geraflour] gillyflower. are] oar. small] slender. kellis] hoods, head-dresses. guye] guide.

William Dunbar, 1465-1520?

20. On the Birth of Christ

RORATE coeli desuper!
  Heavens, pour down your soothing showers!
For the bright morning star has risen,
  From the rose Mary, the flower of flowers:
  The clear Sun, whom no cloud can consume,
Surpassing Phoebus in the East,
  Is coming from his heavenly towers:
    And to us, a Child is born.

Archangels, angels, and dominions,
  Thrones, powers, and mighty spirits,
And all you heavenly operations,
  Star, planet, firmament, and sphere,
  Fire, earth, air, and clear water,
Give Him love, both great and small,
  Who came in such a gentle manner;
    And to us a Child is born.

Synnaris, be glad and do penance,
  And thank your Maker sincerely;
For He whom you might not approach
  Is coming to you very humbly
  To buy your souls with His blood
And set you free from the grip of the devil—
  And only out of His own mercy;
    Pro nobis Puer natus est.

All the clergy bow down to him,
  And show respect to that gentle child,
And offer your divine service
  To him who is the King of kings:
  Burn incense at his altar, read and sing
In the holy church, with focused mind,
  Honoring him above all things
    Who is born to us as a Child.

Celestial birds in the sky,
  Sing with your notes on high,
In groves and forests fair
  Be joyful now with all your might;
  For your dull night has passed,
Aurora has pierced the clouds,
  The Sun has risen with cheerful light,
    Et nobis Puer natus est.

Now spring up flowers from the root,
  Grow upward naturally,
In honor of the blessed fruit
  That rose up from the Virgin Mary;
  Spread your leaves joyfully,
From death take life now at the least
  In worship of that worthy Prince
    Who to us is born a Child.

Sing, heavenly royalty, most of all!
  Regions of air create harmony!
All fish in water and birds in flight
  Be joyful and make melody!
  All glory in the highest cry!
Heaven, earth, sea, man, bird, and beast,—
  He who is crowned above the sky
    For us a child is born!

schouris] showers. cumin] come, entered. seir] various. erd] earth. lest] least. synnaris] sinners. benyng] benign. attour] over, above. perst] pierced. raiss] rose. best] beast.

William Dunbar, 1465-1520?

21. Mourning for the Creators

I THAT was in health and happiness
Am troubled now with great sickness
And weakened by infirmity:—
    The fear of death disturbs me.

Our pleasure here is all just empty glory,
This false world is only temporary,
The body is fragile, the devil is sly:—
    The fear of death disturbs me.

The state of man does change and vary,
Now healthy, now ill, now cheerful, now sad,
Now dancing happily, now close to death:—
    Fear of death troubles me.

No state in this world is secure;
As the wind waves the willow
So fades away this world's vanity:—
    The fear of death disturbs me.

Unto death go all estates,
Princes, prelates, and authorities,
Both rich and poor of every class:—
    The fear of death disturbs me.

He takes the knights into the field
Armored under helm and shield;
He is victorious in every battle:—
    The fear of death disturbs me.

That strong, unforgiving tyrant
Takes, sucking from the mother's breast,
The baby full of kindness:—
    Fear of Death disturbs me.

He takes the championship in the battle,
The captain enclosed in the tower,
The lady in the bower full of beauty:—
    Fear of death disturbs me.

He spares no lord for his power,
Nor any scholar for his smarts;
No one can escape his terrible blow:—
    The fear of death troubles me.

Art magicians and astrologers,
Rhetoricians, logicians, and theologians,
They help with no conclusions that sleep:—
    Fear of Death disturbs me.

In medicine, the most practiced,
Leeches, surgeons, and physicians,
Even they cannot escape Death:—
    Fear of Death disturbs me.

I see that the happy ones among the leaves
Play here their pastimes, then go to the grave;
Nothing is spared of their abilities:—
    The fear of death disturbs me.

He has eagerly devoured
The noble Chaucer, the best of poets,
The Monk of Bury, and Gower, all three:—
    Timor Mortis conturbat me.

The good Sir Hew of Eglintoun,
Ettrick, Heriot, and Wintoun,
He has taken out of this country:—
    Timor Mortis conturbat me.

That scorpion fell has caused trouble
Master John Clerk, and James Afflek,
From ballad-making and tragedy:—
    The fear of death disturbs me.

Holland and Barbour he has passed away;
Alas! that he is not with us today
Sir Mungo Lockart of the Lee:—
    The fear of death troubles me.

Clerk of Tranent also he has taken,
That made the deeds of Gawaine;
Sir Gilbert Hay has ended it:—
    Fear of Death disturbs me.

He has Blind Harry and Sandy Traill
Slain with his shower of deadly hail,
Which Patrick Johnstoun couldn't escape:—
    Fear of Death disturbs me.

He has taken Merseir his writing,
That wrote about love so vividly,
So brief, so quick, with high sentence:—
    The fear of death disturbs me.

He has taken Rowll of Aberdeen,
And gentle Rowll of Corstorphine;
Two better fellows did no one see:—
    Timor Mortis disturbs me.

In Dunfermline he has taken Brown
With Master Robert Henryson;
Sir John the Ross he has embraced:—
    The fear of death disturbs me.

And he has now taken, last of all,
Good gentle Stobo and Quintin Shaw,
Of whom all wise ones have pity:—
    Fear of Death disturbs me.

Good Master Walter Kennedy
In the face of Death there's truth;
It's truly a pity that it should be:—
    The fear of Death troubles me.

Sen he has all my brothers taken,
He won't let me live alone;
By force I must be his next prey:—
    Timor Mortis disturbs me.

Since there’s no remedy for death,
It’s best that we prepare for it,
So that we may live on after our death:—
    Fear of death disturbs me.

heill] health. bruckle] brittle, weak. slee] sly. dansand] dancing. sicker] certain. wicker] willow. wannis] wanes. mellie] mix. sowkand] sucking. campion] champion. stour] fight. piscence] power. straik] strike. supplee] save. makaris] poets. the lave] the rest. padyanis] pageants. anteris] adventures. schour] shower. endite] write. fallowis] fellows. wichtis] beings. man] must. dispose] arrange.

Anonymous. 15th Century.

May in Green-Wood

IN summer when the shades are bright,
  And leaves are large and long,
It is really joyful in the beautiful forest
  To hear the birds sing.

To see the deer move down to the valley
  And leave the high hills,
And shade himself in the green leaves
  Under the greenwood tree.

Hit befell on Whitsun
  Early on a May morning,
The sun shone beautifully,
  And the birds merrily sang.

'This is a merry morning,' said Little John,
  'By Him who died on the tree;
A happier man than I am one
  Lives not in Christianity.

'Lift up your heart, my dear master,'
  Little John can say,
'And think it is a very fine time
  In a morning of May.'

sheyne] bright.

Anonymous. 15th Century.

23. Carol

I SING of a maiden
  Who is without equal;
King of all kings
  To her son she gives choice.

He came so quietly
  There his mother was,
Like dew in April
  That falls on the grass.

He came so quietly
  To his mother's home,
Like dew in April
  That falls on the flower.

He came so quietly
  There his mother lay,
Like dew in April
  That falls on the branch.

Mother and maiden
  There was never anyone but her;
It's fitting for such a lady
  To be the mother of God.

matchless. chose.

Anonymous, 15th Century (?)

24. Because I languish for love

IN a valley of this restless mind
I looked in the mountains and the meadows,
Hoping to find a true love.
On a hill, I took notice;
I heard a voice (and I went near)
Complaining in great pain:
Look, dear soul, how my sides bleed
  Quia amore langueo.

Upon this hill, I found a tree,
Under the tree, a man was sitting;
He was wounded from head to foot;
I saw his heart’s blood bleeding:
He looked like a man who could be a king,
With a kind face to look at.
I asked why he was in pain;
  [He said,] Because I am love-sick.

I am true love that was never fake;
My sister, the soul of man, I loved her like this.
Since we would never part
I left my glorious kingdom.
I prepared for her a precious palace;
She ran away, I followed, I loved her so
That I endured this pitiful pain
  Quia amore langueo.

My beautiful love and my shining spouse!
I rescued her from abuse, and she has hurt me;
I dressed her in elegance and heavenly glow;
This bloody shirt she has draped over me;
For longing for love, I still won’t give up;
These are sweet blows: look!
I have loved her always as I was told to love her
  Because I languish for love.

I filled her with joy and she filled me with pain;
I took her to my room and she led me to my end;
I brought her to pray and she brought me shame;
I showed her respect and she showed me betrayal.
To love someone who loves you isn't a challenge;
Her hatred never turned my love into her enemy:
So don’t ask me why—
  Because I am weak with love.

Look at my hands, man!
These gloves were given to me when I sought her;
They aren’t white, but red and pale;
Embroidered with blood, my partner brought them.
I won’t take them off; I don’t loosen them;
I woo her with them wherever she goes.
These hands fought so kindly for her
  Because I’m weak with love.

Marvel not, man, though I remain still.
See, love has made me wonder-struck:
Shod my feet, as she wished,
With sharp nails (you can wait for sure!).
In my love, there was never deceit;
All my limbs I have opened to her;
My body I made her heart's bait
  Because I languish for love.

In my place, I've made her a nest;
Look in, and see how deep the wound is here!
This is her room, where she will rest,
So that she and I can sleep together.
Here she can wash, if she's got any dirt;
Here’s a spot for all her sorrow;
Whenever she wants, she’ll find comfort
  Because I’m lovesick.

I will wait until she’s ready,
I’ll pursue her if she says no;
If she’s careless, I’ll be eager,
If she’s fierce, I’ll plead with her;
If she cries, then I can’t hold back:
My arms are open to pull her close.
Call once, I’ll come: now, my love, try
  Because I’m weak from love.

Fair love, let’s go have some fun:
Apples are ripe in my garden.
I’ll dress you in new clothes,
Your food will be milk, honey, and wine.
Fair love, let’s go eat:
I have everything you need here!
Don’t wait, my lovely spouse,
  Because I’m weak with love.

If you're dirty, I'll make you clean;
If you're sick, I'll heal you;
If you're mourning, I'll comfort you;
Why won't you, my dear, deal with me?
Have you ever found love so true?
What do you want, my love, that I should do?
I can't treat you unkindly
  Because I languish for love.

What should I do now with my partner
But wait for her with my kindness,
Until she peeks out of her house
From her physical desire? She is my love;
Her bed is ready, her pillow is soft,
Her room is picked; is there no one else?
Look out at me from the window of affection
  Because I am lovesick.

My love is in her room: be quiet!
Don't make any noise, just let her sleep.
I wouldn't want my baby to be sick,
I can't bear to hear my sweet child cry.
With my breast, I will comfort her;
So don't be surprised that I care for her:
This wound in my side could never be so deep
  But because I am weak from love.

Long for love, however high,
My love is greater than yours.
You weep, you rejoice, I sit beside you:
But once, my love, would you look at me!
Should I always feed you
With childish words? No, my love, not at all!
I will test your love with adversity
  Because I languish for love.

Wax not weary, my own wife!
What good is living in comfort?
In hardship, I often struggle
More than in enjoyment.
In good times and in bad, I’m always here to support:
My dear wife, don’t leave me!
Your love is precious, especially when you are gone:
Because I languish for love.

yede] went. het] promised. bait] resting-place. weet] wet. in fere] together. crippe] bag. mene] take care of.

Anonymous. 15th Century.

The Brown-Haired Maid

He. Whether it's right or wrong, these guys
  Complain about women;
Claiming that it’s
  A waste of effort
To love them well; because never once
  Do they love a man back:
No matter how much a man tries
  To win their favor,
If another man shows interest,
  The first true lover is
Working for nothing; in her thoughts,
  He is just a castaway.

She. I won't say no, but all day
  It’s both written and said
That a woman's faith is, as some say,
  All completely gone:
But still, there's solid proof
  In this case to be shown
That they love truly and persist:
  Remember the Nut-brown Maid,
Who, when her love came to test her,
  To her to express his sorrow,
Would not leave; for in her heart
  She loved only him.

He. Now let’s talk about
  What went on between those two:
We will also
  Share all the pain she went through.
Now I’ll start,
  So please answer me:
All of you who are here,
  I ask you to listen.
I am the Knight. I come by night,
  As quietly as I can,
Saying, Alas! here’s the situation,
  I am a banished man.

She. And I'm here to fulfill your will
  I won't refuse this request;
I trust I can show, in just a few words,
  That men misuse it badly—
To their own shame—blaming women,
  And accusing them without cause.
So now I respond to you,
  To excuse all women—
My own dear heart, how are you?
  I hope you'll tell me soon;
For in my mind, of all mankind,
  I love only you alone.

He. It stands like this: a deed is done
  That will cause great harm:
My fate is to die
  A shameful death, I think;
Or else to run away. One of those must happen.
  I don’t know any other way
But to escape as an outlaw,
  And take up my bow.
So goodbye, my true love!
  I have no other advice:
For I must go to the forest,
  Alone, a banished man.

She. Oh Lord, what is this world's happiness,
  That changes like the moon?
My summer day in bright May
  Is overshadowed before noon.
I hear you say goodbye: No, no,
  We're not leaving so soon.
Why do you say that? Where will you go?
  Oh no! What have you done?
All my well-being turned into sorrow and worry
  Would happen if you were gone:
For, in my mind, of all people
  I love only you alone.

He. I can believe it will make you sad,
  And you feel a bit overwhelmed;
But soon, your hard feelings
  Within a day or two
Will fade away; and you’ll find
  Comfort again.
Why should you worry? Because thinking about it,
  Your efforts would be pointless.
And so I do; and I ask you to,
  As sincerely as I can:
For I must go to the woods,
  Alone, a banished man.

She. Now that you've revealed to me
  The secrets of your heart,
I'll be honest with you again,
  Just as you’ll find me to be.
Since it's clear that you want to leave,
  I won't stay behind.
It will never be said that the Nut-brown Maid
  Was unkind to her love.
Get ready, because so am I,
  Even if it’s dawn:
For, in my heart, out of all people
  I love only you.

He. Still, I advise you to pay attention
  To what people will think and say:
About the young and the old, it will be said
  That you have gone away
To satisfy your desires,
  To spend time in the woods;
And that for your enjoyment
  You can’t put it off any longer.
Rather than being known for me
  As a bad woman,
I would choose to go into the woods,
  Alone, an outcast.

She. Even though it’s been said by both old and young
  That I should take the blame,
The blame belongs to those who speak out
  And hurt my name:
For I will show that faithful love
  Has nothing to be ashamed of;
In your sorrow and pain
  To part with you is the same:
And surely all those who do not feel this
  Are not true lovers at all:
For in my heart, out of all people
  I love only you.

He. I advise you, remember how
  It's not a maiden's rule
There's no doubt, just run out
  To the woods with an outlaw.
For you must there have in your hand
  A bow ready to draw;
And like a thief, this is how you must live
  Always in fear and awe;
From which great harm could come to you:
  Yet I would rather than
That I had to go to the green wood,
  Alone, a banished man.

She. I think not, but as you say;
  It's not something a girl would usually know;
But love might inspire me for your sake,
  As I’ve said before,
To walk, to hunt, and to shoot,
  To get us food and supplies;
As long as I can have your company,
  I don't ask for anything more.
Parting from you makes my heart
  As cold as stone;
For, in my mind, of all people,
  I love only you alone.

He. For an outlaw, this is the law,
  That men will capture and bind him:
Without pity, he faces hanging,
  And sways with the wind.
If I were in need (God forbid!),
  What help could you provide?
Honestly, I believe you and your bow
  Would hide in fear.
And no wonder; for your advice
  Would be of little use:
So I’ll head to the green-wood,
  Alone, a banished man.

She. You know very well that women are
  Not strong enough to fight;
It's not in a woman's nature,
  To be as brave as a knight:
But if you were in danger
  From enemies day and night,
I would stand firm, with bow in hand,
  To hurt them as best I could,
And to save you; as women have
  Saved many men from death:
For, in my heart, of all mankind,
  I love only you.

He. But be careful; for I always fear
  That you might not handle
The thorny paths, the deep valleys,
  The snow, the frost, the rain,
The cold, the heat; whether dry or wet,
  We must rest on the ground;
And we have no other roof
  But a couple of bushes:
Which would soon upset you, I think;
  And you would prefer then
That I had gone to the green-wood,
  Alone, a banished man.

She. Since I have here been your partner
  In joy and happiness,
I must also share in your sorrow
  As is only right:
Yet I am certain of one pleasure,
  And it’s this—
That wherever you are, it seems to me,
  I could not go wrong.
Without further talk, I ask you
  That we leave soon;
For in my heart, of all people
  I love only you.

He. If you go there, you need to think,
  When you feel like having dinner,
There won’t be any food to get,
  Neither beer, ale, nor wine,
Nor clean sheets to lie on,
  Made of thread and twine;
No other house, just leaves and branches,
  To cover your head and mine.
Look, my sweet heart, this bad diet
  Will make you pale and weak:
So I’ll head to the green woods,
  Alone, a banished man.

She. Among the wild deer, such a skilled hunter,
  As people say you are,
Cannot fail to find good food
  Where there's such an abundance
And clear water from the river
  Will be very sweet to me;
With which, in good health, I will surely
  Endure, as you'll see;
And before we leave, a bed or two
  I can easily arrange;
For, in my mind, of all people
  I love only you.

He. Listen, before you go with me,
  You need to do more:
Like, cut your hair above your ear,
  And your dress to the knee;
With a bow in hand to defend
  Against your enemies, if necessary:
And tonight, before dawn,
  I’ll run to the woods.
If you agree to all this,
  Do it quickly as you can:
Otherwise, I’ll go to the woods,
  Alone, an outcast.

She. I will now do more for you
  Than what belongs to being a woman;
To cut my hair, carry a bow,
  To fight when needed.
Oh my sweet mother! above all others
  You are the one I fear most!
But now, goodbye! I must follow
  Wherever fortune takes me.
You make all this possible: Now let’s escape;
  The day is coming quickly:
For, in my heart, of all mankind,
  I love only you alone.

He. No, no, that’s not how it is; you can’t go,
  And I’ll tell you why—
You’re only interested in a light
  Kind of love, I can see:
Because, just as you’ve said to me,
  You would also boldly
Respond to anyone else,
  In the company of others:
It’s been said for ages, quick to get hot, quick to get cold;
  And that’s how a woman is:
So I will go to the woods,
  All alone, a banished man.

She. If you pay attention, there's no need
  To say such words to me;
For often you've prayed, and tried for a long time,
  To win my love, I swear:
And even though I come from a noble family
  As a baron's daughter,
You've seen how much I loved you,
  A squire of low rank;
And I always will, no matter what happens,
  To die for that reason soon;
Because, in my mind, out of all of humanity,
  I love only you.

He. A baron's child to be tricked,
  That would be a terrible thing!
To be friends with an outlaw—
  God forbid!
Yet it’s better for the poor squire
  To go alone into the forest
Than for you to say another day
  That by my wicked advice
You were betrayed. So, good maid,
  The best advice I can give
Is that I go to the greenwood,
  Alone, as a banished man.

She. No matter what happens, I will never blame you for this thing: But if you go and leave me like this, Then you have betrayed me. Remember well how you treat me; For if you, as you said, Are so cruel as to leave behind Your love, the Nut-brown Maid, I truly promise I will die Soon after you are gone: For, in my mind, of all people, I love only you.

He. If you leave, you should regret it;
  Because in the forest right now
I've found a girl
  Whom I love more than you:
Someone prettier than you ever were
  I can definitely say;
And both of you would surely be angry
  With each other, I believe:
It would be easier for me to live in peace;
  So that's what I’ll do, if I can:
That’s why I'm going to the woods,
  Alone, a banished man.

She. Even though in the woods I learned
  You had a lover,
None of this can change how I feel,
  Because I want to be yours:
And she will find me gentle and kind
  And courteous every hour;
Happy to do whatever she
  Commands me, to the best of my ability:
Because even if you had a hundred more,
  I would still choose to be that one:
For in my heart, of all people
  I love only you.

He. My dear love, I see the proof
  That you are kind and true;
Of maid, of wife, in all my life,
  The best I've ever known.
Be happy and cheerful; don't be sad;
  The situation has changed;
For it would be a shame that for your honesty
  You should have cause to regret.
Don't be discouraged, no matter what I said
  To you when I started:
I won’t go to the woods;
  I'm not a banished man.

She. This news makes me happier
  Than being made a queen,
If I could be sure it would last;
  But it’s often the case
When men break the promises they make
  Their words are just empty.
You seem to have some trick to deceive me,
  And steal my heart, I believe:
Then the situation would be worse than it is,
  And I’d be more heartbroken:
For, in my mind, of all people
  I love only you.

He. You don't need to be afraid anymore:
  I won't put you down,
Thank God, since you come
  From such a noble heritage.
Now listen up: to Westmoreland,
  Which is my inheritance,
I will take you there; and with a ring,
  Through marriage
I will make you my wife,
  As quickly as I can:
You've won a nobleman's son,
  And not a castaway.

Here you can see that women are
  In love gentle, kind, and reliable;
Let no man criticize them,
  Or call them fickle;
But rather pray to God that we may
  Be comforting to them;
Which sometimes proves that those He loves,
  Are charitable.
For since men want women to
  Be gentle to each one;
They should even more obey God,
  And serve Him alone.

never a dele] never a bit. than] then. in fere] in company together. rede I can] counsel I know. part with] share with. tho] those. hele] health. yede] went. on the splene] that is, in haste.

Anonymous. 16th Century.

26. As you came from the Holy Land

AS you came from the holy land
  Of Walsinghame,
Did you not meet my true love
  On your way here?

How should I know your true love,
  Who has met many people
As I returned from the holy land,
  Who has come, who has gone?

She isn't white or brown,
  But as beautiful as the sky;
No one has her divine shape
  On land or in the air.

I met someone like that, good sir,
  With such an angelic face,
Who looked like a nymph, like a queen,
  In her walk, in her elegance.

She has left me here alone
  All alone, like a stranger,
Who once guided me with her,
  And loved me as her own.

What's the reason she leaves you alone
  And takes a different path,
That once loved you like her own,
  And found joy in your laugh?

I have loved her all my life,
  But now I’m old, as you can see:
Love doesn't like the falling fruit,
  Nor the withered tree.

Know that Love is a reckless child,
  And forgets past promises:
He is blind, he is deaf when he chooses,
  And in faith never lasts.

His desire is an endless satisfaction,
  And a joy without trust;
He is conquered by a sea of despair,
  And is lost with a plaything.

Of women, this is really the love,
  Or the word love misused,
Under which many immature wishes
  And fantasies are justified.

But true love is a lasting fire,
  In the mind always burning,
Never weak, never gone, never cold,
  From itself never turning.

Anonymous. 16th Century (?)

27. The Lover in Winter Complains About the Spring

O WESTERN wind, when will you blow
  So the light rain can fall?
Christ, I wish my love were in my arms
  And I back in my bed again!

Anonymous. 16th Century.

Balow

BALOW, my babe, lie still and sleep!
It hurts me deeply to see you cry.
If you would be quiet, I’d be glad,
Your sadness makes my sorrow worse:
Balow my boy, your mother’s joy,
Your father brings me much frustration—
          Balow, la-low!

When he started trying to win my love,
And with his sweet words moved me,
His false ways and flattering behavior
Didn’t seem obvious to me then:
But now I see quite clearly
He doesn’t care about my baby or me—
          Balow, la-low!

Lie still, my darling, sleep for a bit,
And when you wake, smile sweetly a bit:
But don't smile like your father did,
To trick young maids: oh no, God forbid!
But still, I worry you’ll come close
To your father's heart and face, I suppose—
Balow, la-low!

I can't help but always
Love your father still;
Wherever he goes, wherever he rides,
My love stays with him;
In good times or bad, wherever he goes,
My heart will never leave him—
          Balow, la-low!

But please, don’t, don’t, my dear,
Let your heart be swayed by fake allure!
Be faithful to your true love,
And never trade her for another.
Whether she’s good or beautiful, take care
For women’s suffering is truly hard—
          Balow, la-low!

Babe, by your face I’ll be cautious;
Like the words of Sirens, I won’t come close;
My baby and I will live together;
He’ll comfort me when worries weigh me down.
My baby and I will lie down softly,
And never worry about a man's cruelty—
          Balow, la-low!

Farewell, farewell, the most deceitful young man
That ever kissed a woman's lips!
I hope all young women take this warning from me
Never to trust a man's courtesy;
For if we just happen to bend,
They'll use us and then not care at all—
          Balow, la-low!

Anonymous. 16th Century (?)

The Old Cloak

THIS winter's weather is getting cold,
  And frost is freezing on every hill,
And Boreas blows his strong wind
  That all our cattle are likely to spill.
Bell, my wife, she doesn't like conflict;
  She said to me quietly,
Get up, and save cow Crumbock's life!
  Man, put your old cloak around you!

He. O Bell, my wife, why are you scolding me?
  You know my cloak is really thin:
It’s so worn out and bare,
  A cricket can’t even jump on it.
I won’t borrow or lend anymore;
  This time I’ll get some new clothes;
Tomorrow I’ll go to town and spend;
  I’m getting a new cloak for myself.

She. Cow Crumbock is a really good cow:
  She’s always been reliable for milk;
She’s helped us make butter and cheese, I swear,
  And she won’t let us down with other things.
I would hate to see her suffer.
  Good husband, listen to my advice:
It’s not our place to be so fancy—
  Man, put on your old cloak!

He. My cloak was a really good cloak,
  It has always served me well;
But now it's not worth a penny:
  I've had it for forty-four years.
Once it was made of fine cloth:
  Now it's just a thin rag, as you can see:
It can't withstand wind or rain;
  And I need a new cloak for myself.

She. It was forty-four years ago
  Since one of us got to know the other;
And we’ve had, between us two,
  Either nine or ten children:
We’ve raised them to be women and men:
  In the fear of God, I believe they are.
And why will you deny it yourself?
  Man, put on your old cloak!

He. O Bell my wife, why are you arguing?
  Now is now, and then was then:
Look around the whole world,
  You can't tell common folks from gentlemen:
They wear black, green, yellow, and blue,
  Way above their own status.
Once in my life I'll take a look;
  Because I want a new cloak for myself.

She. King Stephen was a noble lord;
  His pants only cost him a crown;
He thought they were overpriced by sixpence,
  So he called the tailor a fool.
He was a king and wore the crown,
  And you are just of a low status:
It’s pride that brings this country down:
  Man, put your old cloak around you!

He. My wife, Bell, doesn't like conflict,
  But she will guide me, if she can;
To keep the peace in our lives,
  I often have to give in, even though I'm the man.
It's not right for a man to argue with a woman,
  Unless he first backs down from the fight:
As we started, we'll continue,
  And I'll just wrap my old cloak around me.

flyte] scold. cloth in grain] scarlet cloth. sigh clout] a rag for straining. threap] argue.

John Skelton. 1460-1529

To Ms. Margery Wentworth

WITH margerain gentle,
  The flower of beauty,
Embroidered the mantle
  Is of your virginity.
Honestly, I can't lie;
  You are, as I see,
The lovely primrose,
  The beautiful columbine.

Kind, polite, and humble,
  With well-chosen words;
In you, who wishes to look,
  Are virtues well contained.
With gentle margins,
  The flower of beauty;
Embroidered on the cloak
  Is a symbol of your purity.

marjoram.

John Skelton. 1460? - 1529

To Mistress Margaret Hussey

MERRY Margaret
  Like a midsummer flower,
  Gentle as a falcon
  Or a hawk from the tower:
With comfort and joy,
Much laughter and no craziness,
All good and no badness;
    So joyfully,
    So maidenly,
    So womanly
    Her demeanor
    In everything,
    Far, far surpassing
    What I can express,
    Or manage to write
  About Merry Margaret
  Like a midsummer flower,
  Gentle as a falcon
  Or a hawk from the tower.
  As patient and calm
  And as full of goodwill
  As fair Isaphill,
  Coliander,
  Sweet pomander,
  Good Cassander;
  Steadfast in thought,
  Well made, well crafted,
  Could be hard to find,
  Before you discover
  Someone so courteous, so kind
  As merry Margaret,
  This midsummer flower,
  Gentle as a falcon
  Or a hawk from the tower.

Isaphill] Hypsipyle. coliander] coriander seed, a fragrant herb. pomander] a scented ball. Cassander] Cassandra.

Stephen Hawes, died 1523

The Real Knight

FOR knighthood isn't just about acts of war,
Whether fighting for a just cause or not,
But in a cause that truth cannot ignore:
  A knight should be resolute and strong,
  Balancing justice with mercy all along:
    And no fight a knight should choose to start
    Unless it's for the truth or the common good at heart.

undo.

Stephen Hawes, d. 1523

33. A Headstone Inscription

O mortal people, you can see
How I lie here, once a mighty knight;
The end of joy and all prosperity
  Is death ultimately, through his course and strength:
  After the day comes the dark night,
    For though the day may be long,
    At last, the bells ring for evening prayer.

Sir Thomas Wyatt (1503-1542)

34. Don’t forget yet The lover begs his mistress not to forget his unwavering faith and genuine intentions.

FORGET not yet the tried intent
Of such a truth as I have meant;
My great effort so gladly spent,
Forget not yet!

Forget not yet when it all began
The tiring life you know, since when
The struggle, the service, no one can tell;
Forget not yet!

Don't forget the great trials,
The cruel wrongs, the scornful ways,
The painful patience during delays,
Don't forget!

Forget not! Oh, forget not this!—
How long ago it has been, and is,
The mind that never meant any harm—
Forget not yet!

Don't forget then your own love,
The one that has loved you for so long,
Whose unwavering faith has never changed:
Don't forget this!

Sir Thomas Wyatt, 1503-1542

35. The Appeal A Sincere Plea to his Unkind Mistress, not to Abandon him

AND will you really leave me like this!
Please say no, please say no, for shame!
—To save you from the blame
Of all my sorrow and pain.
And will you really leave me like this?
    Say no! say no!

And will you leave me like this,
After loving you for so long
Through good times and bad:
Is your heart so strong
That you can abandon me like this?
    Say no! say no!

And will you leave me like this,
I who have given you my heart
Never to part
Neither for pain nor hurt:
And will you leave me like this?
    Say no! say no!

And will you leave me like this,
And have no more mercy
For the one who loves you?
Oh, your cruelty!
And will you leave me like this?
    Say no! say no!

sorrow.

Sir Thomas Wyatt. 1503-1542

36. A Cancellation

WHAT should I say?
—Since Faith is dead,
And Truth has gone
  Away from you?
  Should I be led
    By deception?
    No! no! mistress.

I promised you,
  And you promised me,
To be as true
  As I would be.
  But now that I see
    Your two-faced heart,
    Goodbye to my part!

Thought to take
  It's not my mind;
But to leave behind
  Someone so unkind;
  And as I find
    So will I trust.
    Farewell, unjust!

Can you say no
  But that you said
That I should always
  Be obeyed?
  And—this way betrayed
    Or that I knew!
    Goodbye, unkissed!

Sir Thomas Wyatt (1503-1542)

37. I was recently suitable for girls…

THEY run away from me who once came looking for me,
  With bare feet creeping around my room:
I’ve seen them gentle, calm, and sweet before,
  But now they’re wild and don’t even recall
  That they once put themselves at risk
To take bread from my hand; and now they wander,
Constantly searching in endless change.

Thank goodness, it’s been different
  Twenty times better; but once in particular—
In a slender line: after a lovely style,
  When her loose dress slipped from her shoulders,
  And she held me in her long, delicate arms,
And then so sweetly kissed me,
And gently said, 'Dear heart, how do you like this?'

It wasn't a dream; I was fully awake:
  But everything has changed now, because of my kindness,
Into a harsh way of being abandoned;
  And I've been allowed to go because of her generosity;
  And she's also free to be with someone new.
But since I've been treated so poorly,
'What do you think of this?'—what has she done to deserve it now?

Sir Thomas Wyatt, 1503-1542

To His Lute

MY lute, wake up! Play the last
Work that you and I will finish,
  And complete what I've just started;
For when this song is sung and over,
  My lute, be quiet, because I'm done.

As to be heard where there’s no one listening,
As leading to a grave marked by stone,
  My song might reach her heart just as quickly:
Should we sing, or sigh, or moan instead?
  No, no, my lute! Because I’m done.

The rocks don’t harshly
Reject the waves all the time,
  As she does my plea and affection;
So I am beyond help:
  Which is why my lute and I are done.

Proud of the prize that you've won
From innocent hearts through Love's arrow,
  By whom, unkind, you’ve captured them;
Don’t think he has forgotten his bow,
  Even though my lute and I are done.

Vengeance will come for your disdain,
Which turns real pain into a game:
  Don’t think you’re the only one
Unpunished for causing your lover's pain,
  Even though my lute and I have played.

May chance you lie withered and old
The winter nights that are so cold,
  Complaining in vain to the moon:
Your wishes then can’t be shared:
  Care then who wants! for I am done.

And then you might regret
The time you’ve wasted and spent
  Making your lover sigh and faint:
Then you’ll realize beauty is fleeting,
  And wish and long for what I have felt.

Now stop, my lute! this is the last
Work that you and I will waste,
  And what we started is now over:
Now this song is both sung and finished—
  My lute, be quiet, for I am done.

Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey. 1516-47

39. Description of Spring Where everything gets refreshed, except for the Lover

The sweet season, that brings buds and blooms,
With green has covered the hills and the valleys:
The nightingale sings with her new feathers;
The dove has shared her story with her mate.
Summer has arrived, as every branch now sprouts:
The stag has hung up his old antlers on the fence;
The buck sheds his winter coat in the thicket;
The fish swim with their newly repaired scales.
The snake sheds all her skin;
The swift swallow chases the small flies;
The busy bee mixes her honey now;
Winter has faded, which was the flowers' doom.

And so I notice that amidst these enjoyable moments
Every worry fades, yet my sadness grows.

make] buddy. mings] hangs out, socializes.

Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey. 1516-1547

40. Complaint of the Absence of Her Lover being at Sea

O happy ladies! who can embrace
  The fruit of your joy,
Help to grieve for the sad situation
  And also the heavy struggle
Of me, who used to rejoice
In the fortune of my delightful choice:
Good ladies, help to fill my mourning voice.

In the ship, carrying memories
  Of past thoughts and joys,
He sails who has control over
  My life for as long as it lasts:
With burning sighs, due to the lack of wind,
Pushing forward his hope, which is his sail,
Toward me, the sweet harbor of his success.

Alas! How often in dreams I see
  Those eyes that were my nourishment;
Which once made me so happy,
  That they still bring me joy:
With which I wake when he returns
Whose absence made me long for him:
But when I feel his absence, Lord! how I grieve!

When other lovers in each other’s arms
  Celebrate their greatest joy,
Drowned in tears, I grieve my loss
  As I face the cold night
From my window, where I can see
Before the winds how the clouds rush by:
Look! What a sailor love has turned me into!

And in the green waves when the salty tide
  Rises with the wind’s fury,
A thousand thoughts in that moment
  Attack my restless mind.
Oh no! Now my sweet enemy is drowning,
The one who took the treasure of my heart,
And left me; but why did he do that?

And when the seas are calm again
  To chase away my annoyance,
My uncertain hope makes me speak plainly;
  So fear takes away my joy.
This is how my wealth is mixed with sorrow
And with every thought a doubt grows;
—Now he's coming! Will he come? Oh no, no.

drenched] i.e. is soaked or submerged.

Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey. 1516-47

41. The Ways to Achieve a Happy Life

MARTIAL, the things that lead to
  a happy life are these, I’ve found:—
Wealth that’s inherited, not earned with struggle;
  Bountiful land, a peaceful mind;

The equal friend; no grudges, no conflict;
  No claim to power, nor control;
Living healthily without disease;
  The home of lasting support;

The average diet, no fancy food;
  Real wisdom paired with straightforwardness;
The night free from all worries,
  Where wine doesn’t dull the mind.

The loyal wife, without question;
  Such dreams that can enchant the night:
Happy with your own situation
  Do not wish for death, nor fear his power.

Nicholas Grimald, 1519-1562

A Real Love

WHAT sweet relief the showers bring to thirsty plants we see,
What dear delight the blooms bring to bees, my true love is to me!
As fresh and lively Spring far surpasses dull Winter—
As a bright morning with a scarlet sky outshines the evening's gloom—
As ripe pears are valued more than sour crabs—
So does my love surpass them all, whom I happen to see!
The oak will bear olives, the lamb will challenge the lion,
The owl will match the nightingale in her song,
Or I let my love slip from my entire heart,
So deeply nestled in my chest is she for her worth!
For many blessed gifts, O happy, happy land!
Where Mars and Pallas strive to make their glory stand strong!
Yet, land, your greatest joy is that, in this cruel age,
You’ve brought forth a child of Venus, so steadfast and so wise.
Among the Nine Muses, if Jove were to make a tenth,
And to the Three Graces a fourth, then Apollo would take her.
Let some seek honor, and hoard up the heavy gold:
With her, I may live and die; my happiness cannot be expressed.

fray] scare.

Alexander Scott. 1520?-158-

43. A Gift of His Heart

HENCE, heart, with her who must leave,
  And hold on to your sovereign!
For I’d rather be without a heart,
  Than have the heart that causes me pain.
  So, go, stay with your love,
And let me live here undisturbed;
  And make sure you don’t come back,
But stay with the one you love the most.

Since you’ve served me for so long
  It feels strange for you to leave so suddenly,
Get ready now, because you’ll go
  And keep my lady company.
  When she’s gone, I’ll be heartbroken,
Because, you see, you belong to her.
  So, my heart, go on your way,
And stay with the one you love most.

Though this beaten body here
  Is bound to servitude and misery,
My loyal heart is completely free
  And ready to serve my lady always.
  I wish I were lying
Under that fragrant rose to rest!
  Yet at least, my heart, you shall
Stay with her you love the most.

Sen in your garden the white lily
  Cannot stay among the leaves,
Goodbye to the flower of pure delight!
  Goodbye to the support that might save me!
  Goodbye to the sweet-smelling balm,
And light of the most charming ladies!
  My faithful heart she shall have
To stay with her whom it loves best.

Deplore, you ladies bright in color,
  Her absence, since she has to leave!
And especially, you true lovers
  Who are wounded by Love's dart.
  For some of you will lack a heart
Just like I do; so at last
  Go with mine, with inward thoughts,
And stay with her whom you love most!

hald] keep. sen] since. belappit] downtrodden. perigall] made equal to, privileged. garth] garden-close. laif] rest. with mind inwart] with inner mind, i. e. in spirit.

Alexander Scott, 1520?-1580-

44. A Rondel of Love

Look, what it is to love
  Know that you want to test,
By me, I say, that no way can
  The source of grief be changed,
But still wither both night and day:
  Look, what it is to love!

Love is a passionate fire
  Ignited without desire,
Short-lived pleasure, long-lasting pain,
  Regret is the price to pay;
A pure treasure without measure;
  Love is a passionate fire.

To love and to be wise,
  To get angry but still give good advice;
Sometimes this way, sometimes that, such is the game,
  The dice are uncertain;
There’s no person, I tell you, who can
  Both love and be wise.

Always run from the trap,
  Learn from me to take care;
It's one pain, and double trouble
  Of endless grief and worry;
To avoid that clear danger,
  Always run from the trap.

Robert Wever, circa 1550

Youth is Pleasure

IN a green harbor, asleep where I lay,
The birds sang sweetly in the middle of the day,
I dreamed deeply of joy and fun:
In youth is pleasure, in youth is pleasure.

I thought I was still walking back and forth,
And I couldn’t leave her side—
But when I woke up, it wasn’t true:
        In youth is pleasure, in youth is pleasure.

Therefore my heart is surely set
On her alone to catch a glimpse
Which is my joy and heart's delight:
        In youth is pleasure, in youth is pleasure.

Richard Edwardes. 1523-1566

46. Lovers' Wrath

IN going to my empty bed like someone who wanted to sleep,
I heard a wife sing to her child, who had cried a lot before;
She sighed heavily and sang sweetly, trying to calm the baby,
Who wouldn’t stop crying and kept nursing at her breast.
She was really tired from watching over it and upset with her child,
She rocked it and scolded it until it finally smiled at her.
Then she said, "Now I see this saying is true to prove,
The conflicts between loyal friends bring about renewed love."

Then I took paper, pen, and ink to write this proverb,
To keep a record of such a worthy person:
As she continued singing to her little child,
She shared many important thoughts while sitting there:
And clearly showed that no beast or living creature
Can truly live in love without conflict and strife:
Then she kissed her little babe and swore by God above,
That the quarrels of loyal friends are a renewal of love.

She said that no king, prince, or lord could truly live right,
Until they tested their power, their courage, and their strength.
When bravery is matched in a way that fear has no place,
Then hard work turns warriors into allies,
And they abandon their strength that let them down, which wore the group out,
That could have otherwise lasted longer, draining their energy and nature:
Then she sang as if thinking no one could criticize her,
The rekindling of friendships that fell apart is a sign of love.

She said she saw no fish or birds, nor any animals in her territory,
That would meet a stranger of their kind, but could only mock it:
Since flesh can't endure forever, but rest must follow anger,
And force the fight to turn into a game in the fields where they graze,
So noble nature can definitely finish the work she has started,
And control those who won't stop their tragedy in some:
Thus, in song she often repeated, as was fitting for her,
The falling out of loyal friends and how it renews love.

I really marvel at what I see (she said) as I look at the crowd,
Watching man, woman, boy, and beast turning the world upside down:
Some kneel, some crouch, some wave, some scold, and some can gracefully
    smile,
And some hug each other closely, scheming all sorts of things,
Some keep their distance, capped and kneeled, some humble and some proud,
Yet they're never truly friends until they have a falling out:
And with that, she finished her song and said, before she left,
The falling out of true friends can reignite love.

George Gascoigne. 1525?-1577

A Lover's Lullaby

SING a lullaby, like women do,
  To help their babies settle down;
And I can sing a lullaby too,
  As sweetly as the best around.
With lullabies, they calm the child;
And if I’m not mistaken,
I’ve got plenty of playful babes,
Who need to be soothed with lullabies.

First lullaby of my young years,
  It's now time to sleep:
For aging and gray hairs
  Have taken over my mind.
So with this lullaby, let youth be quiet;
With this lullaby, find your peace;
Since courage fades and falls behind,
Go to sleep, and ease your mind!

Next lullaby my watching eyes,
Which used to glance quickly;
For every mirror can now show
The wrinkles on your face.
With lullaby, then close your eyes for a bit;
With lullaby, let your looks charm;
Let no pretty face or bright beauty,
Lead you away with empty pleasure.

And calm my restless desires;
  Let reason now guide your thoughts;
Since I’ve realized too late
  How much I paid for your affections;
With calm now, find your peace,
With calm, quiet your uncertainties;
For trust this, if you stay calm,
My body will obey your wishes.

So, lullaby my youth, my eyes,
  My desires, my possessions, and everything that was:
I can think of no more ways to delay;
  But welcome pain, let pleasure slip away.
With lullaby, now say goodbye;
With lullaby, your dreams will lie;
And when you wake with open eyes,
Remember then this lullaby.

Alexander Montgomerie. c. 1540-1610

48. The Night is Almost Over

HEY! now the day breaks;
The cheerful rooster crows;
Now it covers the fields
  Through Nature soon.
The thistle-cock calls
On lovers who lie:
Now the sky brightens;
  The night is nearly over.

The fields overflow
With daisies that grow,
Where lilies bloom low
  As red as the rose.
The turtle dove that’s true,
With notes that renew,
Her mate pursues:
  The night is almost gone.

Now hairdos with highlights
Conform to their kind;
They twist their strands
  On the ground where they grow.
Now ghosts, with hair,
Always pass in pairs;
Which clearly shows
  The night is almost gone.

The season shines
With a sweet scent;
Now Cupid drives
  Our hearts all
To Venus who wakes,
To think about our loves,
Then sing for their sake—
  'The night is nearly over!'

All brave knights
Against the day they fight
The shining breastplate
  To battle their foes.
The armored horse stomps
With courage, and struggles,
Then on the land shines:
  The night is almost gone.

The warriors on the fields
That strong man wields
With shining bright shields
  At Titan in the throne;
Stiff spears in rests
Over horses' crests
Are broken on their chests:
  The night is almost gone.

So tough are their hits,
Some swings, some sits,
And some necessarily shift
  On the ground while they groan.
Then the brave groom
  On horses that gallop
With swords tries:—
  The night is almost over.

shroudis] dress themselves. shawis] woods. skaillis] clears. gowans] daisies. low] flame. rone] rowan. pairty] partner, mate. tursis] carry. tyndis] antlers. grone] groan, bell. hurchonis] hedgehogs, 'urchins.' maikis] mates. fone] foes. stoned steed] stallion. crampis] prances. lampis] gallops. freikis] men, warriors. wight wapins] stout weapons. at Titan] over against Titan (the sun), or read 'as.' flittis] are cast. blonkis] white palfreys.

William Stevenson. 1530?-1575

49. Jolly Good Ale and Old

I can't eat much meat,
  My stomach isn't great;
But I definitely think I can drink
  With someone in a hood.
Even though I'm bare, don’t worry,
  I’m not feeling cold;
I fill my belly so much
  With good old ale, so bold.
      Back and sides go bare, go bare;
      Both feet and hands get cold;
      But, belly, may you have enough good ale,
      Whether it’s new or old.

I love nothing more than a toasty brown slice,
  And a crab roasting in the fire;
A little bread is all I need;
  I don't want too much bread, I'm not a fan.
No frost or snow, no wind, I bet,
  Can hurt me if I wanted;
I’m so wrapped up and completely covered
  In good ale and old.
      Back and sides go bare, go bare, &c.

And Tib, my wife, who has spent her life
  Loving to find good ale,
Very often drinks until you can see
  Tears rolling down her cheek:
Then she brings me the bowl
  Just like a maltworm would,
And says, 'Sweetheart, I enjoyed my share
  Of this jolly good ale and old.'
      Back and sides go bare, go bare, &c.

Now let them drink until they nod and wink,
  Just like good friends should do;
They won't miss out on the joy
  That good ale brings to you;
And all the poor souls who've drained their mugs
  Or have enjoyed them heartily,
God bless the lives of them and their wives,
  Whether they're young or old.
      Back and sides go bare, go bare;
      Both feet and hands are cold;
      But, belly, may you find good ale enough,
      Whether it’s new or old.

Anonymous. 16th Century (Scottish)

50. When Flora had crossed the Firth

QUHEN Flora had crossed the firth
  In May of every month queen;
When blackbirds and thrushes sing with joy
  Sweetly echoing in the shining groves;
  When all lovers were truly happy
And most eager for their desire,
  I heard a cheerful lover say
—'I love, but I don't have the courage to try!'

'The pains I go through every day are intense,
  But still I endure them with patience,
I'm so tied down by the love
  Only for my shining lady,
  Who, for her beauty, could be a queen,
Nature has so skillfully painted
  That sweet calmness:
—Whom I love, I dare not approach.

'She is so bright of face and color,
  I love only her, I believe;
No one can escape her love,
  That glances of that sweet charm;
  So lovely and clear are her two eyes
That she makes lovers more afraid
  Than the beautiful Helen of Greece ever did:
—To whom I love, I dare not approach!'

o'erfret] adorned. shawis] woods. sheen] beautiful. mene] mourn. hyd] skin. blinkis] gets a glimpse. dulce amene] gentle and pleasant one. mae] more.

Anonymous. 16th Century (Scottish)

Lustful May

O lively May, with Flora as queen!
The warm drops from Phoebus shine
  Preceding beams before the day:
By that Diana, things grow green
  Through the joy of this vibrant May.

Then Esperus, who is so bright,
Until woeful hearts cast their light,
  With banks that bloom on every hill;
And showers are released from their sight
  Through the joy of this cheerful May.

Birds are busy with every birth,
Rejoicing, making their joy known
  Very pleasantly on the branches,
Singing happily over fields and shores
  In the joy of this lively May.

All lovers who are cared for
Go to their ladies without delay
In the fresh mornings before the day,
And are ever more joyful
Through the happiness of this lively May.

sheen] bright. til] into. schouris] showers. bewis] boughs. birth] kind.

Anonymous. 16th Century (Scottish)

52. My Heart is High Above

My heart is soaring, and my body is filled with joy,
Because I’m in love just as I hoped I would be.
I love my lady deeply, and she loves me back,
I am her servant, and she is my queen;
She is my very heart, I am her hope and health,
She is my inner joy, I am her loyal lover;
I am her bond and thrall, she is at my command;
I am forever her man, both feet and hands;
Whatever pleases her, my body will fulfill;
Whatever her troubles, it makes my body ill.
My dear, my beautiful one, my tender beloved,
My love, my life alone, my desire and passion!
We exchange our kisses in each other's soft arms,
Breathless, we part, using our love often.
We mourn when bright day breaks, we lament that the night is short,
We curse the rooster that crows, that interrupts our fun.
I startle awake when I miss her at night,
And in my embrace, I find the pillow just right;
Then weariness comes over me like Morpheus himself,
Which causes me to rise and go to my sweet.
And then all the sorrow fades from my mind
That I ever had distress in matters of love.
Thus, I never rest, living such a vibrant life,
Whenever I choose to explore the depths of womanhood.
Lovers in pain, I pray God grants you such relief
As I have night and day, to protect you from death!
So always be true to your fair ladies,
And they will care for you as mine has cared for me.

wiss] wish. heill] health. invart] inward. venust] delightful. glowffin] blink on waking. oxter] armpit. a-forrow] before.

Numbers from Elizabethan Miscellanies & Song-books by Unnamed or Uncertain Authors. 1557

53. A Praise of His Lady Tottel's Miscellany ? by John Heywood

GIVE way, ladies, and get lost!
  Don't brag about yourselves at all!
Because coming here is someone
  Whose presence will embarrass you all.

The charm of her vibrant appearance
  Surpasses any jewel;
I desire no other books
  To read or gaze at.

In each of her two crystal eyes
  Smiles a naked boy;
It would be enough to fill your heart
  To see that lamp of joy.

I think Nature has lost the mold
  Where she shaped her form;
Or else I wonder if Nature could
  Create such a beautiful being.

She can truly be compared
  To the Phoenix type,
Whose kind has never been seen or heard,
  That any person can find.

In life, she's a pure Diana,
  In loyalty, a Penelope;
In speech and in action, unwavering.
  —What else do you want us to say?

If the whole world were searched so far,
  Who could find such a person?
Her beauty sparkles like a star
  In the chilly night.

Her rosy color comes and goes
  With such beautiful grace,
More reddish, too, than the rose,
  On her lively face.

At Bacchus' feast, no one will meet her,
  Not during any wild games,
Nor staring in the open street,
  Nor wandering around aimlessly.

The simple joy that she shows
  Is mixed with shyness;
She completely rejects all vice,
  And hates being lazy.

O Lord! it’s amazing to see
  How virtue can restore,
And adorn her with such honesty,
  Whom Nature made so beautiful.

She really stands out
  Compared to our women today,
Like a jeliflower does to a weed;
  And in a thousand more ways.

How can I get a piece
  Of this perfect tree?
—Because everything else is just chaff,
  That looks like good grain to me.

This gift alone I will give her;
  When death does what he can,
Her reputation will always live
  In the words of people.

Numbers from Elizabethan Miscellanies & Song-books by Unnamed or Uncertain Authors. 1557

54. To Her Sea-faring Lover Tottel's Miscellany ? by John Heywood

SHALL I continue to wait forever and get no closer?
And will I keep complaining to you when you won’t listen?
  Oh no! Please say no! Don’t stay so silent,
But open your strong mouth and say that you will come:
  So my heart can believe, even if I can’t see you,
That you will come—your word swears it—if you are really alive.
  The roaring huge waves threaten my poor soul,
And toss you up and down the sea in danger of being lost.
  Shouldn’t that make me fear that they’ve swallowed you?
—But since you are surely alive, you will come to me.
  Then I will go see your ship anchored on the shore,
And think and say, “Look, here he comes, and surely he will land!”
  And then I will lift my little hand to you,
And you’ll feel your heart at ease, seeing me standing there.
  And if you really do come (as Christ sends you to do!),
Those arms that miss you now will then embrace and hold you too:

Each vein to every joint the lively blood will flow
Which now, without your happy presence, looks pale and lifeless.
  But if you break your promise and don’t show up at all,
Just like the minutes ticking by, I’ll be calling for death:
  To satisfy your deceitful heart and free myself from pain,
I’d rather die faithful than live abandoned like this!

nearer.

Numbers from Elizabethan Miscellanies & Song-books by Unnamed or Uncertain Authors. 1589

55. The Faithless Shepherdess William Byrd's Songs of Various Natures

WHILE the sun with its hot rays
  Scorched the fruits in the valley and mountains,
Philon the shepherd, long forgotten,
  Sitting by a clear fountain
        In the shade of a green oak tree,
        Played this song on his flute:
Goodbye, Love, goodbye, untrue Love!
Untrue Love, untrue Love, goodbye, Love!
Your heart is fickle, easily swayed by new love.

As long as I was in your view
  I was your heart, your soul, your treasure;
And you cried and sighed
  Burning in flames beyond all measure:
        —Three days your love lasted for me,
        And then it was gone in another three!
Goodbye, Love, goodbye, unfaithful Love!
Unfaithful Love, unfaithful Love, goodbye, Love!
Your feelings are fleeting, quickly shifting to new love.

Another shepherd you noticed,
  Who quickly caught your heart;
Before long, your love jumped from me,
  And in no time, he took my place.
        Soon a third came to win your affection,
        And we were out while he was in.
Goodbye, Love, goodbye, unfaithful Love!
Unfaithful Love, unfaithful Love, goodbye, Love!
Your heart is fickle, easily swayed by new love.

Sure, you made me briefly happy
  That you changed your mind so quickly,
Before I had the time
  To choose you as my one true love:
        For all my love was already spent
        Two days before it even started.
Goodbye, Love, goodbye, untrue Love!
Untrue Love, untrue Love, goodbye, Love!
Your heart is fickle, easily swayed by new love.

Numbers from Elizabethan Miscellanies & Song-books by Unnamed or Uncertain Authors. 1599

56. Crabbed Age and Youth The Passionate Pilgrim ? by William Shakespeare

CRABBED Age and Youth
Cannot live together:
Youth is full of joy,
Age is full of worry;
Youth is like a summer morning,
Age is like winter weather;
Youth is bold like summer,
Age is empty like winter.
Youth is full of fun,
Age’s breath is short;
Youth is quick, Age is slow;
Youth is fiery and brave,
Age is weak and cold;
Youth is wild, and Age is controlled.
Age, I really dislike you;
Youth, I truly adore you;
Oh, my Love, my Love is young!
Age, I will resist you:
Oh, sweet shepherd, hurry up!
Because I think you’re taking too long.

Numbers from Elizabethan Miscellanies & Song-books by Unknown or Uncertain Authors. 1600

57. Phyllida's Love-Call England's Helicon

Phyllida. CORYDON, wake up, my Corydon!
  The sun is shining bright.
Corydon. Who's calling for Corydon?
  Who is it that I hear?
Phyl. It's Phyllida, your true love, calling you,
  So wake up, wake up,
    Get up and tend to your flock with me!
Cor. Phyllida, my true love, is it really her?
  I'm coming, I'm coming,
    I'm coming to tend my flock with you.

Phyl. Here are cherries ripe for my Corydon;
  Eat them for my sake.
Cor. Here’s my oaten pipe, my lovely one,
  Play something for you.
Phyl. Here are threads, my true love, fine as silk,
  To knit you, to knit you,
    A pair of stockings white as milk.
Cor. Here are reeds, my true love, fine and neat,
  To make you, to make you,
    A hat to keep you cool in the heat.

Phyl. I’ll pick some flowers, my Corydon,
  To put in your hat.
Cor. I’ll gather pears, my lovely one,
  To place in your lap.
Phyl. I’ll buy my true love some fancy garters,
  For Sundays, for Sundays,
    To wear around his long legs.
Cor. I’ll get my true love some yellow fabric,
  For Sundays, for Sundays,
    To wear around her slim waist.

Phyl. When my Corydon is sitting on a hill
  Making music—
Cor. When my beloved goes to her wheel,
  Singing happily—
Phyl. I truly think my love is the best
  For sweetness, for sweetness,
    Our Pan, that old Arcadian knight.
Cor. And I think my love stands out
  For clarity, for clarity,
    More than the nymphs who are so bright.

Phyl. If only my Corydon, my Corydon,
  Had been, unfortunately! her partner—
Cor. If only my beautiful one, my beautiful one,
  Had been in the plain of Ida—
Phyl. Cynthia turned down Endymion,
  Choosing, choosing,
    My Corydon to play with.
Cor. The Queen of Love could have been excused,
  Giving, giving,
    My Phyllida the golden ball.

Phyl. Look, here comes my mother, Corydon!
  Where should I run?
Cor. Go hide under that beech tree, my love,
  While she walks by.
Phyl. Tell her your true love wasn’t here;
  Remember, remember,
    Tomorrow is another day.
Cor. Don’t doubt me, my true love, don’t be afraid;
  Goodbye then, goodbye then!
    May heaven always protect our love!

silk.

Numbers from Elizabethan Miscellanies & Song-books by Unnamed or Uncertain Authors. 1600

58. A Peddler John Dowland's Second Book of Songs or Airs

Fabulous items for women! Affordable, stylish, bold, and fresh,
  Great deals—but cash won’t sway:
I maintain a pretty shop for the Fair to see—
  A beggar can still be generous in love.
Even if all my goods are junk, the heart is genuine,
                    The heart is genuine.

Great gifts are clever tricks, and keep looking for gifts;
  My small contributions are treasures from my thoughts:
It's a valuable gem to be straightforward;
  Sometimes we discover the finest pearls in a shell:—
From others, take a bunch, from me just a little!
                    From me just a little!

Numbers from Elizabethan Miscellanies & Song-books by Unnamed or Uncertain Authors. 16th Cent.

59. Hey nonny no! Christ Church MS.

Hey nonny no!
Men are fools who want to die!
Isn’t it great to dance and sing
When the bells of death start ringing?
Isn’t it wonderful to swim in wine,
And spin around on your toe,
And sing hey nonny no!
When the winds blow and the seas flow?
Hey nonny no!

Numbers from Elizabethan Miscellanies & Song-books by Unnamed or Uncertain Authors. 16th Cent.

60. Preparations Christ Church MS.

YET if His Majesty, our sovereign lord,
Should on his own decide
To invite himself as a friend,
And say, 'I'll be your guest tomorrow night,'
How should we get moving, rally and order
Everyone to work! 'Let no one be lazy!

Set up nice Spanish tables in the hall;
Make sure they’re all ready;
Leave enough space to eat
And make sure there’s plenty of food.
Make sure every sconce and candlestick is polished,
So that they can shine even without candles.

'Look at the setup: are the carpets laid out,
The dais above,
The cushions on the chairs,
And all the candles lit on the stairs?
Scent the rooms, and in any case
Let each person be in their spot!'

Thus, if a king were coming, we would do;
And it would be good reason too;
For it's a respectful thing
To show all honor to an earthly king,
And after all our effort and our expense,
If he is pleased, to think no work was wasted.

But when the King of Heaven arrives
Everything is in chaos;
We're lost in our sins,
Christ can’t find a room in the inn.
We treat Him like a stranger,
And, just like before, still put 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 joyful home,
  When will I come to you?
When will my sorrows end,
  When will I see your joys?

O happy harbor of the Saints!
  O sweet and lovely land!
In you, no sorrow can be found,
  No grief, no worry, no struggle.

There, desire and greed can’t exist,
  There’s no place for jealousy;
There’s no hunger, heat, or cold,
  But pleasure in every form.

Your walls are made of precious stones,
  Your fortifications are square diamonds;
Your gates are pure oriental pearls,
  Extremely rich and rare.

Your towers and your spires
  With rubies do shine;
Your very streets are paved with gold,
  Transcendently clear and fine.

Ah, my lovely home, Jerusalem,
  I wish I were there!
I wish my troubles were over,
  So I could see your joys!

Your gardens and your grand pathways
  Are always green;
There bloom such sweet and lovely flowers
  As are found nowhere else.

The streets are alive with a silver sound,
  The stream of Life flows through;
On every side, along its banks,
  The forest of Life thrives too.

There, trees always bear fruit,
  And always blossom;
There, the angels always sit,
  And always sing.

Our Lady sings the Magnificat
  With notes sweeter than any song;
And all the virgins join in,
  Sitting around her feet.

Jerusalem, my happy home,
  I wish I were there!
I wish my troubles were over,
  So I could see your joy!

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

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

LOVE lifted my hopes and showed me how to soar
Far from the ground, but not too high:
        Because true joy
        Exists in moderation,
        Which if people abandon,
They blindly chase after foolishness and find sorrow in their quest for pleasure.

But my foolish hopes, proud of their newfound freedom,
Eagerly tried to win the sun's beautiful light,
        Whose golden glow
        Made them so light
        That they aimed so high
That now they're all burned up and lost in sorrow.

And no one but Love felt sorry for their unfortunate fate,
Because Love knew their feelings were genuine;
        Even though fate was against them,
        And now they are lost in sorrow,
They live in sadness,
It was for the purest light of heaven for whose beautiful love they fell.

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

63. Madrigal Davison's Poetry Collection

MY love in her outfit shows her cleverness,
It suits her so well;
For every season she has outfits that fit,
  For Winter, Spring, and Summer.
    She doesn’t lack any beauty
      When all her clothes are on:
    But she is Beauty itself
      When all her clothes 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 sought grace
With prayers often repeated!
Yet still my love is unfulfilled:
Heart, let her go, for she won't change—
          Say, should she go?
          O no, no, no, no, no!
She is so beautiful, even if she has a heart of stone.

How often have my sighs shown my pain,
Where I suffer every day!
Yet she still brings it on:
Heart, let her go, because I can't take it—
          Should she leave?
          Oh no, no, no, no, no!
She caused the hurt, and she alone can heal it.

But will I still owe her true affection,
Which prayers, sighs, and tears reveal?
And will she still reject me?
Heart, let her go, if they can’t win me grace—
          Tell me, should she leave?
          Oh no, no, no, no, no!
She made me hers, and she will keep me.

But if the love that has been and still is burning me
Doesn't eventually return my love,
I'll push her out of my mind:
Heart, let her go, oh heart I pray, let her go!
          Should she go?
          Oh no, no, no, no, no!
Stuck 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 no more, sad fountains;
  Why do you flow so fast?
Look how the snowy mountains
  Are gently warmed by heaven's sun!
But my sun's heavenly eyes
    Don’t see your tears,
    That now lies sleeping
Softly, now softly lies
        Sleeping.

Sleep is a healing,
  A rest that brings peace;
Doesn't the sun rise smiling
  When it sets beautifully in the evening?
So rest now, rest, sad eyes!
    Don't melt in tears,
    While she quietly sleeps
Gently, now gently 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 cry,
And sadness was proud to be shown so
In those beautiful eyes that hold all perfect traits.
    Her face was full of sorrow;
But such sorrow (trust me) wins more hearts
Than joy can do with its charming features.

Sorrow was made beautiful,
And Passion insightful; Tears a lovely thing;
Silence beyond all words, a rare wisdom:
She turned her sighs into song,
And everything moved with such sweet sadness
That it made my heart both ache and love at the same time.

O fairer than anything else
the world can offer, don't start grieving too soon!
That's enough, that's enough: your happy face shines brighter:
    Tears break the heart, trust me.
O don’t try to be outstanding in sorrow,
Which only leads to the ruin of your beauty.

Numbers from Elizabethan Miscellanies & Song-books by Unnamed or Uncertain Authors. 1604

67. Sister, Awake! Thomas Bateson's First Set of English Madrigals

SISTER, wake up! Don't close your eyes!
  The day is revealing its light,
And the bright morning is rising
  Out of her bed of roses.

See the bright sun, the world's shining eye,
  Peeking in through our window:
Look how he blushes to see
  Us lazy girls sleeping!

Therefore wake up! Hurry, I say,
  And let’s, without stopping,
All in our cheerful green gowns
  Into the park to enjoy the May day!

Numbers from Elizabethan Miscellanies & Song-books by Unnamed or Uncertain Authors. 1605

68. Devotion Captain Tobias Hume's The First Part of Airs, &c.

FAIN would I change that note
To which fond Love hath charm'd me
Long, long to sing by rote,
Fancying that that harm'd me:
Yet when this thought doth come,
'Love is the perfect sum
    Of all delight,'
I have no other choice
Either for pen or voice
    To sing or write.

O Love! They really misjudge you
When they claim your sweetness is bitter,
Since your abundant fruit is
Nothing can be sweeter.
Beautiful place of joy and bliss,
Where the truest pleasure exists,
    I worship you:
I know you for what you are,
I give you my heart,
    And bow down before you.

Numbers from Elizabethan Miscellanies & Song-books by Unnamed or Uncertain Authors. 1607

69. Since I first saw your face Thomas Ford's Music of Sundry Kinds

SINCE the first time I saw your face, I decided to honor and praise you;
If I'm now looked down upon, I wish my heart had never known you.
What? I who loved and you who liked, are we going to argue?
No, no, no, my heart is committed and cannot untangle.

If I admire or praise you too much, you might forgive me for that;
Or if my hands had wandered just a bit, then you’d be right to leave
me.
I asked you to leave, but you told me to love; is this really the time to scold me?
No, no, no, I'll keep loving you no matter what happens to me.

The Sun, whose rays are the most glorious, doesn’t turn away any observer,
And your unmatched beauty has made my humble eyes more daring:
Where beauty shines and cleverness captivates and gestures of kindness tie me,
There, oh there! Wherever I go, I'll leave my heart behind!

Numbers from Elizabethan Miscellanies & Song-books by Unknown or Uncertain Authors. 1607

70. There is a lady who is sweet and kind Thomas Ford's Music of Sundry Kinds

THERE is a lady who's sweet and kind,
No other face has ever caught my mind;
I just saw her walking by,
And yet I'll love her until I die.

Her gestures, movements, and smiles,
Her wit, her voice steal my heart,
Steal my heart, I don’t know why,
And still, I’ll love her until I die.

Cupid has wings and flies around,
Her heart changes like the ground:
But whether she changes the earth or the sky,
I will love her until I die.

Numbers from Elizabethan Miscellanies & Song-books by Unnamed or Uncertain Authors. 1609

71. Don’t love me for my good looks John Wilbye's Second Set of Madrigals

LOVE me not for my good looks,
For my attractive eyes or face,
Nor for any external feature,
No, nor for my unwavering heart:
    For these may fade or become unpleasant,
      And then you and I will part:
So keep, then, a genuine woman's gaze,
And love me still but without knowing why—
    So you have the same reason still
      To adore me forever!

Numbers from Elizabethan Miscellanies & Song-books by Unnamed or Uncertain Authors. 1622

72. The Awakening John Attye's First Book of Airs

ONCE, the loving Silvy
Said to her shepherd, 'Sweetheart, how are you?
Kiss me this once and then goodbye,
                    My sweetest love!
Kiss me this once and then goodbye,
For now the morning is coming near.'

With that, her beautiful chest exposed,
Opening her lips, releasing sweet scents,
She said, 'Now kiss me and then leave,
                    My sweetest dear!
Kiss me just this once and then be off,
For morning is approaching now.'

With that, the shepherd woke up from his sleep,
And seeing where the day was starting to break,
He said, 'Now take care of my soul,
                    My sweetest dear!
Kiss me and take care of my soul,
Since I have to go, now that day is approaching.'

Nicholas Breton, 1542-1626

73. Phillida & Coridon

In the cheerful month of May,
In the morning at daybreak,
I walked by the edge of the woods
When May was at its peak:
There I saw all alone
Phillida and Coridon.
There was quite a fuss, believe me!
He wanted to love and she didn't.
She said, no man was ever true;
He said, none was untrue to you.
He said he had loved her for a long time;
She said, love shouldn't be wronged.
Coridon tried to kiss her then;
She said, girls shouldn't kiss boys
Until they were committed for good;
Then she made the shepherd call
All the heavens to witness the truth
That no one loved a truer guy.
So, with many sweet promises,
Yes and no, and loyalty and trust,
Such as simple shepherds say
When they don’t want to misuse Love,
Love, which had been long misled,
Was sweetly concluded with kisses;
And Phillida, with bright garlands,
Was declared the Lady of the May.

Nicholas Breton (c. 1542-1626)