A Booke of Ayres = A Book of Airs

My sweetest Lesbia, let vs liue and loue,
And though the sager sort our deedes reproue,
Let vs not way them : heau'ns great lampes doe diue
Into their west, and straight againe reuiue,
But soone as once set is our little light,
Then must we sleepe one euer-during night.

If all would lead their liues in loue like mee,
Then bloudie swords and armour should not be,
No drum nor trumpet peaceful sleepes should moue,
Vnles alar'me came from the campe of loue :
But fooles do liue, and wast their little light,
And seeke with paine their euer-during night.

When timely death my life and fortune ends,
Let not my hearse be vext with mourning friends,
But let all louers rich in triumph come,
And with sweet pastimes grace my happie tombe;
And Lesbia close vp thou my little light,
And crown with loue my euer-during night.

Though you are young and I am old,
Though your veins hot and my blood cold,
Though youth is moist and age is dry,
Yet embers live when flames do die.

The tender graft is eas'ly broke,
But who shall shake the sturdy oak?
You are more fresh and fair than I,
Yet stubs do live when flower do die.

Thou, that thy youth dost vainly boast,
Know, buds are soonest nipped with frost.
Think that thy fortune still doth cry:
Thou fool, to-morrow thou must die.

I care not for these Ladies
That must be wooed and prayed,
Give me kind Amarillis
The wanton country maid;
Nature art disdaineth,
Her beauty is her own;
   For when we court and kiss,
   She cries, forsooth, let go;
   But when we come where comfort is,
   She never will say no.

If I love Amarillis,
She gives me fruit and flowers,
But if we love these Ladies,
We must give golden showers;
Give them gold that sell love,
Give me the nut brown lass,
   For when we court and kiss,
   She cries, forsooth, let go;
   But when we come where comfort is,
   She never will say no.

These ladies must have pillows,
And beds by strangers wrought,
Give me a Bower of willows,
Of moss and leaves unbought,
And fresh Amarillis,
With milk and honey fed,
   For when we court and kiss,
   She cries, forsooth, let go;
   But when we come where comfort is,
   She never will say no.

Followe thy faire sunne unhappy shaddowe
Though thou be blacke as night
And she made all of light,
Yet follow thy faire sunne unhappie shaddowe.

Follow her whose light thy light depriveth,
Though here thou liv'st disgrac't,
And she in heaven is plac't,
Yer lollow her whose light the world reviveth.

Follow those pure beames whose beautie burneth
That so have scorched thee,
As thou still blacke must bee,
Til her kind beames thy black to brightness turneth.

Follow her while yet her glorie shineth:
There comes a luckless night,
That will dim all light,
And this the black unhappie shade devineth.

Follow still since so thy fates ordained,
The sunne must have his shade,
Till both at once do fade,
The sun still approv'd the shadow still disdained.

My loue hath vowd hee will forsake mee,
And I am alreadie sped.
Far other promise he did make me
When he had my maidenhead.
If such danger be in playing,
And sport must to earnest turne,
I will go no more a-maying.

Had I foreseene what is ensued,
And what now with paine I proue,
Vnhappie then I had eschewed
This vnkind euent of loue :
Maides foreknow their own vndooing,
But feare naught till all is done,
When a man alone is wooing.

Dissembling wretch, to gaine thy pleasure,
What didst thou not vow and sweare?
So didst thou rob me of the treasure,
Which so long I held so deare,
Now thou prou'st to me a stranger,
Such is the vile guise of men
When a woman is in danger.

That hart is neerest to misfortune
That will trust a fained toong,
When flattring men our loues importune,
They entend vs deepest wrong,
If this shame of loues betraying
But this once I cleanely shun,
I will go no more a-maying.

When to her lute Corrina sings,
Her voice revives the leaden strings,
And doth in highest notes appear,
As any challeng'd echo clear;
But when she doth of mourning speak,
Even with her sighs the strings do break.

And, as her lute doth live or die,
Led by her passion, so must I:
For when of pleasure she doth sing,
My thoughts enjoy a sudden spring;
But if she doth of sorrow speak,
Even from my heart the strings do break.

Turne backe you wanton flyer,
And answere my desire
Wth mutuall greeting,
Yet bende a little neerer,
True beauty stil shines clerer
In closer meeting,
Harts with harts delighted
Should strive to be united,
Either others armes with armes enchayning,
Harts with a thought, rosie lips
With a kisse still entertaining.

What harvest halfe so sweete is
As still so reape the kisses
Growne ripe in sowing,
And straight to be receiver,
Of that which thou art giver,
Rich in bestowing.
There's no strickt observing,
Of times, or seasons changing,
There is ever one fresh spring abiding,
Then what we sow woth our lips
Let us reape loves gaines deviding.

It fell on a sommers day,
While sweete Bessie sleeping laie
In her bowre, on her bed,
Light with curtaines shadowed,
Iamy came: shee him spies,
Opning halfe her heauie eyes.

Iamy stole in through the dore,
She lay slumbring as before;
Softly to her he drew neere,
She heard him, yet would not heare,
Bessie vow'd not to speake,
He resolu'd that dumpe to breake.

First a soft kisse he doth take,
She lay still, and would not wake;
Then his hands learn'd to woo,
She dreamp't not what he would doo,
But still slept, while he smild
To see loue by sleepe beguild.

Iamy then began to play,
Bessie as one buried lay,
Gladly still through this sleight
Deceiu'd in her owne deceit,
And since this traunce begoon,
She sleepes eu'rie afternoone.

The cypress curtain of the night is spread,
And over all a silent dew is cast.
The weaker cares by sleep are conquered.
But I alone with hideous grief aghast,
In spite of Morpheus' charms a watch do keep
Over mine eyes to banish careless sleep.

Yet oft my ttrembling eyes through faintness close;
And then the map of Hell before me stands,
Which ghosts do see and I am one of those
Ordaines to pine in sorrow's endless bands,
Since from my wretched soul all hopes are reft,
And now no cause of life to me is left.

Grief, sieze my soul for that will still endure
When my crazed body is consumed and gone;
Bear it to thy black den, there keep it sure,
Where thou ten thousand souls dost tire upon:
Yet all do not afford such food to thee
All this poor one, the worser part of me.

Follow your saint follow with accents sweet,
Haste you sad noates fall at her flying feete,
There wrapt in cloud of sorrow pitie move,
And tell the ravisher of my soule, I perish for her love.
But if she scorns my never ceasing paine,
Then burst with sighing in her sight, and nere returne againe.

All that I soong still to her praise did tend,
Still she was first, still she my sings did end,
Yet she my love, and Musicke both does flie,
The Musicke that her Eccho is, and bauties simpathies;
Then let my Noates pursue her scornfull flight,
It shall suffice, that thex were breath'd and dyed for her delight.

Fair, if you expect admiring,
Sweet, if you provoke desiring,
Grace dear love with kind requiting.
Fond, but if thy sight be blindness,
False, if thou affect unkindness,
Fly both love and love's delighting.
Then when hope is lost and love is scorned
I'll bury my desires
And quench the fires
That ever yet in vain have burned.

Fates, if you rule lovers' fortune,
Stars, if men your pow'rs importune,
Yield relief by your relenting.
Time, if Sorrow be not endless,
Hope made vain, and Pity friendless,
Help to ease my long lamenting.
But if griefs remain still unredressed
I'll fly to her again and sue
For pity to renew
My hopes distressed.

Thou art not fair for all thy red and white,
For all those rosy ornaments in thee.
Thou art not sweet nor made of mere delight,
Nor fair, nor sweet unless thou pity me.
I will not, I will not smooth thy fancy,
Thou shalt prove that beauty is no beauty without love.

Yet love not me, nor seek thou to allure
My thoughts with beauty, were it now divine;
Thy smiles and kisses I cannot endure,
I'll not be wrapped up in those arms of thine.
Now show if thou be a woman right,
Embrace, and kiss, and love me in despite.

See where she flies enrag'd from me,
View her when she intends despite,
The winde is not more swift then shee,
Her furie mou'd such terror makes,
As to a fearfull guiltie sprite,
The voice of heau'ns huge thunder cracks :
But when her appeased minde yeelds to delight,
All her thoughts are made of ioies,
Millions of delights inuenting ;
Other pleasures are but toies
To her beauties sweete contenting.

My fortune hangs vpon her brow,
For as she smiles or frownes on mee,
So must my blowne affections bow ;
And her proude thoughts too well do find
With what vnequal tyrannie,
Her beauties doe command my mind.
Though, when her sad planet raignes,
Froward she bee,
She alone can pleasure moue,
And displeasing sorrow banish.
May I but still hold her loue,
Let all other comforts vanish.

Blame not my cheeks, though pale with loue they be ;
The kindly heate vnto my heart is flowne,
To cherish it that is dismaid by thee,
Who art so cruell and vnsteedfast growne :
For nature, cald for by distressed harts,
Neglects and quite forsakes the outward partes.

But they whose cheekes with careles blood are stain'd,
Nurse not one sparke of loue within their harts,
And, when they woe, they speake with passion fain'd,
For their fat loue lyes in their outward parts :                     10
But in their brests, where loue his court should hold,
Poore Cupid sits and blowes his nailes for cold.

When the God of merrie loue
As yet in his cradle lay,
Thus his wither'd nurse did say :
Thou a wanton boy wilt proue
To deceiue the powers aboue ;
For by thy continuall smiling
I see thy power of beguiling.

Therewith she the babe did kisse ;
When a sodaine fire out came
From those burning lips of his,
That did her with loue enflame,
But none would regard the same,
So that, to her daie of dying,
The old wretch liu'd euer crying.

Mistris, since you so much desire
To know the place of Cupids fire,
In your faire shrine that flame doth rest,
Yet neuer harbourd in your brest,
It bides not in your lips so sweete,
Nor where the rose and lillies meete
But a little higher, but a little higher ;
There, there, O there lies Cupids fire.

Euen in those starrie pearcing eyes,
There Cupids sacred fire lyes.
Those eyes I striue not to enioy,
For they haue power to destroy.
Nor woe I for a smile, or kisse,
So meanely triumphs not my blisse,
But a little highter, but a little higher,   
I climbe to crowne my chast desire.

Your faire lookes enflame my desire :
    Quench it againe with loue.
Stay, O striue not still to retire :
    Doe not in humane proue.
If loue may perswade,
    Loues pleasures, deere, denie not.
Heere is a silent grouie shade ;
    O tarrie then, and flie not.

Haue I seaz'd my heauenly delight
    In this vnhaunted groue ?
Time shall now her furie requite
    With the reuenge of loue.
Then come, sweetest, come,
    My lips with kisses gracing ;
Here let vs harbour all alone,
    Die, die in sweete embracing.

Will you now so timely depart,
    And not returne againe ?
Your sight lends such life to my hart
    That to depart is paine.
Feare yeelds no delay,
    Securenes helpeth pleasure :
Then, till the time giues safer stay,
    O farewell, my liues treasure.

The man of life vpright,
    Whose guiltlesse hart is free
From all dishonest deedes,
    Or thought of vanitie,

The man whose silent dayes,
    In harmeles ioys are spent,
Whom hopes cannot delude,
    Nor sorrow discontent ;

That man needs neither towers
    Nor armour for defence,
Nor secret vautes to flie
    From thunders violence.

Hee onely can behold
    With vnafrighted eyes
The horrours of the deepe
    And terrours of the Skies.

Thus, scorning all the cares
    That fate, or fortune brings,
He makes the heau'n his booke,
    His wisedome heeu'nly things,

Good thoughts his onely friendes,
    His wealth a well-spent age,
The earth his sober Inne
    And quiet Pilgrimage.

Harke all you ladies that do sleep,
The fairy Queene Proserpina
Bids you awake and pitie them that weep,
You may doe in the darke
What the day doth forbid,
Feare not the dogs that barke
Night will have all hid.

But if you let your lovers mone,
The fairie Queene Proserpina
Will send abroad her Fairies ev'ry one,
That shall pitch lack and blew,
Your white hands, and faire armens,
That do not kindly rue
Your Paramours harmes.

In Myrtle Arbours on the downes,
The fairy Queene Proserpina,
This night by moone-shine leading merrie rounds
Holds a watch with sweet love,
Downe the dale, up the hill,
No plaints or groanes may move
their holy vigill.

All you that will hold watch with love,
The fairy Queene Proserpina,
Will make your fairer than Diones dove,
Rosese red, Lilies white,
And the cleare cheekes alight,
Love will adorne you.

All you that love, or lov'd before,
The fairy Queene Proserpina,
Bids you encrease that loving humour more,
They that yet have not fed
On delight amorous
She vowes that they shall lead
Apes in Avernus.

When thou must home to shades of under ground,
And there arriv'd a newe admired guest,
The beauteous sprits do ingirt thee round,
White Iope, blith Hellen, and the rest,
To heare the stories of thy finisht love,
From that smoothe toong whose musicke hall can move.

Then wilt thou speake of banqueting delights,
Of masks and revels which sweete youth did make,
Of  Turnies and great challanges of knights,
And all these triumphes for thy beauties sake,
When thou hast told these honours done to thee,
Then tell, O tell how thou didst murther me.

Come, let vs sound with melody, the praises
Of the kings king, th' omnipotent creator,
Author of number, that hath all the world in
                              Harmonie framed.

Heau'n is His throne perpetually shining,
His deuine power and glorie, thence he thunders,
One in all, and all still in one abiding,
                              Both Father and Sonne.

O sacred sprite, inuisible, eternall
Eu'ry where, yet vnlimited, that all things
Canst in one moment penetrate, reuiue me,
                              O holy Spirit.

Rescue, O rescue me from earthly darknes,
Banish hence all these elementall obiects,
guide my soule that thirsts to the liuely Fountaine
                              Of thy deuinenes.

Cleanse my soule, O God, thy bespotted Image,
Altered with sinne so that heau'nly purenes
Cannot acknowledge me, but in thy mercies,
                              O Father of grace.

But when once thy beames do remoue my darknes,
O then I'le shine forth as an Angell of light,
And record, with more than an earthly voice, thy
                              Infinite honours.

When Laura smiles her sight reuiues both night and day:
The earth and heauen viewes with delight her wanton play :
And her speech with euer-flowing musicke doth repaire
The cruell wounds of sorrow and vntam'd despaire.

The sprites that remaine in fleeting aire
Affect for pastime to vntwine her tressed haire,
And the birds thinke sweete Aurora, mornings Queene doth shine
From her bright sphere, when Laura shewes her lookes deuine.

Dianas eyes are not adorn'd with greater power
Then Lauras, when she lists awhile for sport to loure :
But when she her eyes encloseth, blindnes doth appeare
The chiefest grace of beautie, sweetelie seated there.

Loue hath no fire but what he steales from her bright eyes ;
Time hath no power but that which in her pleasure lyes :
For she with her deuine beauties all the world subdues,
And fils with heau'nly spirits my humble muse.

What is a day, what is a yeere?
    Of vaine delight and pleasure?
Like to a dreame it endlesse dies,
    And from vs like a vapour flies :
And this is all the fruit that we finde,
    Which glorie in worldly treasure.

He that will hope for true delight,
    With vertue must be graced ;
Sweete follie yeelds a bitter tast,
    Which euer will appeare at last :
But if we still in vertue delight,
    Our soules are in heauen placed.

What then is loue but mourning?
    What desire, but a selfe-burning?
Till shee that hates doth loue returne,
Thus will I mourne, thus will I sing,
    Come away, come away, my darling.

Beautie is but a blooming,
    Youth in his glorie entombing ;
Time hath a while, which none can stay :
Then come away, while thus I sing,
    Come away, come away, my darling.

Sommer in winter fadeth ;
    Gloomie night heaun'ly light shadeth :
Like to the morne are Venus flowers ;
Such are her howers : then will I sing,
    Come away, come away, my darling.