Seven Elizabethan Lyrics

Weep you no more, sad fountains;
  What need you flow so fast?
Look how the snowy mountains
  Heaven's sun doth gently waste!
    But my sun's heavenly eyes
      View not your weeping,
      That now lies sleeping,
    Softly now, softly lies
        Sleeping.

Sleep is a reconciling,
  A rest that peace begets;
Doth not the sun rise smiling
  When fair at even he sets?
    Rest you, then, rest, sad eyes!
      Melt not in weeping,
      While she lies sleeping,
    Softly now, softly lies
        Sleeping.

Come, O come, my life's delight!
  Let me not in languor pine:
Love loves no delay, thy sight
  The more enjoyed, the more divine.
O come, and take from me
The pain of being deprived of thee.

Thou all sweetness dost enclose,
  Like a little world of bliss:
Beauty guards thy looks: the rose
  In them pure and eternal is.
Come then! and make thy flight
As swift to me as heavenly light!

Lady, when I behold the roses sprouting,
Which clad in damask mantles deck the arbours,
And then behold your lips where sweet love harbours,
My eyes present me with a double doubting;
For, viewing both alike, hardly my mind supposes
Whether the roses be your lips or your lips the roses.

While that the sun with his beams hot
Scorchèd the fruits in vale and mountain,
Philon, the shepherd, late forgot,
Sitting beside a crystal fountain,
  In shadow of a green oak tree,
  Upon his pipe this song play'd he:
Adieu, Love, adieu, Love, untrue Love,
Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu, Love!
Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.

So long as I was in your sight
I was your heart, your soul, your treasure;
And evermore you sobb'd and sigh'd
Burning in flames beyond all measure:
  -- Three days endured your love to me
  And it was lost in other three!
Adieu, Love, adieu, Love, untrue Love,
Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu, Love!
Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.

 ... 

  Brown is my Love, but graceful:
  And each renowned whiteness,
Matched with her lovely brown loseth its brightness.

  Fair is my Love, but scornful,
  Yet have I seen despisèd
Dainty white lilies, and sad flowers well prizèd.

 Slow, slow, fresh fount, keep time with my salt tears:
    Yet slower, yet; O faintly, gentle springs:
 List to the heavy part the music bears,
    Woe weeps out her division when she sings.
     Droop herbs and flowers,
     Fall grief in showers,
     Our beauties are not ours;
      Or I could still
 Like melting snow upon some craggy hill,
     Drop, drop, drop, drop,
    Since nature's pride is, now, a withered daffodil.

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 wrong thee much
That say thy sweet is bitter,
When thy rich fruit is such
As nothing can be sweeter.

Fair house of joy and bliss,
Where truest pleasure is,
I do adore thee:
I know thee what thou art,
I serve thee with my heart,
And fall before thee.