Four Love Songs

Balow, lalow! Balow! lalow!
Balow, my babe, lie still and sleep!
It grieves me sore to see thee weep.
Wouldst thou be quiet I'se be glad,
Thy mourning makes my sorrow sad:
Balow my boy, thy mother's joy,
Thy father breeds me great annoy
Balow, lalow!

When he began to court my love,
And with his sugred words me move,
His faining false and flattering cheer
To me that time did not appear;
But now I see most cruelly
He cares not for my babe nor me
Balow, lalow!

Lie still my darling sleep a while
and when thou wak'st thou'le surely smile;
But smile not as thy father did,
To cozen maids -- nay, God forbid!
But yet I fear thou wilt go near
Thy father's heart and face to bear
Balow, lalow!

I cannot choose but ever will
Be loving to thy father still;
Where'er he go, where'er he ride,
my love with him doth still abide;
In weal or woe, where'er he go
My heart shall ne'er depart him fro,
Ah!

Over the mountains and over the waves,
Under the fountains and under the graves;
Under floods that are deepest which Neptune obey,
Over rocks that are steepest, Love will find out the way.

When there is no place for the glowworm to lie,
When there is no space for receipt of a fly;
When the midge dares not venture lest herself fast she lay,
If love come, he will enter and will find out the way.

You may esteem him a child for his might;
Or you may deem him a cad for his flight;
She whom love honors be concealed from the day,
Set a thousand guards on her, Love will find out the way.

Some think to lose him if he is confined;
Some do suppose him, poor heart! to be blind;
But if ne'er close ye wall him, do the best that ye may,
Blind love if ye so call him, he will find out the way.

If earth should part him he would gallop it o'er;
If seas should thwart him, he would swim to the shore;
should his Love be a swallow, through the bright air to stray,
Love will bend wings to follow and will find out the way.

There is no striving to cross his intent;
There's no contriving his plots to prevent;
Once the message doth greet him his true love doth stay,
If death should come and meet him, Love will find out the way!

Love's a lovely lad,
His bringing up is beauty
Who loves him not is mad;
For I mmust pay him duty,
Now I am sad.

Hail to those sweet eyes
That shine celestial wonder;
From thence do flames arise
Burns my poor heart asunder;
Now it dies.

Cupid sets a crown
On those lovely tresses;
Not a frown
what he so sweetly dresses.
I'll sit down.

Whither shall I go
To escape away from folly?
For now there's love I know,
or else 'tis melancholy.
Yonder lies the snow

But my poor heart can't melt it;
Love shoots from his bow,
And my poor heart hath felt it.
Now I am sad.
Love's a lovely lad.

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.