Come, sorrow, come, come, Sweet scale By the which we ascend We ascend to the heavenly place, Where Virtue sitteth smiling To see how some look pale With fear to behold With fear to behold thy ill-favored face, Vain shows their sense beguiling. For mirth hath no assurance Nor warranty of durance. Hence, pleasures, fly, sweet bait, On the which they may justly be said to be fools That surfeit by much tasting; Like thieves you lie in wait, Most subtly how to prepare silly souls For sorrows everlasting. Wise griefs have joyful turnings, Nice pleasures end in mournings.
- by Anonymous / Unidentified Author [author's text not yet checked against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)
- by Robert Jones (fl. 1597-1615), "Come sorrows", published 1601 [voice and lute], from the collection Second Book of Songs and Airs [text verified 1 time]
Researcher for this text: Ross Klatte
This text was added to the website: 2014-07-10
Line count: 19
Word count: 99