Eight Four-part Songs

Phillis, a herd maid dainty,
Who hath no peer for beauty,
By Thyrsis was requested
To hear the wrongs wherewith his heart was wrested.
But she Diana served,
And would not hear how love poor lovers sterved.
 
Phillis more white than lilies,
More fair than Amaryllis,
More cold than crystal fountain,
More hard than craggy rock or stony mountain,
O tiger fierce and spiteful,
Why hatest thou love, sith love is so delightful.

O Love, O Love, they wrong thee much 
That say thy sweet is bitter, bitter. 
When thy rich fruit is such, 
As nothing can be sweeter, 
Sweeter, Fair house of joy and bliss; 
Where truest pleasure is, I do adore, 
I do adore, I do adore thee, I do adore thee; 
I know thee what thou art, 
I serve thee with my heart, 
And fall before thee, and fall before thee 
and fall before thee; I know thee, 
I serve thee, and fall before thee. 
I know thee, I serve thee, and fall before thee, 
and fall before thee.

At her fair hands how have I grace entreated
With prayers oft repeated!
Yet still my love is thwarted:
Heart, let her go, for she'll not be converted
Say, shall she go? O no, no, no!
She is most fair, though she be marble-hearted.

How often have my sighs declared my anguish,
Wherein I daily languish!
Yet still she doth procure it:
Heart, let her go, for I cannot endure it
Say, shall she go? O no, no, no!
She gave the wound, and she alone must cure it.

But if the love that hath and still doth burn me
No love at length return me,
Out of my thoughts I'll set her:
Heart, let her go, O heart, I pray thee, let her!
Say, shall she go? O no, no, no!
Fix'd in the heart, how can the heart forget her?

Home of my heart, when wilt thou ope
Thy silent doors to let me in?
What! not one glimpse to quicken hope
Of all that I aspire to win?

So near, and yet so oft denied!
The roses on my trellis throw
Their heedless scent from side to side,
Yet will not whisper what they know.

The yellow moon that hangs and peers
Amid the icy horns on high
Leans to the list'ning earth, yet fears
To tell the secret of the sky.

O pines that whisper in the wind,
When ling'ring herds from pasture come,
Breathe somewhat of your steadfast mind,
The hour is yours, yet ye are dumb.

Sweet answering eyes, you too have learned
The secret that you will not tell.
I should have known it, but you turned
That moment, and the lashes fell.

Home of my heart, why stand so cold
And silent? there is mirth within:
The sun sinks low, the day is old,
O let the baffled wand'rer in!

You gentle nymphs that on the meadows play, 
and oft relate the love of shepherds young; 
Come, sit you down, for if you please to stay, 
now you may hear an uncouth passion sung.
A youth there is, and I am that poor groom 
that's fall'n in love, and cannot tell with whom. 

Come pretty wag and sing, 
The suns all ripening wing, 
fans up the wanton spring, 
O let us both, let's both goe chant it, 
O how fresh May doth flant it.

Ye thrilled me once, ye mournful strains
Ye anthems of plaintive woe,
My spirit was sad when I was young;
Ah, sorrowful long-ago!
But since I have found the beauty of joy
I have done with proud dismay:
For howsoe'er man hug his care
The best of his art is gay.
 
And yet if voices of fancy's choir
Again in mine hear awake
Your old lament, 'tis dear to me still,
Nor all form memory's sake:
'This like the dirge of sorrow dead,
Whose tears are wiped away;
Or drops of the shower when rain is o'er,
That jewel the brightened day.

Better music ne'er was known
Than a pair of hearts in one.
Let each other that hath been
Troubled with the gall or spleen
Learn of us to keep his brow
Smooth and plain as ours are now!
Sing, though before the hour of dying
He shall rise and then be crying:
Heigh-ho! Heigh-ho! 'Tis nought but mirth
That keeps his body from the earth.