English Lyrics, First Set

My true love hath my heart, and I have his,
  By just exchange one [for another]1 given:
I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss,
  There never was a better bargain driven:
      My true love hath my heart, and I have his.
 
His heart in me keeps him and me in one,
  My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides:
He loves my heart, for once it was his own,
  I cherish his because in me it bides:
      My true love hath my heart, and I have his.

Good-night? ah! no; the hour is ill
Which severs those it should unite;
Let us remain together still,
Then it will be good night.

How can I call the lone night good,
Though thy sweet wishes wing its flight?
Be it not said, thought, understood --
Then it will be -- good night.

To hearts which near each other move
From evening close to morning light,
The night is good; because, my love,
They never say good-night. 

Where shall the lover rest,
  Whom the fates sever
From his true maiden's breast,
  Parted for ever?
Where, through groves deep and high,
  Sounds the far billow,
Where early violets die,
  Under the willow.

CHORUS.
 Eleu loro, &c. Soft shall be his pillow.

There, through the summer day,
  Cool streams are laving;
There, while the tempests sway,
  Scarce are boughs waving;
There, thy rest shalt thou take,
  Parted for ever,
Never again to wake,
  Never, O never!

CHORUS.
 Eleu loro, &c. Never, O never!

Where shall the traitor rest,
  He the deceiver,
Who could win maiden's breast,
  Ruin, and leave her ?
In the lost battle,
  Borne down by the flying,
Where ingles wars rattle,
  With groans of the dying;

CHORUS.
 Eleu loro, &c. Soft shall be his pillow.

Her wing shall the eagle flap,
  O'er the false hearted,
This warm blood the wolf shall lap,
  E're life be parted.
Shame and dishonor sit
  By his grave ever,
Blessing shall hallow it
  Never, O never !

CHORUS.
 Eleu loro, &c. Soft shall be his pillow.

Desdemona
 The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree,
 Sing all a green willow:
 Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee,
 Sing willow, willow, willow:
 The fresh streams ran by her, and murmur'd her moans;
 Sing willow, willow, willow;
 Her salt tears fell from her, and soften'd the stones;

 [Lay by these:--]1

 Sing willow, willow, willow;

 [Prithee, hie thee; he'll come anon:--]1

 Sing all a green willow [must be my garland.]2

 [Sing all a green willow;]3

 [Let nobody blame him; his scorn I approve,-]4

 [Nay, that's not next.--Hark! who is't that knocks? 

Emilia:
 It's the wind.]1

Desdemona:
 [Sing willow, willow, willow,]3
 [I call'd my love false love; but what said he then? 
 Sing willow, willow, willow:
 If I court moe women, you'll couch with moe men!]4
 [Sing willow, willow, willow,]3