Lyrics from the Song-books of the Elizabethan AgeArthur Henry Bullen Lawrence and Bullen, 1891 - 233 páginas |
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LYRICS FROM THE SONG-BKS OF TH A. H. (Arthur Henry) 1857-1920 Bullen Sin vista previa disponible - 2016 |
Lyrics from the Song-Books of the Elizabethan Age A. h. 1857-1920 Bullen Sin vista previa disponible - 2015 |
Términos y frases comunes
adieu Airs circ ALBERTUS MORTON Baise moy Bateson beauty beauty's Book of Airs Book of Songs Byrd Campion and Rosseter CAMPION and ROSSETER'S CAMPION'S Fourth Book CAMPION's Third Book CAMPION'S Two Books Cherry ripe Christ Church Cupid Danyel delight desire disdain Dowland English Madrigals eyes fair fairy-queen faith fear fire grace grief hath heart heaven heavenly hope JOHN DOWLAND'S kiss Lady light live looks love's lovers maid merry mind never night pleasure poem prove Robert Dowland ROBERT JONES ROSSETER'S Book Samuel Daniel Second Book Set of English Set of Madrigals sighs sing sleep smiles song-book Songs and Airs Songs of Sundry Songs or Airs Sonnets sorrow soul Sundry Natures sweet love tears thee thine THOMAS CAMPION'S Fourth THOMAS CAMPION's Third THOMAS GREAVES THOMAS MORLEY'S THOMAS WEELKES thoughts true Ultimum Vale untrue Love weep Wilbye WILLIAM BYRD'S Psalms wilt women
Pasajes populares
Página 194 - My prime of youth is but a frost of cares; My feast of joy is but a dish of pain; My crop of corn is but a field of tares; And all my good is but vain hope of gain. The day is fled, and yet I saw no sun; And now I live, and now my life is done.
Página 180 - PHE man of life upright, -»- Whose guiltless heart is free From all dishonest deeds, Or thought of vanity ; The man whose silent days In harmless joys are spent, Whom hopes cannot delude Nor sorrow discontent : That man needs neither towers Nor...
Página 76 - 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.
Página 187 - Yet if His Majesty our sovereign lord Should of his own accord Friendly himself invite, And say "I'll be your guest to-morrow night," How should we stir ourselves, call and command All hands to work! "Let no man idle stand. "Set me fine Spanish tables in the hall, See they be fitted all; Let there be room to eat, And order taken that there want no meat. See every sconce and candlestick made bright, That without tapers they may give a light. "Look to the presence: are the carpets spread, The dazie...
Página xxi - WHEN thou must home to shades of underground. And there arrived, a new admired guest, The beauteous spirits do engirt thee round. White lope, blithe Helen, and the rest, To hear the stories of thy finished love From that smooth tongue whose music hell can move ; Then wilt thou speak of banqueting delights, Of masques and revels which sweet youth did make, Of tourneys and great challenges of knights, And all these triumphs for thy beauty's sake : When thou hast told these honours done to thee, Then...
Página 140 - KIND are her answers, But her performance keeps no day ; Breaks time, as dancers From their own music when they stray. All her free favours and smooth words, Wing my hopes in vain. O did ever voice so sweet but only feign ? Can true love yield such delay, Converting joy to pain ? Lost is our freedom, When we submit to women so : Why do we need them When, in their best they work our woe ? There is no wisdom Can alter ends, by Fate prefixt.
Página 102 - Heaven's great lamps do dive Into their west, and straight again revive ; But, soon as once set is our little light, Then must we sleep one ever-during night.
Página 45 - THRICE toss these oaken ashes in the air. Thrice sit thou mute in this enchanted chair. Then thrice three times tie up this true love's knot, And murmur soft : She will, or she will not. Go burn these poisonous weeds in yon blue fire, These screech-owl's feathers and this prickling briar, This cypress gathered at a dead man's grave, That all thy fears and cares an end may have. Then come, you fairies, dance with me a round ; Melt her hard heart with your melodious sound.
Página 14 - FOLLOW thy fair sun, unhappy shadow. Though thou be black as night, And she made all of light, Yet follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow.
Página 157 - Ev'n with her sighs the strings do break. And as her lute doth live or die, Led by her passion, so must I: For when of pleasure she doth sing, My thoughts enjoy a sudden spring, But if she doth of sorrow speak, Ev'n from my heart the strings do break.