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Go Crystal Tears Come Away, Come Sweet Love Rest Awhile, You Cruel Cares Sleep, Wayward Thoughts Would My Conceit His Golden Locks Awake, Sweet Love Come, Heavy Sleep And 5. Parts: 1. I Saw My Lady Weep 2. Parts: 2. Flow My Tears 3. Parts: 3. Sorrow, Stay 4. Parts: 4. Time's Eldest Son 5.

Parts: 5. Parts: 6. Time's Eldest Son 7. Parts: 7. Then Sit Thee Down 8. Parts: 8. When Others Sing Venite 9. Parts: 9. Praise Blindness Eyes Parts: O Sweet Woods If Floods Of Tears Fine Knacks For Ladies Now Cease My Wand'ring Eyes Woeful Heart A Shepherd In A Shade Faction That Ever Dwells Shall I Sue Silly trait'ress, who shall now thy careless tresses place?

Rest awhile, you cruel cares - No. 12 from "First Book of Airs, Part 2"

Who thy pretty talk supply? Who shall thy bright eyes admire, what lips triumph with thine? Day by day who'll visit thee and say " Th'art only mine "? Such a time there was, God wot, but such shall never be. Too oft, I fear, thou wilt remember me. HER fair inflaming eyes, Chief authors of my cares, I prayed in humblest wise With grace to view my tears : They beheld me broad awake, But, alas, no ruth would take. Her lips with kisses rich. And words of fair delight, I fairly did beseech To pity my sad plight : But a voice from them broke forth, As a whirlwind from the north.

Then to her hands I fled, That can give heart and all ; To them I long did plead. And loud for pity call : But, alas, they put me off With a touch worse than a scoff. So back I straight return'd. And at her breast I knock'd, Where long in vain I mourn'd. Her heart so fast was lock'd : Not a word could passage find, For a rock enclosed her mind.

Yet fled they not so fast As her enraged mind ; Still did I after haste. Still was I left behind ; Till I found 'twas to no end With a spirit to contend. HER hair the net of golden wire, Wherein my heart, led by my wandering eyes, So fast entangled is that in no wise It can, nor will, again retire ; But rather will in that sweet bondage die Than break one hair to gain her liberty. I find it was not so : Methought I saw the little villain weep, But thief! His blinking eyes will ever be awake, His idle head is full of laughing toys, His bow and shafts are tickle things to take.

It is no meddling with such apish boys ; For they shall find, that in his fetters fall, Love is a deadly thing to deal withal. Yet where the wretch doth take a happy vein, It is the kindest worm that ever was ; But let him catch a coy conceit again. In frantic fits he doth a fury pass : So that, in sum, who hopes of happy joy, Take heed of Love, it is a parlous boy. JOY in thy hope, the earnest of thy love, For so thou mayst enjoy thy heart's desire : True hopes things absent do as present prove, And keep alive love's still-renewing fire.

But of thy hope let silence be the tongue, And secresy the heart of loving fire ; For hopes revealed may thy hopes prolong Or cut them off in prime-time of desire. Sweet are those hopes that do themselves enjoy, As vowed to themselves to live and die ; Sweetest those joys and freest from annoy That waken not the eye of jealousy.

Thy love is not thy love if not thine own, And so it is not if it once be known. From Martin Peekson's Pri- vate Music, It is my love, it is my love, And thus and thus we meet, And thus and thus we greet. IF love loves truth then women do not love ; Their passions all are but dissembled shows : Now kind and free of favour if they prove, Their kindness straight a tempest overthrows. Then as a seaman the poor lover fares ; The storm drowns him ere he can drown his cares. But why accuse I women that deceive? Blame then the foxes for their subtle wile! They first from Nature did their craft receive ; It is a woman's nature to beguile.

Yet some, I grant, in loving steadfast grow ; But such by use are made, not Nature, so. O why had Nature power at once to frame Deceit and Beauty, traitors both to Love? O would Deceit had died when Beauty came With her divineness every heart to move! Yet do we rather wish, whate'er befall. To have fair women false than none at all.

IF she forsake me, I must die : Shall I tell her so? Alas, then straight will she reply, " No, no, no, no, no! She will but make sport thereat, And more unrelenting grow. What heart can long such pains abide? Fie upon this love! I would adventure far and wide.

If it would remove ; But love will still my steps pursue, I cannot his ways eschew : Thus still helpless hopes I prove. I do my love in lines commend. But, alas, in vain ; The costly gifts that I do send, She returns again : Thus still is my despair procured. And her malice more assured : Then come, death, and end my pain! MY mistress after service due Demanded if indeed my love were true. I said it was ; then she replied, That I must hate Whom she defied, And so myself above the rest, Whom she she swore did most of all detest.

In sooth, said I, you see I hate myself. Who sets my love on such a peevish elf. From Martin Peerson's Pri- vate Music, LOVE her no more, herself she doth not love : Shame and the blackest clouds of night Hide her for ever from thy sight. O day, why do thy beams in her eyes move? Fly her, dear honoured friend, do so ; She'll be the cause of much much woe. Alas, she will undo thee. Her love is fatal to thee : Curse her then and go!

O that her grace would my wish d comforts give! How rich in her, how happy should I live! All my desire, all my delight should be Her to enjoy, her to unite to me ; Envy should cease, her would I love alone : Who loves by looks is seldom true to one. Could I enchant, and that it lawful were, Her would I charm softly that none should hear ; But love enforced rarely yields firm content : So would I love that neither should repent.

From Thomas Morley's P! Sleep, I say, fond fancy. And leave my thoughts molesting : Thy master's head hath need of sleep and resting. OLOVE, where are thy shafts, thy quiver, and thy bow? Shall my wounds only weep and he ungaged go? Be just and strike him too that dares contemn thee so. No eyes are like to thine, though men suppose thee blind. So fair they level when the mark they list to find ; Then strike, O strike the heart that bears the cruel mind. Is my fond sight deceived, or do I Cupid spy Close aiming at his breast by whom despised I die?

Shoot home, sweet Love, and wound him that he may not fly. O then we both will sit in some unhaunted shade And heal each other's wound which Love hath justly made ; O hope, O thought too vain, how quickly dost thou fade! At large he wanders still, his heart is free from pain, While secret sighs I spend and tears, but all in vain : Yet, Love, thou knowest, by right I should not thus complain. Fond youth, why dost thou mar Those lily-bowers and lose the pain!

Her lily breast doth stain All flowers and lilies far. From ]omi'Wll. LADY, when I behold the roses sprouting, Which clad in damask mantles deck the arbours, And then behold your lips where sweet love harbours, My eyes present me with a double doubting : For viewing both alike, hardly my mind supposes Whether the roses be your lips or your lips the roses.


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Once did I waking spend the night. And tell how many minutes move. Once did I wishing waste the day, — And then I was in love. Once, by my carving true love's knot, The weeping trees did prove That wounds and tears were both our lot,— And then I was in love. Once did I breathe another's breath And in my mistress move, Once was I not mine own at all, — And then I was in love. Once in my ear did dangling hang A little turtle-dove, Once, in a word, I was a fool, — And then I was in love.

The air with tunes that load! It is too soon to go to rest, The sun not midway yet to west : The day doth miss thee And will not part until it kiss thee. Yet to an unknown, seld-seen ' friend I dare not ope the door : To hear the sweet birds sing Oft proves a dangerous thing. The sun may run his wonted race And yet not gaze on my poor face ; The day may miss me : Therefore depart, you shall not kiss me. Words by Samuel Daniel. Or art thou grown in league with those fair eyes That they might help thee to consume our days?

Or dost thou love her for her cruelties, Being merciless like thee, that no man weighs? Then do so still, although she makes no 'steem Of days nor years, but lets them run in vain : Hold still thy swift-wing'd hours, that wond'ring seem To gaze on her, even to turn back again. And do so still, although she nothing cares : Do as I do, love her although unkind : Hold still, yet O! I fear at unawares Thou wilt beguile her though thou seem'st so kind. THOSE eyes that set my fancy on a fire, Those crisped hairs that hold my heart in chains, Those dainty hands which conquered my desire, That wit which of my thoughts doth hold the reins : Those eyes for clearness doth the stars surpass, Those hairs obscure the brightness of the sun, Those hands more white than ever ivory was, That wit even to the skies hath glory won.

O eyes that pierce our hearts without remorse I O hairs of right that wear a royal crown! Then, Love, be judge, what heart may therewith stand Such eyes, such hair, such wit, and such a hand? Those eyes so rich with crystal majesty. Till ah! I found my tears did inward bleed. They are rightly placed at the end of the sonnet in The Phcenix Nest. The Song-book reads " Such eyes, such head.

With thee dance I will, and sing, and thy fond dal- liance bear ; We the grovy hills will climb and play the wantons there ; Other whiles we'll gather flowers, Lying dallying on the grass ; And thus our delightful hours, Full of waking dreams, shall pass. When thy joys were thus at height, my love should turn from thee, Old acquaintance then should grow as strange, as strange might be : Twenty rivals thou shouldst find. Breaking all their hearts for me, While to all I'll prove more kind And more forward than to thee.

Thus thy silly youth, enraged, would soon my love defy, But, alas, poor soul, too late! Shall I not excluded be. Will you find no feigned let? Let me not, for pity, more Tell the long hours at your door. Who can tell what thief or foe, In the covert of the night. For his prey will work my woe. Or through wicked foul despite? So may I die unredrest Ere my long love be possest. But to let such dangers pass, Which a lover's thoughts disdain, 'Tis enough in such a place To attend love's joys in vain : Do not mock me in thy bed. While these cold nights freeze me dead.

The Second Book of Madrigals, SO saith my fair and beautiful Lycoris, When now and then she talketh With me of Love : " Love is a sprite that walketh, That soars and flies, And none alive can hold him, Nor touch him, nor behold him. From John Wilbye's Madrigals, WHEN younglings first on Cupid fix their sight, And see him naked, blindfold, and a boy, Though bow and shafts and firebrand be his might, Yet ween they he can work them none annoy ; And therefore with his purple wings they play.

For glorious seemeth love though light as feather. And when they have done they ween to scape away. But ants have galls, so hath the bee his sting : Then shield me heavens, from such a subtle thing! From William Byt? She's chaste in looks, mild in her speech, In actions all discreet, Of nature loving, pleasing most, In virtue all complete. And for her voice a Philomel, Her lips may all lips scorn ; No sun more clear than is her eye.

In brightest summer morn. A mind wherein all virtues rest And take delight to be. And where all virtues graft themselves In that most fruitful tree : A tree that India doth not yield. Nor ever yet was seen, Where buds of virtue always spring, And all the year grow green.

That country's blest wherein she grows, And happy is that rock From whence she springs : but happiest he That grafts in such a stock. Show me some ground where I may firmly stand, Or surely fall! I care not which appear, So one will close me in a certain band. When once of ill the uttermost is known. The strength of sorrow quite is overthrown. Take me. Assurance, to thy blissful hold! Or thou Despair, unto thy darkest cell! Each hath full rest : the one, in joys enroU'd ; Th' other, in that he fears no more, is well. When once the uttermost of ill is known, The strength of sorrow quite is overthrown From Thomas Morley's Canzo- nets, WERE my heart as some men's are, thy errors would not move me, But thy faults I curious find and speak because I love thee ; Tatience is a thing divine, and far, I grant, above me.

Foes sometimes befriend us more, our blacker deeds objecting. Than th' obsequious bosom-guest with false respect affecting : Friendship is the Glass of Truth, our hidden stains detecting. While I use of eyes enjoy and inward light of reason, Thy observer will I be and censor, but in season : Hidden mischief to conceal in state and love is treason From Thomas Morley's Madri- gals, Ay me, that faces discloses The scarlet blush of sweet vermilion roses. And yet, alas, I know not If such a crimson staining Be for love or disdaining ; But if of love it grow not. Be it disdain conceived To see us of love's fruits so long bereaved.

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 ev'n he sets? Rest you then, rest, sad eyes! Melt not in weeping. If I complain, my witness is suspect ; If I contain, with cares I am undone : Sit still and die, tell truth and be reject : O hateful choice that sorrow cannot shun!

Yet of us twain whose loss shall be the less. Mine of my life or you of your good name? Light is my death, regarding my distress, But your offence cries out to your defame, "A virgin fair hath slain, for lack of grace, The man that made an idol of her face! IF I urge my kind desires, She unkind, doth them reject, Women's hearts are painted fires. To deceive them that affect. I alone, love's fires include : She, alone, doth them delude.

She hath often vowed her love : But alas no fruit I find.

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That her fires are false I prove. Yet in her no fault I find : I was thus unhappy born. And ordained to be her scorn. Yet, if human care or pain May the heavenly order change, She will hate her own disdain. And repent she was so strange ' For a truer heart than I, Never lived, nor loved to die. WHAT is it all that men possess, among them- selves conversing?

Wealth or fame or some such boast, scarce worthy the rehearsing. If weary, they prepare us rest ; if sick, their hand attends us ; When with grief our hearts are prest, their comfort best befriends us ; Sweet or sour, they willing go to share what fortune sends us. What pretty babes with pain they bear, our name and form presenting! What we get how wise they keep, by sparing wants preventing!

Sorting all their household cares to our observed con- tenting! All this, of whose large use I sing, in two words is expressed : Good Wife is the good I praise, if by good men possessed ; Bad with bad in ill suit well, but good with good live blessed. There cherries grow which none may buy, Till " Cherry ripe " themselves do cry.

Those cherries fairly do enclose Of orient pearl a double row, Which when her lovely laughter shows. They look like rose-buds filled with snow ; Yet them nor peer nor prince can buy, Till " Cherry ripe " themselves do cry. Her eyes lilce angels watch them still. Her brows like bended bows do stand. Threatening with piercing frowns to kill All that attempt, with eye or hand, Those sacred cherries to come nigh Till " Cherry ripe " themselves do cry.

Despiteful thus unto myself I languish, And in disdain myself from joy I banish. These secret thoughts eilwrap me so in anguish That life, I hope, will soon from body vanish, And to some rest will quickly be conveyed That on no joy, while so I lived, hath stayed. Hath left me quite forlorn and from me fled. Yet, see, she smiles! O see, some hope appears! Vieart, and live ; mine eyes, cease off your tears. OFT have I mused the cause to find Why Love in lady's eyes should dwell ; I thought, because himself was blind, He look'd that they should guide him well : And sure his hope but seldom fails, For Love by ladies' eyes prevails.

But time at last hath taught me wit, Although I bought my wit full dear ; For by her eyes my heart is hit, Deep is the wound though none appear : Their glancing beams as darts he throws, And sure he hath no shafts but those. I mused to see their eyes so bright, And little thought they had been fire ; I gazed upon them with delight, But that delight hath bred desire : What better place can Love desire Than that where grow both shafts and fire?

Love her that list, I am content For that chameleon-like she changeth, Yielding such mists as may prevent My sight to view her when she rangeth. Let, him not vaunt that gains my loss, For when that he and time hath proved her, She may him bring to Weeping-Cross ; I say no more, because I loved her. To hear her speak whose words are so well placed That she by them, as they in her are graced! Those looks to view that feast the viewer's eye, How blest is he that may so live and die!

Such love as this the Golden Times did know. When all did reap, yet none took care to sow ; Such love as this an endless summer makes, And all distaste from frail affection takes. So loved, so blest in my beloved am I : Which till their eyes ache, let iron men envy! From Thomas Weelkes' h ladri- gals, NOW every tree renews his summer's green, Why is your heart in winter's garments clad? Your beauty says my love is summer's queen, But your cold love like winter makes me sad : Then either spring with buds of love again Or else congeal my thoughts with your disdain.

UPON a summer's day Love went to swim, And cast himself into a sea of tears ; The clouds called in their light, and heaven waxed dim, And sighs did raise a tempest, causing fears ; The naked boy could not so wield his arms. But that the waves were masters of his might. And threatened him to work far greater harms If he devised not to scape by flight : Then for a boat his quiver stood instead, His bow unbent did serve him for a mast, Whereby to sail his cloth of veil he spread, His shafts for oars on either board he cast : From shipwreck safe this wag got thus to shore, And swarc to bathe in lovers' tears no more.

How fair an entrance breaks the way to love! How rich the golden hope, and gay delight! What heart cannot a modest beauty move? Who, seeing clear day once, will dream of night? She seemed a saint, that brake her faith with me ; But proved a woman, as all other be. So bitter is their sweet that True Content Unhappy men in them may never find : Ah! Let us then praise their good, forget their ill! Men must be men, and women women still. Old ed.

The first set of songs, in four parts, (Musical score, ) [magoxuluti.tk]

These I give both in hope to move thee ; Yet thou say'st I do not love thee. WHAT needeth all this travail and turmoiling, Short'ning the life's sweet pleasure To seek this far-fetched treasure In those hot climates under Phoebus broiling? O fools, can you not see a traffic nearer In my sweet lady's face, where Nature showeth Whatever treasure eye sees or heart knoweth.

Or either Indies, East or West, do send us! THULE, the period of cosmography, Doth vaunt of Hecla, whose sulphureous fire Doth melt the frozen clime and thaw the sky, Trinacrian Aetna's flames ascend not higher : These things seem wondrous, yet more wondrous I, Whose heart with fear doth freeze, with love doth fry. The Andalusian merchant, that returns Laden with cochineal and china dishes. Reports in Spain how strangely Fogo burns Amidst an ocean full of flying fishes : These things seem wondrous, yet more wondrous I, Whose heart with fear doth freeze, with love doth fry.

HAVE I found her? O rich finding! Goddess-like for to behold, Her fair tresses seemly binding In a chain of pearl and gold. Chain me, chain me, O most fair. Chain me to thee with that hair! Break her promise, untrue prove, On a sudden change her love, Or be won e'er to neglect Him to whom she vowed respect? Such a maid, alas! I know : O that weeds 'mongst corn should grow! Or a rose should prickles have, Wounding where she ought to save! I, that did her parts extol.

Will my lavish tongue control : Outward parts do Mind the eyes. Gall in golden pills oft lies. Reason, wake, and sleep no more, Land upon some safer shore; Think on her and be afraid Of a faithless fickle maid. Of a faithless fickle maid, Thus true love is still betrayed : Yet it is some ease to sing That a maid is light of wing. And if that I do ever prove False and unkind to gentle Love, I'll not desire to live a day Nor any longer — than I may.

I'll daily bless the little god, — But not without a smarting rod. Wilt thou still unkindly leave me? Now I pray God, — all ill go with thee! Words by FulkeGreville, Lord Brooke. WHOEVER thinks or hopes of love for love, Or who beloved in Cupid's laws doth glory, Who joys in vows or vows not to remove, Who by this light god hath not been made sorry, — Let him see me, eclipsed from my sun. With dark clouds of an earth quite overrun. Who thinks that sorrows felt, desires hidden. Or humble faith in constant honour armed.

Can keep love from the fruit that is forbidden ; Who thinks that change is by entreaty charmed, — Looking on me, let him know love's delights Are treasures hid in caves but kept by sprites. And yet look sweet, but yet not so ; Smile, but not in killing wise ; Arm not thy graces to confound ; Only look, but do not wound. Why should mine eyes see more in you Than they can see in all the rest? For I can others' beauties view, And not find my heart opprest. O be as others are to me, Or let me be more to thee.

YE bubbling springs that gentle music makes To lovers' plaints with heart-sore throbs immixed, When as my dear this way her pleasure takes, Tell her with tears how firm my love is fixed ; And, Philomel, report my timerous fears. And, echo, sound my heigh-ho's in her ears : But if she asks if I for love will die. Tell her, Good faith, good faith, good faith, — not I. The lines are assigned to Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex.

To heap complaints where she doth not regard. Were fruitless, bootless, vain, and yield but scorn. I loved her whom all the world admired, I was refused of her that can love none, And my vain hopes which far too high aspired Is dead and buried and for ever gone. Forget my name since you have scorned my love, And woman-like do not too late lament : Since for your sake I do all mischief prove, I none accuse nor nothing do repent : I was as fond as ever she was fair, Yet loved I not more than I now despair. Begets a glory doth surprise All hearts, all eyes, For only she Gives life eternity ; And when her presence deigns but to appear Never wish greater bliss than shines from her bright sphere : Her absence wounds, strikes dead all hearts with fear.

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 tell, O tell, how thou didst murder me.

WHEN love on time and measure makes his ground, Time that must end, though love can never die, 'Tis love betwixt a shadow and a sound, A love not in the heart but in the eye ; A love that ebbs and flows, now up, now down, A morning's favour and an evening's frown. Sweet looks show love, yet they are but as beams : Fair words seem true, yet they are but as wind ; Eyes shed their tears, yet are but outward streams ; Sighs paint a shadow in the falsest mind. Looks, words, tears, sighs show love when love they leave ; False hearts can weep, sigh, swear, and yet deceive. YOU gentle nymphs that on these meadows play, And oft relate the loves of shepherds young.

Come sit you down, for, if you please to stay. I Strange, unwonted. KIND in unkindness, when will you relent And cease with faint love true love to torment? Still entertained, excluded still I stand ; Her glove still hold, but cannot touch the hand. In her fair hand my hopes and comforts rest : O might my fortunes with that hand be blest! No envious breaths then my deserts could shake. For they are good whom such true love doth make. O let not beauty so forget her birth That it should fruitless home return to earth! Love is the fruit of beauty, then love one!

Appearances

Not your sweet self, for such self-love is none. Love one that only lives in loving you ; Whose wronged deserts would you with pity view, This strange distaste which your affection sways Would relish love, and you find better days. Thus till my happy sight your beauty views, Whose sweet remembrance still my hope renews, Let these poor lines solicit love for me, And place my joys where my desires wovdd be.

The tender graft is easily broke, But who shall shake the sturdy oak? You are more fresh and fair than I ; Yet stubs do live when flowers do die. Thou, that thy youth doth vainly boast, Know buds are soonest nipped with frost ; Think that thy fortune still doth cry, " Thou fool! I Maid, II 9? Virtue's service thus neglected Heart with sorrows hath infected. When I swore my heart her own, She disdained ; I complained, Yet she left me overthrown : Careless of my bitter grieving, Ruthless, bent to no relieving.

Relationships

Vows and oaths and faith assured. Constant ever. O that love should have the art, By surmises, And disguises. To destroy a faithful heart ; Or that wanton-looking women Should reward their friends as foemen. Shortly loosed ; For their pride is to remove. Out, alas! To thyself the sweetest Fair! By thine error thou hast lost Heart unfeigned, Truth unstained. And the swain that loved most. More assured in love than many, More despised in love than any.

For my heart, though set at nought, Since you will it, Spoil and kill it! I will never change my thought : But grieve that beauty e'er was born Thus to answer love with scorn. From Add. 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 hate'st thou Love sith Love is so delightful?

But fair enough for shepherd's bed ; And such a love was never seen On hill or dale or country-green. Words ascribed to Euwakd Eakl of Oxfokd. IF women could be fair and never fond, Or that their beauty might continue still, I would not marvel though they made men bond By service long to purchase their goodwill : But when I see how frail these creatures are, I laugh that men forget themselves so far.

To mark what choice they make and how they change, How, leaving best, the worst they choose out still ; And how, like haggards wild, about they range, And scorning reason follow after will! Yet for our sport we fawn and flatter both, To pass the time when nothing else can please : And train them on to yield by subtle oath The sweet content that gives such humour ease : And then we say, when we their follies try, " To play with fools, O, what a fool was I! Vivamus, max Lesbta, atque amemus. 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.

If all would lead their lives in love like me, Then bloody swords and armour should not be ; No drum nor trumpet peaceful sleeps should move, Unless alarm came from the Camp of Love : But fools do live and waste their little light, And seek with pain their ever-during night. When timely death my life and fortunes ends, Let not my hearse be vext with mourning friends ; But let all lovers, rich in triumph, come And with sweet pastimes grace my happy tomb : And, Lesbia, close up thou my little light And crown with love my ever-during night.

OVE'S god is a boy, None but cowherds regard him, His dart is a toy, Great opinion hath marred him ; The fear of the wag Hath made him so brag ; Chide him, he'll flie thee And not come nigh thee. Little boy, pretty knave, shoot not at random, For if you hit me, slave, I'll tell your grandam. Fond love is a child And his compass is narrow.

Young fools are beguiled With the fame of his arrow ; He dareth not strike If his stroke do mislike : Cupid, do you hear me? Come not too near me. Little boy, pretty knave, hence I beseech you, For if you hit me, knave, in faith I'll breech you. Then I'll come to thee Pray thee and woo thee. Little boy, pretty knave, make me not stagger, For if you hit me, knave, I'll call thee, beggar. NOW let her change! Since she proves strange, I care not! Feigned love charmed so my delight, That still I doted on her sight. But she is gone! And my distress disgracing.

When did I err in blindness? Or vex her with unkindness? If my cares served her alone, Why is she thus untimely gone? True love abides to th' hour of dying : False love is ever flying. Once false proves faithful never! He that boasts now of thy love. Shall soon my present fortunes prove : Were he as fair as bright Adonis, Faith is not had where none is. Words by "A. If in her hair so slender, Like golden nets entwined Which fire and art have 'fined. Her thrall my heart I render For ever to abide With locks so dainty tied. If in her eyes she bind it, Wherein that fire was framed By which it is enflamed, I dare not look to find it : I only wish it sight To see that pleasant light.

But if her breast have deigned With kindness to receive it, I am content to leave it Though death thereby were gained. Then, Lady, take your own That lives by you alone. From William Corkine's Airs. SOME can flatter, some can feign, Simple truth shall plead for me ; Let not beauty truth disdain, Truth is even as fair as she. But since pairs must equal prove. Let my strength her youth oppose. Love her beauty, faith her love ; On even terms so may we close. Virtues have not all one kind. Yet all virtues merit be. Divers virtues are combined ; Differing so, deserts agree.

That enchant the firmament. In the garish tribute concert held at MSG, you can see him, seemingly involuntarily, continually holding his hand up to cover his face. The film of the event has obviously been edited to exclude any close-ups. In , he appeared on a Diane Sawyer interview to try to talk his way out of the charges of sleeping with young boys. Sitting next to him listening, then-wife Lisa Marie Presley sports an expression that will seem familiar to anyone who has watched Melania Trump in public.

A two-minute fragment. The best film about Michael Jackson has been overlooked. Who knew that Gest had been close to the Jackson family since their arrival in Los Angeles, and could call on virtually all the people who actually knew and worked with Jackson over his career? The movie has insights no other Jackson movie does. So his vision, I respect. Were they just the beatings that any father of the time might have delivered, as Joseph says they were? Or something a little too violent, like the stories Michael has told? In any case, Joseph ultimately alienated his family with his extramarital affairs … and extramarital children, too.

Sullivan says there maybe a half-dozen or more. He has lived in exile in Las Vegas for decades. His personal website is a gate to a louche netherworld of not-quite luxury products. Instead, he brought in James Ingram, a noted soul singer of the time, to write a new song of the same name with Jones. Note how that brief guitar line at the beginning has a sound like some of the other tracks from the album, giving it an organic feel despite its varied styles. This stuff was well-chronicled at the time. You have to assume some behind-the-scenes manipulation by Sony to nudge it up to that position.

This was the era of the indie promo man, who would act as a middle man for payola to radio stations. By any standard Jackson has been misunderestimated as a songwriter — I was amazed to go back to see that, over the first four albums of his adult career, Jackson got solo writing credit for 16 songs; eight went to No.

Twelve were top-ten hits, and a 13th stalled at Madonna, by contrast, has never written a number-one song on her own. Jackson is unique among his peers in this one way: To a surprising extent, he wrote the hits he needed when he needed them, and essentially never missed. From the bios you get a sense that Jackson would hum or describe parts to a musical staff, who helped him get the songs out of his head and onto an instrument.

But thoughts of that disappear under the weight of all the other icky supersweet sounds — from the violins, the tinkling plucked guitar, the warbling harmonica. A lot more Akon than MJ, as it happens. Harmless otherwise. An anonymous rapper named Fats delivers a rap, another part of the Jackson hepster formula. All that said, you can hear how seriously Jackson is taking his vocals. Works up a bit more energy toward the end, however. There are a lot of voices, all of them sounding pretty excited about, you know, all those watts, which I am given to understand number 2, There are an average of about four writing credits on each song of Invincible , and two are solo works by Jackson and R.

Right around the time of Invincible , Jackson put on a 30th-anniversary concerts for himself at Madison Square Garden. To get his oh-so-close friends like Marlon Brando and Elizabeth Taylor there, he had to shell out extraordinary sums of money — and when the shows began, there was no Jackson. He was back in his hotel room, drugged and sleeping. He was eventually roused and delivered something close to a decent performance. Jackson was mixed up, but he could occasionally craft winning songs, even on the back of another.

This song would not be a successful example of such an approach, but it does make you think about it. It has an undeniable Latin groove and a delicate, thoughtful vocal from Jackson, one of his most relaxed and unagitated. This seems to be sung to a guy whose wife was double-timing them both. Feels a bit received. The buzzy guitar is fine. Blood on the Dance Floor is full of wretchedly delivered stuff about scariness, ghosts, etc. I trust so little of what Jackson says.

But this can bring up you short:. Now, as usual, there are caveats. Jackson wanders through almost in a daze, wildly purchasing items in the five and six! On air, Povich trumpets that none of the interviewees had been paid for their appearances. It also turned the serious charges and disturbing behaviors of Jackson into a he-said, he-said debate. Sound familiar? We get a spoken intro and an indelible melody, taken to some spectacular vocal flights from the then or year-old.

His vocal, slightly echoed, is gorgeous. The chorus is catchy. The sound collage beneath the actual song is pretty adventuresome. The whole thing is energetic, and the chorus really works. The verses, where Jackson dons his put-upon voice, less so. He seems to be really upset about a woman who likes both Buddha and the Talmud. The song did what it had to do, which was tie Jackson to some new-sounding — if not exactly new per se — sounds. Indeed — this was a collaboration between Jackson and Paul Anka back around the time of Thriller , which Johnny Mathis had already recorded.

Still, while inevitably seen as a lesser work, Dangerous sold 30 million copies around the world , almost as much as Bad , though comparatively less in the U. I guess this is one, with the car horns and squeal, and that raspy shuffle beneath, served up by producer Teddy Riley. I like how his vocals are recorded as well and the chorus has a slinky groove. One of the straight-up good songs on Dangerous. At the end of the song, increasingly worked up, he intones the title words, and then really gets into a lather.

Even his vocal interjections are restrained, and all the more powerful because of it. The subtexts here are off the charts. Jackson for some reason has his makeup on extremely heavy. The guy who was actively lightening his skin IRL here makes himself blacker, presumably to make himself scarier, an odd aesthetic decision.

In keeping with his suppressed sexuality of the time, however, note that he hugs not kisses his date. It would eventually top out at 33 million sold in the U. After Jackson died, the sales surge pushed it up into safe territory as the best-selling album in U. Killer musical touches buried in the mix, too. But Jackson somehow threads the needle of ridiculousness, and delivers.

The Motown producers pull out the stops in the second half, blasting in a key change and turning the outro into a swirling and roiling mass of emotion, which Jackson, 14 at the time, keeps up with swimmingly. This is actually one of his few ballads that somehow feels balanced, not excessive. He was a brilliant vocalizer. Still, when cosseted thoughtfully by Jones, he could really pack a punch with the voice he did have, as here. The opening sounds are novel and the measures of drumbeats create a perfect amount of tension. Meanwhile, he had begun to throw off his bonds — monetary, definitely, and particularly those of propriety.

The last 22 years of his life would not be pretty. By the time he was recording Dangerous , his production partners saw him bleaching his skin. His black features had been erased to the point where he looked white, and then something else. His masculinity was disappearing too. He really just looked like a Eurasian woman. Then came this song. Odd — it sure seemed like it mattered to him.

And then he has a white kid sing the rap in the video, for crying out loud. That clip, overseen by John Landis, cost a fortune. Landis said the credits list was like that of Ben-Hur. It starts out a thing of wonder, only to twist around and fly up its own ass, right down to a gangly Landis giving himself a clumsy cameo at the end. Again, Trumpian. Jackson was a keen student of celebrity, and during his heyday at least, walked that line with some aplomb.

This song makes feints toward disco, funk, and rock, but it has its own distinctive feel. At his best, Jackson found people to meld groovy, soothing sounds with effective melody lines and credible beats. The vocal arrangement is one of his better ones, too. The video is set in a gold Egyptian palace, where Jackson is a performer for the king and queen, played by Eddie Murphy and the model Iman. While the production values of his videos were often good, they were in other ways remarkably clunky.

Can you try that? The staging is adventurous; the dancing, as entrancing as that of any other pop video I can think of, is awesome throughout, up-to-the-minute and yet still very formally conscious of his forebears, deliberately darkening the work of Fred Astaire in The Band Wagon , certainly, but also of Gene Kelly in An American in Paris. It remains worth watching, and finally makes an indelible mark at the iconic tableau that sees Jackson and his dancers bending to degree angles.

The nine-minute version is fun. It could be an early Chi-Lites or Stylistics track. By this time, little sister Janet was a superstar in her own right, one of the dominant performers of the day and capable of creating her own pop moments, from the Control tour to her Rolling Stone cover. Ben , about a boy and his pet rat, was actually a sequel to the film Willard. The early film is about a wimpy young guy — trapped in a garish house filled with louche, disturbed adults — who eventually uses a herd of murderous pet rats to exact some revenge.

Gee, I wonder what Jackson found compelling in that? It sounds pretty cloying on its own, but the association with the movie blankets it with a slightly kinky irony. He was introduced by Charlton Heston. But starting with that elusive keyboard line and going through the unexpectedly charming melodies of the verses to the heady emotion of the chorus, this is a model piece of pop sophistication.

I saw Miles Davis play it live once.

John Dowland: The Collected Works

Nothing Jackson recorded in this era could be described as restrained, but at least the things he does here are true to the sense of the song. Still, Jones unerringly marks the song with those strings and mighty tasty horns. The song was a monster and a No. Jackson was proud of Off the Wall and thought it deserved more recognition at the Grammys than it got. I think his voice is double tracked through the acrobatic melody; lots of drama until he hits the high note at the end.

He was someone — a star, an authentic black success story; a tireless worker, a boy with an imagination as big as America.