Numbers from Elizabethan Miscellanies & Song-books by Unnamed or Uncertain Authors. 1601 61. The Now Jerusalem Song of Mary the Mother of Christ (London: E. Allde) HIERUSALEM, my happy home, When shall I come to thee? When shall my sorrows have an end, Thy joys when shall I see? O happy harbour of the Saints! O sweet and pleasant soil! In thee no sorrow may be found, No grief, no care, no toil. There lust and lucre cannot dwell, There envy bears no sway; There is no hunger, heat, nor cold, But pleasure every way. Thy walls are made of precious stones, Thy bulwarks diamonds square; Thy gates are of right orient pearl, Exceeding rich and rare. Thy turrets and thy pinnacles With carbuncles do shine; Thy very streets are paved with gold, Surpassing clear and fine. Ah, my sweet home, Hierusalem, Would God I were in thee! Would God my woes were at an end, Thy joys that I might see! Thy gardens and thy gallant walks Continually are green; There grows such sweet and pleasant flowers As nowhere else are seen. Quite through the streets, with silver sound, The flood of Life doth flow; Upon whose banks on every side The wood of Life doth grow. There trees for evermore bear fruit, And evermore do spring; There evermore the angels sit, And evermore do sing. Our Lady sings Magnificat With tones surpassing sweet; And all the virgins bear their part, Sitting about her feet. Hierusalem, my happy home, Would God I were in thee! Would God my woes were at an end, Thy joys that I might see! Numbers from Elizabethan Miscellanies & Song-books by Unnamed or Uncertain Authors. 1601 62. Icarus Robert Jones's Second Book of Songs and Airs LOVE wing'd my Hopes and taught me how to fly Far from base earth, but not to mount too high: For true pleasure Lives in measure, Which if men forsake, Blinded they into folly run and grief for pleasure take. But my vain Hopes, proud of their new-taught flight, Enamour'd sought to woo the sun's fair light, Whose rich brightness Moved their lightness To aspire so high That all scorch'd and consumed with fire now drown'd in woe they lie. And none but Love their woeful hap did rue, For Love did know that their desires were true; Though fate frowned, And now drowned They in sorrow dwell, It was the purest light of heav'n for whose fair love they fell. Numbers from Elizabethan Miscellanies & Song-books by Unnamed or Uncertain Authors. 1602 63. Madrigal Davison's Poetical Rhapsody MY Love in her attire doth show her wit, It doth so well become her; For every season she hath dressings fit, For Winter, Spring, and Summer. No beauty she doth miss When all her robes are on: But Beauty's self she is When all her robes are gone. Numbers from Elizabethan Miscellanies & Song-books by Unnamed or Uncertain Authors. 1602