64. How can the Heart forget her? Davison's Poetical Rhapsody ? F. or W. Davison 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, 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 can not endure it-- Say, shall she go? O no, no, no, no, no! She gave the wound, and she alone must cure it. But shall I still a true affection owe her, Which prayers, sighs, tears do show her, And shall she still disdain me? Heart, let her go, if they no grace can gain me-- Say, shall she go? O no, no, no, no, no! She made me hers, and hers she will retain me. 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, no, no! Fix'd in the heart, how can the heart forget her? Numbers from Elizabethan Miscellanies & Song-books by Unnamed or Uncertain Authors. 1603 65. Tears John Dowland's Third and Last Book of Songs or Airs 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. Numbers from Elizabethan Miscellanies & Song-books by Unnamed or Uncertain Authors. 1603 66. My Lady's Tears John Dowland's Third and Last Book of Songs or Airs I SAW my Lady weep, And Sorrow proud to be advanced so In those fair eyes where all perfections keep. Her face was full of woe; But such a woe (believe me) as wins more hearts Than Mirth can do with her enticing parts. Sorrow was there made fair, And Passion wise; Tears a delightful thing; Silence beyond all speech, a wisdom rare: She made her sighs to sing, And all things with so sweet a sadness move As made my heart at once both grieve and love. O fairer than aught else The world can show, leave off in time to grieve! Enough, enough: your joyful look excels: Tears kill the heart, believe. O strive not to be excellent in woe, Which only breeds your beauty's overthrow. Numbers from Elizabethan Miscellanies & Song-books by Unnamed or Uncertain Authors. 1604 67. Sister, Awake! Thomas Bateson's First Set of English Madrigals SISTER, awake! close not your eyes! The day her light discloses, And the bright morning doth arise Out of her bed of roses.