Let not Chloris think, because She hath unvassel'd me, That her beauty can give laws To others that are free: I was made to be the prey And booty of her eyes! In my bosom, she may say. Her greatest kingdom lies. Though others may her brow adore, Yet more must I that therein see far more Than any other's eyes have power to see; She is to me More than to any others she can be. I can discern more secret notes That in the margin of her cheeks Love quotes Than any else besides have art to read; No looks proceed From those fair eyes but to me wonder breed. O then why Should she fly From him to whom her sight Doth add so much above her might? Why should not she Still joy to reign in me? From WILLIAM BYRD's _Psalms, Songs and Sonnets_, 1611. Let not the sluggish sleep Close up thy waking eye, Until with judgment deep Thy daily deeds thou try: He that one sin in conscience keeps When he to quiet goes, More vent'rous is than he that sleeps With twenty mortal foes. From GEORGE MASON's and JOHN EARSDEN's _Airs that were sung and played at Brougham Castle in Westmoreland in the King's Entertainment given by the Earl of Cumberland_, 1618. Let us in a lovers' round Circle all this hallowed ground; Softly, softly trip and go, The light-foot Fairies jet it so. Forward then, and back again, Here and there and everywhere, Winding to and fro, Skipping high and louting low; And, like lovers, hand in hand, March around and make a stand. From THOMAS WEELKES' _Madrigals of Six Parts_, 1600. Like two proud armies marching in the field,-- Joining a thund'ring fight, each scorns to yield,-- So in my heart your beauty and my reason: One claims the crown, the other says 'tis treason. But oh! your beauty shineth as the sun; And dazzled reason yields as quite undone. From THOMAS WEELKES' _Madrigals to Three, Four, Five and Six Voices_, 1597. Lo! country sport that seldom fades; A garland of the spring, A prize for dancing, country maids With merry pipes we bring. Then all at once _for our town_ cries! Pipe on, for we will have the prize. From THOMAS CAMPION's _Two Books of Airs_ (circ. 1613). Lo, when back mine eye Pilgrim-like I cast, What fearful ways I spie Which, blinded, I securely passed! But now heaven hath drawn From my brows that night; As when the day doth dawn, So clears my long-imprisoned sight. Straight the Caves of Hell Dressed with flowers I see, Wherein False Pleasures dwell, That, winning most, most deadly be. Throngs of masked fiends, Winged like angels, fly; Even in the gates of friends, In fair disguise black dangers lie.