I press to bear no haughty sway, I wish no more than may suffice, I do no more, than well I may; Look, what I want, my mind supplies. Lo, thus I triumph like a king, My mind content with any thing. I laugh not at another's loss, Nor grudge not at another's gain. No worldly waves my mind can toss, I brook that is another's bane; I fear no foe, nor fawn on friend, I loathe not life nor dread mine end. My wealth is health and perfect ease; And conscience clear my chief defence; I never seek by bribes to please, Nor by desert to give offence, Thus do I live, thus will I die: Would all did so as well as I! From JOHN MUNDY's _Songs and Psalms_, 1594. 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! My life is fled, and yet I saw no sun! And now I live, and now my life is done! The Spring is past, and yet it hath not sprung! The fruit is dead, and yet the leaves be green! My youth is gone, and yet I am but young! I saw the World and yet I was not seen! My thread is cut, and yet it is not spun! And now I live, and now my life is done. From CAMPION AND ROSSETER's _Book of Airs_, 1601. _Vivamus, mea Lesbia, atque amemus._ My sweetest Lesbia, let us live and love, And though the sager sort our deeds reprove Let us not weigh them. Heaven's great lamps do dive Into their west, and straight again revive; But, soon as once is set 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. From JOHN DOWLAND's _First Book of Songs or Airs_, 1597. My Thoughts are winged with Hopes, my Hopes with Love: Mount Love unto the moon in clearest night, And say, as she doth in the heavens move, In earth so wanes and waxeth my delight: And whisper this, but softly, in her ears, "Hope oft doth hang the head and Trust shed tears." And you, my Thoughts, that some mistrust do carry, If for mistrust my mistress do you blame, Say, though you alter, yet you do not vary, As she doth change and yet remain the same; Distrust doth enter hearts, but not infect, And Love is sweetest seasoned with Suspect.