Fear not, the ground seeks but to kiss thy feet; Hark, hark, how Philomela sweetly sings! Whilst water-wanton fishes as they meet Strike crotchet time amidst these crystal springs, And Zephyrus amongst the leaves sweet murmur rings. Stay but awhile, Ph[oe]be no tell-tale is; She her Endymion, I'll my Ph[oe]be kiss. See how the helitrope, herb of the sun, Though he himself long since be gone to bed, Is not of force thine eye's bright beams to shun, But with their warmth his goldy leaves unspread, And on my knee invites thee rest thy head. Stay but awhile, Ph[oe]be no tell-tale is; She her Endymion, I'll my Ph[oe]be kiss. From WILLIAM BYRD's _Psalms, Sonnets, and Songs_, 1588. Who likes to love, let him take heed! And wot you why? Among the gods it is decreed That Love shall die; And every wight that takes his part Shall forfeit each a mourning heart. The cause is this, as I have heard: A sort of dames, Whose beauty he did not regard Nor secret flames, Complained before the gods above That gold corrupts the god of love. The gods did storm to hear this news, And there they swore, That sith he did such dames abuse He should no more Be god of love, but that he should Both die and forfeit all his gold. His bow and shafts they took away Before his eyes, And gave these dames a longer day For to devise Who should them keep, and they be bound That love for gold should not be found. These ladies striving long, at last They did agree To give them to a maiden chaste, Whom I did see, Who with the same did pierce my breast: Her beauty's rare, and so I rest. From WILLIAM BYRD's _Songs of Sundry Natures_, 1589. 1. Who made thee, Hob, forsake the plough And fall in love? 2. Sweet beauty, which hath power to bow The gods above. 1. What dost thou serve? 2. A shepherdess; One such as hath no peer, I guess. 1. What is her name who bears thy heart Within her breast? 2. Silvana fair, of high desert, Whom I love best. 1. O, Hob, I fear she looks too high. 2. Yet love I must, or else I die. From THOMAS BATESON's _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1604. Who prostrate lies at women's feet. And calls them darlings dear and sweet; Protesting love, and craving grace, And praising oft a foolish face; Are oftentimes deceived at last, Then catch at nought and hold it fast. From JOHN FARMER's _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1599. Who would have thought that face of thine Had been so full of doubleness, Or that within those crystal eyn Had been so much unstableness? Thy face so fair, thy look so strange! Who would have thought of such a change?