There is much excellent verse hidden away in the Song-books of Robert Jones, a famous performer on the lute. Between 1601 and 1611 Jones issued six musical works. Two of these--"The First Set of Madrigals," 1607, and "The Muses' Garden for Delight," 1611,--I have unfortunately not been able to see, as I have not yet succeeded in discovering their present resting-place. Of "Ultimum Vale, or the Third Book of Airs" [1608], only one copy is known. It formerly belonged to Rimbault, and is now preserved in the library of the Royal College of Music. The other publications of Jones are of the highest rarity. By turns the songs are grave and gay. On one page is the warning to Love-- "Little boy, pretty knave, hence, I beseech you! For if you hit me, knave, in faith I'll breech you." (p. 72.) On another we read "Love winged my hopes and taught me how to fly," (p. 73); but the vain hopes, seeking to woo the sun's fair light, were scorched with fire and drown'd in woe, "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 heaven for whose fair love they fell." The last line is superb. I have drawn freely from the madrigals of Weelkes, Morley, Farmer, Wilbye and others. Thomas Ford's "Music of Sundry Kinds," 1607, has yielded some very choice verse; and Francis Pilkington's collections have not been consulted in vain. From John Attye's "First Book of Airs," 1622, I have selected one song, (p. 94), only one,--warm and tender and delicious. Some pleasant verses have been drawn from the rare song-books of William Corkine; and Thomas Vautor's "Songs of Divers Airs and Natures," 1619, have supplied some quaint snatches, notably the address to the owl, (p. 116) "Sweet Suffolk owl, so trimly dight." I have purposely refrained from giving many humorous ditties. Had I been otherwise minded there was plenty of material to my hand in the rollicking rounds and catches of Ravenscroft's admirable collections. As I have no technical knowledge of the subject, it would be impertinent for me to attempt to estimate the merits of the music contained in these old song-books; but I venture with all confidence to commend the poetry to the reader's attention. There is one poem which I have deliberately kept back. It occurs in "The First Part of Airs, French, Polish, and others together, some in tableture and some in prick-song," 1605. The composer was a certain Captain Tobias Hume, but who the author of the poem was I know not. Here is the first stanza:-- "Fain would I change that note To which fond love hath charm'd me, Long long to sing by rote, Fancying that that harm'd me: Yet when this thought doth come, 'Love is the perfect sum Of all delight,' I have no other choice Either for pen or voice To sing or write."