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? ? _F._ or _W. Davison_ _65._ _Tears_ John Dowland’s _Third and Last Book of Songs or Airs_, 1603 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. _66._ _My Lady’s Tears_ John Dowland’s _Third and Last Book of Songs or Airs_, 1603 I saw my Lady weep, And Sorrow proud to be advancèd 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. _67._ _Sister, Awake!_ Thomas Bateson’s _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1604 Sister, awake! close not your eyes! The day her light discloses, And the bright morning doth arise Out of her bed of roses. See the clear sun, the world’s bright eye, In at our window peeping: Lo, how he blusheth to espy Us idle wenches sleeping! Therefore awake! make haste, I say, And let us, without staying, All in our gowns of green so gay Into the Park a-maying! _68._ _Devotion_ Captain Tobias Hume’s _The First Part of Airs, &c._, 1605