FRENCH COURT-AIRES, With their Ditties Englished, Of four and five Parts.  
TOGETHER WITH THAT OF THE LUTE.  
— Si propiùs stes,  
Te capient magis, & decies repetita placebunt.  
Collected, Translated, Published By ED: FILMER, Gent: Dedicated to the Queen.  
— Gratia Regum  
Pierijs tentata modis; ne forte pudori  
Sit mihi Musa lyrae solers, & cantor Apollo.   printer's device of William Stansby: "Framed device of a man standing with hands upraised and receiving an indistinguishable object ... and a wheatsheaf from the clouds. At his feet two birds labelled Peace, Plentie." (McKerrow 292) FOR THOU SHALT LABOUR 
PEACE  
PLENTY  
LONDON, Printed by William Stansby. 1629.  
Cum Privilegio.   

 Royal seal HONI SOIT QVI MAL Y PENSE   

TO THE QUEEN.  
MADAM,  
Out of a Civil regard and special care not to wrong Strangers, I have attempted to furnish these Foreign Compositions with afortune equal to what they had at Home. Courtiers they were borne, (as being begot of purpose to serve in those Chambers where your Majesty had your high Beginning) and, in that Quality, have bee'n committed, by their first Publishers, to the tutelary Shadow of the most Crowned Branches of your thrice-Christian Stem. My wishes are that they may not suffer in their Condition by means of my good Opinion of them, which hath made me Study to make them Denizens of mine own Country. And therefore, to preserve them in their first Degree and Safety, I have thought meet to Arm them with the Majestic Patronage of a Queen of their former Acquaintance, and of a fortune somewhat resembling their own; who having nobly Favoured them in the time of their greatest Security amongst their Natural and Potent friends at home, will, as is humbly hoped, resolutely undertake to Protect them now, in the time of Need, from the Affronts and Dangers incident to the life of Aliens, and vouchsafe them (being now as it we Naturalised for her own Subjects, and taught the Language wherein by her nearest People she is prayed for) a more Princely measure of Countenance and Affection, then formerly, when she could not call them hers by so Sovereign an interest. Herein, Sacred Lady, if it may please you, in their behalf, to Seal with an indulgent Eye the Grant of this my first Court-sute, they shall be so fare from needing to envy the Domestic Estate of their more incommunicable Kindred left behind them, that rather it may be presaged that the fame of their new happiness here abroad, will awake and stir up some of the great Remnant of their Courtly Race to crave the Conduct of some second and more able Guide to put them in the way for the like Outlandish Adventure. This, and greater Miracles, your Grace may easily effect with the least Musical Honour daigned at any time by your incomparable Voice unto these your first-devoted. The most harmonious rector of the immortal Choir instruct and perfect your Highness for the bearing of a Celestial Part in the everlasting Hallelu- JAH. So prayeth,  
Madam, YOUR MAJESTY'S Thrice-humble, and thrice-obedient Subject EDWARD FILMER.   

THE PREFACE.  
THough, in the highest times of the most Imperial City of the World, Literature and Music were counted the two Mental Touchstones of a Gentleman (for Wrestling was held but a Corporal one, and therefore, by the Comic reciting the parts fit for a Gentleman, put in the last place: Fac periculum in Literis, in Musicis, in Palaestra) yet sole Scholar or Musician, unless elevated by Academical Degrees, are held now but Lowe and Illiberal Conditions. So that a Nihilegregiè, or a Nequid nimis is that which preserves such, as are hereunto addicted, in a freedom requisite to Gentility, which ought to be Slave neither to Book nor Fiddle. Fare therefore from a desire of testifying that my endeavours in these kinds have soared above the pitch of mediocrity, I here expose to the users of my Natural Tongue this small Labour, as whereby may only be discovered a Gentle tincture of my mind in either, but a Deep die in neither of the forenamed Qualities. For, touching the Musical part of this Book, I have only exercised my judicative strength in the Choice and Collection of the Airs, which is not sufficient to raise on a man the surname of Musician: and, for the Literature or Poetry of the Ditties, I have no more then new-coloured their Form, by changing their Language, I have not invented the subject, or Made the matter; wherein consists the main Essence of a Poet, as being the Work from whence he receives more properly his Denomination 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 τὸ Ποιεῖν, then from the Making of a Verse. In so much that he that traceth a Chronicle sincerely, without any fabulous mixture, may rather be called a Versifying Historian, than a Poet; as not sufficiently shaping himself to the fashion of the great and ancient Masters of the Art, that first setup the name of Poet.— Pictoribus atque Poetis Quidlibet audendi semper fuit aequa potestas; neither of them being tied to the Pattern of Truth, but left free to the Reach of Invention. Nor do I here labour to shift-of, as ignominious, the graceful Titles of Poet or Musician, which Persons fare higher than myself have accepted-of as Ornaments to their other Merits; my purpose being only to acknowledge, that my sparing diligences and few retired hours employed these Ways have in no wise effected, that I may, without vanity, either sue for, or admit-of these Names, that I unfeignedly gratulate to such as have purchased them with Surpassing Desert.— mediocribus esse Poetis Non homines, non Dij, non concessere columnae.  
Now, for the Work its self, whereunto the Muses have bee'n assistant with their double Skill (which the two-topped Mountain they inhabit may be thought to point-at) I mean Music and Poetry, as I confess that I have bee'n, generally, more taken with the Musical part then the Poetical; so I acknowledge to have tied myself more strictly to the presentation thereof (without swerving from the first published Copy either in flourish or substance) then of the Other; wherein I have, sometime, suffered as well my Fant'sie as Reason to thrust me a little from a punctual insisting in the Steps of the Original: upon what Motives (or peradventure Necessity) I leave to the likely conjectures of the judicious Comparer to findout; having held it more workemanlike, upon well-taken occasions, by a justifiable varying from the Phrase, without loss of the Plot and Scope of the Author, so to translate, that the Translater may be said to have some little share in the Apparel and Dress, though not in the Body, of the work, than (with a Schoolboys resolution) to dare to aim no further then at such an interpretation, as may render the most exact account, that may be, of the Syntax of the Original. Indeed, where Poems are chosen to be translated for no other respect then for their own eminent and known worth, it can savour of no less than presuming self-conceit to strain, with new Flashes, to outshine the primitive Beams of the Original; or to intimate a waterish unsavoriness in the translated Matter, by sprinkling the Translation with frequent Grains of the Translators peculiar Salt. But, where Lines are not so much turned into another Language for their own, as for the Musics sake that they belong-to and (in a manner) serve, I cannot absolutely conclude, but that the Translat●● may, without the blot of insolence, carry himself with a Loser regard to those Pieces of his Pattern that he shall judge himself least Obliged unto.— &, quae Desperat tractata nitescere posse, relinquit.  
Now, because translated Ditties and Originals differ chief in this Preposterous Point, that, whereas the Musical Notes are fitted to the Originals, the Translations are, contrarily, to be fitted to the Musical Notes, I have bee'n forced, by this new Task, for the more even Accord with the Music, in diverse Airs, to alter the Natural first Cast of the Verse, and to ordain, in the proper place of an jambicke Foot, a dissonant Trochaicke, as more suitable to the nature of the Note. For this cause, when the most busy Examiner's shall, in some of the Ditties, find here and there jambicke Metres that seem to falter in their Pace, through the unlawful frequency of Trochaicke Motions, let them forbear Censure, till they have tried them with the Stream of the Air or Note; which, though it were blamelessly enough by the Composer adapted to the French Verse, yet, now and then, falls out to make a Currant English Verse of the same Numbers to run, as it were, against the Bias. The reason is, because the French syllables, as well in Verse as Prose, are pronounced with a more Continued Equality of sound, then ours. For that Tongue admits seldom of any Tones or Intentions of the Voice (by Grammatians called Accents) unless at the End of the Clause, or in the penultims of words ending in their c feminine. And this their Mother-pronunciation they often apply even to the Latin, and other acquired Tongues. From whence it is not unlikely, that some of them, having bee'n admonished by Strangers of this their Unruliness, have not stuck to maintain their dysprosodia (that I may so call it) or immodulation of the severely governed Syllables of the Latin: as may appear by that gravely-accented or rather unaccented and indistinguished Piece fathered upon them Nòs-Gàllì-nòn-cùràmùs-quàntìtàtém-syllàbàrúm; erroneously thinking that way of Pronunciation to be Common to Other Tongues, which seems Proper to their Own; the Nerves of whose Syllables (in Singing)- neither Cramp of unnatural correption, nor Rack of unusual production can much Torture. Hence therefore it proceeds, that the French, when they Compose to a Ditty in their own Language, being led rather by their free Fant'sie of Air (wherein many of them do naturally excel) then by any Strict and Artificial scanning of the Line, by which they Build, do often, by disproportioned Musical Quantities, invert the natural Stroke of a Verse, applying to the place of an jambicke Foot, such Modulation as jumps rather with a Trochay. And this without much violence to their Poems, since the Disorder and Confusion of metrical Feet in their Verse is as Inoffensive as Indiscernible, by reason, as is aforesaid, of the Even Pronunciation of Their Tongue: whereas Ours, more frequent and lively in Accenting all polysyllables, betrays presently to the Ear, by Our best Measure, the Accent, the Contrariety between the Trochay and the jambicke. Now therefore, when the Note, fitted for a Trochay in French, lights upon an jambicke in English, it strangely Wrists the relucting Syllables from their genuine Pronunciation, and changes the Friendly and Equal Conspiring, that aught to be between Word and Tune, into Injurious Contradiction; which unseemly Variance often breaks forth into so loud a Cacophonie, that, thereby, the one seems to do no less than Revile the other. In respect whereof, the intent of this Book being more to please the judicious Hearer of the Tunes, than the Critical Reader of the Lines, I have chosen rather, wittingly, to tolerate a little roughness in the Fluency of some of the Verses, thereby the less to disrelish the Music, then, by an overcurious straining to please in that Part of the work that concerns myself, neglect the better Part, the praise whereof I am fare from colour of pretending the least Right unto. Yet herein also I dare not avouch to have bee'n so anxious an Observer of the Laws of the Note in all places, as to distemper the Verse upon every slight Beck thereof, but, where I have thought the Lightness of the dissonancy might the most easily be Digested by Good Ears, I have sometimes permitted the Metres to March forward with their most decent Steps, without Respect or Obcisance to the Musical Measure discovered in the Face of the Note, to the end that the Poetical Reader might find the less whereat to Trip or be Offended; having endeavoured, in this Doubtful and Distracting Case, to make the Work as little Scandalous as I could, either to the Grammatical or Musical Peruser.  
In conclusion; that I may not too much Disproportion this small Building, by making the Porch of Preface too Big to correspond with the Little Rooms within, my moderate desires are, that my Home hearted unaffectating Countrymen, Favourers and Practizers of Music, would courteously entertain this Recopilation as a Work naturalised chief for their sakes; and, whereas our Tailors Shops and Dancing-schools have bee'n so employed in French Imitations, that our more deserving Masters of Music might sometimes, for pleasing Novelties sake, deign to repair hither for Life of Air worthy of their more noble Art's Emulation. And, as for some Roving Spirits, whose Transitory View of France may have magnified them with the Scum only and Frothy top of the French Tongue, without diving into the substantial Depth by a more piercing diligence therein, I am patiently provided to hear them Counterblast these my Endeavours with this Airy Position: That it is impossible that any Words but French should ever Become the Loover Airs (though they themselves, besides understanding them but to halves, pronounce them to a natural French Ear as Misbecomingly as ever Crude Forrainer was heard to sing an English Ballet) such is the aptness of halfe-digested Novelty to breed in the Stomaches of our young Countrymen a Queasy despising of the, almost-matchlesse, Abilities of their own Language. But, because I have learned among People of sound Tastes, that, Contra Gustos no ay que disputar, There is no disputing against Tastes, I will abstain to play the ignorant Logician by attempting to raise Arguments on a Theme held Improbable; but rather, somewhat to gratify their depraved Palates, have annexed the French Ditties in the end of the Book; by the same means testifying, to the skilful in both Tongues, my integrity (as fare as is formerly professed) in their Translations. Having hazarded to break the ice to abler pens, whose happier faculty in this kind may hereafter incite them, with some more rich English lining of other French pieces of this Musical stuff, to venture-for and win the applause of my indegenerating Countrymen. Whose present acceptance of the homely thread here prepared to measure these first withal, shall fortify me against the future assaults of repentance.  
E. F.   

To the Musical user of this Book.  
NOte that the usual English measure of Songs (which is commonly by Sembriefs or Minoms) cannot be applied to divers of the French Airs. Where therefore you shall find an odd Crotchet in the Air, measure the whole Air by Crotchets; and, where an odd Minim, by Minoms. Note also that the Tablature to each Air hath not bee'n set by the Author of the Air, but some of them by Gabriel Bataille, a Frenchman likewise. I have therefore put his name to those Lute-parts that were not Composed by the Author's themsealues of the Airs, to the intent that each man may be duly reputed-of according to his Deserving. The single Letter before the beginning of the Lute-part gives the Tune that the singing Part, which is over it, begins-in. In those Airs, whose strains are to be sung twice over, you shall find the ending Note to be twice set down. Observe therefore that if, in this case, the first strain be to be repeated, you sing, the first time, the first of these Notes only; and, the second, the second only; but, in the repetition of the last strain, you must, contrarily, sing the last Note (that stands without the bar) first, and that, which stands within the bar with the mark of Conclusion over the head, last. Other things (as namely the change of Time shown by Arithmetical figures, or whatsoever else may seem new) I suppose that such, as have attained but to a mediocrity of Skill in Music, will, of themsealues, quickly conceive.   

To my worthy Friend, Master Edward Filmer, on his Work published.  
WHat charming Peals are these,  
That, while they bind the senses, do so please?  
They are the Marriage-rites  
Of two, the choicest Pair of Man's delights,  
Music and Poesy:  
French Air and English Verse here Wedded lie.  
Who did this Knot compose,  
Again hath brought the Lily to the Rose;  
And, with their Chained dance,  
Recelebrates the joyful Match with France.  
They are a School to win  
The fair French Daughter to learn English in;  
And, graced with her song,  
To make the Language sweet upon her tongue.  
Ben: Jonson.   



Cantus of 4. Parts. I. A PANEGYRIC: Sung by the Sun, in a Masque of the Prince of Condies, to the now French Queen-mother, at that time Regent.  PIERRE GVEDRON. Gabriel Bataille. 

Adorable Princess.  BRight Abstract of us sea╌uen Wand'ring Torches of Hea╌uen! Earth's most a╌dored Shrine! 'Tis time I leave skie╌ run╌ning, And quit my Coach and cun╌ning, To give thee way to shine.  

Thou, unmatched Beauty's Treasure!  
Whereby Nature doth measure  
Of her strained skill the height;  
I think thee much beguiled,  
That I the Sun am styled,  
Since first I saw thy Light.   

Thine Eye, mounting above me,  
Doth so clearly reprove me,  
Whilst I my high course keep,  
That, when Thetis last rocked me,  
I wish that she had locked me  
Up with eternal sleep.   

Though my course, no where ending,  
'Bout Earth's whole Globe run bending  
To gild the Ball with Ray,  
It sees no Weals but wonder  
At France so happy under  
Thy Sceptres painful sway.   

Thy Counsels and thy Watches  
Have, by so strange Dispatches,  
Her mischiefs beaten-downe,  
That Angels Compositions,  
Sung by themsealues' Musicians,  
Must publish thy Renown.   

Only thy Prudence charmed  
Kings, unto Battle armed,  
Till their hands dropped their swords:  
And now each wild mouth, tamed  
And to thy bridle framed,  
Praise to thy Laws affords.   

Thou hast shown the Now-livers,  
That the two jarring Rivers,  
Seine and Tage can be friends;  
And makest Bellona grumble  
To see her Demons tumble  
In chains with Hellish Fiends.   

Flatteries best Common-places  
Can not of Mary's graces  
The least augmenting make:  
To reach her estimation  
All humane speculation  
In vain doth undertake.   

Powers! in whose high assistance  
France assures her resistance  
Against all future harm;  
Never, of any creature,  
Did you so fair a Feature  
With so much Wisdom arm.   

May your Fates hindered paces  
Grant, that old Times long races,  
Which make each thing decline,  
From face so perfect, never  
May that sweet vantage sever  
It now holds above mine.    

Tenor of 4. Parts. II.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
BRight Abstract of us seven Wand'ring Torches of Heaven! Earth's most adored Shrine! 'Tis time I leave skie-running, And quit my Coach and cunning, To give thee way to shine.  

Thou, unmatched Beauty's Treasure!  
Whereby Nature doth measure  
Of her strained skill the height;  
I think thee much beguiled,  
That I the Sun am styled,  
Since first I saw thy Light.   

Thine Eye, mounting above me,  
Doth so clearly reprove me,  
Whilst I my high course keep,  
That, when Thetis last rocked me,  
I wish, that she had locked me  
Up with eternal sleep, etc.    

Bassus of 4. Parts. II.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
BRight Abstract of us sea╌uen Wand'ring Torches of Heaven! Earth's most adored Shrine! 'Tis time I leave skie-run╌ning, And quit my Coach and cunning, To give thee way to shine.  

Thou, unmatched Beauty's Treasure!  
Whereby Nature doth measure  
Of her strained skill the height;  
I think thee much beguiled,  
That I the Sun am styled,  
Since first I saw thy Light.   

Thine Eye, mounting above me,  
Doth so clearly reprove me,  
Whilst I my high course keep,  
That, when Thetis last rocked me.  
I wish that she had locked me  
Up with eternal sleep. etc.    

Altus of 4. Parts. II.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
BRight Abstact of us seven Wand'ring Torches of Heaven! Earth's most adored Shrine! 'Tis time I leave skie-running, And quit my Coach and cunning, To give thee way to shine.  

Thou, unmatched Beauty's Treasure!  
Whereby Nature doth measure  
Of her strained skill the height;  
I think thee much beguiled,  
That I the Sun am styled,  
Since first I saw thy Light.   

Thine Eye, mounting above me,  
Doth so clearly reprove me,  
Whilst I my high course keep,  
That, when Thetis last rocked me,  
I wish that she had locked me  
Up with eternal sleep. etc.     


Cantus of 4. Parts. II. To Anne the French Queen, new come from Spain, at her first meeting with the King her husband: and appliable to our Sacred MARIE, at his Majesty's first sight of her at DOVER.  PIERRE GVEDRON. Pierre Guedron. 

●n fin, la ●●yci.  AT length, here She is; we have got those bright Eyes; More shines now our Earth then the Skies: And our Mars, happy in his high desire, Is all flame by this fire.  

The Spheres, in so Heavenly face, never fixed  
High state with so meek graces mixed;  
Which, in all hearts about it round, inspires  
True respect and chaste fires.   

At length, Both are met; our designs Crowned are;  
Each soul in the joy hath a share:  
May, in both breasts, this Isle of Union give  
Only one heart to live.    

Tenor of 4. Parts. II.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
AT length, here She is; We have got those bright Eyes; More shines now our Earth then the Skies: And our Mars, hap╌pie in his high desire, Is all flame by this fire.  

The Spheres, in so Heavenly face, never fixed  
High state with so meek graces mixed;  
Which, in all hearts about it round, inspires  
True respect and chaste fires.   

At length, Both are met; our designs Crowned are;  
Each soul in the joy hath a share:  
May, in both breasts, this Isle of Union give  
Only one heart to live.    

Bassus of 4. Parts. II.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
AT length, here She is; We have got those bright Eyes; More shines now our Earth then the Skies: And our Mars, happy in his high desire, Is all flame by this fire.  

The Spheres, in so Heavenly face, never fixed  
High state with so meek graces mixed;  
Which, in all hearts about it round, inspires  
True respect and chaste fires.   

At length, Both are met; our designs Crowned are;  
Each soul in the joy hath a share:  
May, in both breasts, this Isle of Union give  
Only one heart to live.    

Altus of 4. Parts. II.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
AT length, here She is; we have got those bright Eyes; More shines now our Earth then the Sies: And our Mars, happy in his high desire, Is all flame by this fire.  

The Spheres, in so Heavenly face, never fixed  
High state with so meek graces mixed;  
Which, in all hearts about it round, inspires  
True respect and chaste fires.   

At length, Both are met; our designs Crowned are;  
Each soul in the joy hath a share:  
May, in both breasts, this Isle of Union give  
Only one heart to live.     


Cantus of 4. Parts. III.  PIERRE GVEDRON. Gabriel Bataille. 

Que n'estes vous lassées.  WHy have my Thoughts conspi╌red, Never to be tired, With doing Reason wrong? Making my Soul ac╌cu╌sed. For having refused. Her an╌ti╌dote so long.  

Why, by vain force of weeping,  
Am I kept from sleeping?  
Why ordain not the Skies  
Out of my Mind to banish  
What they have made vanish  
Already from mine Eyes?   

Light! that keep'st all Lights under;  
Dear adored Wonder!  
How would I applaud Fate,  
That deludes us with distance,  
If, by his assistance,  
Death would cutof my Date!   

What poisoned stabs of Fury  
In swelled breast endure I,  
To see how Danger may  
(Renting thy youth like Monster)  
Thine ashes 
* Perperàm vel indignè construere.  misconstrue  
In urn of foreign clay!   

I bind myself from speaking,  
Though my heart lie breaking  
In conflict with this Hell:  
But thus I sure augment it,  
Because not to vent it  
Makes the fire more rebel.   

My bones of flesh are stripped,  
And violets, nipped  
With an untimely cold,  
Or with a long drought wiped,  
Of my skin blew-striped  
Do much resemblance hold   

Gods! (since the longest-aged  
Spleen of Fates enraged  
Turns, from Nettle, Balme-leafe)  
After so many beat,  
How can just entreat  
Find your tribunal deaf?   

Have ye bee'n styled free judges  
Of all wrongs and grudges,  
That earthly stomaches feel,  
To prove inexorable  
When the miserable  
Before your altars kneel?   

I would not show the glory  
Of my warlike story  
To the low Hemisphere;  
Nor, from the deep descending  
Of the World's steep ending,  
More Laurels fetch to wear.   

Two sweet Eyes are my wishes;  
Feasts, without these dishes,  
Relish of nought but rue:  
Do but, your Famine end me,  
This Ambrosia send me,  
I am a God like you.    

Tenor of 4. Parts. III.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
WHy have my Thoughts conspired, Never to be tired, With doing Reason wrong? Making my Soul ac╌cused, For having refused; Her antidote so long.  

Why, by vain force of weeping,  
Am I kept from sleeping?  
Why ordain not the Skies  
Out of my Mind to banish  
What they have made vanish  
Already from mine Eyes?   

Light! that keep'st all Lights under;  
Dear adored Wonder!  
How would I applaud Fate.  
That deludes us with distance,  
If, by his assistance,  
Death would cutof my Date!   

What poisoned stabs of Fury  
In swelled breast endure I,  
To see how Danger may  
(Renting thy youth like Monster)  
Thine ashes misconstrue  
In urn of foreign clay! etc.    

Bassus of 4. Parts. III.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
WHy have my Thoughts conspired, Never to be tired, With doing Reason wrong? Making my Soul accused, For having refused Her antidote so long,  

Why, by vain force of weeping,  
Am I kept from sleeping?  
Why ordain not the Skies  
Out of my Mind to banish  
What they have made vanish  
Already from mine Eyes!   

Light! that keep'st all Lights under;  
Dear adored Wonder!  
How would I applaud Fate,  
That deludes us with distance,  
If, by his assistance,  
Death would cutof my Date!   

What poisoned stabs of Fury  
In swelled breast endure I,  
To see how Danger may  
(Renting thy youth like Monster)  
Thine ashes misconstrue  
In urn of foreign clay! etc.    

Altus of 4. Parts: III.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
WHy have my Thoughts conspired, Never to be tired, With doing Reason wrong? Ma╌king my Soul accused, For having refused Her antidote so long.  

Why, by vain force of weeping,  
Am I kept from sleeping?  
Why ordain not the Skies  
Out of my Mind to banish  
What they have made vanish  
Already from mine Eyes?   

Light! that keep'st all Lights under;  
Dear adored Wonder!  
How would I applaud Fate,  
That deludes us with distance,  
If, by his assistance,  
Death would cutof my Date!   

What poisoned stabs of Fury  
In swelled breast endure I,  
To see how Danger may  
(Renting thy youth like Monster)  
Thine ashes misconstrue  
In urn of foreign clay! etc.     


Cantus of 4. Parts. FOUR  PIERRE GVEDRON. Gabriel Bataille. 

〈◊〉 grands ●ieux, que 〈◊〉 charms!  O! What muster of glances (Cupid's troop of Lances!) What fires! and what darts! darts. O! What spark╌ling dres╌seses! What catching tresses! What tempting arts!  

In this Maze, to conduct us,  
The Sky doth instruct us  
With directive light:  
And two chief Sun's faces  
Our troubled paces  
Dispose aright.   

The time now doth require us  
From hence to retire us,  
And lay-by our Lutes:  
Night, made day by watches,  
With Lover's matches  
Unkindly suits.   

And, lo! the admired glory  
Of our age's story,  
Nurse of all our hopes,  
Shines, to our amazement,  
From yonder casement,  
Which now she opes.   

Ye Beauties! (by whose flashes  
No souls burn to ashes,  
But flame night and day)  
Grace, with fair reflection,  
Our best affection  
Shown this new way.    

Tenor of 4. Parts. FOUR  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
O! What muster, etc. O! what muster of glances (Cupid's troop of Lances!) What fires! and what darts! O! what sparkling dresses! What catching tresses! What tempting arts.  

In this Maze, to conduct us,  
The Sky doth instruct us  
With directive light▪  
And two chief Sun's faces  
Our troubled paces  
Dispose aright.   

The time now doth require us  
From hence to retire us,  
And lay-by our Lutes:  
Night, made day by watches,  
With Lover's matches  
Unkindly suits. etc.    

Bassus of 4. Parts. FOUR  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
O! what muster of glances (Cupid's troop of Lances!) What fires! and what darts! darts. O! what sparkling dresses! What catching tresses! What tempting arts!  

In this Maze; to conduct us,  
The Sky doth instruct us  
With directive light:  
And two chief Sun's faces  
Our troubled paces  
Dispose aright.   

The time now doth require us  
From hence to retire us,  
And lay-by our Lutes:  
Night, made day by watches,  
With Lover's matches  
Unkindly suits.   

And, lo! the admired glory  
Of our age's story,  
Nurse of all our hopes,  
Shines, to our amazement,  
From yonder casement,  
Which now she opes.   

Ye Beauties! (by whose flashes  
No souls burn to ashes,  
But flame night and day)  
Grace, with fair reflection,  
Our best affection  
Shown this new way.    

Altus of 4. Parts. FOUR  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
O! What muster, etc. O! what muster of glances (Cupid's troop of Lances!) What fires! and what darts! O! what sparkling dresses! What catching tresses! What tempting arts!  

In this Maze, to conduct us,  
The Sky doth instruct us  
With directive light:  
And two chief Sun's faces  
Our troubled paces  
Dispose aright.   

The time now doth require us  
From hence to retire us,  
And lay-by our Lutes:  
Night, made day by watches,  
With Lover's matches  
Unkindly suits. etc.     


Cantus of 4. Parts. V  PIERRE GVEDRON. G. Bataille. 

Quell espoir de guarir.  WIth what wings can I fly From Disease, till I die die Of a Love-kind╌led fe╌uer, Which I may well endure, but but to make known dare ne╌uer?  

What a Hell 'tis to burst,  
And not tell how I thirst  
In this Love-kindled fever,  
Which I may well endure, but to make known dare never!   

O! that Death's cooling cup,  
Would allow me one sup  
In this Love-kindled fever,  
Which I may well endure, but to make known dare never!   

Yet 'tis fit the high Cause  
Should enforce these hard laws  
On my Love-kindled fever,  
Which I learn to endure, but to make known dare never.    

Tenor of 4. Parts. V  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
WIth what wings can I fly From Disease, till I die die Of a Love-kindled fe╌uer, Which I may well endure, but but to make known dare never?  

What a Hell 'tis to burst,  
And not tell how I thirst  
In this Love-kindled fever,  
Which I may well endure, but to make known dare never!   

O! that Death cooling cup  
Would allow me one sup  
In this Love-kindled fever,  
Which I may well endure, but to make known dare never!   

Yet 'tis fit the high Cause  
Should enforce these hard laws  
On my Love-kindled fever,  
Which I learn to endure, but to make known dare never.    

Bassus of 4. Parts. V  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
WIth what wings can I fly From Disease, till I die die Of a Love-kindled fever, Which I may well endure, but but to make known dare never?  

What a Hell 'tis to burst,  
And not tell how I thirst  
In this Love-kindled fever,  
Which I may well endure, but to ma●● 〈◊〉 dare never!   

O! that Death's cooling cup  
Would allow me one sup  
In this Love-kindled fever,  
Which I may well endure, but to make known dare never!   

Yet 'tis fit the high Cause  
Should enforce these hard laws  
On my Love-kindled fever,  
Which I learn to endure, but to make known dare never.    

Altus of 4. Parts. V  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
WIth what wings can I fly From Disease, till I die die Of a Love-kindled fe╌uer, Which I may well en╌dure, but but to make known dare never?  

What a Hell 'tis to burst,  
And not tell how I thirst  
In this Love-kindled fever,  
Which I may well endure, but to make known dare never!   

O! that Death's cooling cup  
Would allow me one sup  
In this Love-kindled fever,  
Which I may well endure, but to make known dare never!   

Yet 'tis fit the high Cause  
Should enforce these hard laws  
On my Love-kindled fever,  
Which I learn to endure, but to make known dare never.     


Cantus of 4. Parts. VI  PIERRE GVEDRON. Ga. Ba. 

Dù luis-tu, Soleil de mon ●me?  WHat Sp●ll holds thee, my Sun, from rising? What halfe-sphere takes-up thy whole race? Is Thetis green lap the fresh place, That so long keeps thee a baptising? Now that my Sun daignes me no light, To me fairest Day is black Night.  

Save thy fires from their utter quenching:  
Rouse, from Neptune's pillows, thy head:  
My flame must Out, if thine prove dead  
By combat with so long a drenching.  
Now, that my Sun daignes me no light,  
To me fairest Day is black Night.   

Who, but I, can clear this dark Riddle?  
Eyes (though not blind) groping at Noon;  
Which, let the Sun rise nêre so soon,  
Can never get beyond Night's middle?  
For, whilst my Sun.   

Thy effects have drawn me to thinking  
How I, like the Marigold, live!  
Thy look on me my sight doth give;  
Thine absence sets me strait a winking.  
Thus, whilst my Sun.   

Yet at length, cheer me with a Morrow;  
Bringing glad Summer in thine eye:  
Winter, till then, makes my joydie  
With frosts of Fear in shades of Sorrow.  
Now, that my Sun daignes me no light,  
To me fairest Day is black Night.    

Tenor of 4. Parts. VI  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
WHat Spell holds thee, my Sun, from rising? What halfe-sphere takes-up thy whole race? Is Thetis green lap the fresh place, That so long keeps thee a baptising? Now that my Sun daignes me no light, To me fairest Day is black Night.  

Save thy fires from their utter quenching:  
Rouse, from Neptune's pillows, thy head:  
My flame must out, if thine prove dead  
By combat with so long a drenching.  
Now, that my Sun, etc.    

Bassus of 4. Parts. VI  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
WHat Spell holds thee, my Sun, from rising? What halfe-sphere takes-up thy whole race? Is Thetis green lap the fresh place, That so long keeps thee a baptising, Now that my Sun daignes me no light, To me fairest Day is black Night.  

Save thy fires from their utter quenching:  
Rouse, from Neptune's pillows, thy head:  
My flame must out, if thine prove dead  
By combat with so long a drenching.  
Now, that my Sun daignes me no light,  
To me fairest Day is black Night. etc.    

Altus of 4. Parts. VI  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
WHat Spell holds thee, my Sun, from rising? What halfe-sphere takes up thy whole race? Is Thetis green lap the fresh place. That so long keeps thee a baptising? Now that my Sun daignes me no light, To me fairest Day is black Night.  

Save thy fires from their utter quenching:  
Rouse, from Neptune's pillows, thy head:  
My flame must out, if thine prove dead  
By combat with so long a drenching.  
Now, that my Sun, etc.     


Cantus of 4. Parts. VII.  PIERRE GVEDRON. G. Bataille. 

Qu' Aminte ●ut heureux!  HOw was Amyn╌tas blest, Whose death, but feigned, Was means to clear the breast, That Spite had stai╌ned, And win the heart that Scorn be╌fore held gai╌ned!  

Oft, to the graves cold brink,  
His sighs had blown him;  
Whilst tears, his fruitless drink,  
Had ouerflow'n him:  
Yet Syluia, for his Pains, would never own him.   

His Love, his Truth, his Suits,  
His earnest Plying,  
His Gifts, his Pen, his Lutes,  
His Deifying  
Can never break her of her stiff denying,   

Till, changing Truth for Lie,  
He taught Love cunning:  
For, feigning but to die,  
There was no shunning  
Deaths ye, which, at Love's flame, set her a sunning.   

Why is my harder Fate,  
Which should be wheeling,  
So steady in his gate?  
And no way reeling?  
Which makes my Death more true, my Dear less feeling.    

Tenor of 4. Parts. VII.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
HOw was Amyntas blest, Whose death, but feigned, Was means to clear the breast, That Spite had stained; And win the heart that Scorn be╌fore held gained!  

Oft, to the graves cold brink,  
His sighs had blown him;  
Whilst tears, his fruitless drink,  
Had ouerflow'n him:  
Yet Syluia, for his Pains, would never own him. etc.    

Bassus of 4. Parts. VII.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
HOw was Amyntas blest, Whose death, but feigned was means to clear the breast, That Spite had stained; And win the heart that Scorn be╌fore held gained!  

Oft, to the graves cold brink,  
His sighs had blown him;  
Whilst tears, his fruitless drink,  
Had ouerflow'n him:  
Yet Syluia, for his Pains would never own him.   

His Love, his Truth, his Suits,  
His earnest Plying,  
His Gifts, his Pen, his Lutes,  
His Deifying  
Can never break her of her stiff denying,   

Till, changing Truth for Lie,  
He taught Love cunning:  
For, feigning but to die,  
There was no shunning  
Death's ice, which, at Love's flame, set her a sunning.   

Why is my harder Fate,  
Which should be wheeling,  
So steady in his gate?  
And no way reeling?  
Which makes my Death more true, my Dear less feeling.    

Altus of 4. Parts. VII.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
HOw was Amyntas blest, Whose death, but fai╌ned, Was means to clear the breast, That Spite had stained; And win the heart that Scorn before held gained!  

Oft, to the graves cold brink,  
His sighs had blown him;  
Whilst tears, his fruitless drink,  
Had ouerflow'n him:  
Yet Syluia, for his Pains, would never own him. etc.     


Cantus of 4. Parts. VIII.  PIERRE GVEDRON. Ga. Ba. 
COMPLAINT.  

'Las! pourquoy ne suis-je née.  WHy, alas! cri'd-out my Mother, To break my peaceful sleep of Innocence? And drew the cortin, that did smother Mine Eyes from Lights of╌fence?  

Since 'twas Light begat the Burning  
Whereof mine Eyes, now great, in labour are:  
But Fire, i'th' birth, to Water turning,  
Is prodigy of war.   

Thus, whilst tears not cure but threaten,  
Love's painful growth, now at the fatal height,  
From Hope's bar, after long plea, beaten,  
Appeals to Death for right.   

For suspicious Envy's canker  
So poisons the red fountain of my veins,  
That all my blood is turned ranker,  
Then that which Ulcer stains.   

You! rich marks of Nature's favour,  
(Which for my Youth's grace, she from Heaven steals)  
Shall all your sweets but serve to savour  
Time and Diseases meals?   

What avail my banks of Roses,  
Whose blushes make my Wooers red with fire,  
If, forced to wound with sharp opposes,  
I prove to them all-Bry'r?   

Though my Thoughts delight to hover,  
With singed wings, about Philanders' flame,  
Yet Fear constraineth me to cover  
Love's fire with Vesta's name.   

If my Triumphs be forbidden,  
Why fought my Beauties to subdue his Heart?  
What praise get Eyes for valour, hidden,  
Whilst Tongue plays coward's part?   

Thus, though walled from Sea of pleasure,  
Yet this small Current through the sluice doth crowd;  
That MY AFFECTIONS TONGVED MEASURE  
IN SILENCE SPEAKS ALOUD.   

Hence it is, that he delighteth,  
With equal warmth, to keep life in my heat:  
And, in gold-weight of love, requiteth  
Much faith with troth as great.   

Yet, thus tempted with Love's plenty,  
We, hungry, dare not feed, but with our eyes;  
Eyes watched with eyes of more than twenty  
Sworn centuries of spies.   

Friend! whose Ears this plaint shall swallow  
Down to thy Heart (that way to cause a tear)  
If thou look pale to see me sallow,  
Vpbraid not Love but Fear.    

Tenor of 4. Parts. VIII.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
WHy, alas! cri'd-out my Mother, To break my peaceful sleep of Innocence? And drew the cortin, that did smother Mine Eyes from Lights offence?  

Since 'twas Light begat the Burning,  
Whereof mine Eyes, now great, in labour are:  
But Fire, i'th' birth, to Water turning,  
Is prodigy of war.   

Thus, whilst tears not cure but threaten,  
Love's painful growth, now at the fatal height,  
From Hope's bar, after long plea, beaten,  
Appeals to Death for right. etc.    

Bassus of 4. Parts. VIII.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
WHy, alas! cri'd-out my Mother, To break my peaceful sleep of Innocence? And drew the cortin, that did smother Mine Eyes from Lights offence?  

Since 'twas Light begat the Burning,  
Whereof mine Eyes, now great, in labour are:  
But Fire, i'th' birth, to Water turning,  
Is prodigy of war.   

Thus, whilst tears not cure but threaten,  
Love's painful growth, now at the fatal height,  
From Hope's bar, after long plea, beaten,  
Appeals to Death for right.   

For suspicious Envy's canker  
So poisons the red fountain of my veins,  
That all my blood is turned ranker,  
Then that which Ulcer stains.   

You! rich marks of Nature's favour,  
(Which for my Youth's grace, she from Heaven steals)  
Shall all your sweets but serve to savour  
Time and Diseases meals?   

What avail my banks of Roses,  
Whose blushes make my Wooers red with fire,  
If, forced to wound with sharp opposes,  
I prove to them all-Bry'r? etc.    

Altus of 4. Parts. VIII.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
WHy, alas! cri'd-out my Mo╌ther, To break my peaceful sleep of Innocence? And drew the cortin, that did smo╌ther Mine Eyes from Lights of╌fence?  

Since 'twas Light begat the Burning,  
Whereof mine Eyes, now great, in labour are:  
But Fire, i'th' birth, to Water turning,  
Is prodigy of war.   

Thus, whilst tears not cure but threaten,  
Love's painful growth, now at the fatal height,  
From Hope's bar, after long plea, beaten,  
Appeals to Death for right. etc.     


Cantus of 4. Parts. IX.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 

Vn jour l'amourense Siluie.  SYluia, not long since, halfe╌affrighted, Because love's theft grew un╌benigh╌ted, Waked the mate where╌in she de╌lighted, And thus did say: With a kiss let all wrongs be righted, And get-up quickly; for 'tis day. With a kiss let all wrongs be righted, And get-up quickly; for 'tis day.  

See! where young Morn gins to enter:  
What early wings have late bee'n lent her!  
Some sleepless rival may have sent her,  
Us to betray:  
Hastily kiss then, to prevent her,  
And get-up quickly; for 'tis day.   

My fear would feign from hence expel thee,  
Before this traitress Light do sell thee  
To Shame: then think not much I tell thee  
Of thy delay;  
With a kiss since I must compel thee  
To get-up quickly; for 'tis day.   

My scruple ought not to be blamed:  
Love, by this blow, is no whit lamed:  
Stopp'd flame doth rather, more untamed,  
Rage then decay:  
With a kiss fairly then be framed  
To get-up quickly; for 'tis day.   

Syluia! what news is this doth daunt me?  
(Quoth Shepheard) Canst thou so much scant me  
Of joy, because the Sun doth haunt me  
With jealous ray?  
But a kiss only wilt thou grant me  
To get-up quickly now 'tis day?   

His flash, the World's beloved wonder,  
(To us like messenger of thunder)  
Doth blast Love's arm, and part asunder  
His sweetest fray;  
With thy kiss (though but entered yunder)  
Tempting grown Flame to fly young Day.   

Since then to part I find concerning  
Now thy advice hath taught me learning,  
I will, to show my sealfe discerning,  
Rather than stay,  
Take a kiss in pay of loves earning,  
And so, farewell; because 'tis day.    

Tenor of 4. Parts. IX.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
SYluia, not long since, half affrighted Because love's theft grew un╌benighted Waked the mate wherein she delighted, And thus did say: With a kiss, etc. With a kiss let all wrongs be righted, And get-up quickly; for 'tis day.  

See! where young Morn gins to enter:  
What early wings have late bee'n lent her!  
Some sleepless rival may have sent her,  
Us to betray:  
Hastily kiss them, to prevent her,  
And get-up quickly; for 'tis day,   

My fear would feign from hence expel thee,  
Before this traitress Light do sell thee  
To Shame: then think not much I tell thee  
Of thy delay;  
With a kiss since I must compel thee  
To get-up quickly; for 'tis day. etc.    

Bassus of 4. Parts. IX.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
SYluia, not long since, half affrighted, Because love's theft grew un╌benigted, Waked the mate wherein she delighted, And thus did say: With a kiss, With a kiss let all wrongs be righted, And get-up quickly; for 'tis day.  

See! where young Morn gins to enter:  
What early wings have late bee'n lent her!  
Some sleepless rival may have sent her,  
Us to betray:  
Hastily kiss then, to prevent her,  
And get-up quickly; for 'tis day.   

My fear would feign from hence expel thee,  
Before this traitress Light do sell thee  
To Shame: then think not much I tell thee  
Of thy delay;  
With a kiss since I must compel thee  
To get-up quickly; for 'tis day. etc.    

Altus of 4. Parts. IX.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
SYluia, not long since, half affrighted, Because love's theft grew un╌benighted, Waked the mate wherein she delighted, And thus did say: With a kiss, etc. With a kiss let all wrongs be righted, And get-up quickly; for 'tis day.  

See! where young Morn gins to enter:  
What early wings have late bee'n lent her!  
Some sleepless rival may have sent her,  
Us to betray:  
Hastily kiss then, to prevent her,  
And get-up quickly; for 'tis day.   

My fear would feign from hence expel thee,  
Before this traitress Light do sell thee  
To Shame: then think not much I tell thee  
Of thy delay;  
With a kiss since I must compel thee  
To get-up quickly; for 'tis day. etc.     


Cantus of 4. Parts. X.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 

'Las! fuir actu tonsjours?  WIlt thou, untamed a╌las! still fly, for fear of charming, Thy breast in my tears flood? Or lest, with my moans lance, that Pity, herself arming, Should let thy ri╌gour blood? O! stay; O! stay, Amarantha, thy flight; Thy flights black wings shadow me with dreadful night.  

As, to behold thine eyes, and not adore their lustre,  
Were bold impiety:  
So, to fly (as thou dost) when Pities forces muster,  
Is coward's cruelty.  
O! stay.   

'Tis not a hope, thine Eyes will prove my sweet Attorneys,  
When they shall see my case,  
That makes me spend my cries and steps, in endless journeys,  
To countermand thy pace.  
O! stay.   

To tell, how thou alone art Nymph of my devotion,  
Is all my su'd╌for gains:  
Thou may'st, to grant me this, though intermit thy motion,  
Continue thy disdains.  
O! stay.    

Tenor of 4. Parts. X.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
WIlt thou, untamed a╌las! still fly, for fear of charming Thy breast in my tears flood? Or lest, with my moans lance, that Pity, herself arming, Should let thy ri╌gour blood? O! stay; O! stay, Amarantha, thy flight; Thy flights black wings shadow me with dreadful night.  

As, to behold thine eyes, and not adore their lustre,  
Were bold impiety:  
So, to fly (as thou dost) when Pities forces muster,  
Is coward's cruelty.  
O! stay, etc.    

Bassus of 4. Parts. X.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
WIlt thou, untamed a╌las! still fly, for fear of charming Thy breast in my tears flood? Or lest, with my moans lance, that Pity, herself arming, Should let thy ri╌gour blood? O! stay; O! stay, Amarantha, thy flight; Thy flights black wings shadow me with dreadful night.  

As, to behold thine eyes, and not adore their lustre,  
Were bold impiety:  
So, to fly (as thou dost) when Pities forces muster,  
Is coward's cruelty.  
O! stay.   

'Tis not a hope, thine Eyes will prove my sweet Attorneys,  
When they shall see my case,  
That makes me spend my cries and steps, in endless journeys,  
To countermand thy pace.  
O stay.   

To tell, how thou alone art Nymph of my devotion,  
Is all my su'd-for gains:  
Thou may'st, to grant me this, though intermit thy motion,  
Continue thy disdains.  
O! stay.    

Altus of 4. Parts. X.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
WIlt thou, untamed a╌las! still fly, for fear of charming Thy breast in my tears flood? Or lest, with my moans lance, that Pity, herself ar╌ming, Should let thy ri╌gour blood? O! stay; O! stay, Amarantha, thy flights; Thy flights black wings shadow me with dreadful night.  

As, to behold thine eyes, and not adore their lustre,  
Were bold impiety:  
So, to fly (as thou dost) when Pities forces muster,  
Is coward's cruelty.  
O! stay, etc.     


Cantus of 4. Parts. XI.  PIERRE GVEDRON. Gabriel Bataille. 

●i le parler, & le silence.  IF key of Speech, or lock of Silence, Strike us with er╌rorss, or with fears; Then let Eyes use their se╌cret style, whence Hearts may be taught, and yet not Ears. Love, whose noiselesse wing, by stealth, caught us, This dumb discourse, as soft╌ly, taught us.  

Let our Looks, flying and returning,  
(Fit secret Posts for close Desires)  
Whisper each others inward burning,  
And appoint a time to slake our fires.  
Love, whose noilesse wing, etc.   

But, if our prying rivals mutter  
To see the language of our Eyes,  
By unseen Thought our minds we'll utter,  
As messages are done in Skies.  
Love, whose noilesse wing, etc.   

Thus, with an armour new-inuented,  
Breaking the puffs of Envy's lungs,  
Guard we our Honour's shape undented,  
By poisoned shot of Courtiers tongues,  
Whom in Ignorance we'll all berry,  
And, at their Tomb, be dumbly merry.    

Tenor of 4. Parts. XI.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
IF key of Speech, or lock of Silence, Strike us with er╌rorss, or with fears; Then let Eyes use their secret style, whence Hearts may be taught, and yet not Ears. Love, whose noiselesse wing, by stealth, caught us, This dumb discourse, as softly, taught us.  

Let our Looks, flying and returning,  
(Fit secret Posts for close Desires)  
Whisper each others inward burning,  
And point a time to slake our fires.  
Love, whose noiselesse wing, etc.    

Bassus of 4. Parts. XI.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
IF key of Speech, or lock of Silence, Strike us with errors, or with fears; Then let Eyes use their secret style, whence Hearts may be taught, and yet not Ears. Love, whose noiselesse wing, by stealth, caught us, This dumb discourse, as softly, taught us.  

Let our Looks, flying and returning,  
(Fit secret Posts for close Desires)  
Whisper each others inward burning,  
And appoint a time to slake our fires.  
Love, whose noiselesse wing, etc.   

But, if our prying rivals mutter  
To see the language of our Eyes,  
By unseen Thought our minds we'll utter,  
As messages are done in Skies.  
Love, whose noiselesse wing, etc.   

Thus, with an armour new-inuented,  
Breaking the puffs of Envy's lungs,  
Guard we our Honour's shape undented  
By poisoned shot of Courtiers tongues,  
Whom in Ignorance we'll all berry,  
And, at their Tomb, be dumbly merry.    

Altus of 4. Parts. XI.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
IF key of Speech, or lock of Silence, Strike us with errors, or with fears; Then let Eyes use their secret style, whence Hearts may be taught, and yet not Ears. Love, whose noiselesse wing, by stealth, caught us, This dumb discourse, as softly, taught us.  

Let our Looks, flying and returning,  
(Fit secret Posts for close Desires)  
Whisper each others inward burning,  
And appoint a time to slake our fires.  
Love, whose noiselessewing, etc.     


Cantus of 4. Parts. XII. The Air of the Tritonides, in a Masque before this LEWIS the thirteenth and his Mother, at Madam his Sisters taking her leave to go into SPAIN.  PIERRE GVEDRON. Gabriel Bataille. 

C' est trop courir les eaux.  TOo much we range the waves, Let's quit these crystal graves: Too much we range the waves, Let's quit these crystal graves: And hunt for Pallas here in this more likely place, For sure in Virtue's Court the Gods leave still their trace.  

The Groves of our desires  
Hear blaze with holy fires:  
And those influent Lights, that shower on us such beams,  
Give hope our happiness will flow from their bright streams.   

Gow ' then! let's now accost  
Those eyes that we thought lost:  
Their beauties to abbord the more we slack our pace,  
The less we seem to know the bounty of their grace.   

Ye! great bright Suns of France,  
Whose prudent Laws good chance  
Gives breath to tired hearts by sweet restraint of hand,  
Tell us, if our Minerva do not near you stand?   

It lieth sure in you  
To bless us with her view:  
For, finding Valour here so close by Wisdom's side,  
Well may we judge that She doth also here abide.    

Tenor of 4. Parts. XII.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
TOo much we range the waves, Let's quit these crystal graves: Too much we range the waves, Let's quit these crystal graves: And hunt for Pallas here [in this] more likely place, For sure in Virtue's Court the Gods leave still their trace.  

The Groves of our desires  
Hear blaze with holy fires:  
And those influent Lights, that shower on us such beams,  
Give hope our happiness will flow from their bright streams. etc.    

Bassus of 4. Parts. XII.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
TOo much we range the waves, Let's quit these crystal graves: Too much we range the waves, Let's quit these crystal graves: And hunt for Pallas here [in this] more likely place, For sure in Virtue's Court the Gods leave still their trace.  

The Groves of our desires  
Hear blaze with holy fires:  
And those influent Lights, that shower on us such beams,  
Give hope our happiness will flow from their bright streams.   

Gow ' then! let's now accost  
Those eyes that we thought lost:  
Their beauties to abbord the more we slack our pace,  
The less we seem to know the bounty of their grace.   

Ye! great bright Suns of France,  
Whose prudent Laws good chance  
Gives breath to tired hearts by sweet restraint of hand,  
Tell us, if our Minerva do not near you stand?   

It lieth sure in you  
To bless us with her view:  
For, finding Valour here so close by Wisdom's side,  
Well may we judge that She doth also here abide.    

Altus of 4. Parts. XII.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
TOo much we range the waves, Let's quit these crystal graves: Too much we range the waves, Let's quit these crystal graves: And hunt for Pallas here [in this] more likely place, For sure in Virtue's Court the Gods leave still their trace.  

The Groves of our desires  
Hear blaze with holy fires:  
And those influent Lights, that shower on us such beams,  
Give hope our happiness will flow from their bright streams. etc.     


Cantus of 4. Parts. XIII.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 

Ce petit Monarque des coeurs.  THat same lit╌tle great King of hearts, Ouerswelled with custom of ta╌ming, To the fi╌rie yoke of his darts, The supremeneckes of hu╌mane fra╌ming, Would, fur╌ther, needs at╌tempt to know, If Death could suf╌fer by his bow?  

Rashly thus he, wronging his power,  
His full quivers brood thick did scatter  
At this fllint heart, which, with steeled shower,  
He as fond assayed to batter,  
As winds and waves that, vain, are bend  
A rock, besieged with Seas, to rend.   

In the end (abashed so great spies,  
As the Gods, at his shame were merry)  
He retired himself to thine eyes  
(Damon) there his disgrace to berry.  
Fatal retreat: for 'tis not safe  
To lodge a God in such a chafe.    

Tenor of 4. Parts. XIII.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
THat same little great King of hearts, Ouerswelled with custom of ta╌ming, To the fiery yoke of his darts, The supreme necks of hu╌mane fra╌ming, Would further needs attempt to know, If Death could suffer by his bow?  

Rashly thus he, wronging his power.  
His full quivers brood thick did scatter,  
At this flintheart, which, with steeled shower,  
He as fond assayed to batter,  
As winds and waves that, vain, are bend  
A rock, besieged with Seas, to rend, etc.    

Bassus of 4. Parts. XIII.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
THat same little great King of hearts, Ouerswelled with cu╌stome of ta╌ming, To the fi╌rie yoke of his darts, The su╌preme necks of humane fra╌ming, Would fur╌ther needs attempt to know, If Death could suf╌fer by his bow?  

Rashly thus he, wronging his power,  
His full quivers brood thick did scatter  
At this flint heart, which, with steeled shower,  
He as fond assayed to batter,  
As winds and waves that, vain, are bend  
A rock, besieged with Seas, to rend.   

In the end (abashed so great spies,  
As the Gods, at his shame were merry)  
He retired himself to thine eyes  
(Damon) there his disgrace to berry.  
Fatal retreat: for 'tis not safe  
To lodge a God in such a chafe.    

Altus of 4. Parts. XIII.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
THat same little great King of hearts, Ouerswelled with custom of ta╌ming, To the fiery yoke of his darts, The supreme necks of hu╌mane fra╌ming, Would further needs attempt to know, If Death could suffer by his bow?  

Rashly thus he, wronging his power,  
His full quivers brood thick did scatter  
At this flint heart, which, with steeled shower,  
He as fond assayed to batter,  
As winds and waves that, vain, are bend  
A rock, besieged with Seas, to rend. etc.     


Cantus of 4. Parts. XIIII.  ANTHOINE BOESSET. 

Arm toy, ●a raisin!  REason! arm thy wronged hands: Into nothing make tremble The flame, that, martyred brands, Makes my Soul to resem╌ble. If thy divine tar╌get do not shadow my head, A bright Eye soon will shine me dead. If thy divine target do not shadow my head, A bright Eye soon will shine me dead.  

Hollow eyes (which Griefs flood  
Into filled wells runs turning)  
Express how little good  
Water yields to souls burning;  
And that, if thy high arm do not shadow my head,  
A bright Eye soon will shine me dead.   

With so strong gall doth Love  
My deserved Nectar season,  
That, if brute mouths could move,  
Tongues of discursive Reason,  
My cries would make them plead for remorse, which is fled  
The bright Eye that would shine me dead.   

Ye! beloved Okes and Flints,  
That my groans oft have broken;  
Say! if my blazing dints  
Do not clearly betoken,  
That, if the Skies provide not a shade for my head.  
   

Tenor of 4. Parts. XIIII.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
REason! arm, etc. The flame that, martyred brands, Makes my Soul to resemble. If thy divine, etc. If thy divine target do not shadow my head, A bright Eye soon will shine me dead.  

Hollow eyes (which Griefs flood  
Into filled wells runs turning)  
Express how little good  
Water yields to souls burning;  
And that, if thy high arm do not shadow my head,  
A bright Eye soon will shine me dead. etc.    

Bassus of 4. Parts. XIIII.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
REason! arm thy wronged hands: Into nothing make tremble, The flame that, martyred brands, Makes my Soul to resemble. If thy divine target do not shadow my head, A bright Eye soon will shine me dead. If thy divine target do not shadow my head, A bright Eye soon will shine me dead.  

Hollow eyes (which Griefs flood  
Into filled wells runs turning)  
Express how little good  
Water yields to souls burning;  
And that, if thy high arm do not shadow my head,  
A bright Eye soon will shine me dead. etc.    

Triplex of 4. Parts. XIIII.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
REason! arm, etc. The flame that, martyred brands, Makes my Soul to resemble. If thy divine, etc. If thy divine target do not shadow my head, A bright Eye soon will shine me dead.  

Hollow eyes (which Griefs flood  
Into filled wells runs turning)  
Express how little good  
Water yields to souls burning;  
And that if thy high arm do not shadow my head,  
A bright Eye soon will shine me dead. etc.     


Quintus of 5. Parts. XV.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
THou, whom Fortune, now turned tender, With old chains a╌new doth greet, joy thy tribute Soul to render At thy Queen's deserving feet.  

Honoured, thou, by loss of battle,  
With victress bays her brows veil:  
Pay, with holocausts of cattles,  
Thy new entrance to her jail.   

Blush not, erring, at the glory  
Got by yielding her thine arms:  
Thou alone, in all her story,  
Art found worthy of her harms. etc.    

Cantus of 5. Parts. XV.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 

●●us, que le ●●n heur ●●●ppelle.  THou, whom Fortune, now turned ten╌der, With old chains a╌new doth greet, joy thy tribute Soul to ren╌der At thy Queen's deserving feet.  

Honoured, thou, by loss of battle,  
With victress bays her brows veil:  
Pay, with holocausts of cattles,  
Thy new entrance to her jail.   

Blush not, erring, at the glory  
Got by yielding her thine arms:  
Thou alone, in all her story,  
Art found worthy of her harms.   

Her Eye, deigning thee an arrow,  
Stooped from pitch of wont glance,  
That thy bravely-kindled marrow  
Might shine by so rare a chance.   

Thy lost Soul, thus new-enchained,  
Style thou her eternal Slave:  
Glorious captive, who hath gained  
Title that defies the Grave.   

Thraldom stands on happy pillres,  
Whose Fame, Fate-proofe, fears no powers  
Of, her ruins strongest willers,  
Shakes of Death and Lethe's showers,   

'Tis a height worth thy aspiring  
To fall by so lofty eyes:  
Happy he, whose Souls expiring  
His Names birth doth solemnize.    

Tenor of 5. Parts, XV.  PIERRE GVEDRON 
THou, whom Fortune, now turned tender, With old chains a╌new doth greet, joy thy tribute Soul to render At thy Queen's deserving feet.  

Honoured, thou, by loss of battle,  
With victress bays her brows veil:  
Pay, with holocausts of cattles,  
Thy new entrance to her jail. etc.    

Bassus of 5. Parts. XV.  PIERRE GVEDRON 
THou, whom Fortune, now turned tender, With old Chains a╌new doth greet, joy thy tribute Soul to render At thy Queen's deserving feet.  

Honoured, thou, by loss of battle,  
With victress bays her brows veil:  
Pay, with holocausts of cattles;  
Thy new entrance to her jail.   

Blush not, erring, at the glory  
Got by yielding her thine arms:  
Thou alone, in all her story,  
Art found worthy of her harms.   

Her Eye, deigning thee an arrow,  
Stooped from pitch of wont glance,  
That thy bravely-kindled marrow  
Might shine by so rare a chance.   

Thy lost Soul, thus new-enchained,  
Style thou her eternal Slave:  
Glorious captive, who hath gained  
Title that defies the grave. etc.    

Altus of 5. Parts. XV.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
THou, whom Fortune, now turned tender, With old chains a╌new doth greet, joy thy tribute Soul to render At thy Queen's deserving feet.  

Honoured, thou, by loss of battle,  
With victress bays her brows veil:  
Pay, with holocausts of cattles,  
Thy new entrance to her jail. etc.     


Quintus of 5. Parts. XVI.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
SInce our round Year hath but one Spring, Let Love set gloss on this gem of the Ring: Autumn, once come, proves our leaves utter Fall; Haste to Love's feast, while your best Seasons call.   

Cantus of 5. Parts. XVI.  PIERRE GVEDRON. Pierre Guedron. 

Puis que les ans n'ont qu' un printemps.  SInce our round Year hath but one Spring, Let Love set gloss on this gem of the Ring: Autumn, once come, proves our leaves utter Fall; Haste to Love's feast while your best Seasons call. Haste to Love's feast, while your best Seasons call.   

Tenor of 5. Parts: XVI.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
SInce our round Year hath but one Spring, Let Love set gloss on this gem of the Ring: Autumn, once come, proves our leaves utter Fall; Haste to Love's feast, while your best Seasons call.   

Bassus of 5. Parts. XVI.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
SInce our round Year hath but one Spring, Let Love set gloss on this gem of the Ring: Autumn, once come, proves our leaves utter Fall; Haste to Love's feast, while your best Seasons call.   

Altus of 5. Parts. XVI.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
SInce our round Year hath but one Spring, Let Love set gloss on this gem of the Ring: Autumn, once come, proves our leaves utter Fall; Haste to Love's feast, while your best Seasons call.    


Quintus of 5. Parts. XVII.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
SAy then! my hard jewel, My hard jewel; say! For thy sparks long fuel When shall thy gold pay? Shall I, etc. Shall I languish evermore At Despairs pale-cheeked door.  

Thou knowest, that my spirit, etc.    

Cantus of 5. Parts. XVII.  PIERRE GVEDRON. Pierre Guedron. 

He bien! ma rebelle.  SAy then! my hard jewel, My hard jewel, say! For thy sparks long fuel When shall thy gold pay? Shall I languish evermore, bloodless by so sharp du╌ell? Shall I languish evermore At Despairs pale-cheeked door?  

Thou knowst that my spirit  
To thee sole d th' kneel;  
That no stranger's merit  
Can make my Zeal reel.  
Shall I languish evermore, kept from right to inherit?  
Shall I   

Can my bosom, chinking  
With long drought of grief,  
Find but endless drinking  
Of tears for relief?  
Shall I languish evermore, under Scorns burden sinking?  
Shall I   

Can my sacrifising  
Of sighs in breasts fire,  
And my early rise  
Bargain for no hire?  
Shall I languish evermore, broken with thy despisings!  
Shall I   

Thy looks, on whose flaming  
(To my smart) I gaze,  
Cause a fervent blaming  
Hearts ye, whilst Eyes blaze.  
Shall I languish evermore, tired withy slow taming?  
Shall I   

As my cry grows louder,  
More in vain I whine;  
Fie! this is to powder  
Cheeks with too long brine.  
Shall I languish evermore at the feet that grow prouder?  
Shall I languish eremore  
At Despairs pale-cheeked door?    

Triplex of 5. Parts. XVII.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
SAy then! my hard jewel, My hard jewel, say! For thy sparks, etc. Shall I languish evermore, bloodless by so sharp duel? Shall I languish evermore At Despairs pale-cheeked door?  

Thou knowst that my spirit  
To thee sole doth kneel;  
That no stranger's merit  
Can make my Zeal reel.  
Shall I languish evermore, kept from right to inherit?  
Shall I etc.    

Bassus of 5. Parts. XVII.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
SAy then! my hard jewel, My hard jewel, say! For thy sparks long fuel When shall thy gold pay? Shall I languish evermore, bloodless by so sharp duel? Shall I languish evermore At Despairs pale-cheeked door?  

Thou knowst that my spirit  
To thee sole doth kneel;  
That no stranger's merit  
Can make my Zeal reel.  
Shall I languish evermore, kept from right to inherit?  
Shall I   

Can my bosom, chinking  
With long drought of grief,  
Find but endless drinking  
Of tears for relief?  
Shall I languish er'emore, under Scorns burden sinking?  
Shall I   

Can my sacrifising  
Of sighs in breasts fire,  
And my early rise  
Bargain for no hire?  
Shall I languish evermore, broken with thy despisings?  
Shall I etc.    

Tenor of 5. Parts. XVII.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
SAy then! my hard jewel, My hard jewel, say! For thy sparks long fuel When shall thy gold pay. Shall I, etc. Shall I languish evermore At Despairs pale-cheeked door?  

Thou knowst that my spirit  
To thee sole doth kneel;  
That no stranger's merit  
Can make my Zeal reel.  
Shall I languish evermore, kept from right to inherit?  
Shall I etc.     


Cantus of 5. Parts. XVIII.  ANTHOINE BOESSET. Gabriel Bataille. 

●e vouldrois ●●en, o Cloris!  Know, my dear Idol Cloris! that, all zea╌lous, Hear at thine altar I would prostrate stay; But common Morn, of every Lover jea╌lous, To my Disaster brings the Star of day, Cloris! fare╌well; Oh! let me dying va╌nish: 
La nuit ●'en va, & l'●nnuy me de●eure.  Day╌light is come my de╌light hence to ba╌nish.  

Why, with such fiery speed, incessant driver!  
Bringst thou a light that obscures Lovers Skies?  
Control thy race; keep back thy beamy quiver;  
What needs more Day than shoots from these grey eyes?  
Cloris! farewell.   

Trusty Night! that, in favour of close Lovers,  
Friendly displayest thy securing veils,  
 
Can light us best to Love's secret assailes.  
Cloris! farewell.   

Can it then be, ye Gods whom I importune,  
That the Day's birth should make Love's Morning die?  
And, this first down of my yet tender Fortune,  
Must it make wing because fledged Night doth fly?  
Cloris! farewell; oh! let me dying vanish;    

Quintus of 5. Parts. XVIII.  ANTHOINE BOESSET. 
Know, etc. Cloris! fare╌well; Oh! let me dying va╌nish: Day╌light is come my de╌light hence to banish.   

Tenor of 5. Parts: XVIII.  ANTHOINE BOESSET. 
KNow, etc. But com╌mon Morn, of every Lover jealous, To my Disaster brings the Star of day. Cloris! farewell; Oh! let me dying va╌nish: Day╌light is come my delight hence to banish.  

Why, with such fiery speed, incessant driver!  
Bring'st thou a light that obscures Lovers Skies?  
Control thy race; keep back thy beamy quiver;  
What needs more Day than shoots from these grey eyes?  
Cloris! farewell.   

Night, that, in savour of close Lovers,  
〈◊〉 ●●●●●●est thy securing veils,  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 thy shady covers  
Can light us best to Love's secret assailes.  
Cloris! farewell.   

Can it then be, ye Gods whom I importune,  
That the Day's birth should make Love's Morning die?  
And, this first down of my yet tender Fortune,  
Must it make wing, because fledged Night doth fly?  
Cloris! farewell; oh! let me dying vanish;  
Day light is come my delight hence to banish.    

Bassus of 5. Parts. XVIII.  ANTHOINE BOESSET. 
KNow, my dear Idol, Cloris! that, all zealous, Hear at thine altar I would prostrate stay: But common Morn, of every Lover jealous, To my Disaster brings the Star of day. Cloris! farewell; Oh! let me dying va╌nish: Day╌light is come my delight hence to ba╌nish.  

Why, with such fiery speed, incessant driver!  
Bring'st thou a light that obscures Lovers Skies?  
Control thy race; keep back thy beamy quiver;  
What needs more Day than shoots from these grey eyes?  
Cloris! farewell.   

Trusty Night! that, infavour of close Lovers,  
Friendly displayest thy securing veils,  
Fright back pale Morn; tell her thy shady covers  
Can light us best to Love's secret assailes.  
Cloris! farewell.   

Can it then be, ye Gods whom I importune,  
That the Day's birth should make Love's Morning die?  
And, this first down of my yet tender Fortune,  
Must it make wing because fledged Night doth fly?  
Cloris! farewell.    

Altus of 5. Parts. XVIII.  ANTHOINE BOESSET. 
KNow, etc. But common Morn, of every Lo╌uer jea╌lous, To my Disaster brings the Star of day. Cloris! farewell; Oh! let me dying va╌nish: Day╌light is come my delight hence to banish.  

Why, with such fiery speed, incessant driver!  
Bring'st thou a light that obscures Lovers Skies?  
Control thy race; keep back thy beamy quiver;  
What needs more Day than shoots from these grey eyes?  
Cloris! farewell.   

Trusty Night! that, in favour of close Lovers,  
Friendly displayest thy securing veils,  
Fright back pale Morn; tell her thy shady covers  
Can light us best to Love's secret assailes.  
Cloris! farewell.   

Can it then be, ye Gods whom I importune,  
That the Day's birth should make Love's Morning die?  
And, this first down of my yet tender Fortune,  
Must it make wing, because fledged Night doth fly?  
Cloris! farewell; oh let me dying vanish;  
Day╌light is come my delight hence to banish.     


Altus of 5. Parts. XIX.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
TO your sports, etc. Cantus secundus Catch grey Time by the beard as he passes. Trust not, etc. Altus of 5. Parts. Spend, in bowers and thick groves (Love's dark stages) The shining forenoon of your ages: Spend, in bowers and thick groves (Love's dark stages) The shining forenoon of your ages.  

Now the Years gallant Season doth call you  
To Love's Hall, go! what ever befall you.  
Earth from her Coat all Snow argent now teareth,  
And, for it, Flowers or in a Field vert beareth.  
Spend, in bowers.    

Cantus of 5. Parts, XIX.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
TO your sports and delights, ye blithe lasses! Catch grey Time by the beard as he passes: Catch grey Time by the beard as he passes: Trust not his bald neck; 'twill slip-of your collars; And, by his evasion, you'll seem ill Scholars. Spend, in bowers and thick groves (Love's dark stages) The shining forenoon of your ages. Spend, in bowers and thick groves (Love's dark stages) The shining forenoon of your ages.  

Now the Years gallant Season doth call you  
To love's Hall, go! what ever befall you.  
Earth from her Coat all Snow argent now teareth,  
And, for it, Flowers or in a Field vert beareth.  
Spend, in bowers.   

Bugle-laced are the skirts of the Mountains  
With the fugitive glass of the Fountains:  
Morn, urged by Envy, brave Flora opposes,  
And dares her to See her at Vying roses.  
Spend, in bowers.   

The fair Days, that the Spring now doth muster,  
Serve to add, to your youths, heat and lustre.  
New Phoebus, drenched (but not quenched) with Sea-billowes,  
Brings, with the Worlds, Love's fire from his wet pillows.  
Spend, in bowers.   

Wanton Brooks, reeling through flowery Valleys.  
Run and catch and kiss their neighbour Allies:  
Mild Zephyr whispers a love-tale to Flora;  
The Birds of like subject, talk to Aurora.  
Spend, in bowers.   

Bonfires and Dances are each eyes pleasure:  
Winged feet to swift tunes beating measure:  
Aeolus opens his Ears to these wonders,  
And shuts-in his Mouth from breathing of thunders.  
Spend, in bowers.   

Nature's whole army, that guards Life's banner,  
By Love's Colours is made to look wanner;  
And sure that heart, that his hand makes not tremble,  
Is dead, though the spirits may life resemble.   

Spend, in bowers and thick groves (Love's dark stages)  
The shining forenoon of your ages.    

Tenor of 5. Parts: XIX.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
TO your sports, etc. To your sports and delights, ye blithe lasses! Catch, etc. Trust not, etc. Spend, etc. Spend in bowers, Spend, in bowers and thick groves (Love's dark stages) The shining forenoon of your ages.  

Now the Years gallant Season doth call you  
To Love's Hall, go! what ever befall you.  
Earth from her Coat all Snow argent now teareth,  
And, for it, Flowers or in a Field vert beareth.  
Spend, in bowers.   

Bugle-laced are the skirts of the Mountains  
With the fugitive glass of the Fountains:  
Morn, urged by Envy, brave Flora opposes,  
And dares her to See her at Vying roses.  
Spend, in bowers. etc.    

Bassus of 5. Parts. XIX.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
TO your sports, etc. Catch, etc. Catch grey Time by the beard as he passes. Trust not his bald neck; 'twill slip-of your collars, And, by his evasion, you'll seem ill Scholars. Spend, etc. Spend in bowers and thick groves (Love's dark stages) The shining forenoon of your ages.  

Now the Years gallant Season doth call you  
To Love's Hall, go! what ever befall you.  
Earth from her Coat all Snow argent now teareth,  
And, for it, Flowers or in a Field vert beareth.  
Spend, in bowers.   

Bugle-laced are the skirts of the Mountains  
With the fugitive glass of the Fountains:  
Morn, urged by Envy, brave Flora opposes,  
And dares her to See her at Vying roses.  
Spend, in bowers.   

The fair Days that the Spring now doth muster,  
Serve to add, to your youths, heat and lustre.  
New Phoebus, drenched (but not quenched) with Sea-billowes,  
Brings, with the Worlds, Love's fire from his wet pillows.  
Spend, in bowers. etc.    

Quintus of 5. Parts. XIX.  PIERRE GVEDRON. 
To your etc. To your sports and delights, ye blithe lasses! Catch, etc. Trust not, etc. Spend, etc. Spend, in bowers and thick groves (Love's dark stages) The shining forenoon of your ages.  

Now the Years gallant Season doth call you  
To Love's Hall, go! what ever befall you,  
Earth from her Coat all Snow argent now teareth,  
And, for it, Flowers or in a Field vert beareth.  
Spend, in bowers.   

Bugle-laced are the skirts of the Mountains  
With the fugitive glass of the Fountains:  
Morn, urged by Envy, brave Flora opposes,  
And dares her to See her at Vying roses.  
Spend, in bowers.      

The English Table of the Airs of this BOOK.  

A.  
AT length, here She is. II.   

B.  
Bright Abstract of us seven. I.   

H.  
How was Amyntas blest. VII.   

I.  
If key of Speech, or lock of Silence. XI.   

K.  
Know, my dear Idol Cloris! XVIII.   

O.  
O! what muster of glances! FOUR   

R.  
Reason! arm thy wronged hands. XIIII.   

S.  
Say then! my hard jewel. XVII.  
Since our round Year. XVI.  
Syluia, not long since, halfe-affrighted. IX.   

T.  
That same little great King of hearts. XIII.  
Thou, whom Fortune. XV.  
Too much we range the waves. XII.  
To your Sports and delights. XIX.   

W.  
What spell holds thee, my Sun, from rising? VI  
Why, alas! cried out my mother. VIII.  
Why have thy Thoughts conspired. III.  
Wilt thou, untamed, alas! X.  
With what wings can I fly. V    

THE FRENCH TABLE of the same.  

A.  
ADorable Princess. I.  
Aux plaifirs, aux delices Bergeres. XIX.  
Arm toy, ma raison! XIIII.   

C.  
Ce petit Monarque des coeurs. XIII.  
C'est trop courir les eaux. XII.   

E.  
En fin, la voyci. II.   

H.  
He bien! ma rebelle. XVII.   

I.  
je voudrois bien, o Cloris! XVIII.   

L.  
'Las! fuiras-tu toujours. X.  
'Las! pour quoy ne suis-je née. VIII.   

O.  
O! grands Dieux, que de charms! FOUR  
Où luis-tu, Soleil de moname? VI   

P.  
Puis que les ans. XVI.   

Q.  
Qu'Aminte fut heureux! VII.  
Quell espoir de guarir. V  
Que n'estes vous lassées. III.   

S.  
Si le parler & le silence. XI.   

V  
Vn jour l'amoureuse Siluie. IX.  
Vous, que le bon heur r'appelle. XV.    

The Originals of the English Ditties of this Booke.  


ADorable Princesse,  
Il est temps que je cesse,  
De courir dans les Cieux  
Et que ma flame cede  
Le rang qu'elle y possede,  
Aux flames de tes yeux.   

O Beauté sans exemple,  
Où nature contemple  
Son powoir nom pareil:  
De puis l'heure premiere  
Que je vis ta lumiere,  
je ne suis plus Soleil.   

Ton oeil qui me surmonte,  
Me donne tant de honte  
Lors que je fais mon cours,  
Que pleust à la fortune  
Que les flots de Neptune  
Me conurissent toujours.   

Ma course vagabonde  
En quel que part du monde  
Qu'elle éclaire aux humains,  
Ne void rien qui n'admire,  
En l'heur de ton Empire,  
L'adresse de tes mains.   

Tes conseils, & tes veilles  
Ont par tant de merueilles  
Sesse malheurs abatus,  
Que les chansons des Anges  
N'auront pas des louanges  
Dignes de tes vertus.   

Ta prudence a des charmes  
Quifont tomber les armes  
Des mains des plus grands Roys,  
Et mettent dans les bouches  
Des gens les plus farouches  
La gloire de tes loix.   

Tu fais voir à cétâge  
De la Seine & du Tage  
Les discors terminés,  
Et montres à la Guerre  
Au centre de la Terre  
Sesse Demons enchainés.   

L'art de la flatterie  
Aux graces de Marie  
Ne pût rien adjouster:  
Sa gloire s'est haussée  
Où l'humaine pensée  
Tasche en vain de monter.   

O Dieux! en qui la France  
A logé l'esperance  
De sa felicité,  
jamais vostre largesse  
Ne mit tant de sagesse  
Auec tant de beauté.   

Facent vos destinées  
Que le cours des années  
Quine pardonne à rien,  
Ace parfait visage  
N'oste point l'auantage  
Qu'il a dessus le mien.    

II.  
EN fin la voyci, nous voyons ces beaux yeux,  
L'amour de la Terre & des Cieux:  
Dont nostre Mars, en son choix bien-heureux,  
Est si fort amoureux.  
Le Ciel n'a jamais joint à tant de beauté  
Vne si douce Majesté,  
Qui dans les coeurs inspire tour à tour  
Le respect & l'amour.  
En fin les voyci, nos voeux sont accomplis,  
Nos esprits d'aises remplis.  
Puisse en tous deux par un heureux destin  
Viure un amour sans fin,   

III.  

QVe n'estes vous lassées  
Mes tristes pensées  
De troubler ma raison?  
Et faire avecque blâme  
Rebeller mon ame  
Contre sa guarison.   

Que ne cessent mes larmes  
Inutiles armes,  
Et que n'oste des Cieux  
La fatalle ordonnance  
A ma souuenance,  
Ce qu'elle oste à mes yeux?   

O beauté nompareille!  
Ma chere merueille,  
Que le rigoureux sort  
Dont vous m'estes rauie  
Aymeroit ma vie  
S'il m'enuoyoit la mort.   

Quelle pointe de rage  
Ne sent mon courage  
De voir que le danger  
En vos ans les plus tendres  
Menasse vos cendres  
D'vn cercueil estranger.   

je m'impose silence  
En la violence  
Que me fait ce malheur:  
Mais j'acrois mon martire,  
Et n'oserrien dire  
M'est douleur sur douleur.   

Aussi suis-je un squellette,  
Et la violettte,  
Qu' un froid hors de saison  
Et le sec a flestrie,  
Ama peau meurtrie  
Est la comparaison.   

Dieux! queles destinées  
Les plus obstinées  
Tournent de malen bien!  
Apres tant de tempestes,  
Mes justes requestes  
N'obtiendront elles rien?   

Aués-vous eu les tiltres  
D'absolus arbitres  
De l'estat des mortels,  
Pour estre inexorables  
Quand les miserables  
Implorent vos authels?   

Mon soin n'est point de faire  
En l'autre Emisphere  
Voir mes actes guerriers,  
Et jusqu'au bord de l'onde  
Ou finit le monde,  
Aquerir des lauriers.   

Deux beaux yeux 〈◊〉 〈◊〉  
Pour qui je soupire,  
Sans eux rien ne m'est doux:  
Donnés moy certejoye  
Que jeles reuoye,  
je suis dieu comme vous.    

IIII.  

O! Grands dieux que de charmes,  
Amoureuses armes,  
De feux & de dards.  
Que d'astres propices,  
Que de delices,  
Et doux regards.   

Donc pour nous mieux conduire  
Le Ciel fait reluire  
Des feux nompareils:  
Et nos pas timides  
Ont pour leurs guides  
Deux grands soleils.   

Quittons la pourmenade,  
Cette serénade,  
Et nos Luths charmants:  
La nuit solitaire  
Se rend trop claire,  
Pour des amants.   

Puis la rare merueille,  
Cause nompareille  
De tous nos souhaits,  
Commence à paroistre  
A la fenestre  
De son Palais.   

Beautés, par qui les ames  
Ont de viues flames,  
Bruslant nuit & jour:  
Favorisés belle  
L'offre nowelle  
De nostre amour.    

V  

QVel espoir de guarir  
Puis-je avoir sans mourir,  
D'vn amoureux martire,  
Que je puis bien souffrir, mais que je n'ose dire?   

Quel moyen de celer,  
Et mourir sans parler  
D'vn amoureux martire,  
Que je puis bien souffrir, mais que je n'ose dire?   

Si la mort seulement  
Peut guarir mon tourment,  
Et l'amoureux martire  
Que je puis bien souffrir, mais que je n'ose dire.   

Toute-fois il le faut,  
Le subjet est trophaut  
De mon cruel martire  
Qui m'apprend à souffrir, mais non pas à le dire.    

VI.  

OV luis-tu Soleil de mon ame?  
Où luis-tu flambeau de mes yeux?  
Oubliras tu toujours les cieux?  
Et au sein de Thetis ta flame?  
Or que mon beau Soleil ne luit,  
Le jour ne m'est plus qu'une nuit.   

Sortez donc mon Phebus de l'onde,  
Et me redonnez un beau jour:  
Sans vous ma vie & mon amour  
Ne peut voir, ni viure en ce monde.  
Or que mon.   

Qui est celuy la qui n'espere  
De voir quand le Soleil nous luit,  
Que moy qui demeure en la nuit,  
Absent du beau jour qui m'esclaire?  
Or que mon.   

C'est donc vous, agreable veuē,  
Qui me faict semblable au soucy:  
Quand je vous voy je veis aussi,  
Absent vostre absence me tue.  
Or que mon.   

Revenez donc lumiere saincte,  
Vostre oeil me promet un esté:  
Sans vous je me sens tourmenté  
D un yuer d'ennuis, & de crainte.  
Or que mon.    

VII.  

QV' Aminte fut heureux,  
Dont la mort feinte  
Sçeut d'un trait amoureux  
Donner attteinte  
Au coeur où la pitié sembloit esteinte!   

Alors qu'il soupiroit  
Presque sans vie,  
Et que son coeur mouroit  
Pour sa Siluie,  
Son amour de malheur estoit suiuie.   

Son amour, ses douleurs,  
Sesse cris, ses peines:  
Sesse soupirs & ses pleurs,  
Sa foy certaine,  
Ne sçeurent one flechir ceste inhumaine.   

Mais sa mort feinte un jour,  
Mort salutaire:  
Faisant ce que l'Amour  
n'avoit peu faire,  
Blessa d'vn trait d'Amour son adversaire.   

Que n'est helas mon sort  
Au sien semblable?  
Pourquoy rend il ma mort  
Plus veritable,  
Et vous, belle toujours, moins pitoyable?    

VIII.  

LAs! pourquoy ne suis-je née,  
Que pour souffrir mile & mile tourments,  
Et pour me voir abandonnée  
De tous contentements?   

Mes yeux vont versant des larmes,  
Cruel remede aux moyennes douleurs:  
Mais à quoy sont bonnes ces armes  
Qu'à de communs malheurs?   

Ma peine est si desplorable  
Que je ne puis esperer nul secours  
Si non par la fin miserable  
De mes malheureux jours.   

Vne soupçonneuse enuie  
De mon sang mesme incitant la rigueur,  
Le rend ennemi de ma vie,  
Et de mes maux l'autheur.   

Vous riches dons de nature,  
Dont mes beaux ans du Ciel sont honorés,  
Serés vous du mal que j'endure  
Et du temps devorés?   

Que me sert-il d'estre belle,  
Que mile amans me viennent rechercher:  
S'il faut que moy-mesme, cruelle,  
je feigne estre un rocher?   

Bien qu'Amour dedans mon ame  
De mon Philandre ayt grande la vertu:  
Mon coeur en recelle la flame  
Par la crainte abbatu.   

Que me sert donc la victoire  
Que mes beautés obtiennent sur son coeur,  
Si la crainte en oste la gloire  
A mon oeil son vainqueur?   

Ce seul bien me reconforte,  
C'est qu'il ne peut, ny ne doit ignorer,  
L'affection que je luy porte,  
Qu'on ne peut mesurer.   

je sçay qu'vn amour extresme  
Pour moy le rend ardamment allumé●,  
Et que fidellement il m'ayme,  
Comme il est bien aymé.   

Mais de nos ames blessées  
Les seuls regards sont les doux aliments:  
Regards messagers des pensées  
Des fidelles amans.   

Vous qui lirés cette plainte  
Que la douleur de mon coeur va tirant:  
Plaignés, non l'amour, mais la crainte  
Qui me va martirant.    

IX.  

VN jour l'amoureuse Siluie  
Disoit, baise moy je te prie,  
An berger qui seul est sa vie  
Et son amour,  
Baise moy Pasteur je te prie,  
Et te leue, car il est jour.   

Regarde la naissante Aurore,  
Baise moy Pasteur que j'adore,  
Qui veut que je te prie encore  
Par nostre amour:  
Baise moy Pasteur que j'adore,  
Et te leue, car il est jour.   

Ma crainte hors d'ici t'appelle,  
Baise moy Pasteur ce dit-elle,  
O dieux! dit-il, quelle nowelle  
Pour tant d'amour:  
Baise moy Pasteur ce dit-elle,  
Et te leue, car il est jour.   

De cela Pasteur ne me blâme,  
Baise moy plustofi ma chere ame,  
Le secret entretient la flame  
D'vn bel amour:  
Baise moy doncques ma chere ame,  
Et te leue, car il est jour.   

Ha! que dis-tu, chere Siluie?  
Baise moy Pasteur je te prie,  
Le Soleil porte donc enuie  
A nostre Amour?  
Baise moy Pasteur je te prie,  
Et te leue, car il est jour.   

Sa clairté qu'on trouue si belle,  
Baise moy Pasteur ce dit-elle,  
Se rend importune & cruelle  
A nostre Amour:  
Baise moy Pasteur ce dit-elle,  
Et te leue, car il est jour.   

Mais puis qu'il faut que je te laisse  
Baise moy ma chere dé esse,  
Soulage l'ennuy qui m'oppresse  
Par trop d'amour:  
Baise moy ma chere déesse,  
Et puis adieu, car il est jour,    

X.  

LAs! fuiras-eu toujours de peur d'ouir mes plaintes,  
Et de voir ma langueur?  
Crains-tu que la pitié de ces douces attaintes  
Neblesse ta rigueur?  
Arreste, arreste, Amaranthe, tu fuis,  
Tu fuis, & me laisse en fuiant mile ennuis.  
Comme de voir tes yeux sans adorer leurs charmes  
Est une impieté:  
Craindre comme tu fais de la pitié les armes  
Est une cruauté,  
Arreste.   

Non, ce n'est point l'espoir que tu sois moins cruelle  
En voyant mon tourment,  
Qui fait qu'en soupirant Amaranthe j'appelle,  
Criant incessamment,  
Arreste.   

Te dire seulement que mon ame t'adore  
Est ce que je requiers,  
Tu peux me l'accorder, & conseruer encore  
Tes desdains tous entiers.  
Arreste.    

XI.  

SI le parler & le silence  
Nuit à nostre heur également,  
Parlons donc ma chere esperance  
Du coeur & des yeux selement:  
Amour ce petit dieu volage  
Nous aprend ce muet langage.   

Que le regard vole & reuole  
Messager de nos passions,  
Et serue au lieu de la parole  
Pour dire nos intentions.  
Amour.   

Mais si quelque ame est offencée  
De nous voir discourir des yeux,  
Nous parlerons de la pensée  
Comme les Anges dans les cieux.  
Amour.   

Ainsi par un doux artifice  
Nous tromperons les courtisans,  
Et nous rirons de la malice  
De mile facheux mesdisans,  
Qui n'en sçauront pas d'aduantage,  
Ignorant ce muet langage.    

XII.  

C'Est trop courir les eaux,  
Sortons de ces roseaux,  
Et cherchons desormais Pallas en ces beaux lieux  
Puis qu'entre les vertus on doit chercher les Dieux.   

Voyci les bois sacrés  
Tant de fois desirés   

Et ces Astres diuins brillans sur cette Cour,  
Tesmoignent que nostre heur doit estre en ce sejour.   

Allons donc, approchons  
Les yeux que nous cherchons:   

Tant plus nous differons d'aborder leurs beautés,  
Tant plus nous tesmoignons d'ignorer leurs bontés.   

Grands soleils des François,  
Dont les prudentes Loix   

Font respirer les coeurs sous vnregne si doux,  
Dittes-nous si minerve est point aupres de vous?  
Vous aués le pounoir  
De nous la faire voir,   

Et trouuans la Valeur & la Prudence icy,  
Auec grande raison nous l'y cherchons aussi.    

XIII.  

CE petit Monarque des ceurs,  
Glorieux de voir arrestées  
Sous le joug de ses traits vainqueurs,  
Les puissances plus redoutées.  
Voulut essayer si la mort  
Flechiroit point sous son effort.   

En vain son powoir irrité  
Descochoit mile & mile flesches  
Sur ce coeur dont la dureté  
N'estoit pas capable de bresches,  
Non plus que les flots d'entamer  
Vn roc au milieu de la mer.   

En fin honteux que tous les Dieux  
Fussent tesmoins de sa deffaite,  
Il se cacha dedans tes yeux,  
Mon Damon, funeste retraite.  
Qu'il est dangereux de loger  
Vn Amour qui se veut vanger.    

XIV.  

ARme toy, ma raison,  
Pour combattre la flame,  
Qui veut hors de saison  
Tiranniser mon ame,  
Si ton powoir diuin ne me vient secourir,  
Vn bel oeil me fer a mourir.   

Mes yeux que mon tourment  
A changés en fontaines,  
Tesmoignent clairement  
La grandeur de mes peines.  
Et que, si ton powoir ne me vient secourir,  
Vn bel oeil me fer a mourir.   

je souffre tant de maux.  
En l'amoureux seruage,  
Que si les animaux  
Parloyent nostre langage,  
Ils viendroyent à mes cris de pitié requerir  
Le bel oeil qui me fait mourir.   

Vous, de ma triste voix  
Le rendés-vous aymable,  
Dites rochers & bois  
S'il est pas veritable  
Qu'à faute que le Ciel me vienne secourir  
Vn bel oeil me fera mourir?    

XV.  

VOus, que le bon heur r'appelle  
A un seruage antien,  
Mourrez aux pieds de la belle  
Qui vous daigne faire sien.   

Glorieux en vostre perte  
Honorex vostre vainqueur,  
Qui vous a la porte ouverte  
De la prison de son coeur.   

Heureux venez vous donc rendre  
A celle qui vous à pris,  
C'est honneur de se veoir prendre  
A qui tient tout à mépris.   

Ainsi vostre ame reprise  
Finit toute liberté:  
Glorieuse est l'entreprise  
Qui guide à l'eternité.   

Cet oeil r'abaissant sa gloire  
Vous à blessé de ses traits,  
Affin que de sa victoire  
Vous vous honoriez apres.   

〈◊〉 ●●●cuse ser●●tude  
Do●● le genereux effort,  
P●●●● ain●re l'ingratitude  
De l'oubli & de la mort.   

L'honnour d'un brane adversaire  
Honore vostre trespas,  
Heureux qu'en mourant peut faire  
Que son nom ne meure pas,    

XVI.  
PVis que les ans n'ont qu' un printemps,  
Passez amans doucement vostre temps:  
Vos jours s'en vont & n'ont point de retour;  
Employez les aux delices d' Amour.   

XVII.  

HE! bien ma rebelle,  
Marebelle he bien,  
Mon amour fidelle  
N'obtiendra-il rien?  
Languiray-je toujours pour l'amour de toy belle?  
Languiray-je toujours  
Sans espoir de secours?   

Tu sçays que mon ame  
N'adore que toy,  
Que nulle autre dame  
N'a powoir sur moy.  
Languiray-je toujours beauté que je reclame?  
Langui.   

Quoy? donc la souffrance  
De tant de douleurs  
Pour saerecompence  
N'aura que des pleurs?  
Languiray-je toujours sans aucunc esperance?  
Langui.   

Tant de sacrifices  
De mon coeur rendus,  
Et tant de seruices  
Seront-ils perdus?  
Languiray-je toujours parmy tant de supplices?  
Langui.   

Ton oeil qui m'enflame  
Causant ma langueur,  
Crains-tu point qu'on blame  
De longuorigueur?  
Languiray-je toujours pour t'aymer ma chere ame?  
Langui.   

Tant plus je t'appelle  
Et moins tu m'entends,  
C'est estre cruelle  
Trop & trop long temps.  
Languiray-je toujours pour l'amour de toy belle?  
Languiray-je toujours  
Sans espoir de secours?    

XVIII.  

IE voudrois bien, ô Cloris, que j'adore,  
Entre vos bras faire plus long sejour:  
Mais las! voyci cette jalouse Aurore  
A mon malheur qui rameine le jour.  
Adieu Cloris, il est temps que je meure,  
La nuit s'en va & l'ennui me demeure.   

Pourquoy si tost importune courriere  
Viens tu troubler l'aise do nos espris?  
Arreste toy, retarde ta lumiere,  
Suffit-il pas des beaux yeux qui m'ont pri●?  
Adieu Cloris.   

O douce nuit de qui les voiles sombres  
Sont desployés en faveur des amants,  
Ou t'en fuis-tu, sçays-tu pas que tes ombres  
Donnent la vie à mes contentements?  
Adieu Cloris.   

jusques à quand ô Dieux! que j'importune,  
Le jour naissant mes plaisirs destruira,  
Et les effets de ma bonne fortune  
S'enfuiront-ils quand la nuit s'enfuira?  
Adieu Cloris, il est temps que je meure,  
La nuit s'en va & l'ennui me demeure.    

XIX.  

AVx plaisirs, aux delices Bergeres,  
Il faut estre du temps ménageres:  
Car il s'escoule & se perd d'heure en heure,  
Et le regret seulement en demeure.  
A l'amour, au plaisir, au boccage,  
Employés les beaux jours de vostre âge.   

Maintenant la saison vous conuie  
De passer en aymant vostre vie:  
Des-ja la Terre à pris sa robe verte,  
D'herbe & de fleurs la campagne est couuerte.  
A l'amour.   

Le cristal fugitif des fontaines  
Valerio bordant les chemins & les plaines:  
L' Aurore espend au Ciel autant de roses  
Qu'elle en descowre en la terre d'escloses.  
A l'amour.   

Du Printemps les plus belles journées  
Semblent estre aux amours destinées:  
Le Soleil vient, & r'apporte de l'onde  
Le feu d'Amour, avec celuy du monde.  
A l'amour.   

Les ruisseaux vont aux plaines fleuries  
Cajolant & baisant les prairies:  
Le doux Zephir parle d'amour à Flore,  
Et les Oiseaux en parlent à l'Aurore.  
A l'amour.   

On ne void que des feux & des dances,  
On n'entend que chansons & cadances,  
Et le vent mesme escoutant ces merueilles,  
Ferme la bouche, & non pas les oreilles.  
A l'amour.   

Ce qui vit, qui se meurt, qui respire,  
D'amour parle, ou murmure, ou soupire:  
Aussi le coeur quin'en sent la pointure  
S'il est viuant, il est contre nature.  
A l'amour, au plaisir, auboccage,  
Employés les beaux jours de vostre âge.    
FINIS.