Tvvo bookes of ayres The first contayning diuine and morall songs: the second, light conceites of louers. To be sung to the lute and viols, in two, three, and foure parts: or by one voyce to an instrument. Composed by Thomas Campian.

CANTVS. XVI.

〈♫〉〈♫〉 THough your strangenesse frets my hart, Yet may not I complaine: If another You per- swade me, 'tis but Art That se- cret loue must faine. 〈♫〉〈♫〉 〈♫〉〈♫〉 you affect, T'is but a shew t'auoid su- spect, Is this faire excusing? O no, all is a- busing. 〈♫〉〈♫〉

1

Though your strangenesse frets my hart, Yet may not I complaine: You perswade me 'tis but Art That secret loue must faine, If another you affect, T'is but a shew t'auoid suspect, Is this faire excusing? O no, all is abusing.

2

Your wisht sight if I desire, Suspitions you pretend, Causelesse you your selfe retire While I in vaine attend: This a Louer whets you say, Still made more eager by delay. Is this faire excusing? O no, all is abusing.

3

When another holds your hand, You sweare I hold your hart: When my Riuals close doe stand, And I sit farre apart, I am neerer yet then they, Hid in your bosome, as you say. Is this faire excusing? O no, all is abusing.

4

Would my Riual then I were, Some els your secret friend: So much lesser should I feare, And not so much attend. They enioy you eu'ry one, Yet I must seeme your friend alone, Is this faire excusing? O no, all is abusing.

ALTVS.

〈♫〉〈♫〉 COme a- way, come away, arm'd with loues delights, Thy sprightfull graces bring with thee, When 〈♫〉〈♫〉 loue and longing fights, They must the sticklers be. Come quickly, come, the promis'd houre is wel nye 〈♫〉〈♫〉 spent, And plea- sure being too much deferr'd looseth her best content.

BASSVS.

〈♫〉〈♫〉 COme a- way arm'd with loues delights, 〈♫〉〈♫〉 Thy sprightfull graces bring with thee when loue and 〈♫〉〈♫〉 longing fights, They must the sticklers be. Come quickly, 〈♫〉〈♫〉 come, the promis'd houre is wel-nye spent, and pleasure 〈♫〉〈♫〉 being too much deferr'd loo- seth her best content.

1

Come away, arm'd with lo••es delights, Thy sprightfull graces bring with thee, When loues longing fights They must the sticklers be. Come quickly, come, the promis'd houre is wel-nye spent, And pleasures being too much deferr'd, looseth her best content.

2

Is shee come? O how neare is shee? How farre yet from this friendly place? How many steps from me? When shall I her imbrace? These armes Ile spred which onely at her sight shall close, Attending as the starry flowre, that the Suns noone-tide knowes.