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.

About this Item

Title
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.
Author
Campion, Thomas, 1567-1620.
Publication
London :: Printed by Tho. Snodham, for Mathew Lownes, and I. Browne Cum priuilegio,
[1613?]
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Subject terms
Songs with lute.
Part-songs, English.
Link to this Item
http://name.umdl.umich.edu/A17881.0001.001
Cite this Item
"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." In the digital collection Early English Books Online. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/A17881.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed May 30, 2025.

Pages

CANTVS XVIII.

〈♫〉〈♫〉 COme you pretty false-ey'd wan-ton, leaue your craf- ty smiling: No, you mockt me th'other Thinke you to escape mee now with slip- ry words beguiling? 〈♫〉〈♫〉 〈♫〉〈♫〉 day, when you got loose you fled away: But since I haue caught you, now Ile clip your wings for flying: Smothring kisses fast Ile heape, and keepe you so from crying. 〈♫〉〈♫〉
1
Come you pretty false-ey'd wanton, Leaue your crafty smiling: Thinke you to escape me now, With slipp'ry words beguiling? No, you mockt me th'other day, When you got loose you fled away: But since I haue caught you now, Ile clip your wings for flying: Smothring kisses fast Ile heape, And keepe you so from crying.
2
Sooner may you count the starres And number hayle downe pouring; Tell the O siers of the Te••••••••, Or Goodwis Sands deuouring: Then the thicke-show'd kisses here, Which now thy tyred lips must beare; Such a haruest neuer was, So rich and full of pleasure; But 'tis spent as soone as reapt, So trustlesse is loues treasure.
3
Would it were dumb midnight now, When all the world lyes sleeping: Would this place some Desert were, Which no man hath in keeping. My desires should then be safe, And when you cry'd then would I laugh, But if ought might breed offence, Loue onely should be blamed: I would liue your seruant still, And you my Saint vnnamed.
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