Change me, O heav'ns
Change me, O heav'ns, into the ruby stone,
That on my love's fair locks doth hang in gold:
Yet leave me speech, to her to make my moan;
And give me eyes, her beauties to behold.
Or, if you will not make my flesh a stone,
Make her hard heart seem flesh, that now seems none.
poem by John Wilbye
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So light is love
So light is love, in matchless beauty shining,
When she revisits Cypris' hallow'd bowers,
Two feeble doves, harness'd in silken twining,
Can draw her chariot 'midst the Paphian flowers.
Lightness to love, how ill it fitteth,
So heavy on my heart, O! on my heart he sitteth.
poem by John Wilbye
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As fair as morn
As fair as morn, as fresh as May,
a pretty grace in saying nay,
Smil'st thou sweetheart?
then sing and say, Ta na na no,
But O! that love enchanting eye,
Lo, here my doubtful doom I try,
Tell me my sweet, live I or die?
She smiles, fa la la la,
Ah, she frowns, Ay me, I die.
poem by John Wilbye
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When shall my wretched life
When shall my wretched life give place to death?
That my sad cares may be enforc’d to leave me.
Come, saddest shadow, stop my vital breath,
For I am thine, then let not care bereave thee
Of thy sad thrall but, with thy fatal dart,
Kill care and me, while care lies at my heart.
poem by John Wilbye
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Ye restless thoughts
Ye restless thoughts, that harbour discontent,
Cease your assaults and let my heart lament,
And let my tongue have leave to tell my grief,
That she may pity, though not grant relief.
Pity would help, alas, what love hath almost slain,
And salve the wound that fester'd this disdain.
poem by John Wilbye
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Dear pity, how, ah!
Dear pity, how, ah! how, wouldst thou become her!
That best becometh beauty's best attiring;
Shall my desert deserve no favour from her?
But still to waste myself in deep adminring,
Like him who calls to echo to relieve him,
Still tells and hears the tale, Oh! tale that grieves him.
poem by John Wilbye
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When Cloris heard
When Cloris heard of her Amyntas dying,
She grieved then for her unkind denying:
Oft sighing sore, and with a heart unfeigned,
I die, I die, I die, she thus complained.
Whom, when Amyntas spied,
Then both for joy outcried,
I love, I love sweet Cloris’ eye,
And I Amyntas till I die.
poem by John Wilbye
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Ah! cannot sighs not tears
Ah! cannot sighs not tears, nor aught else move thee
To pity me, who more than life do love thee?
O cruel fates! see, now away she’s flying,
And fly, alas! alas! and leave me dying.
Farewell, most fair, farewell, yet more disdainful:
Was never grief like mine, nor death more painful.
poem by John Wilbye
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Ah! cruel Amarillis
Ah! cruel Amarillis, since thou tak’st delight
To hear the accents of a doleful ditty,
To triumph still without remorse or pity;
I loathe this life,death must my sorrow right;
And lest vain hope my miseries renew,
Come quickly,death,
‘Reave me of breath,
Ah! cruel Amarillis, adieu.
poem by John Wilbye
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Die, hapless man
Die, hapless man, since she denies thee grace,
Die, and despair, sith she doth scorn to love thee.
Farewell, most fair, tho' thou dost fair deface,
Sith for my duteous love thou dost reprove me.
Those smiling eyes, that sometimes me revived,
Clouded of frowns, have me of life deprived.
poem by John Wilbye
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