when flower of beauty fails thee,
And age, stealing on, assails thee,
Then mark what this scorn avails thee.

Then those hearts, which now complaining
Feel the wounds of thy disdaining,
Shall contemn thy beauty waning.

Yea, thine own heart, now dear-prized,
Shall with spite and grief surprised
Burst to find itself despised.

When like harms have them requited
Who in others' harms delighted,
Pleasingly the wrong'd are righted.

Such revenge my wrongs attending,
Hope still lives on time depending,
By thy plagues thy torrents ending.

From THOMAS MORLEY's _First Book of Ballets to Five Voices_, 1595.

Shoot, false Love! I care not;
Spend thy shafts and spare not!
Fa la la!
I fear not, I, thy might,
And less I weigh thy spite;
All naked I unarm me,--
If thou canst, now shoot and harm me!
So lightly I esteem thee
As now a child I dream thee.
Fa la la la!

Long thy bow did fear[13] me,
While thy pomp did blear me;
Fa la la!
But now I do perceive
Thy art is to deceive;
And every simple lover
All thy falsehood can discover.
Then weep, Love! and be sorry,
For thou hast lost thy glory.
Fa la la la!

[13] Frighten.

From THOMAS CAMPION's _Third Book of Airs_, (circ. 1613).

Silly boy! 'tis full moon yet, thy night as day shines clearly;
Had thy youth but wit to fear, thou couldst not love so dearly.
Shortly wilt thou mourn when all thy pleasures be bereaved,
Little knows he how to love that never was deceived.

This is thy first maiden-flame that triumphs yet unstained,
All is artless now you speak, not one word is feigned;
All is heaven that you behold, and all your thoughts are blessed,
But no spring can want his fall, each Troilus hath his Cressid.

Thy well-ordered locks ere long shall rudely hang neglected,
And thy lively pleasant cheer read grief on earth dejected;
Much then wilt thou blame thy Saint, that made thy heart so holy
And with sighs confess, in love that too much faith is folly.

Yet be just and constant still, Love may beget a wonder,
Not unlike a summer's frost or winter's fatal thunder:
He that holds his sweetheart true unto his day of dying,
Lives, of all that ever breathed