There is a jewel, which no Indian… Can buy, no chymic art can counter… It makes men rich in greatest pove… Makes water wine; turns wooden cup… The homely whistle, to sweet music…

Weep, O mine eyes and cease not, Out alas, these your spring tides… O when begin you to swell so high that I may drown…

Flora gave me fairest flowers, None so fair in Flora’s treasure: These I plac’d on Phillis’ bowers… She was pleas’d, and she my pleasu… Smiling meadows seem to say,

Sweet honey-sucking bees, why do y… surfeit on roses, pinks and violet… as if the choicest nectar lay in t… wherewith you store your curious c… Ah, make your flight to Melisuavi…

Thus love commands, that I in vai… And sorrow will that she shall sti… Yet did I hope, which hope my lif… To hear her say, alas! His love w…

And though my love abounding, Did make me fall a sounding, Yet am I well contented, Still so to be tormented, And death can never fear me,

I fall, I fall, O stay me, Dear love, with joys you slay me, Of life your lips deprive me, Sweet, let your lips revive me, O whither are you hasting,

Love not me for comely grace, For my pleasing eye or face; Nor for any outward part, No, nor for my constant heart: For those may fail or turn to ill,

Lady, when I behold the roses spr… Which clad in damask mantles deck… And then behold your lips, where s… My eyes present me with a double d… For, viewing both alike, hardly my…

The Lady Oriana Was dight all in the treasures of… And on her Grace a thousand grace… And thus sang they, fair Queen of… The fairest queen of twenty:

When shall my wretched life give p… That my sad cares may be enforc’€™… Come, saddest shadow, stop my vita… For I am thine, then let not care… Of thy sad thrall but, with thy fa…

I always beg, yet never am relieve… I grieve, because my griefs are no… I cry aloud in vain, my voice outs… And get but this, mine echo calls…

Ah! cruel Amarillis, since thou t… To hear the accents of a doleful d… To triumph still without remorse o… I loathe this life, death must my… And lest vain hope my miseries ren…

Away, thou shalt not love me. So shall my love seem greater And I shall love the better. Shall it be so? what say you? Why speak you not I pray you?

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,