sic's sweet chorister, the nightingale,
To whom with sighs she said: "O set me free!
And in my song I'll praise no bird but thee."
The hawk replied, "I will not lose my diet
To let a thousand such enjoy their quiet."

From ROBERT JONES' _First Book of Airs_, 1601.

A woman's looks
Are barbed hooks,
That catch by art
The strongest heart
When yet they spend no breath;
But let them speak,
And sighing break
Forth into tears,
Their words are spears
That wound our souls to death.

The rarest wit
Is made forget,
And like a child
Is oft beguiled
With love's sweet-seeming bait;
Love with his rod
So like a God
Commands the mind;
We cannot find,
Fair shows hide foul deceit.

Time, that all things
In order brings,
Hath taught me how
To be more slow
In giving faith to speech,
Since women's words
No truth affords,
And when they kiss
They think by this
Us men to over-reach.

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

About the maypole new, with glee and merriment,
While as the bagpipe tooted it,
Thyrsis and Chloris fine together footed it:
And to the joyous instrument
Still they went to and fro, and finely flaunted it,
And then both met again and thus they chaunted it.
Fa la!

The shepherds and the nymphs them round enclosed had,
Wond'ring with what facility,
About they turn'd them in such strange agility;
And still when they unloosed had,
With words full of delight they gently kissed them,
And thus sweetly to sing they never missed them.
Fa la!

From JOHN WILBYE's _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1598.

Adieu, sweet Amaryllis!
For since to part your will is,
O heavy, heavy tiding!
Here is for me no biding.
Yet once again, ere that I part with you,
Adieu, sweet Amaryllis; sweet, adieu!

From THOMAS MORLEY's _First Book of Madrigals_, 1594.

April is in my mistress' face,
And July in her eyes hath place;
Within her bosom is September,
But in her heart a cold December.

From ROBERT JONES' _Second Book of Songs and Airs_, 1601.