All ye whom Love or Fortune hath betrayed,
All ye that dream of bliss, but live in grief,
All ye whose hopes are ever more delay'd,
All ye whose sighs or sickness wants relief:
Lend ears and tears to me, most hapless man,
That sings my sorrows like the dying swan.
Care that consumes the heart with inward pain,
Pain that presents sad care in outward view,
Both, tyrant-like, enforce me to complain,
But still in vain: for none my plaints will rue.
Tears, sighs and ceaseless cries alone I spend:
My woe wants comfort, and my sorrow end.
The First Booke of Songs or Ayres 1597 (Consort of Musicke & Emma Kirkby a.j.)
- Unquiet thoughts
- Who ever thinks or hopes ..
- My Thoughts Are Wing'd Wi..
- If my complaints could pa..
- Can She Excuse My Wrongs
- Now, O Now, I Needs Must ..
- Dear, If You Change
- Burst forth my tears
- Go Crystal Tears
- Thinkst thou then by thy ..
- Come Away, Come Sweet Lov..
- Rest Awhile You Cruel Car..
- Sleep wayward thoughts
- All ye, whom love or fort..
- Wilt thou unkind thus rea..
- Would my conceit that fir..
- Come again sweet love dot..
- His golden locks time hat..
- Awake, sweet love
- Awake sweet love thou art..
- Come heavy sleep
- Away with these self-lovi..