His golden locks Time hath to silver turned.
O Time too swift, O swiftness never ceasing:
His youth 'gainst Time and Age hath ever spurned,
But spurned in vain; youth waneth by increasing.
Beauty, strength, youth are flowers but fading seen;
Duty, faith, love are roots, and ever green.
His helmet now shall make a hive for bees,
And lovers' sonnets turn to holy psalms.
A man at arms must now serve on his knees,
And feed on prayers which are Age's alms.
But though from Court to cottage he depart,
His Saint is sure of his unspotted heart.
And when he saddest sits in homely cell,
He'll teach his swains this carol for a song:
Blest be the hearts that wish my Sov'reign well.
Curst be the soul that think her [him] any wrong.
Goddess [Ye gods], allow this aged man his right
To be your beadsman now, that was your knight.
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..