"To pass under your Lordship's favour and protection, hoping that by this occassion, these poor Songs of mine may happily yield some repose and recreation unto your Lordship's mind, &c." Byrd further states, that, should the present attempt be favourably received, "It shall encourage him to suffer some other things of more depth and skill to follow these, which being not yet finished, are of divers expected and desired."

In his epistle to the reader (who probably was also the reviewer of 1588), he modestly says, "In the expressing of these Songs, either by voices or instruments, if there happen to be any jar or dissonance, blame not the printer, who, I do assure thee, through his great pains and diligence, doth here deliver to thee a perfect and true copy. If, in the composition of these Songs, there be any fault by me committed, I desire the skilful either with courtesy to let the same be concealed, or in friendly sort to be thereof admonished, and at the next impression, he shall find the error reformed; remembering always, that it is more easy to find a fault, than to amend it."

Byrd was a musician of acknowledged merit and celebrity in his time, besides being an agreeable and respectable composer. One of his best known compositions at this day, perhaps, is "Non nobis Domini." He also was the author of several other musical works, published betwixt 1575 and 1618; for a list of which, see Burney, Hawkins, and Dr. Watt's Bibliotheca Britannica. Byrd died in 1623, aged eighty.

BYRD'S SONGS.

5

TO AMARILLIS.

THOUGH Amarillis dance in green,
Like fairy queen, and sing full clear,
Corinna can with smiling cheer;

Yet since their eyes make hearts so sore,
Hey-ho! chil [shall] love no more.

My sheep are lost for want of food,
And I so would, that all the day,
I sit and watch a herd-maid gay,
Who laughs to see me sigh so sore,
Heigh-ho! chil love no more.

Her loving looks, her beauty bright,
Is such delight, that all in vain,
I love to like, and lose my gain,
For her that thanks me not therefore,
Heigh-ho! chil love no move.

Ah wanton eyes, my friendly foes,
And cause of woes, your sweet desire,
Breeds flames of ice, and freeze in fire,
Ye scorn to see me weep so sore,
Heigh-ho! chil love no more.

Love ye who list, I force him not,
Sith God it wot, the more I wail
The less my sighs and tears prevail;
What shall I do, but say therefore,

Hey-ho! chil love no more.

CUPID'S SENTENCE.

WHO likes to love, let him take heed,
And wot you why?

Among the Gods it is decreed,

That Love shall die;

And every wight that takes his part,
Shall forfeit each a mourning heart.

The cause of this as I have heard,
A sort of dames,

Whose beauty he did not regard,
Nor secret flames,

Complain'd before the Gods above,
That Gold corrupts the God of Love.

The Gods did storm to hear this news,

And there they swore,

That sith he did such dames abuse

He should no more

Be God of Love, but that he should
Both die and forfeit all his gold.

His bow and shafts they took away

Before their eyes,

And gave these dames a longer day

For to devise

Who should them keep, and they be bound

That love for gold should not be found.

BYRD'S SONGS.

These ladies striving long, at last
They did agree

To give them to a maiden chast,

Whom I did see;

Who with the same did pierce my breast:
Her beauty's rare, and so I rest.

MY MIND TO ME A KINGDOM IS.

My mind to me a kingdom is,

Such perfect joy therein I find,

That it excels all other bliss

That God or nature hath assign'd: Though much I want that most would have, Yet still my mind forbids to crave.

No princely port, nor wealthy store,
No force to win a victory,

No wilie wit to salve a sore,

No shape to win a loving eye;
To none of these I yield as thrall,
For why, my mind despise them all.

I see that plenty surfeits oft,
And hasty climbers soonest fall;
I see that such as are aloft,

Mishap doth threaten most of all;
These get with toil, and keep with fear:
Such cares my mind can never bear.

7

I press to bear no haughty sway,

I wish no more than may suffice, I do no more than well I may,

Look what I want, my mind supplies; Lo, thus I triumph like a king, My mind's content with any thing.

I laugh not at another's loss,
Nor grudge not at another's gain;
No worldly waves my mind can toss,
I brook that is another's bane;
I fear no foe, nor fawn on friend,
I loathe not life, nor dread mine end.

My wealth is health and perfect ease,
And conscience clear my chief defence,
I never seek by bribes to please,
Nor by desert to give offence;

Thus do I live, thus will I die,
Would all do so as well as I!

WHERE FANCY FOND.

WHERE fancy fond for pleasure pleads,
And reason keeps poor hope in jail,

There time it is to take my beads,

And pray that beauty may prevail; Or else despair will win the field Where reason, hope, and pleasure yield.