DOWLAND, John

Flow, my tears

Come, Heavy Sleep

Come, heavy Sleep, the image of true Death,

And close up these my weary weeping eyes,

Whose spring of tears doth stop my vital breath,

And tears my heart with Sorrow’s sigh-swoll’n cries.

Come and possess my tired thought, worn soul,

That living dies, till thou on me be stole.

Come, shadow of my end, and shape of rest,

Allied to Death, child to his black-faced Night;

Come thou and charm these rebels in my breast,

Whose waking fancies do my mind affright.

O come, sweet Sleep, come or I die for ever;

Come ere my last sleep comes, or come never.

Now o now I needs must part

Now, o now, I needs must part

Parting though I absent mourn

Absence can no joy impart

Joy once fled cannot return

While I live I needs must love

Love lives not when hope is gone

Now at last despair doth prove

Love divided loveth none

Sad despair doth drive me hence

This despair unkindness sends

If that parting be offence

It is she which then offends

Dear, when I from thee am gone

Gone are all my joys at once

I loved thee and thee alone

In whose love I joyed once

And although your sight I leave

Sight wherein my joys do lie

Till that death do sense bereave

Never shall affection die

Sad despair doth drive me hence

This despair unkindness sends

If that parting be offence

It is she which then offends


In Darkness Let Me Dwell

In darkness let me dwell, the ground shall sorrow be,

The roof despair to bar all cheerful light from me,

The walls of marble black that moisten'd still shall weep,

My music hellish jarring sounds, to banish friendly sleep.

Thus wedded to my woes, and bedded to my tomb,

O, let me, living, living, die, till death do come.

Come ye heavy states of night,

Come ye heavy states of night,

Do my father's spirit right,

Soundings baleful let me borrow,

Burthening my song with sorrow.

Come sorrow come her eyes that sings,

By thee are turned into springs.

Come you virgins of the night,

That in dirges sad delight,

Choir my anthems, I do borrow

Gold nor pearl, but sounds of sorrow:

Come sorrow come her eyes that sings,

By thee are turned into springs.

All Ye, Whom Love Or Fortune

All ye, whom Love or Fortune hath betray'd;

All ye, that dream of bliss but live in grief;

All ye, whose hopes are evermore 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.

Go Chrystal Tears

Go crystal tears, like to the morning show'rs,

And sweetly weep into thy lady's breast.

And as the dews revive the drooping flow'rs,

So let your drops of pity be address'd,

To quicken up the thoughts of my desert,

Which sleeps too sound whilst I from her depart.

Haste, restless sighs, and let your burning breath

Dissolve the ice of her indurate heart,

Whose frozen rigour like forgetful Death,

Feels never any touch of my desert:

Yet sighs and tears to her I sacrifice,

Both from a spotless heart and patient eyes.

Sleep, Wayward Thoughts

Sleep, wayward thoughts, and rest you with my love:

Let not my Love be with my love diseas'd.

Touch not, proud hands, lest you her anger move,

But pine you with my longings long displeas'd.

Thus, while she sleeps, I sorrow for her sake:

So sleeps my Love, and yet my love doth wake.

But O, the fury of my restless fear!

The hidden anguish of my flesh desires!

The glories and the beauties that appear,

Between her brows, near Cupid's closed fires,

Thus while she sleeps, moves sighing for her sake:

So sleeps my Love, and yet my love doth wake.

My love doth rage, and yet my Love doth rest:

Fear in my love, and yet my Love secure:

Peace in my Love, and yet my love oppress'd:

Impatient, yet of perfect temperature.

Sleep, dainty Love, while I sigh for thy sake:

So sleeps my Love, and yet my love doth wake.

I saw my lady weep

I saw my lady weep,

And Sorrow proud to be advanced so,

In those fair eyes where all perfections keep.

Her face was full of woe,

But such a woe believe me as wins more hearts,

Than Mirth can do with her enticing charms.

Sorrow was there made fair,

And Passion wise, tears a delightful thing,

Silence beyond all speech a wisdom rare.

She made her sighs to sing,

And all things with so sweet a sadness move,

As made my heart at once both grieve and love.

O fairer than aught else

The world can show, leave off in time to grieve.

Enough, enough, (enough, enough,) your joyful looks excels.

Tears kill the heart, believe;

O strive not to be excellent in woe,

Which only breeds your beauty's overthrow.