White as lilies was her face (John Dowland): Difference between revisions

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{{Genre|Secular|Madrigals}}
{{Genre|Secular|Madrigals}}
{{Language|English}}
{{Language|English}}
'''Instruments:''' {{LuteAcc}} (optional)<br>
{{Instruments|Lute}} (optional)<br>
'''Published:''' 1600
'''Published:''' 1600



Revision as of 03:42, 25 April 2014

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Editor: Brian Russell (submitted 2008-05-06).   Score information: A4, 4 pages, 27 kB   Copyright: CPDL
Edition notes: Nwc.png
Editor: Daniel Harmer (submitted 2006-06-13).   Score information: Letter, 2 pages, 57 kB   Copyright: CPDL
Edition notes:

General Information

Title: White as Lillies was hir face
Composer: John Dowland

Number of voices: 4vv   Voicing: SATB

Genre: SecularMadrigal

Language: English
Instruments: Lute

(optional)

Published: 1600

Description: No. XV from Second Book of Songs or Ayres (1600)

External websites:

Original text and translations

English.png English text

White as lilies was her face,
When she smiled she beguiled,
Quitting faith with foul disgrace,
Virtue, service thus neglected,
Heart with sorrow hath infected.

When I swore my heart my own,
She disdained, I complained;
Yet she left me overthrown,
Careless of my bitter grieving,
Ruthless bent to no relieving.

Vowes and oaths and faith assured,
Contant ever, changing never,
Yet she could not be procured,
To believe my pains exceeding,
From her scant neglect proceeding.

Oh that Love should have the art,
By surmises, and disguises,
To destroy a faithful heart,
Or that wanton looking women,
Should reward their friends as foemen.

All in vaine is Ladies love,
Quickly choosed, shortly loosed,
For their pride is to remove,
Out alas their looks first won us,
And their pride hath straight undone us.

To thy selfe the sweetest faier,
Thou hath wounded, and confounded,
Changles faith with soule dispaier,
And my service hath envied,
And my succours hath denied.

By thine error thou hast lost,
Hart unfained, truth unstained,
And the swaine that loved most,
More assured in love than many,
More dispised in love than any,

For my heart, though set at naught,
Since you will it, spoil and kill it!
I will never change my thoughts,
But grieve that Beauty e'er was born,
And so I'll live as one forlorn.