Fortune, laisse moy (3.2 MB) of Pierre Attaingnant, from Quarante et deux chansons musicales, Paris, 1529.
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Fortune, laisse moy la vie, Puis que tu m'as osté les biens; Je te desclaire qu'ilz sont tiens, Mets donc-ques fin à ton en vie.
Helas, je croy tu as envie
Ung jour en la chambre m'amye
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Fortune, leave me my life, Since you have taken my goods; I declare that they are yours, So bring your malice to an end!
Alas, I believe you have designs
One day in my love's chamber
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Fortune, laisse moy (1.1 MB) Alternative arrangement: first verse, two voices and tenor viol.
(1.1 MB), first verse, of John Dowland, from The Firste Booke of Songes or Ayres of fowre partes wih Tableture for the Lute, London, 1597.
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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, hapless sighs, and let your burning breath
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Now, o now, I needs must part (2.7 MB) of John Dowland, from The Firste Booke of Songes or Ayres of fowre partes wih Tableture for the Lute, London, 1597.
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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,
Dear, when I am from thee gone, Sad despair doth drive me hence,
Dear, if I do not return, Sad despair doth drive me hence,
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Ostinato vo' seguire (960 KB) of Bartolomeo Tromboncino, c. 1528.
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Ostinato vo' seguire la magnanima mia impresa. Fa mi amor qual voi offesa s'io dovessi ben morire. Ostinato vo' seguire la magnanima mia impresa.
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Steadfastly I shall pursue my noble enterprise. Love hurts me as much as you do, so I might as well die. Steadfastly I shall pursue my noble enterprise. |
There is a Garden in her face (1.7 MB) of Thomas Campion, from The Third and Fovrth Booke of Ayres: Composed by Thomas Campian. So as they may be expressed by one Voyce, with a Violl, Lute, or Opharion, London, 1618.
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There is a Garden in her face, Where Roses and white Lilies grow. A heav'ly paradice is that place, Wherein all pleasant fruits doe flow. There Cherries grow which none may buy, Till Cherry ripe themselves doe cry.
Those Cherries fayrely doe enclose
Her Eyes like Angels watch them still;
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