The Lady Oriana Was dight all in the treasures of… And on her Grace a thousand grace… And thus sang they, fair Queen of… The fairest queen of twenty:

Yet, sweet, take heed, all sweets… Sting not her soft lips, Oh bewar… For if one flaming dart come from… Was never dart so sharp, ah, then…

Weep, O mine eyes and cease not, Out alas, these your spring tides… O when begin you to swell so high that I may drown…

As fair as morn, as fresh as May, a pretty grace in saying nay, Smil’st thou sweetheart? then sing and say, Ta na na no, But O! that love enchanting eye,

Alas what hope of speeding Where hope beguiled lies bleeding? She bade come when she spied me, And when I came she flied me. Thus when I was beguiled,

Happy streams, whose trembling fal… With still murmur softly gliding, Happy birds, whose chirping call, With sweet melody delighting, Hath mov’d her flinty and relentle…

Cruel, behold my heavy ending, See what you wrought by your disda… Causeless I die, love still atten… Your hopeless pity of my complaini… Suffer those eyes which thus have…

I live, and yet methinks I do not… I thirst, and drink, and drink, an… I sleep, and yet I dream I am awa… I hope for that I have; I have an… I sing and sigh; I love and hate…

Of joys and pleasing pains I late… O joys with pains! O pains with j… And little thought as then of now… But now think of my then sweet bit… All day long I my hands, alas! go…

Oft have I vow’d how dearly I did… And oft observ’d thee with all wil… Sighs I have sent, still hoping t… Millions of tears I tender’d to t… Yet thou of sighs and silly tears…

And though my love abounding, Did make me fall a sounding, Yet am I well contented, Still so to be tormented, And death can never fear me,

Love not me for comely grace, For my pleasing eye or face; Nor for any outward part, No, nor for my constant heart: For those may fail or turn to ill,

What needeth all this travail and… Shortening the life’s pleasure To seek this far-fetched treasure In those hot climates under Phoeb…

There, where I saw her lovely bea… Where, Venus-like, my sacred godd… There, with *precellent object min… That fair, but fatal star, my dole… As soon as morning in her light ap…

Ye that do live in pleasures plent… and dwell in Music’s sweetest Air… whose eyes are quick, whose ears a… not clogg’d with earth or worldly… come sing this song, made in Amphi…