A Booke of Ayres with a Triplicitie of Musicke

O Lord thy faithfulnes and prayse

If ever haples woman had a cause

When from my love I lookte

Who doth behold my mistres face

If there bee any one whome love hath wounded

I heard of late

All my wits hath will inwrapped

Goe, goe wailing verse

A prety, prety, prety ducke

Of all the birds that I doe know, Philip my sparrow hath no peer

The Queen of Paphos, Ericene

I would thou wert not fayre

Unto a flie transformd from humain kind

What thing is love, I pray thee tel

Fortune, loue & time

Poets to love such power ascribes

Whether runeth my sweet hart

Tarrie tarry are you gone againe

Surchagd with discontent to Silvanes boure I went

The thrush did pipe ful cleare

Then Hesperus on high