A BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 13 by THOMAS CAMPION

SEE where she flies enraged from me!
View her when she intends despite,
The wind is not more swift than she.
Her fury moved such terror makes
As to a fearful guilty sprite
The voice of heaven's huge thunder-cracks:
But when her appeased mind yields to delight,
All her thoughts are made of joys,
Millions of delights inventing;
Other pleasures are but toys
To her beauty's sweet contenting.

My fortune hangs upon her brow;
For as she smiles or frowns on me,
So must my blown affections bow;
And her proud thoughts too well do find
With what unequal tyranny
Her beauties do command my mind.
Though, when her sad planet reigns,
Froward she be,
She alone can pleasure move,
And displeasing sorrow banish.
May I but still hold her love,
Let all other comforts vanish.

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