Happy New Year!

And before anyone asks, I'm not sure when or if the podcast will be starting up again. For now it's just on the back-burner and may make a triumphant return in 2010. We'll just have to see!






Come again,
sweet love doth now invite,
thy graces that refrain
to do me due delight.
To see, to hear,
to touch, to kiss,
to die with thee again
in sweetest sympathy
Come again,
that I may cease to mourn
through thy unkind disdain
for now left and forlorn.
I sit, I sigh,
I weep, I faint,
I die, in deadly pain
and endless misery
Gentle love,
draw forth thy wounding dart:
Thou canst not pierce her heart;
For I that do approve.
By sighs an d tears
more hot than are
thy shafts, did tempt while she
for scanty tryumphs laughs

Martin said to his man, fie, man, fie
Martin said to his man, who's the fool, now
Martin said to his man, Fill thou the cup and I the can
Thou hast well drunken man, who's the fool now
I saw the mouse chase the cat, fie, man, fie
I saw the mouse chase the cat, who's the fool now
I saw the mouse chase the cat, Saw the cheese eat the rat
Thou hast well drunken, man, who's the fool now
I saw the goose ring the hog, fie, man, fie
I saw the goose ring the hog, who's the fool, now
I saw the goose ring the hog, saw the snail bite the dog
Thou hast well drunken, man, who's the fool, now
I saw a maid milk a bull, fie, man, fie
I saw a maid milk a bull, who's the fool now
I saw a maid milk a bull, at every pull a bucket full
Thou hast well drunken, man, who's the fool now
Martin said to his man, fie, man, fie
Martin said to his man, who's the fool, now
Martin said to his man, Fill thou the cup and I the can
Thou hast well drunken man, who's the fool now

WHEN to her lute Corinna sings,
Her voice revives the leaden strings,
And doth in highest notes appear,
As any challenged echo clear;
But when she doth of mourning speak,
E’en with her sighs, the strings do break,
And as her lute doth live or die,
Led by her passion, so must I:
For when of pleasure she doth sing,
My thoughts enjoy a sudden spring,
But if she doth of sorrow speak,
E’en from my heart the strings do break.
Can she excuse my wrongs with Virtue's cloak?
Shall I call her good when she proves unkind?
Are those clear fires which vanish into smoke?
Must I praise the leaves where no fruit I find?
No no: where shadows do for bodies stand,
Thou may'st be abus'd if thy sight be dim.
Cold love is like to words written on sand,
Or to bubbles which on the water swim.
Wilt thou be thus abused still,
Seeing that she will right thee never?
If thou canst not o'ercome her will
The love will be thus fruitless ever.
Was I so base, that I might not aspire
Unto those high joys which she holds from me?
As they are high , so high is my desire:
If she this deny, what can granted be?
If she will yeld to that which reason is,
It is Reason's will that Love should be just.
Dear make me happy still be granting this,
Or cut off delays if that die I must.
Better a thousand times to die,
Than for to live thus still tormented:
Dear, but remember it was I
Who for thy sake did die contended