CD selections (restricted) from
Drew Minter, countertenor/ Paul O'Dette, lute
Harmonia Mundi USA 907023
Harmonia Mundi "Classical Express" 3957023
"Fire, fire, fire" (MP3)
Fire, fire, fire, fire
Loe here I burne in such desire
That all the teares that I can straine
Out of mine idle empty braine
Cannot allay my scorching paine.
Come Trent and humber,
and fayre Thames,
Dread Ocean, haste with all thy streames:
And, if you cannot quench my fire,
O drowne both mee and my desire. Fire
fire, fire, fire
There is no hell to my desire:
See, all the Rivers backward flye,
And th' Ocean doth his waves deny,
For feare my heate should drinke them dry.
showres then, pouring downe;
Come, you that once the world did drowne:
Some then you spar'd but now save all,
That else must burne, and with mee fall.
"So tyr'd are all my thoughts" (MP3)
are all my thoughts,
that sence and spirits faile;
I pine, and know not what I ayle.
can yeeld ease to a minde,
in nothing that can finde?
my powres fore-spoke? what strange distaste is this?
cruell hate of that which sweetest is:
come delight, make my dull braine
once heate of joy againe.
teares are sweet, their mover makes them so;
Proud of a wound
the bleeding Souldiers grow:
Poore I alone, dreaming,
that knowes nor cause, nor cure.
And whence can all
this grow? even from an idle minde,
That no delight
in any good can finde.
Action alone makes
the soule blest:
dyes with too much rest.
“It fell on a sommers day” (MP3)
It fell on a sommers day,
While sweete Bessie sleeping laie
In her bowre, on her bed,
Light with curtaines shadowed;
Jamy came, shee him spies,
Opning halfe her heavie eies.
Jamy stole in through the dore,
She lay slumbring as before;
Softly to her he drew neere,
She heard him, yet would not heare;
Bessie vow'd not to speake,
He resolv'd that dumpe to breake.
First a soft kisse he doth take,
She lay still, and would not wake;
Then his hands learn'd to woo,
She dreamp't not what he would doo,
But still slept, while he smild
To see love by sleepe beguild.
Jamy then began to play,
Bessie as one buried lay,
Gladly still through this sleight
Deceiv'd in her owne deceit;
And, since this traunce begoon,
She sleepes ev'rie afternoone.