John Dowland: The First Booke of Songes

Unquiet thoughts

Who ever thinks or hopes of love

My Thoughts are wingd with hopes

If my complaints could passions move

Can she excuse my wrongs

Now, O now I needs must part

Deare if you change

Burst forth my teares

Go Cristall teares

Thinkst thou then by thy faining

Come away, come sweet love

Rest a while you cruell cares

Sleepe wayward thoughts

All ye whom love or fortune hath betraide

Wilt thou unkind thus reave me

Would my conceit

Come again: sweet love doth now envite

His golden locks

Awake sweet love thou art returnd

Come heavy sleepe

Awaie with these selfe loving lads