Thomas Campion: Come let us sound with melody

Come let us sound with melodie the praises
Thomas Campion: Tune thy musicke to thy hart

Tune thy musicke to thy hart
Thomas Campion: Come you pretty false-ey'd wanton

Come you pretty false-ey'd wanton
Thomas Campion: There is none, O none but you

There is none, O none but you
Thomas Campion: Sweet exclude mee not

Sweet exclude me not nor be divided
Thomas Campion: I care not for these Ladies

I care not for these ladies
Thomas Campion: Though you are yoong and I am olde

Though you are yoong and I am olde
Thomas Campion: Fire, fire, fire, fire loe here I burne

Fire, fire, fire, fire loe here I burne
Thomas Campion: What then is love but mourning?

What then is love but mourning?
Thomas Campion: Shall I come, sweet love, to thee?

Shall I come sweet love to thee?
Thomas Campion: Beauty, since you so much desire

Beauty since you so much desire
Thomas Campion: What is it that all men possesse, among themselves conversing?

What is it that all men possesse, among themselves conversing?
Thomas Campion: The sypres curten of the night is spread

The sypres curten of the night is spread
Thomas Campion: Jacke and Jone they think no ill

Jacke and Jone they thinke no ill
Thomas Campion: It fell on a sommers daie

It fell on a sommers daie
Thomas Campion: When to her lute Corrina sings

When to her lute Corrina sings
Thomas Campion: My sweetest Lesbia, let us live and love

My sweetest Lesbia, let us live and love
Thomas Campion: Her rosie cheekes, her ever smiling eyes

Her rosie cheekes, her ever smiling eyes
Thomas Campion: Faire, if you expect admiring

Faire if you expect admiring
Thomas Campion: There is a garden in her face

There is a garden in her face
Thomas Campion: Author of light, revive my dying spright

Author of light, revive my dying spright
Thomas Campion: Never weather-beaten saile more willing bent to shore

Never weather-beaten saile more willing bent to shore
Thomas Campion: Most sweet and pleasing are thy wayes o God

Most sweet and pleasing are thy wayes O God
Thomas Campion: To musicke bent is my retyred minde

To musicke bent is my retyred minde
Thomas Campion: Thou joy'st fond boy, to be by many loved

Thou joy’st fond boy, to be by many loved
Thomas Campion: Turne all thy thoughts to eyes

Turne all thy thoughts to eyes
Thomas Campion: Vayle love mine eyes, O hide from me

Vayle love mine eyes, O hide from me
Thomas Campion: Miserere, my Maker

Miserere my Maker