Thomas Campion (Томас Кэмпион)

* * *

Kind are her answers,
But her performance keeps no day;
Breaks time, as dancers
From their own music when they stray.
All her free favours and smooth words,
Wing my hopes in vain.
O did ever voice so sweet but only feign?
Can true love yield such delay,
Converting joy to pain?
Lost is our freedom,
When we submit to women so:
Why do we need them
When, in their best they work our woe?
Can alter ends, by Fate prefixed.
O why is the good of man with evil mixed?
Never were days yet called two,
But one night went betwixt. 

1. Shall I Come, Sweet Love to Thee
2. Fire That Must Flame Is with Apt Fuel Fed
3. To Music Bent Is My Retired Mind
4. The Charm
5. Follow Your Saint

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