Have you seen but a bright lily grow Before rude hands have touched it?
Have you marked but the fall of snow
Before the soil hath smutched it?
Have you felt the wool of beaver,
Or swan's down ever?
Or have smelt o' the bud o' the brier,
Or the nard in the fire?
Or have tasted the bag of the bee?
O so white, O so soft, O so sweet is she!
- Can She Excuse My Wrongs?
- 'Right Honorable: As I Have Bin Most Bound Unto Your Honor...'
- Flow, My Tears (Lachrimae)
- Have You Seen The Bright Lily Grow
- '...Then In Time Passing On Mr. Johnson Died...'
- The Most High And Mighty Christianus The Fourth, King Of Denmark, His Galliard
- The Lowest Trees Have Tops
- '...And According As I Desired Ther Cam A Letter...'
- Fine Knacks For Ladies
- '...From Thenc I Went To Landgrave Of Hessen...'
- Come, Heavy Sleep
- Forlorn Hope Fancy
- '...And From Thence I Had Great Desire To See Italy...'
- Come Again
- Wilt Thou Unkind Thus Reave Me
- '...After My Departures I Caled To Mynde Our Conference...'
- Weep You No More, Sad Fountain
- My Lord Willoughby's Welcome Home
- Clear Or Cloudy
- '...Men Say That The Kinge Of Spain Is Making Gret Preparation...'
- In Darkness Let Me Dwell