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Click the pointer   by the left side of each poem to see the Russian translation

Thomas Campian (Campion) (1567 - 1620)


From the Rosseters Booke of Ayres (1601)



My sweetest Lesbia


My sweetest Lesbia, let us live and love.

And, though the sager sort our dids reprove,

Let us not weigh them. Heavns great lamps do dive

Into their west, and straight again revive.

But soon as once set is our little light,

Then must we sleep one ever-during night.


If all would lead their lives in love like me,

Then bloody swords and armour should not be.

No drum nor trumpet peaceful sleeps should move,

Unless alarm came from the camp of Love.

But fools do live, and waste their little light,

And seek with pain their ever-during night.


When timely death my life and fortune ends,

Let not my hearse be vexd with mourning friends.

But let all lovers, rich in triumph, come

And with sweet pastimes grace my happy tomb.

And, Lesbia, close up thou my little light,

And crown with love my ever-during night.


Though you are young

Though you are young and I am old,

Though your veins hot and my blood cold,

Though youth is moist and age is dry,

Yet embers live when flames do die.


The tender graft is easly broke,

But who shall shake the sturdy oak?

You are more fresh and fair than I,

Yet stubs do live, when flowrs do die.


Thou, that thy youth dost vainly boast,

Know, buds are soonest nippd with frost,

Think that thy fortune still doth cry:

Thou fool, to-morrow thou must die.


I care not for these ladies

I care not for these ladies that must be wood and prayd;

Give me kind Amaryllis, the wanton country maid.

Nature Art disdaineth; her beauty is her own.

Her when we court and kiss, she cries: forsooth, let go!

But when we come where comfort is, she never will say No.


If I love Amaryllis, she gives me fruit and flowrs;

But if we love these ladies, we must give golden showrs.

Give them gold that sell love; give me the nut-brown lass,

Who when we court and kiss, she cries: forsooth, let go!

But when we come where comfort is, she never will say No.


These ladies must have pillows, and beds by strangers wrought.

Give me a bowr of willows, of moss and leaves unbougth,

And fresh Amaryllis with milk and honey fed,

Who when we court and kiss, she cries: forsooth, let go!

But when we come where comfort is, she never will say No.


When to her lute Corrina sings

When to her lute Corrina sings,

Her voice revives the leaden strings,

And doth in highest notes appear

As any challengd echo clear.

But when she doth of mourning speak,

Evn with her sighs the strings do break.


And as her lute doth live or die;

Led by her passion, so must I.

For when of pleasure she doth sing,

My thoughts enjoy a sudden spring;

But if she doth of sorrow speak,

Evn from my heart the strings do break.


Thou art not fair

Thou art not fair for all thy red and white,

For all those rosy ornaments in thee.

Thou art not sweet though made of mere delight,

Nor fair nor sweet, unless thou pity me.

I will not soothe thy fancies. Thou shalt prove

That beauty is no beauty without love.


Yet love me not, nor seek not to allure

My thoughts with beauty, were it more divine.

Thy smiles and kisses I cannot endure,

Ill not be wrappd up in those arms of thine.

Now show it if thou be a woman right,

Embrace and kiss and love me in despite.


Blame not my cheeks

Blame not my cheeks, though pale with love they be;

The kindly heat unto my heart is flown

To cherish it that is dismayd by thee,

Who art so cruel and unsteadfast grown.

For Nature, calld for by distressed hearts,

Neglects and quite forsakes the outward parts.


But they whose cheeks with careless blood are staind,

Nurse not one spark of love within their hearts;

And when they woo they speak with passion feignd,

For their fat love lies in their outward parts;

But in their breasts where Love his court should hold,

Poor Cupid sits, and blows his nails for cold.


Hark, all you ladies

Hark, all you ladies that do sleep,

The fairy queen Proserpina

Bids you awake and pity them that weep.

You may do in the dark

What the day doth forbid.

Fear not the dogs that bark;

Night will have all hid.


But if you let your lovers moan,

The fairy queen Proserpina

Will send abroad her fairies every one

That shall pinch black and blue

Your white hands and fair arms,

That did not kindly rue

Your paramours harms.


In myrtle arbours on the downs,

The fairy queen Proserpina

This night by moonshine, leading merry rounds,

Holds a watch with sweet Love,

Down the dale, up the hill,

No plaints or groans may move

Their holy vigil.


All you that will hold watch with Love,

The fairy queen Proserpina

Will make you fairer than Diones dove.

Roses red, lilies white,

And the clear damask hue

Shall on your cheeks alight.

Love will adorn you.


All you that love or lovd before,

The fairy queen Proserpina

Bids you increase that loving humour more.

They that yet have not fed

On delight amorous,

She vows that they shall lead

Apes in Avernus.


When thou must home

When thou must home to shades of underground,

And there arrivd, a new admired guest,

The beauteous spirits do ingirt thee round,

White Iope, blithe Helen and the rest,

To hear the stories of thy finishd love

From that smooth tongue, whose music hell can move.


Then wilt thou speak of banqueting delights,

Of masks and revels which sweet youth did make,

Of tourneys and great challengers of knights,

And all these triumphs for thy beautys sake.

When thou hast told these honours done to thee,

Then tell, O tell how thou didst murder me.

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...shades of underground


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