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Monday, April 4, 2011

Tonight, the Blogger DJ indulges his Inner Elizabethan with Sting's cover of two songs by John Dowland


Flow, my tears


      Flow, my tears, fall from your springs!
      Exiled for ever, let me mourn;
      Where night's black bird her sad infamy sings,
      There let me live forlorn.
   
      Down vain lights, shine you no more!
      No nights are dark enough for those
      That in despair their lost fortunes deplore.
      Light doth but shame disclose.
   
      Never may my woes be relieved,
      Since pity is fled;
      And tears and sighs and groans my weary days
      Of all joys have deprived.
   
      From the highest spire of contentment
      My fortune is thrown;
      And fear and grief and pain for my deserts
      Are my hopes, since hope is gone.
   
      Hark! you shadows that in darkness dwell,
      Learn to contemn light
      Happy, happy they that in hell
      Feel not the world's despite.


Come again

   Come again!
    Sweet love doth now invite
    Thy graces, that refrain
    To do me due delight,
    To see, to hear, to touch, to kiss, to die
    With thee again in sweetest sympathy.

    Come again!
    That I may cease to mourn,
    Through thy unkind disdain.
    For now left and forlorn,
    I sit, I sigh, I weep, I faint, I die
    In deadly pain and endless misery.

    All the day
    The sun that lends me shine
    By frowns do cause me pine,
    And feeds me with delay;
    Her smiles my springs that makes my joys to grow;
    Her frowns the Winters of my woe.

    All the night
    My sleeps are full of dreams,
    My eyes are full of streams;
    My heart takes no delight
    To see the fruits and joys that some do find,
    And mark the storms are me assigned.

    Out alas!
    My faith is ever true;
    Yet will she never rue,
    Nor yield me any grace.
    Her eyes of fire, her heart of flint is made,
    Whom tears nor truth may once invade.

    Gentle Love,
    Draw forth thy wounding dart,
    Thou canst not pierce her heart;
    For I, that do approve
    By sighs and tears more hot than are thy shafts,
    Did tempt, while she for mighty triumphs laughs.