Follow Your Saint. No, Seriously, Follow Your Saint!

In honour of the lovely song that I've been singing to myself all
morning (yes as a receptionist in a pilates studio), let's have a little 17th century sing-a-long:

Follow your Saint, follow with accents sweet ;
Haste you, sad noates, fall at her flying feete :
There, wrapt in cloud of sorrowe pitie moue,
And tell the rauisher of my soule I perish for her loue.
But if she scorns my neuer-ceasing paine,
Then burst with sighing in her sight, and nere returne againe.

All that I soong still to her praise did tend,
Still she was first ; still she my songs did end.
Yet she my loue and Musicke both doeth flie,-
The Musicke that her Eccho is and beauties simpathie ;
Then let my Noates pursue her scornfull flight:
It shall suffice that they were breath'd and dyed for her delight.

- Thomas Campion

(For a real Thomas Campion karaoke experience visit: http://www.luminarium.org/renlit/follow.htm, where the music is played for you on a harpsichord!)