John Wilbye: Verses about Happiness

Happy, O happy he, who not affecting
The endless toils attending worldly cares,
With mind repos'd, all discontents rejecting,
In silent peace his way to heav'n prepares;
Deeming his life a Scene, the world a Stage,
Whereon man acts his weary Pilgrimage.

Happy streams, whose trembling fall,
With still murmur softly gliding,
Happy birds, whose chirping call,
With sweet melody delighting,
Hath mov’d her flinty and relentless heart,
To listen to your harmony,
And sit securely in these downs apart,
Enchanted with your melody.
Sing on, and carol forth your glee,
She grants you leave her rays to see:
Happy were I, could love, but so delight her!
But Ah! alas! my love doth still despite her.

Softly, O! dropp mine eyes, lest you be dry,
And make my heart with grief to melt and die.
Now pour out tears apace,
Now stay, O heavy case!
O sour sweet woe!
Alas! O grief! O joy! Why strive you so?
Can griefs and joys at once in one poor heart consent?
Then sigh and sing, rejoice, lament.
Ah me! O passions strange and violent!
Was never poor wretch so tormented:
Nor joy, nor grief can make my heart contented.
For while with joy I look on high,
Down, down I fall with grief, and die.