Madrigal 3. Once in an arbour was my Mistress sleeping

Barnabe Barnes (1569?–1609)

ONCE in an arbour was my Mistress sleeping,

With rose and woodbine woven,

Whose person, thousand graces had in keeping,

Where for mine heart, her heart’s hard flint was cloven

To keep him safe. Behind, stood, pertly peeping,

Poor CUPID, softly creeping,

And drave small birds out of the myrtle bushes,

Scared with his arrows, who sate cheeping

On every sprig; whom CUPID calls and hushes

From branch to branch: whiles I, poor soul! sate weeping

To see her breathe (not knowing)

Incense into the clouds, and bless with breath

The winds and air; whiles CUPID, underneath,

With birds, with songs, nor any posies throwing,

Could her awake.

Each noise, sweet lullaby was, for her sake!