Occasion, poet, date and location unknown.

BG 11, 2; NBA I/41.

1. Aria (B)

O Love, thou art a traitor.
Thou canst not fool me more.

I want no more thy fetters,
I want no anguish, sorrow,
No grief and servitude.

2. Recit. (B)

I wish to see
If I can cure the
Spirit within me of the wounding that’s fatal,
And whether one can live without thine arrows.
Away with expectation,
That flatters to my sorrow,
And sweet rapture dwell in my bosom,
Gone thy fickleways will be from my devotion.

3. Aria (B)

To all lovers who have an enemy in fortune,
It is madness if thou cease not to love;

Free thy soul of its cruel constrictions,
If thou findst no repayment for thy grief.

© Copyright  Z. Philip Ambrose

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