"Can she excuse my wrongs, for 4 voices & lute (First Book of Songs)" as written by and John Dowland....
Can she excuse my wrongs with Virtue's cloak?
Shall I call her good when she proves unkind?
Are those clear fires which vanish into smoke?
Must I praise the leaves where no fruit I find?
No no: where shadows do for bodies stand,
Thou may'st be abus'd if thy sight be dim.
Cold love is like to words written on sand,
Or to bubbles which on the water swim.
Wilt thou be thus abused still,
Seeing that she will right thee never?
If thou canst not o'ercome her will
The love will be thus fruitless ever.
Was I so base, that I might not aspire
Unto those high joys which she holds from me?
As they are high , so high is my desire:
If she this deny, what can granted be?
If she will yeld to that which reason is,
It is Reason's will that Love should be just.
Dear make me happy still be granting this,
Or cut off delays if that die I must.
Better a thousand times to die,
Than for to live thus still tormented:
Dear, but remember it was I
Who for thy sake did die contended

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"Can she excuse my wrongs, for 4 voices & lute (First Book of Songs)" as written by John Dowland


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    My InterpretationThese fine Elizabethan lines swirl through actual smoke rings born of my virtual pipe and blown from my melancholy lips. Were I welcome in her court, indeed would I kiss the queen. But instead I smoke alone listening to the lyrical lutenist and praying for mercy.
    My virtual pipe is well-formed of whitest clay, fired in the kiln of sorrow and lit with the smoldering taper of desire. It balances gently in my sinful hand, sitting here at this serene and sequestered table of ideals, hailing my fondest memories as they disappear in rising puffs of tobacco haze.

    The world passes by outside the window - they are not yet worthy to know the great DOWLAND but I hope one day they may be thusly blessed.
    Soon I will depart for the New World. Adieu, my dearest loves.
    NomadMonadon June 21, 2012   Link

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