In a valley of this restless mind - Foggitt, Peter

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◈ Genre → Motets ♬ Voicing → SATB ¶ Language → English

Parts 4

Instruments Organ

Pages 26

CPDL # 83375

Editor Peter Foggitt

Posted 2025-01-12

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¶Lyrics / Text

In a valley of this restless mind, I sought in mountain and in meed, Trusting a truelove for to find, Upon a hill then I took heed: A voice I heard, and near I yeed In huge dolour complaining tho: See, dear soul, my sides bleed Quia amore langueo. "I am true love that false was never; My sister, man's soul, I loved her thus: Because we would in no wise dissever, I left my kingdom glorious. I purveyed for her a palace precious; She fleeth; I follow. I sought her so, I suffered this pain piteous, Quia amore langueo. I crowned her with bliss, and she me with thorn; I led her to chamber, and she me to die; I brought her to worship, and she me to scorn; I did her reverence, and she me villainy. To love that loveth is no mastery; Her hate made never my love her foe. Ask me then no question why Quia amore langueo. In my side I have made her nest. Look in! How wet a wound is here! This is her chamber. Here shall she rest, That she and I may sleep in feer [i.e. together]. Here may she wash, if any filth were; Here is set for all her woe. Come when she will, she shall have cheer, Quia amore langueo. I will abide till she be ready; I will her sue if she say nay; If she be reckless, I will be greedy, And if she be dangerous, I will her pray. If she weep, then hide I ne may -- Mine arms are high'd to clip her me to. Cry once! I come. Now, Soul, assay! Quia amore [langueo.] I sit on this hill for to see far. I look into the valley my spouse to see. Now runneth she awayward, yet cometh she me near, For out of my sight may she not be. Some wait her prey to make her to flee; I run before and fleem her foe. Return, my spouse, again to me! Quia amore langueo. Fair love, let us go play -- Apples be ripe in my garden; I shall thee clothe in a new array; Thy meat shall be milk, honey, and wine. Fair love, let us go dine Thy sustenance is in my crip, lo! Tarry thou not, my fair spouse mine! Quia amore langueo. What shall I do with my fair spouse But abide her, of my gentleness, Til