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Thomas Campion: Come let us sound with melody
Come let us sound with melodie the praises
Thomas Campion: Tune thy musicke to thy hart
Tune thy musicke to thy hart
Thomas Campion: Come you pretty false-ey'd wanton
Come you pretty false-ey'd wanton
Thomas Campion: There is none, O none but you
There is none, O none but you
Thomas Campion: Sweet exclude mee not
Sweet exclude me not nor be divided
Thomas Campion: I care not for these Ladies
I care not for these ladies
Thomas Campion: Though you are yoong and I am olde
Though you are yoong and I am olde
Thomas Campion: Fire, fire, fire, fire loe here I burne
Fire, fire, fire, fire loe here I burne
Thomas Campion: What then is love but mourning?
What then is love but mourning?
Thomas Campion: Shall I come, sweet love, to thee?
Shall I come sweet love to thee?
Thomas Campion: Beauty, since you so much desire
Beauty since you so much desire
Thomas Campion: What is it that all men possesse, among themselves conversing?
What is it that all men possesse, among themselves conversing?
Thomas Campion: The sypres curten of the night is spread
The sypres curten of the night is spread
Thomas Campion: Jacke and Jone they think no ill
Jacke and Jone they thinke no ill
Thomas Campion: It fell on a sommers daie
It fell on a sommers daie
Thomas Campion: When to her lute Corrina sings
When to her lute Corrina sings
Thomas Campion: My sweetest Lesbia, let us live and love
My sweetest Lesbia, let us live and love
Thomas Campion: Her rosie cheekes, her ever smiling eyes
Her rosie cheekes, her ever smiling eyes
Thomas Campion: Faire, if you expect admiring
Faire if you expect admiring
Thomas Campion: There is a garden in her face
There is a garden in her face
Thomas Campion: Author of light, revive my dying spright
Author of light, revive my dying spright
Thomas Campion: Never weather-beaten saile more willing bent to shore
Never weather-beaten saile more willing bent to shore
Thomas Campion: Most sweet and pleasing are thy wayes o God
Most sweet and pleasing are thy wayes O God
Thomas Campion: To musicke bent is my retyred minde
To musicke bent is my retyred minde
Thomas Campion: Thou joy'st fond boy, to be by many loved
Thou joy’st fond boy, to be by many loved
Thomas Campion: Turne all thy thoughts to eyes
Turne all thy thoughts to eyes
Thomas Campion: Vayle love mine eyes, O hide from me
Vayle love mine eyes, O hide from me
Thomas Campion: Miserere, my Maker
Miserere my Maker
Early Music Magazine
August 1999
“Like Nicholas Lanier, his younger contemporary, Thomas Campion (1567-1620) is another of those remarkably versatile figures who played a major role in the flourishing secular arts of the Elizabethan and Jacobean eras. ...
The American countertenor Steven Rickards has here chosen 28 of [Campion's] songs, a well-varied selection ranging from religious moralities to the charmingly insouciant Jacke and Joane, a panegyric in praise of simple country life. Campion's approach to the subject of love is in general considerably more light hearted than that of Dowland, and Rickards is particularly successful at brining out the sly insinuation in a song like It fell upon a sommers daie. But his singing is distinguished throughout by a freshness and lack of artifice that admirably suits Campion's direct, uncomplicated style. Diction is very good, too. The lute parts, by no means as complex or demanding as those of Dowland, are sympathetically performed.
It would in fact be idle to suggest Campion's lute songs approach those of his greater contemporary, but the high quality of his poetry, easy melodic appeal, and often humorous approach make them a very appealing antidote to the near-unremitting seriousness of Dowland. Yet another excellent bargain from Naxos.”
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Come let us sound with melodie the praises