6
7Or you, or I, Nature did Wrong
Neither Sights, nor Tears, nor Mourning
Almain - Corant 1 - Corant 2 for Two Lutes
Wither are all her False Oaths Blown?
No More Shall Meads be Deck'd with Flowers
When Thou, Poor Excommunicate
Sleep Soft, you Cold Clay Cinders
Out upon it, I have lov'd
O tell me love! O tell me fate!
Division on John Come Kiss me now
Wert Thou yet Fairer Than Thou Art
Why so Pale and Wan, Fond Lover?
℗© Mirare
