Fred W. Schenk

Let not Chloris think, because
    She hath envassel'd me,
    That her beauty can give laws
    To others that are free:
I was made to be the prey
    And booty of her eyes!
    In my bosom, she may say,
    Her greatest kingdom lies.
Though others may her brow adore,
    Yet more must I that therein see far more
    Than any other's eyes have power to see;
She is to me
    More than to any others she can be.
I can discern more secret notes
    That in the margin of her cheeks Love quotes
    Than any else besides have art to read;
No looks proceed
    From those fair eyes but to me wonder breed.
O then why
Should she fly
    From him to whom her sight
    Doth add so much above her might?
Why should not she
Still joy to reign in me?
—John Danyel, 1564 - ca. 1626

Like as the lute delights or else dislikes
    As is his art that plays upon the same,
    So sounds my Muse according as she strikes
    On my heart-strings high tuned unto her fame.
Her touch doth cause the warble of the sound,
    Which here I yield in lamentable wise,
    A wailing descant on the sweetest ground,
    Whose due reports give honour to her eyes;
If any pleasing relish here I use,
    Then judge the world her beauty gives the same.
    Else harsh my style, untunable my Muse;
    Hoarse sounds the voice that praiseth not her name;
For no ground else could make the music such,
Nor other hand could give so sweet a touch.
—Samuel Daniel, 1562-1619

The lowest trees have tops, the ant her gall,
The fly her spleen, the little spark his heat,
And slender hairs cast shadows though but small,
And bees have stings although they be not great.
Seas have their source, and so have shallow springs,
And love is love in beggars and in kings.

Where waters smoothest run, deep are the fords,
The dial stirs, yet none perceives it move:
The firmest faith is in the fewest words,
The turtles cannot sing, and yet they love,
True hearts have eyes and ears no tongues to speak:
They hear, and see, and sigh, and then they break.
—Sir Edward Dyer, 1543-1607 (poem)
—John Dowland, 1563-1626 (music)

Fred W. Schenk, 1946-1972

Fred was born in 1946. He was working on his doctorate in anthropology at the University of Minnesota when his life was tragically cut short in 1972.

Fred recorded these three songs around 1967. I do not know who the lutenist is, or why or where the tape was made. His voice was sweet, he had a wonderful sense of phrasing, he could really carry a song.

Three Lute Songs, sung by Fred W. Schenk