Thomas Campion
About Thomas Campion
Thomas Campion, (sometimes Campian) (February 12, 1567 – March 1, 1620) was an English composer, poet and physician. Campion was born in London and studied at Peterhouse, Cambridge, but left without taking a degree. He later entered Gray's Inn to study law in 1586. However, he left in 1595 without having been called to the bar. On February 10, 1605 he received his medical degree from the University of Caen. Campion was first published as a poet
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Top Tracks
Bookes of Ayres, Book 2*: Never weather-beaten saile more willing bent to shore
I care not for these Ladies
Never weather-beaten sail
Shall I come, sweet love, to thee?
Jacke and Jone they think no ill
My love hath vow'd
Beauty, since you so much desire
Tune thy Musicke to thy hart
What If a Day
Turne all thy thoughts to eyes
The Sypres curten of the night
My sweetest Lesbia
Thou joy'st, fond boy
Faire, if you expect admiring
Though you are yoong and I am olde
Author of light
The cypress curtain of the night
What then is love but mourning?
Come Let us sound with melody
When to her lute Corrina sings
The peacefull westerne winde
Come you pretty false-ey'd wanton
Campion: First Book of Ayres Contayning Divine and Morall Songs: No. 11, Never Weather-Beaten Sail
Come Let Us Sound with Melodie the Praises
There is a Garden in her face
There is none, O none but you
It fell on a summer's day
Bookes of Ayres, Book 2: Never weather-beaten saile more willing bent to shore
What is it all that men possesse?
Fire, fire, fire, fire!
Sweet exclude mee not
It fell on a sommers daie
Never weather beaten sail
The peaceful western wind
Her rosie cheekes, her ever smiling eyes
Fire, fire, fire, fire loe here I burne
To musicke bent is my retyred minde
Shall I Come Sweet Love to Thee?
Come Away
My sweetest Lesbia, let us live and love
Sweet exclude me not
Sweet Exclude Me Not nor Be Divided
Her Rosie Cheeks
The sypres curten of the night is spread
Faire if you expect admiring
Bookes of Ayres, Book 1: Author of light, revive my dying spright: Author of light, revive my dying spright
Love me or not
Fair, if you expect admiring
Miserere My Maker
What Is It That All Men Possesse, Among Themselves Conversing?
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