Noted with Pleasure.

From John Downland’s Third Book of Songs, this one is a delight, with the clever wordplay of the poem and of course its masterly setting.

It was a Time when Silly Bees Could Speak

Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex

It was a time when silly bees could speak,

And in that time I was a silly bee,

Who fed on time until my heart ’gan break,

Yet never found the time would favour me.

Of all the swarm I only did not thrive,

Yet brought I wax and honey to the hive.

Then thus I buzzed when time no sap would give:

Why should this blessed time to me be dry,

Sith by this time the lazy drone doth live,

The wasp, the worm, the gnat, the butterfly?

Mated with grief I kneeled on my knees,

And thus complained unto the king of bees:

My liege, gods grant thy time may never end,

And yet vouchsafe to hear my plaint of time,

Which fruitless flies have found to be a friend,

And I cast down when atomies do climb.

The king replied but thus: Peace, peevish bee,

Thou’rt bound to serve the time, the time not thee.