If my complaints could passions move (John Dowland)

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• CPDL #17942: 

Editor: David Newman (submitted 2008-08-21).   Score information: Letter, 2 pages, 125 kB   Copyright: Public Domain

Edition notes: Cross posting by Art Song Central - Edition in G minor

• CPDL #13118:  NoteWorthy Composer

Editor: Brian Russell (submitted 2006-11-17).   Score information: A4, 5 pages, 35 kB   Copyright: CPDL

Edition notes:

• CPDL #11334:  LilyPond

Editor: Anders Stenberg (submitted 2006-03-25).   Score information: A4, 4 pages, 384 kB   Copyright: CPDL

Edition notes: This edition contains the choir parts and a transcription of the lute part from the original tabulature. Lute part also playable on a classical guitar esp. with Capodastro on 3.d fret.

• CPDL #05471:  PDF, MIDI and Capella 4 files available.

Editor: Ulrich Alpers (submitted 2003-08-18).   Score information: A4, 2 pages, 49 kB   Copyright: Personal

Edition notes: a cappella

• CPDL #00988:  PDF, MIDI and ABC files available.

Editor: Laura Conrad (submitted 2000-06-21).   Score information: Letter, 9 pages, 450 kB   Copyright: GnuGPL

Edition notes: in partbook format, a cappella.

General Information

Title: If My Complaints Could Passions move
Composer: John Dowland

Number of voices: 4vv   Voicing: SATB

Genre: Secular, Lute song

Language: English
Instruments: Lute
Published: 1597

Description: No IV from First Booke of Songs or Ayres (1597)

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Original text and translations

English text

If my complaints could passions move,
Or make Love see wherein I suffer wrong:
My passions were enough to prove,
That my despairs had govern'd me too long.
O Love, I live and die in thee,
Thy grief in my deep sighs still speaks:
Thy wounds do freshly bleed in me,
My heart for thy unkindness breaks:
Yet thou dost hope when I despair,
And when I hope, thou mak'st me hope in vain.
Thou say's thou canst my harms repair,
Yet for redress, thou let'st me still complain.

Can Love be rich, and yet I want?
Is Love my judge, and yet am I condemn'd?
Thou plenty hast, yet me dost scant:
Thou made a god, and yet thy pow'r contemn'd.
That I do live, it is thy pow'r:
That I desire it is thy worth:
If Love doth make men's lives too sour,
Let me not love, nor live henceforth.
Die shall my hopes, but not my faith,
That you that of my fall may hearers be
May here despair, which truly saith,
I was more true to Love than Love to me.