Welcome to Hyperion Records, an independent British classical label devoted to presenting high-quality recordings of music of all styles and from all periods from the twelfth century to the twenty-first.

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Artist Hyperion Records
Edwards, Jack (reader)

Jack Edwards (reader)

Albums

Boyce: Peleus and Thetis & other theatre music
CDA66935Archive Service
Lampe: Pyramus and Thisbe
CDA66759Archive Service
Shakespeare: Sonnets Nos 1-77
CDH88021Helios (Hyperion's budget label) — Archive ServiceDownload currently discounted
Shakespeare: Sonnets Nos 78-154
CDH88022Helios (Hyperion's budget label) — Archive ServiceDownload currently discounted
Vivaldi: The Four Seasons
CDH88012Helios (Hyperion's budget label) — Archive Service

Complete works available for download

Alphabetical listing of all musical works

A woman's face, with Nature's own hand painted  
Accuse me thus: that I have scanted all  
Against my love shall be as I am now  
Against that time, if ever that time come  
Ah, wherefore with infection should he live  
Alack, what poverty my Muse brings forth  
Alas, 'tis true I have gone here and there  
As a decrepit father takes delight  
As an unperfect actor on the stage  
As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow'st  
Autumn  
Be wise as thou are cruel; do not press  
Being your slave, what should I do but tend  
Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan  
Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took  
But be contented: When that fell arrest  
But do thy worst to steal thyself away  
But wherefore do not you a mightier way  
Canst thou, O cruel! say I love thee not  
Cupid laid by his brand, and fell asleep  
Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws  
Farewell! thou are too dear for my possessing  
For shame deny that thou bear'st love to any  
From fairest creatures we desire increase  
From you have I been absent in the spring  
Full many a glorious morning have I seen  
How can I then return in happy plight  
How can my Muse want subject to invent  
How careful was I, when I took my way  
How heavy do I journey on the way  
How like a winter hath my absence been  
How oft, when thou, my music, music play'st  
How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame  
I grant thou wert not married to my Muse  
I never saw that you did painting need  
If my dear love were but the child of state  
If the dull substance of my flesh were thought  
If there be nothing new, but that which is  
If thou survive my well-contented day  
If thy soul check thee that I come so near  
In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes  
In loving thee thou know'st I am forsworn  
In the old age black was not counted fair  
In this harsh sundrenched season  
Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye  
Is it thy will thy image should keep open  
Let me confess that we two must be twain  
Let me not to the marriage of true minds  
Let not my love be call'd idolatry  
Let those who are in favour with their stars  
Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore  
Like as to make our appetites more keen  
Lo as a careful housewife runs to catch  
Lo, in the orient when the gracious light  
Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest  
Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage  
Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate  
Love is too young to know what conscience is  
Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war  
Mine eye hath play'd the painter and hath stell'd  
Music for Florizel and Perdita (Boyce)
Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly?  
My glass shall not persuade me I am old  
My love is as a fever, longing still  
My love is strengthened, though more weak in seeming  
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun  
My tongue-tied Muse in manner holds her still  
No longer mourn for me when I am dead  
No more be griev'd at that which thou hast done  
No, Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change  
Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck  
Not marble nor the gilded monuments  
Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul  
O call not me to justify the wrong  
O for my sake do you with Fortune chide  
O from what power hast thou this powerful might  
O how I faint when I of you do write  
O how much more doth beauty beauteous seem  
O how thy worth with manners may I sing  
O lest the world should task you to recite  
O me, what eyes hath Love put in my head  
O never say that I was false of heart  
O that you were yourself, but, love, you are  
O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power  
O truant Muse, what shall be thy amends  
Or I shall live your epitaph to make  
Or whether doth my mind, being crown'd with you  
Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth  
Pyramus and Thisbe (Lampe)
Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault  
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?  
Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye  
Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea  
Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind  
So am I as the rich whose blessed key  
So are you to my thoughts as food to life  
So is it not with me as with that Muse  
So oft have I invok'd thee for my Muse  
So shall I live, supposing thou art true  
So, now I have confess'd that he is thine  
Some glory in their birth, some in their skill  
Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness  
Sonetti (Vivaldi)
Spring  
Spring has arrived and joyfully  
Summer  
Sweet love, renew thy force; be it not said  
Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all  
Th' expense of spirit in a waste of shame  
That God forbid that made me first your slave  
That thou art blam'd shall not be thy defect  
That thou has her, it is not all my grief  
That time of year thou mayst in me behold  
That you were once unkind befriends me now  
The forward violet thus did I chide  
The little Love-god lying once asleep  
The other two, slight air and purging fire  
The Sonnets (Shakespeare)
The young peasant celebrates with dancing and singing  
Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now  
Then let not winter's ragged hand deface  
They that have power to hurt, and will do none  
Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me  
Those hours that with gentle work did frame  
Those lines that I before have writ do lie  
Those lips that Love's own hand did make  
Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view  
Those pretty wrongs that liberty commits  
Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art  
Thou blind fool, Love, what dost thou to mine eyes  
Thus can my love excuse the slow offence  
Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn  
Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts  
Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain  
Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear  
Tir'd with all these, for restful death I cry  
'Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed  
To me, fair friend, you never can be old  
To tremble frozen in the cold snow  
Two loves, I have, of comfort and despair  
Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend  
Was it the proud full sail of his great verse  
Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed  
Were't aught to me I bore the canopy  
What is your substance, whereof are you made  
What potions have I drunk of Siren tears  
What's in the brain that ink may character  
When do I count the clock that tells the time  
When forty winters shall besiege thy brow  
When I consider every thing that grows  
When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced  
When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes  
When in the chronicle of wasted time  
When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see  
When my love swears that she is made of truth  
When thou shalt be dispos'd to set me light  
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought  
Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so long  
Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid  
Who is it that says most, which can say more  
Who will believe my verse in time to come  
Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy Will  
Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day  
Why is my verse so barren of new pride  
Winter  
Your love and pity doth th' impression fill  
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