John Dowland was not known for his common sense, and it unfortunately affected his musical career. His friend and colleague Henry Peacham wrote of Dowland that he "slipt many opportunities in advancing his fortunes." After a decade of lobbying for a position as lutenist to the court of Queen Elizabeth, Dowland needed to seek his fortunes abroad. After Elizabeth's death, the lutenist and composer, now serving the King of Denmark's court, tried again to be hired by her successor, King James I. It seems that among his job search tools, Dowland tried to influence James through his sister, the Queen of Denmark at the time; Dowland dedicated a new volume of splendid consort music to her. Though it was literally called "Tears," (Lachrymae of 1604), his dedication made it clear that Dowland was writing of tears that hopefully would be tears of joy as he accepted a new position in England. Unfortunately, his music was not as successful as he hoped: the job he sought remained elusive, and the music collection itself didn't even sell very well.

Thus, the title of his Semper Dowland semper dolens is almost wry self-examination: "Always Dowland, always sorrowing." Indeed, the entire collection breathes elegant Elizabethan melancholy. The first seven pieces in the published collection are the "seven passionate pavans," or the "seven teares" of the collection, seven grave and stately dance-pieces that explore different kinds of sadness. Semper Dowland semper dolens, the eighth piece in the Lachrymae, is also a pavan. Thus its form appears in three strains, to which in the earlier sixteenth century courtiers might have danced a stately Italian (Paduan?) dance. However, Semper Dowland is completely unsuitable for practical dancing. Rather, this piece at the heart of his collection shows Dowland's almost mannered take on the possibilities of his form. Rather than even numbers of measures in each strain for danceability, he extends the form to 10, 11, and 15 measures each. In addition, he floods the music with clever artifice: musical references to his own sorrowful song, Go crystal tears, and a quasi-cantus firmus in the last strain, linking it to a Pavan of Peter Philips. Finally, he stretches his harmonic idiom almost to the breaking point (as did, at times, his mentor Marenzio); Semper Dowland is studded with ambiguous progressions, sequences without true resolution, dissonances, and chromatic motions. The contrapuntal tour de force becomes an emotional masterpiece surpassed only by his Farewell for lute.

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