The bookes of Ouids changed shapes,
A story strange doe tell,
How Orpheus to fetch his wife,
Made voyage vnto hell.
Who hauing past olde Charons boate,
Unto a Pallace came,
Where dwelt the Prince of damned sprites,
Which Pluto had to name.
When Orpheus was once ariude
Before the Regall throne:
He playde on Harpe, and sang so sweete,
As moude them all to mone.
At sound of his melodious tunes,
The very soules did moorne,
Yxion with his whirling wheele,
stoode still and would not turne:
And Tantalus did not assay,
The fleeting floodes to taste:
The sisters with their hollow siues,
For water made no haste.
The greedy Uulturs that are faynde,
On Titius heart to gnawe,
Left off to feede: and stoode amasde,
When Orpheus they sawe,
And Sysyphus which roules the stone,
Agaynst a mighty hill,
Whyles that his musike did endure,
Gaue eare, and sate him stil.
The furies eke which at no time,
Were seene to weepe before,
Were moude to moane his heauy happe,
And shedde of teares greate store.
If musicke with her notes diuine,
So great remorce can moue,
I deeme that man bereft of wits,
which musike will not loue.
She with her siluer sounding tunes,
Reuiues mans dulled sprites,
Shee feedes the eare: shee fils the heart,
With choice of rare delights.
Her sugred descant doth withdraw,
Thy minde from earthly toyes,
And makes thee feele within thy brest,
A tast of heauenly ioyes.
The Planets and Celestiall partes,
Sweete harmony containe,
Of which if creatures were depriud,
This world could not remayne.
It is no doubt, the very deede
Of golden melodie,
That neighbours doe together liue
In loue and vnitie.
Where man and wife agrees in one,
Sweete musike doth abound,
But when such stringes begin to iarre,
Unpleasant is the sound.
Amongst all sortes of harmony,
none doth so well accord,
As when we liue in perfect feare,
And fauour of the Lord.
Who graunt vnto vs sinfull wightes,
Sufficient power and might,
According to his mercy great,
To tune this string aright.