[ Downloads ]   [ Home ]

Thomas Campion

The Fovrth Booke of Ayres


VIII. To his sweet Lute

       1 To his sweet Lute Apollo sung the motions of the Spheares ;
       The wondrous order of the Starsm whose course diuides the yeares :
                          And all the Mysteries aboue ;
                          But none of this could Midas moue,
                Which purchast him his Asses eares.

       2 Then Pan with his rude Pipe began the Country-wealth t'aduance ;
       To boast of Cattle, flockes of Sheepe, and Goates, on hils that dance,
                          With much more of this churlish kinde :
                          That quite transported Midas minde,
                And held him rapt as in a trance.

       3 This wrong the God of Musicke scorn'd from such a sottish Iudge,
       And bent his angry bow at Pan, which made the Piper trudge :
                          Then Midas head he so did trim,
                          That eu'ry age yet talkes of him
                And Phoebus right reuenged grudge.



Online text copyright ©, Harald Lillmeyer