The Treasury of Musick Containing ayres and dialogues To Sing to the theorbo-lute or basse-viol. Composed |
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To my much Honoured Friend, Mr. HENRY LAWES,
On his Books of AYRES, lately Published.
Things that are thus, thus excellently good,
Are hardly prais'd, 'cause hardly understood:
For though at the first hearing all admire,
Yet when into the severals men inquire,
(which make up the Composure) they are lost,
Such Ayr, Wit, Spirit, Harmony engross'd
In every piece, as makes each piece the best,
And yet (as good as 'tis) a Foyl to th'rest.
How greedily do the best judgements throng
To hear the Repetition of thy Song?
Which they still beg in vain; for when Re-sung
So much new Art and Excellence is flung
Round thy Admirers (unobserv'd before)
As makes the newly-ravish'd ravish'd more:
For comprehend thee fully none can do
Till like thy Musick th'are Eternal too.
Are hardly prais'd, 'cause hardly understood:
For though at the first hearing all admire,
Yet when into the severals men inquire,
(which make up the Composure) they are lost,
Such Ayr, Wit, Spirit, Harmony engross'd
In every piece, as makes each piece the best,
And yet (as good as 'tis) a Foyl to th'rest.
How greedily do the best judgements throng
To hear the Repetition of thy Song?
Which they still beg in vain; for when Re-sung
So much new Art and Excellence is flung
Round thy Admirers (unobserv'd before)
As makes the newly-ravish'd ravish'd more:
For comprehend thee fully none can do
Till like thy Musick th'are Eternal too.
'Tis Thou hast honour'd Musick, done her right,
Fitted her for a strong and useful Flight;
Shee droop'd and flaggd before, as Hawks complain
Of the sick Feathers in their Wing and Train:
But thou hast imp'd the Wings She had before.
Musick does owe Thee much, the Poet more;
Thou lift'st him up, and dost new Nature bring,
Thou giv'st his noblest Verse both Feet and Wing.
Fitted her for a strong and useful Flight;
Shee droop'd and flaggd before, as Hawks complain
Of the sick Feathers in their Wing and Train:
But thou hast imp'd the Wings She had before.
Musick does owe Thee much, the Poet more;
Thou lift'st him up, and dost new Nature bring,
Thou giv'st his noblest Verse both Feet and Wing.
Live then above our Praise, immortal here,
The Atlas, the Support of Musicks Sphere:
To what a darkness would our Art decline,
Robb'd of thy glorious and diurnal Shine?
These fixed Tapers cannot do Thee right,
Nor fully speak thy Rays which gave them Light,
But as small Stars by Night in Consort met,
Would only tell the World, Our Sun is Set.
The Atlas, the Support of Musicks Sphere:
To what a darkness would our Art decline,
Robb'd of thy glorious and diurnal Shine?
These fixed Tapers cannot do Thee right,
Nor fully speak thy Rays which gave them Light,
But as small Stars by Night in Consort met,
Would only tell the World, Our Sun is Set.
Charles Colman, Doct. in Musick.
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