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 | The Workes of Benjamin Jonson |  |
CXXXI. To Alphonso Ferrabosco, on his Booke.
To urge, my lov'd Alphonso, that bold fame,Of building Towns, and making wild beasts tame,
Which Musick had; or speak her knowne effects,
That shee removeth cares, sadnesse ejects,
Declineth anger, perswades clemencie,
Doth sweeten mirth, and heighten pietie,
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No lesse a sov'raigne cure, than to the mind;
T'alledge, that greatest men were not asham'd,
Of old, even by her practise to be fam'd;
To say, indeed, shee were the soule of heaven,
That the eight spheare, no lesse, than planets seven,
Mov'd by her order, and the ninth more high,
Including all, were thence call'd harmonie:
I, yet, had utter'd nothing on thy part,
When these were but the praises of the Art.
But when I have said, the proofes of all these bee
Shed in thy Songs; 'tis true: but short of thee.
| The Workes of Benjamin Jonson | |