Ayres and Dialogues (To be Sung to the Theorbo-Lute or Base-Violl) |
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Song 71. The air which thy smooth voyce doth break |
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Ayres and Dialogues | ||
Song 71. The air which thy smooth voyce doth break
The air which thy smooth voyce doth break,Into my soul like lightning flies,
66
And thy soft breath its room supplies.
Lost in this pleasing Extasie,
I joyn my trembling lips to thine,
& back receive that life from thee,
Which I so gladly did resign.
Forbear, Platonick fools, t'enquire,
What numbers do the soul compose;
No harmony can life inspire,
But that which from these accents flows.
Ayres and Dialogues | ||