 | The second book of ayres, and dialogues |  |
To my much honoured Friend Mr. HENRY LAWES, On his Second Book of Ayres.
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 severalls men inquire,
(Which make up the Composure) they are lost,
Such Ayr, Wit, Spirit, Harmony engross'd
In every Piece, as make's each piece the best,
And yet (as good as 'tis) a Foyl to th'rest.
Are hardly prais'd, 'cause hardly understood:
For though at the first hearing all admire,
Yet when into the severalls men inquire,
(Which make up the Composure) they are lost,
Such Ayr, Wit, Spirit, Harmony engross'd
In every Piece, as make's 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 Amirers (unobserv'd before)
As make's the newly-ravisht ravish'd more:
For comprehend thee fully none can doe
Till like thy Musick th'are eternall too.
'Tis Thou hast honour'd Musick, done her right,
Fitted her for a strong and usefull Flight;
She 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.
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 Amirers (unobserv'd before)
As make's the newly-ravisht ravish'd more:
For comprehend thee fully none can doe
Till like thy Musick th'are eternall too.
'Tis Thou hast honour'd Musick, done her right,
Fitted her for a strong and usefull Flight;
She 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 Prayse, immortall here,
The Atlas, the support of Musick's spheare,
To what a Darkness would our Art decline,
Robb'd of thy glorious and diurnall Shine?
These fixed Tapers cannot do Thee right,
Nor fully speak thy Rayes which gave them Light,
But as small starrs by night in consort met,
Would only tell the World, our Sun is set.
The Atlas, the support of Musick's spheare,
To what a Darkness would our Art decline,
Robb'd of thy glorious and diurnall Shine?
These fixed Tapers cannot do Thee right,
Nor fully speak thy Rayes which gave them Light,
But as small starrs by night in consort met,
Would only tell the World, our Sun is set.
Charles Colman Doctor in Musick.
| The second book of ayres, and dialogues | |