Classic Poem

The Books of Ovid's changed shapes,
A story strange do tell,
How Orpheus to fetch his wife
Made voyage unto hell.
Who having passed old Charon's boat
Unto a palace came,
Where dwelt the prince of damned sprites,
Which Pluto had to name.
When Orpheus was once arrived
Before the regal throne,
He played on harp, and sang so sweet,
As moved them all to moan.
At sound of his melodious tunes
The very souls did mourn;
Ixion with his whirling wheel
Stood still, and would not turn;
And Tantalus would not assay
The fleeting floods to taste;
The sisters with their hollow sieves
For water made no haste;
The greedy vultures that are feigned
On Titius' heart to gnaw
Left off to feed, and stood amazed
When Orpheus they saw;
And Sisyphus which rolls the stone
Against a mighty hill,
Whiles that his music did endure
Gave ear, and sat him still.
The Furies eke which at no time
Were seen to weep before,
Were moved to moan his heavy hap,
And shed of tears great store.
If music with her notes divine
So great remorse can move,
I deem that man bereft of wits
Which music will not love.
She with her silver sounding tunes
Revives man's dulled sprites;
She feeds the ear, she fills the heart,
With choice of rare delights.
Her sugared descant doth withdraw
Thy mind from earthly toys,
And makes thee feel within thy breast
A taste of heavenly joys.
The planets and celestial parts
Sweet harmony contain,
Of which if creatures were deprived
This world could not remain.
It is no doubt the very deed
Of golden melody
That neighbours do together live
In love and unity.
Where man and wife agrees in one,
Sweet music doth abound;
But when such strings begin to jar,
Unpleasant is the sound.
Amongst all sorts of harmony
None doth so well accord
As when we live in perfect fear
And favour of the Lord.
Who grant unto us sinful wights
Sufficient power and might,
According to his mercy great
To tune this string aright.