^RPHEUS with his lute made trees And the mountain tops that freeze Bow themselves when he did sing. To his music plants and flowers Ever sprung; as sun and showers There had made a lasting spring.
Every thing that heard him play,
Even the billows of the sea,
Hung their heads and then lay by.
In sweet music is such art,
Killing care and grief of heart Fall asleep, or, hearing, die.
? or John Fletcher.
��The Phoenix and the Turtle
��the bird of loudest lay On the sole Arabian tree, Herald sad and trumpet be, To whose sound chaste wings obey.
But thou shrieking harbinger,
Foul precurrer of the fiend,
Augur of the fever's end, To this troop come thou not near.
From this session interdict Every fowl of tyrant wing Save the eagle, feather'd king.
Keep the obsequy so strict.