THE LORDS' MASQUE: ENTHEUS SPEAKS by THOMAS CAMPION

@3Enth.@1 Divinest Orpheus, O how all from thee
Proceed with wondrous sweetness! Am I free?
Is my affiction vanished?
@3Orph.@1 Too, too long,
Alas, good Entheus, hast thou brooked this wrong.
What! number thee with madmen! O mad age,
Senseless of thee, and thy celestial rage!
For thy excelling rapture, ev'n through things
That seems most light, is borne with sacred wings:
Nor are these musics, shows, or revels vain,
When thou adorn'st them with thy Phoebean brain.
Th'are palate-sick of much more vanity,
That cannot taste them in their dignity.
Jove therefore lets thy prisoned sprite obtain
Her liberty and fiery scope again;
And here by me commands thee to create
Inventions rare, this night to celebrate,
Such as become a nuptial by his will
Begun and ended.
@3Enth.@1 Jove I honour still,
And must obey. Orpheus, I feel the fires
Are ready in my brain, which Jove inspires.
Lo, through that veil I see Prometheus stand
Before those glorious lights which his false hand
Stole out of heaven, the dull earth to inflame
With the affects of Love and honoured Fame.
I view them plain in pomp and majesty,
Such as being seen might hold rivality
With the best triumphs. Orpheus, give a call
With thy charmed music, and discover all.
@3Orph.@1 Fly, cheerful voices, through the air, and clear.
These clouds, that you hid beauty may appear.

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