Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, A SONG TO THE LUTE IN MUSICKE, by RICHARD EDWARDS (1523-1566)



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A SONG TO THE LUTE IN MUSICKE, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: Where gripinge grefes the hart would wounde
Last Line: What beste ys he, wyll the disprove?
Alternate Author Name(s): Edwardes, Richard
Subject(s): Lutes


Where gripinge grefes the hart would wounde,
And dolefulle dumps the mynde oppresse,
There musicke with her silver-sound
With spede is wont to send redresse:
Of trobled mynds, in every sore,
Swete musick hath a salve in store.

In joy yt maks our mirthe abounde,
In woe yt cheres our hevy sprites;
Be-strawghted heads relyef hath founde,
By musickes pleasant swete delights;
Our senses all, what shall I say more?
Are subjecte unto musick's lore.

The Gods by musicke have theire prayse;
The lyfe, the soul therein doth joye;
For, as the Romayne poet sayes,
In seas, whom pyrats would destroy,
A dolphin saved from death most sharpe
Arion playing on his harpe.

O heavenly gyfte, that rules the mynd,
Even as the sterne doth rule the shippe!
O musicke, whom the Gods assinde
To comforte manne, whom cares would nippe!
Since thow both man and beste doest move,
What beste ys he, wyll the disprove?





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