In Commendation of Musick
Where gripyng grief the hart would wound & dolfull domps the oppresse
There Musick with her siluer soud, is wont with spede to giue redresse,
Of troubled minde for euery sore, swete Musick hath a salue therfore.
In ioye it maks our mirth abound, in grief it chers our heauy sprights,
The carefull head release hath found, by Musicks pleasant swete delights
Our sences, what should I saie more, are subiect vnto Musicks lore.
The Godds by Musick hath their praie, the foule therein doeth ioye,
For as the Romaine Poets saie, in seas whom Pirats would destroye,
A Dolphin saued from death moste sharpe, Arion plaiyng on his harpe.
A heauenly gift, that turnes the minde, like as the sterne doth rule the ship,
Musick whom the Gods assignde to comfort man, whom cares would nip,
Sith thou both man & beast doest moue, what wiseman then wil thee reproue.