• Orphues 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.

    Everything that heard him play,
    Even the billows of the sea,
    Hung their heads, and then lay by.
    In sweet music in such art,
    Killing care and grief of heart
    Fall alseep, or hearing die.