Give me my lute

Give me my lute: in thee some ease I find.

Euridice is dead

And to that dismal region fled,

Where all is sad and gloomy as my mind.

The world has nothing worth a lover's care:

None now by rivers weep,

Verse and the lute are both asleep;

All women now are false, and few are fair.

Thy scepter, Love, shall o'er the aged be;

Lay by your useless darts,

For all the young will guard their hearts

And scorn thy fading empire, taught by me.

Beauty the Thracian youth no more shall mourn;

The young shall sigh no more,

But all my noble verse adore;

It has more graces than the Queen of Love.