When griping griefs

When griping griefs the heart would wound,

And doleful dumps the mind oppress,

Then Music with her silver sound

Is wont with speed to give redress:

Of troubled mind for every sore

Sweet Music hath a salve therefore.

In joy it makes our mirth abound,

In grief it cheers our heavy sprites,

The careful head relief hath found

By Music's pleasant sweet delights:

Our senses, what should I say more,

Are subject unto Music's lore.

The gods by Music hath their praise,

The soul therein doth joy,

For as the Roman poets say,

In seas whom phates would destroy,

A dolphin saved from death most sharp,

Arion playing on a harp.

A heav'nly gift that turns the mind

Like as the stern doth rule the ship,

Music, whom the gods assigned

To comfort men, whom cares would nip,

Since thou both man and beast doth move,

What wise man then will thee reprove?