To his sweet Lute
To his sweet Lute Apollo sung the motions of the Spheares;
The wondrous order of the Stars, whose course divides the yeares:
And all the Mysteries above;
But none of this could Midas move,
Which purchast him his Asseseares.
The Pan with his rude Pipe began the Country-wealth t'advance;
To boast of Cattle, flocks of Sheepe and Goates, on hils that dance,
With much more of this chulrlish kinde:
That quite transported Midas minde,
And held him rapt as in a trance.
This wrong the God of Musicke scorned from such a scottish Judge,
And bent his angry bow at Pan, which made the Piper trudge:
Then Midas head he did so trim,
That ev'ra age yet talkes of him
And Phoebus right revenged grudge.
Submitted by Linda Godry
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)
Text added to the website: 2006-12-09.
Last modified: 2016-08-28 16:02:10
Line count: 15
Word count: 125
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