When I thy singing next shall hear,
I’ll wish I might turn all to ear,
To drink in notes and numbers such
As blessed souls can’t hear too much;
Then melted down, there let me lie
Entranc’d and lost confusedly,
And by thy music stricken mute,
Die and be turn’d into a lute.
829
When I thy singing next shall hear,
I’ll wish I might turn all to ear,
To drink in notes and numbers such
As blessed souls can’t hear too much;
Then melted down, there let me lie
Entranc’d and lost confusedly,
And by thy music stricken mute,
Die and be turn’d into a lute.