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Like as the Lute Delights

by John Danyel

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Like as the Lute Delights
English source: Samuel Danyel

Like as the lute delights, or else dislikes,
As is his art that plays upon the same;
So sounds my muse, according as she strikes
On my heart strings, high-tuned unto her fame.
Her touch doth cause the warble of the sound,
Which here I yield in lamentable wise;
A wailing descant on the sweetest ground,
Whose due reports give honour to her eyes.
If any pleasing relish here I use,
Then judge, the world, her beauty gives the same;
Else harsh my style, untuneable my muse:
Hoarse sounds the voice that praiseth not her name.
For no ground else could make the music such,
Nor other hand could give so sweet a touch.


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