He who sings frightens away his ills.
[Sp., Quien canta, sus males espanta.]

He who sings frightens away his ills.
[Sp., Quien canta, sus males espanta.]

You know you haven't got a singing face.

You know you haven't got a singing face.

Every night he comes
With musics of all sorts, and songs composed
To her unworthiness. It nothing read more

Every night he comes
With musics of all sorts, and songs composed
To her unworthiness. It nothing steads us
To chide him from our eaves, for he persists
As if his life lay on't.

But would you sing, and rival Orpheus' strain.
The wond'ring forests soon should dance again;
The moving read more

But would you sing, and rival Orpheus' strain.
The wond'ring forests soon should dance again;
The moving mountains hear the powerful call.
And headlong streams hand listening in their fall!

His tongue is now a stringless instrument;
Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent.

His tongue is now a stringless instrument;
Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent.

Who, as they sung, would take the prison'd soul
And lap it in Elysium.

Who, as they sung, would take the prison'd soul
And lap it in Elysium.

Nay, now you are too flat,
And mar the concord with too harsh a descant.

Nay, now you are too flat,
And mar the concord with too harsh a descant.

Or did the soul of Orpheus sing
Such notes as, warbled to the string,
Drew iron tears read more

Or did the soul of Orpheus sing
Such notes as, warbled to the string,
Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek.

O, she will sing the savageness out of a bear!

O, she will sing the savageness out of a bear!