Mark how the lark and linnet sing:
With rival notes
They strain their warbling throats
To welcome in the spring
But in the close of night
When Philomel begins her heav'nly lay
They cease their mutual spite
Drink in her music with delight
And list'ning and silent obey
So ceas'd the rival crew when Purcell came:
They sung no more, or only sung his fame
Struck dumb, they all admir'd the matchless man
Alas, too soon retir'd
As he too late began
We beg not Hеll our Orpheus to restore:
Had hе been there
Their sovereign's fear
Had sent him back before
The pow'r of harmony too well they knew;
He long ere this had tun'd their jarring sphere
And left no Hell below
The heav'nly choir, who heard his notes from high
Let down the scale of music from the sky;
They handed him along
And all the way he taught, and all the way they sung
Ye brethren of the lyre and tuneful voice
Lament his lot, but at your own rejoice
Now live secure, and linger out your days:
The gods are pleas'd alone with Purcell's lays
Nor know to mend their choice