John Blow - Awake, Awake, My Lyre lyrics

Awake, awake, my Lyre! And tell thy silent master's humble tale In sounds that may prevail; Sounds that gentle thoughts inspire Though so exalted she And I so lowly be Tell her, such different notes make all thy harmony Hark! how the strings awake: And, though the moving hand approach not near Themselves with awful fear A kind of numerous trembling make Now all thy forces try; Now all thy charms apply; Revenge upon her ear the conquests of her eye Weak Lyre! thy virtue sure Is useless here, since thou art only found To cure, but not to wound And she to wound, but not to cure Too weak too wilt thou prove My passion to remove Physic to other ill, thou'rt nourishment to love Sleep, sleep again, my Lyre! For thou can'st never tell my humble tale In sounds that may prevail Nor gentle thoughts in her inspire; All thy vain mirth lay by Bid thy strings silent lie Sleep, sleep again, my Lyre, and let thy master die