Thomas Campion. Thrice Toss These Oaken Ashes in the Air. (poem)

Thrice tosse these Oaken
ashes in the ayre
by Thomas Campion

Thrice tosse these Oaken ashes in the ayre,
Thrice sit thou mute in this inchanted chayre ;
And thrice three times tye vp this true loues knot,
And murmur soft, shee will, or shee will not.

Goe burn these poys'nous weedes in yon blew fire,
These Screech-owles fethers and this prickling bryer ;
This Cypresse gathered at a dead mans graue ;
That all thy feares and cares, an end may haue.

Then come, you Fayries, dance with me a round ;
Melt her hard hart with your melodious sound :
In vaine are all the charms I can deuise:
She hath an Arte to breake them with her eyes.

Gerard Dou. Astronomer by Candlelight. Late 1650s.

MIDI:
"Thrice Toss These Oaken Ashes in the Air" by Campion, Thomas (1567-1620).
Sequenced by Allan Alexander. Used with permission.

Listen to a RealAudio sample of this song from the CD
A Candle in the Dark

Source:
Campion, Thomas. Campion's Works. Percival Vivian, Ed.
Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1909. 169.

to Works of Thomas Campion