|Thrice tosse these
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