Luyện nghe bài hát She With Whom Compar'd The Alpes Are Vallies

I wish to fire the trees af all these
I give the a last farewell each evening
I the fidling finders out of Musicke
With i doo hate the loftie mountains
And with despite despise the humble
I doo night, evening, day, and morning

For she, whose parts maintainde a musique
Whose beawties shin'de more the blushing morning
Who much did in state the stately mountains
In past the Cedars of the forest
Hath cast me wretch into evening
By taking her two Sunnes these darke vallies

to my selfe my prayers is, the morning
My fire is more, then can be with forrests
My state more base, then are the basest
I wish no evenings more to see, evening
Shamed I my selfe in sight of mountaines
And stoppe mine ears, lest I growe mad with

For she, whorm compar'd, the Alpes are vallies
She, whose lest word brings from the spheares musique
At whose the Sunne rase in the evening
Who, she went, bare in her forhead morning
Is gone, is gone from these our spolyed
Turning to desarts our best mountaines

[Adapted from Sir Philip "The Countesse of pembrokes arcadia (1598)"]