'Now the declininge sunn 'gan downward bende From higher heauene, and from his locks did sende A milder flame; when neere to Tyber's flowe A Lutaniste allayde his carefull woe, With sondinge charmes, and in a greeny seate Of shady oake, toke shelter from the heate. A nitingale ore-hard hym that did use To soiourne in y^e neighbour groues, the Muse That files the place, the syren of the wood: Poore harmeles Syren, steling neere she stood Close lurkinge in the leaues attentiuely: Recordinge that vnwonted mellodye, She condt it to herselfe, and every straine His fingers playde, her throat return'd againe.' And so to the end (MS. 3910, pp. 114-17). We have reserved until now incomparably the second, but only a far-off second, to Crashaw's, from John Ford's 'Lover's Melancholy' (1629); which probably was our Poet's guide to Strada. Here is the substance of the fine reminiscent version, from act i. scene 1: _Menaphon._ A sound of music touched mine ears, or rather, Indeed, entranced my soul. As I stole nearer, Invited by the melody, I saw This youth, this fair-faced youth, upon his lute, With strains of strange variety and harmony, Proclaiming, as it seemed, so bold a challenge To the clear choristers of the wood, the birds, That as they flocked about him all stood silent, Wondering at what they heard. I wondered too. _Amethus._ And do so I: good, on. _Men._ A nightingale, Nature's best-skilled musician, undertakes The challenge, and for every several strain The well-shaped youth could touch, she sung her own: He could not run division with more art Vpon his quaking instrument than she The nightingale did with her various notes Reply to: for a voice and for a sound, Amethus, 'tis much easier to believe That such they were, than hope to hear again. _Ameth._ How did the rivals part? _Men._ You term them rightly. For they were rivals, and their mistress, Harmony. Some time thus spent, the young man grew at last Into a pretty anger, that a bird, Whom art had never taught cliffs, moods, or notes, Should vie with him for mastery, whose study Had busied many hours to perfect practice. To end the controversy, in a rapture, Vpon his instrument he plays so swiftly So many voluntaries, and so quick, That there was curiosity and cunning, Concord in discord, lines of differing method Meeting in one full centre of delight. _Ameth._ Now for the bird. _Men._ The bird, ordained to be Music's first master, strove to imitate These several sounds; which when her warbling throat Failed in, for grief down dropped she on his lute, And brake her heart. It was the quaintest sadness, To see the conqueror upon her hearse To weep.[37]