Tom O’ Bedlam

THE morn’s my constant mistress, And the lovely owl my marrow; The naming drake, And the night-crow, make Me music to my sorrow.

I know more than Apollo; For oft when he lies sleeping, I behold the stars At mortal wars, And the rounded welkin weeping.

The moon embraces her shepherd, And the Queen of Love her warrior; While the first does horn The stars of the morn, And the next the heavenly farrier.

With a heart of furious fancies, Whereof I am commander: With a burning spear, And a horse of air, To the wilderness I wander;

With a Knight of ghosts and shadows, I summoned am to Tourney: Ten leagues beyond The wide world’s end; Methinks it is no journey.

THOMAS CAMPION Circ. 1567–1620