From the recording Sprig of Thyme

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Thomas Campion (1567-1620) / Anna Clemenger ©1992

with
William Pint - mandala
Felicia Dale - hurdy-gurdy-gurdy
Nancy Wharton - cello

Lyrics

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

Goe burne these poys’nous weedes in yon blew fire
These Screech-owles fethers and this prickling bryer
This Cypresse gathered at a dead mans grave
That all thy feares and cares an end may have.

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