Mignarda - Like As The Lute Delights Lyrics

Like as the lute delights, or else dislikes,
As is his art that plays upon the same
So sounds my muse, according as she strikes
On my heart strings, high-tuned unto her fame.
Her touch doth cause the warble of the sound,
Which here I yield in lamentable wise
A wailing descant on the sweetest ground,
Whose due reports give honour to her eyes.
If any pleasing relish here I use,
Then judge, the world, her beauty gives the same
Else harsh my style, untuneable my muse:
Hoarse sounds the voice that praiseth not her name.
For no ground else could make the music such,