At sound of his sweet voice, imagination ’d swarmed.
Each heart, birdlike, began to flutter in its cage;
Surprise enchained men’s minds when his notes threw the gage.
But now he was grown old; long years he’d passed on earth.
Like falcon chasing gnats, he’d little cause for mirth.175
His back was double bent, like belly of wine-jar;
His brows above his eyes with crupper-straps on par.
His voice, the former joy of all who might it hear,
Was now cracked, out of tune, uncouth, none could it bear.
His tones, that might have made dame Venus mad with rage,[273]