When By The Brook His Strain Cupid Is Fluting, And On The Neighboring Plain Mayors Disputing, There Turns The Ear Ere Long, Loving And Tender, Yet To The Noise A Song Soon Must Surrender. Loud Then The Flute-Notes Glad Sound 'Mid War'S Thunder; If I Grow Raving Mad, Is It A Wonder? Flutes Sing And Trumpets Bray, Waxing Yet Stronger; If, Then, My Senses Stray, Wonder No Longer.