[Musick, thou Queen of souls get up]
Musick, Musick, thou Queen of souls get up
Musick, Musick, thou Queen of souls get up, get up, & sitting thy powerful Lute & some
sad, some sad Requium sing, til Cliffs requite thy Eccho with a grone, and the dull Rocks repeat the duller tone,
Then on a suddain, &c.
The Oake her Roots, &c.
Chorus.
Mirtles shall caper, lofty Cedars run, & call the courtly palme to make up one: Then
in the midst of all their jolly strain, then in the midst of all their jolly strain, strike a sad note,
strike a sad note, strike a sad note and fix 'um Trees again.
