University of Virginia Library

A Song.

[Musick thou Queen of souls, get up and string]

Musick thou Queen of souls, get up and string
Thy pow'rful Lute, and some sad requiem sing,
Till Rocks require thy Eccho with a groan:
And the dull clifts repeat the duller tone:
Then on a sudden with a nimble hand
Run gently o're the Chordes, and so command
The Pine to dance, the Oak his Roots forgo,
The Holme and aged Elme to soot it too;
Mirtles shall caper, lofty Cedars run,
And call the Courtly Palme to make up one;
Then in the mid'st of all their Iolly train,
Strike a sad note; and fix'em Trees again.