66. The Air.
1
Sweet sounds that issue from the Quire
Of wing'd Musicians, or the Thracian Lyre,
Be dumb, repose your Knells,
You warbling shrill-mouth'd Philomels.
Your tones extort my tears,
Your musick seems unto my ears,
As Ursus to the eye appears.
2
Muses, whose charms are Musket-proof
In passive power, you may stand aloof;
Whose active charms can draw
Waters from mountains, and unthaw
A flinty breast, you be
Of no more value unto me
Then Butter flies to Broom-men be.
3
Sing to the woods, and silver'd brooks;
I neither like your Sonnets, nor your looks.
Court fools as may affect
Your dissonanting dialect:
My Lute's more clear and choice,
Wherein I only can rejoice:
It is Rosella's heavenly voice.