Musick being heard in the dead Season of the Night.
O
Stella, heark
O
Stella, heark; How sweetly doth the sound of Musick in our Ears resound?
how 'tis advanced by the Night, whose silence adds unto delight? Our senses dead as Night are
by the vertue of its Harmony stir'd, and reviv'd; who frisk and play like wanton Kids in th'
dawn of day; one Voyce doth now more comfort bring, then the whole Quire of Birds in th'
Spring; it comes to visit us, like that rare thing in man so wondred at. Friendship, to set our
Spirits free, when thrall'd in Fortunes Slaverie.
