Wondrous Machine!
To thee the Warbling Lute,
Though us'd to Conquest, must be forced to yield:
With thee unable to dispute,
The Airy Violin
And Loft Viol quit the Field;
In vain they tune their speaking Strings
To court the cruel Fair, or praise Victorious Kings,
Whilst all thy consecrated Lays
Are to more noble Uses bent;
And every gratefull Note to Heav'n repays
The Melody it lent.
In vain the Am'rous Flute and soft Guitarr
Jointly labour to inspire
Wanton Heat and loose Desire;
Whilst thy chast Airs do gently move
Seraphic Flame and Heav'nly Love.
The Fife and all the Harmony of War
In vain attempt the Passions to alarm,
Which thy commanding Sounds compose and charm.
Let these among themselves contest
Which can discharge its single duty best.
Thou summ'st their diff'ring Graces up in One,
And art a Consort of them All within thyself alone.