Classic Poem

This is the Prittiest Motion:
Madam, th' Alarums of a Drumme
That cals your Lord, set to your Cries,
To mine are sacred Symphonies .

 What, though 'tis said I have a Voice;
I know 'tis but that hollow noise
Which (as it through my pipe doth speed)
Bitterns do Carol through a Reed;
In the same Key with Monkeys Jiggs,
Or Dirges of Proscribed Piggs,
Or the soft Serenades above
In calme of Night, when Cats make Love.

 Was ever such a Consort seen!
Fourscore and fourteen with forteen?
Yet sooner they'l agree, One Paire,
Then we in our Spring-Winter Aire;
They may Imbrace, Sigh, Kisse the rest:
Our Breath knows nought but East and West.
Thus have I heard to Childrens Cries,
The faire Nurse 'still such Lullabies
That well all sayd (for what there lay)
The Pleasure did the sorrow pay.

 Sure ther's another way to save
Your Phansie Madam, that's to have
('Tis but petitioning kinde Fate)
The Organs sent to Bilingsgate;
Where they to that soft murm'ring Quire
Shall reach you All you can admire!

Or do but heare how Love-bang K ATE
In Pantry darke for freage of Mate
With edge of steele the square wood shapes,
And D IDO to it chaunts or scrapes.
The merry P HAETON oth' Carre,
You'l vow makes a melodious Jarre;
Sweeter and sweeter whisleth He
To un-anointed Axel-tree;
Such swift notes he and 's wheels do run;
For me, I yeeld him P HOEBUS Son.

 Say faire C OMANDRES , can it be
You should Ordaine a Mutinie?
For where I howle, all Accents fall
As Kings Harangues to One and All .

 U LYSSES Art is now withstood,
You ravish both with Sweet and Good;
Saint S YREN sing, for I dare heare,
But when I Ope', Oh stop your Eare.

 Far lesse be't Æ MULATION
To passe me, or in trill or Tone
Like the thin throat of P HILOMEL ,
And the smart Lute who should excell,
As if her soft Chords should begin
And strive for sweetnes with the Pin.

 Yet can I Musick too; but such,
As is beyond all Voice or Touch;
My minde can in faire Order Chime,
Whilst my true Heart still beats the Time:
My Soule so full of Harmonie,
That it with all parts can agree:
If you winde up to the highest Pret
It shall descend an Eight from it,
And when you shall vouchsafe to fall
Sixteene above you it shall call,
And yet so dis-assenting One,
They both shall meet an Unison.

 Come then bright Cherubin begin!
My loudest Musick is within:
Take all notes with your skillfull Eyes,
Hearke if mine do not sympathise!
Sound all my thoughts, and see exprest
The Tablature of my large Brest,
Then you'l admit that I too can
Musick above dead sounds of Man;
Such as alone doth blesse the Spheres,
Not to be Reacht with humane Eares.