On the Never Enough to be Lamented Death of my Dear Friend, Mr. Robert Chesby

Who play'd to the last Perfection on the Violin

O, hadst thou liv'd to let the world have seen
How great, how glorious thou in time hadst been,
We had not griev'd so much; but Ah! we find
Thou wast by Heaven for nobler ends design'd;
The sacred consort of the heavenly sphere
Was but imperfect while my friend was here;
'Twas for that reason thou wast call'd above,
To grace those realms of endless bliss and love
With never ceasing harmony; to show
Their musick now exceedeth ours below.
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