Epistle XLIII. On a pair of Virginals

Death, that ties up the tongues of Man & Beast,
And to each thing gives a Quietus est;
Gives me a tongue; and I that could not be
Blest with a voyce, now boast variety.
The tale of Amphion, which could make each tree
Dance to his musick, is fulfill'd in me.
For lo the liveless Jacks lavaltoes take,
At that sweet musick which themselves do make:
The various-sounding strings in consort come,
To make my narrow bulk Elizium;
Just Emblem of the State; for in this wise,
He just now falls. that but just now did rise.
O would the Subjects in this Realm agree,
And meet like strings to make one harmony!