Epigram 79. To Mr. Andrew Whitehall

You make a Violl speak: your nimble hand,
That instrument seems onely to command.
How meanly many play! strike so amiss,
That (at their want of skill) the strings do hiss:
Like resty horses they false steps do make,
And the vext strings with very shame to shake.
Well tun'd that would agree, they wrong so far,
Their artless violence doth make them jar.
So they but scrape, abuse the strings, and stick;
How dull the quickest are to you more quick!
Some few with their soft hands may please; but you
Please not alone, but raise amazement too.
Your fingers on the neck, and hand on Bow,
The motions of the Intellect out-go.
Such is your playing: But if you would write,
How much you Works all mankind would delight!