To Harsh

Musick that once could move each rock and tree
Not a whit moves thee Harsh, or pleaseth thee;
Thy inharmonious soul how wilt thou bring
To Heav'n, where Angels nothing else but sing?
A Hellish sure and untun'd soul hath he
That is not rapt with musicks extasie:
Knowst not what evil spirits it expels?
It cur'd afflicted Saul, and nothing else:
It doth inspire the soul and heighten it;
Tho' hadst better lose thy ears than once be bit
By a Tarantula whose deadly wound
Is only healed by soft musicks sound.