On the losse of Mr N. W. his three finggers cut off at the battel of Edgehil, he being both a Poet and a Musitian

By some it hath been said,
That the best Musick is by discord made;
But here, (I grieve to see)
By discords we have lost our harmonie.
How cruel was that hand
Depriv'd thee of thy cunning fingers? and
At one unhappy blow
Cut off an Orpheus, and a Poet too?
How sadly the strings rest
E'r since those fingers which before exprest
On them such lively art,
Were thus dissected from their constant part?
Yet though these joynts be gone
To quiet ease, two fingers stil are on,
Which with dexteritie
Can write the Epitaph o'th' t'other three.
And though you cannot play;
Yet stil both sing, and versifie you may.