The Song of Orpheus.

HAile sacred Deserts, whom kind nature made
Only to shelter with a loving shade,
The now neglected Musique, glad to see
Lyons afford her hospitality,
And Tigers bid her welcome, with the rest
Of savage beasts accept her for a guest,
Since Men refuse her, and scarce daigne an eare
To her high notes; or if they please to heare,
Tis all; amongst my Pupills, you may see
The birds that learn'd their sweetest laies of me;
Those that chant Carols in this thanklesse age
To pleasure men, rewarded with a Cage.