Harmony invest this Heart-Thrown Device
And pull this Lever for your Notes enthrill
Turn Lutes into Clefs; With Lyrics advise
To melt that Stone which I'm hoping to fill
And fill with what? That my Shadows you hate
Either due to Skin or Past Demeanour
Spirits or Saints, whether regret this Spate
Or sour those Beads my Hymns endeavour
If by the Leech my Swell Petitions plead
And for once cast out my Determinant
Who, of all do their Valiant Soldiers lead
And left for me this Medalled Adjutant.
I took Reservations once. And it kills
Leaving room for Peace; Yet infest my Skills.