Orpheus the So his, which Women slue, Thracian Poet.  And it int’ Hebrus threw, Caput, Hebre, Such sounds yet forth it sent, lyramque Excipis.  The Bankes to weepe that drue, &c.  Ouid. lib. 11.  As downe the streame it went. 40 Metam.  Mercury inuentor That by the Tortoyse shell, of the Harpe, as To MAYAS Sonne it fell, Horace Ode 10.  The most thereof not doubt lib. 1. curuaq; But sure some Power did dwell, lyra parente.  In Him who found it out.

Thebes fayned The Wildest of the field,
to haue beene And Ayre, with Riuers t’ yeeld,
raysed by Which mou’d; that sturdy Glebes,
Musicke. And massie Oakes could weeld,
                      To rayse the pyles of Thebes. 50

And diuersly though Strung,
So anciently We sung,
To it, that Now scarce knowne,
If first it did belong
To Greece, or if our Owne.

The ancient The Druydes imbrew’d, British Priests With Gore, on Altars rude so called of With Sacrifices crown’d, their abode in In hollow Woods bedew’d, woods.  Ador’d the Trembling sound. 60

Pindar Prince of Though wee be All to seeke, the Greeke Of PINDAR that Great Greeke, lyricks, of whom To Finger it aright, Horace:  Pindarum The Soule with power to strike, quisquis studet, His hand retayn’d such Might. &c.  Ode 2. lib. 4.  Horace first of Or him that Rome_ did grace the_ Romans in Whose Ayres we all imbrace, that kind.  That scarcely found his Peere,
                    Nor giueth PHOEBVS place,
                      For Strokes diuinely cleere. 70

The Irish The Irish I admire,
Harpe.  And still cleaue to that Lyre,
                      As our Musike’s Mother,
                    And thinke, till I expire,
                      APOLLO’S such another.

As Britons, that so long
Haue held this Antike Song,
And let all our Carpers
Forbeare their fame to wrong,
Th’ are right skilfull Harpers. 80

Southerne, an Southerne, I long thee spare,
English Lyrick.  Yet wish thee well to fare,
                      Who me pleased’st greatly,
                    As first, therefore more rare,
                      Handling thy Harpe neatly.

To those that with despight
Shall terme these Numbers slight,
Tell them their Iudgement’s blind,
Much erring from the right,
It is a Noble kind. 90

An old English Nor is ’t the Verse doth make,
Rymer.  That giueth, or doth take,
                      ’Tis possible to clyme,
                    To kindle, or to slake,
                      Although in SKELTON’S Ryme.