Then to the well-trod stage anon, If Jonson's learned sock be on, Or sweetest Shakspeare, Fancy's child, Warble his native wood-notes wild. 13 And ever, against eating cares, Such as the meeting soul may pierce, The hidden soul of harmony; That Orpheus' self may heave his head Of heap'd Elysian flow'rs, and hear Such strains as would have won the ear Of Pluto, to have quite set free His half-regain'd Eurydice. |