Poems, &c. written upon several occasions, and to several persons by Edmond Waller.
Waller, Edmund, 1606-1687.

On my Lady Isabella playing on the Lute.

SUch moving sounds, from such a careless touch
So unconcern'd her self, and we so much!
What Art is this, that with so little pains
Transports us thus, and or our spirit reigns?
The trembling strings about her fingers crow'd,
And tell their Joy for every kiss aloud▪
Page  85 Small force there needs to make them tremble so,
Touch't by that hand who would not tremble too?
Here Loves takes stand, and while she charms the ear,
Empties his quiver on the listning Deer;
Musick o softens and disarms the mind,
That not an Arrow does resistance find.
Thus the fair Tyrant celebrates the prize,
And acts her self the triumph of her eyes.
So Nero once, with Harp in hand survey'd
His flaming Rome, and as it burnt he play'd.