To The Q:[Ueene.]

What Musicke shall we make to you? To whome the strings of all men's harts Make musicke of ten thousand parts: In tune and measure true, With straines and changes new.

How shall wee fraime a harmony Worthie your eares, whose princely hands Keepe harmony in sundry lands: Whose people divers be, In station and degree? Heauen's tunes may onely please, and not such aires as theise.

For you which downe from heauen are sent Such peace vpon the earth to bring, Haue h[e]ard y^{e} quire of Angells sing: and all the sphæres consent, like a sweete instrument.

How then should theise harsh tunes you heare Created of y^{e} trubled ayer, breed but distast--when you repaire-- to your celestiall eare? So that this center here for you no musicke fynds, but harmony of mynds.