Classic Poem

To urge, my loved Alphonso, that bold fame
Of building towns, and making wild beasts tame,
Which music had; or speak her known effects,
That she removeth cares, sadness ejects,
Declineth anger, persuades clemency,
Doth sweeten mirth, and heighten piety,
And is t' a body, often, ill inclined,
No less a sovereign cure, than to the mind;
To allege, that greatest men were not ashamed,
Of old, even by her practice, to be famed;
To say, indeed, she were the soul of heaven,
That the eight spheres, no less, than planets seven,
Moved by her order, and the ninth more high,
Including all, were thence called harmony:
I, yet, had uttered nothing on thy part,
When these were but the praises of the art.
But when I have said, the proofs of all these be
Shed in thy songs; 'tis true: but short of thee.