“Basses and Tenors, Kettledrums and Flutes,
Trumpets, and Horns, Fiddles, Flageolets,
From you that solemn groan to you that squeak,
Patient attend and hear a brother speak:
Oft have I mused with sorrow and regret,
Since here confined I mourn’d my captive state,
That tho’ from Harmony our being rose,
We unconnected live, nor friends nor foes;
Nor know society, till in the band
We yield our music to the master’s hand;