But in his motion like an angel sings,
[062] Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins;
[063] Such harmony is in immortal souls;
But whilst this muddy vesture of decay
[065] Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.
Enter Musicians.
[066] Come, ho, and wake Diana with a hymn!
With sweetest touches pierce your mistress’ ear,
[068] And draw her home with music. [Music.
Jes. I am never merry when I hear sweet music.