Who, as they sung, would take the prison'd soul And lap it in Elysium.

Or did the soul of Orpheus sing Such notes as, warbled to the string, Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek.

At every close she made, th' attending throng Replied, and bore the burden of the song: So just, so small, yet in so sweet a note, It seemed the music melted in the throat.

Come, sing now, sing; for I know you sing well; I see you have a singing face.

Three merry boys, and three merry boys, And three merry boys are we, As ever did sing in a hempen string Under the gallow-tree.

Best image of myself and dearer half.