Ye that do live in pleasures

Ye that do live in pleasures plenty
And dwell in Music's sweetest Airs
Whose eyes are quick, whose ears are dainty
Not clogg'd with earth or wordly cares
Come sing this song. made in Amphion's praise
Who now is dead, yet you his fame can raise

Call him again, let him not die
But live in Music's sweetest breath;
Place him in fairest memory
And let him triumph over death
O sweetly sung, his living wish attend ye
These were his words, "The mirth of heav'n God send ye."