New years, expect new gifts: sister, your harp,
Lute, lyre, theorbo, all are called today,
Your change of notes, the flat, the mean, the sharp,
To show the rites, and t'usher forth the way
Of the New Year, in a new silken warp,
To fit the softness of our year's gift: when
We sing the best of monarchs, masters, men;
For, had we here said less, we had sung nothing then.