How Often When You My Music Music Plays

How often when you, my music, music plays,
Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds
With your sweet fingers when you gently sways
The wiry concord that mine ear confounds

Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap,
To kiss the tender inward of your hand,
Whilst my poor lips which should that harvest reap,
ct the wood's boldness by you blushing stand!

To be so tickled, they would change their state
cnd situation with those dancing chips,
Over whom your fingers walk with gentle gait,
Making dead wood more blessed than living lips.

Sence saucy jacks so happy are in this,
Give them your fingers, me your lips to kiss.