On the Ingenious Art of Ringing
What Musick is there that compar’d may be
To well-tun’d Bells enchanting melody!
Breaking with their sweet sound the willing Air,
And in the listning ear the Soul ensnare;
The ravisht Air such pleasure loth to lose,
With thousand Echoes still prolongs each close;
And gliding streams which in the Vallies trills,
Assists its speed unto the neighbouring Hills;
Where in the rocks & caves, with hollow gounds,
The warbling lightsome Element rebounds.
This for the Musick: In the Action’s Health,
And every Bell is a Wit’s Common-wealth
For here by them we plainly may discern,
How that Civility we are to learn.
The Treble to the Tenor doth give place,
And goes before him for the better grace:
But when they chance to change, ’tis as a dance,
They foot A Galliard, ÃÂ la mode de France.
An Eighteenscore’s a figure dance, but Grandsire
Hath the Jig-steps! & Tendrings Peal doth answer
The manner of Corants: A plain Six-score,
Is like a Saraband, the motion slower.
When Bells Ring round, and in their Order be,
They do denote how Neighbours should agree;
But if they Clam, the harsh sound spoils the sport,
And ’tis like Women keeping Dover Court
For when all talk, there’s none can lend an ear
The others story, and her own to hear;
But pull and hall, straining for to sputter
What they can hardly afford time to utter.
Like as a valiant Captain in the Field,
By his Conduct, doth make the Foe to yield;
Ev’n so, the leading Bell keeping true time,
The rest do follow, none commits a Crime:
But if one Souldier runs, perhaps a Troop
Seeing him gone, their hearts begin to droop;
Ev’n so the fault of one Bell spoils a Ring,
(And now my Pegasus has taken Wing.)