" Why, look you now,
how unworthy a thing you make of me!
You would play upon me;
you would seem to know my stops;
you would pluck out the heart of my mystery;
you would sound me from my lowest note to the top of my compass:
and there is much music,
excellent voice, in this little organ;
yet cannot you make it speak.
'Sblood, do you think I am easier to be played on than a pipe?
Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me,
yet you cannot play upon me. "