To burning  when frantick  play'd,
Viewing that Face, no more He had survey'd
The raging Flames; but struck with strange Surprize,
Confest them less than Those of  Eyes:
But had He heard Thy Lute, He soon had found
His Rage eluded, and his Crime atton'd:
Thine, like  Hand, had wak'd the Stone,
And from Destruction call'd the rising Town:
Malice to Musick had been forc'd to yield;
Nor could He Burn so fast, as Thou could'st Build.