1593-1603 by Shakespeare 
Sonnet 128 

1	How oft, when thou, my music, music play’st
2	Upon that blessèd wood whose motion sounds
3	With thy sweet fingers when thou gently sway’st
4	The wiry concord that mine ear confounds,
5	Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap
6	To kiss the tender inward of thy hand
7	Whilst my poor lips, which should that harvest reap,
8	At the wood’s boldness by thee blushing stand!
9	To be so tickled they would change their state
10	And situation with those dancing chips
11	O’er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait,
12	Making dead wood more blessed than living lips.
13	Since saucy jacks so happy are in this,
14	Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss.