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Sonnet 128 tickles the virginals:

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

Some interesting thoughts in the link above about the musical symbolism – but perhaps a failure to see the “wood” for the trees.

Down with this sort of thing! And a good spanking for all those etc.

And when you’ve recovered … a modest video – click the youtube link (bottom right) and follow the comments:

p.s. A modern derivative with a guitar.