Bonta's poem is built like a list of oddly matched things, all declared "as good as" one another. A theorbo, a large lute-like instrument, sits first, and then comes a jumble: a theater captain, a woman dressed as a man, a fine pair of legs, an alehouse, a hit, a handsome urn. Nothing explains why these belong together, and that's part of the fun.
The speaker seems delighted rather than argumentative. The comparison reads like a toast, praising pleasures that are lively, theatrical, a little rowdy, and a little elegant. Several items suggest performance, disguise, drink and show, while the urn adds something quieter, perhaps a hint of mortality tucked among the merriment. That last point is an inference, not something the poem states.
The short lines and the break in "hand- / some" make the poem feel playful, like notes plucked one at a time. The mood is light, quick and mischievous, inviting you to enjoy the sounds and surprises rather than hunt for one fixed meaning.