Music resembles poetry, in each Are nameless graces which no methods teach, And which a master hand alone can reach.

There are some solitary wretches who seem to have left the rest of mankind, only, as Eve left Adam, to meet the devil in private.

Praise from a friend, or censure from a foe, Are lost on hearers that our merits know.

Music resembles poetry, in each Are nameless graces which no methods teach, And which a master hand alone can reach.

I am satisfied to trifle away my time, rather than let it stick by me.

Therefore they who say our thoughts are not our own because they resemble the Ancients, may as well say our faces are not our own, because they are like our Fathers: And indeed it is very unreasonable, that people should expect us to be Scholars, and yet be angry to find us so.

In this commonplace world every one is said to be romantic who either admires a fine thing or does one.