Music so softens and disarms the mind That not an arrow does resistance find.

For all we know Of what the blessed do above Is, that they sing, and that they love. While I listen to thy Voice.

But virtue too, as well as vice, is clad in flesh and blood.

Gods, that never change their state, vary oft their love and hate.

The fear of Hell, or aiming to be blest, Savors too much of private interest. This moved not Moses, nor the zealous Paul, Who for their friends abandoned soul and all.

And as pale sickness does invade, Your frailer part, the breaches made, In that fair lodging still more clear, Make the bright guest, your soul, appear.

Illustrious acts high raptures do infuse, And every conqueror creates a muse.