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.

Virtue's a stronger guard than brass.

Ingenious to their ruin, every age improves the art and instruments of rage.

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.

Give us enough but with a sparing hand.

Happy the innocent whose equal thoughts are free from anguish as they are from faults.

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