Music so softens and disarms the mind That not an arrow does resistance find.
But virtue too, as well as vice, is clad in flesh and blood.
Happy is she that from the world retires, and carries with her what the world admires.
Illustrious acts high raptures do infuse, And every conqueror creates a muse.
Thrice happy is that humble pair, Beneath the level of all care! Over whose heads those arrows fly, Of sad distrust and jealousy.
A narrow compass! and yet there Dwelt all that 's good, and all that 's fair; Give me but what this riband bound, Take all the rest the sun goes round.