Music might tame and civilize wild beasts, but 'tis evident it never yet could tame and civilize musicians.
Fair is the kingcup that in meadow blows, Fair is the daisy that beside her grows.
Variety's the source of joy below, From whence still fresh-revolving pleasures flow, In books and love the mind one end pursues, And only change the expiring flames renews.
Fair is the marigold, for pottage meet.
Lest men suspect your tale untrue, Keep probability in view.
I never, with important air, In conversation overbear. . . . . My tongue within my lips I rein; For who talks much must talk in vain.