Music might tame and civilize wild beasts, but 'tis evident it never yet could tame and civilize musicians.
Breathe soft, ye winds! ye waves, in silence sleep!
In beauty faults conspicuous grow; The smallest speck is seen on snow.
Whence is thy learning? Hath thy toil O'er books consumed the midnight oil?
O Polly, you might have toyed and kissed, by keeping men off, you keep them on.
When we risk no contradiction, It prompts the tongue to deal in fiction.