Music can minister to minds diseased, pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, raze out the written troubles of the brain, and with its sweet oblivious antidote, cleanse the full bosom of all perilous stuff that weighs upon the heart.
See what a ready tongue suspicion hath!
For what I will, I will, and there an end.
Small to greater matters must give way.
To whom God will, there be the victory.
Put money in thy purse.