In wanton Fuges each other chase,
And swift Divisions run their Airy Race.
Thro' all the travers'd Scale they fly,
In winding Labyrinths of Harmony,
By turns They rise and fall, by Turns we live and die.
One might not unfitly compare to this difference of Instruments, the different Make and Constitution of Mens Bodies, with the Influence they have, and the Impression they make on their Minds, Passions and Actions. From hence alone they may know much, how to direct their own proper Capacities, and how they are to suit each Person they are to use, to the most proper Employment. As Mr. Pope Speaks of the Instruments of Musick.
In a sadly pleasing Strain,
Let the warbling Lute complain.
Let the loud Trumpet sound,
Till the Roofs all around