What are his praises worth, who must be known,
To take a Patron’s maxims for his own?
When ladies sing, or in thy presence play,
Do not, dear John, in rapture melt away;
’Tis not thy part, there will be list’ners round,
To cry Divine! and dote upon the sound;
Remember, too, that though the poor have ears,
They take not in the music of the spheres;
They must not feel the warble and the thrill,
Or be dissolved in ecstasy at will;