Such musick maids desire:
All of one string doth loathing bring,
Change, is true Musicks Mother,
Then leave my face, and sound the base,
A little o’ th’ t’on with t’other.
The golden mine lies just between [? golden mean]
The high way and the lower;
He that wants wit that way to hit
Alas[!] hath little power;
You’l miss the clout if that you shoot