By the sweet power of music: therefore poets
Tell us old Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods,
Since naught so blockish, hard, insensible,
But music for the time doth change his nature.
The man who would keep music to himself,
Grudging the mob all concord of sweet sounds,
Is fit for Bedlam, not the County Council!
The motions of his spirit are dull as night,
And his affections cold as Arctic bergs.
Let no such man be trusted!—Mark the music!