“How charming is divine Philosophy! Not harsh, and crabbed as dull fools suppose, But musical as is Apollo's lute, And a perpetual feast of nectar'd sweets, Where no crude surfet raigns.”

“Such sweet compulsion doth in music lie.”

“In discourse more sweet(For Eloquence the Soul, Song charms the Sense)Others apart sat on a hill retired,In thoughts more elevate, and reasoned highOf Providence, Foreknowledge, Will, and Fate-Fixed fate, free will, foreknowledge absolute,And found no end, in wandering mazes lost.Of good and evil much they argued then,Of happiness and final misery,Passion and apathy, and glory and shame:Vain wisdom all, and false philosophy!-Yet, with a pleasing sorcery, could charmPain for a while or anguish, and exciteFallacious hope, or arm th' obdurate breastWith stubborn patience as with triple steel.”

“With thee conversing I forget all time,All seasons and their change, all please alike.Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet,With charm of earliest birds; pleasant the sunWhen first on this delightful land he spreadsHis orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flower,Glistering with dew; fragrant the fertile earthAfter soft showers; and sweet the coming onOf grateful evening mild, then silent nightWith this her solemn bird and this fair moon,And these the gems of heav'n, her starry train:But neither breath of morn when she ascendsWith charm of earliest birds, nor rising sunOn this delightful land, nor herb, fruit, flower,Glistring with dew, nor fragrance after showers,Nor grateful evening mild, nor silent nightWith this her solemn bird, nor walk by moon,Or glittering starlight without thee is sweet.”

“Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet,With charm of earliest birds; pleasant the sun,When first on this delightful land he spreadsHis orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit and flower,Glistening with dew; fragrant the fertile earthAfter soft showers, and sweet the coming onof grateful Evening mild; the silent Night,With this her solumn bird and hisfair Moon,And these the gems of Heaven, their starry train;But neither breath of morn nor rising sunOn this delightful land, nor herb, fruit, flowerGlistening with dew, nor fragrance after shower,Nor grateful Evening mild, nor silent Night,With this her solumn bird, nor walk by Moon,Or glittering starlight, without thee is sweet”

“How can I live without thee, how forgoeThy sweet Converse and Love so dearly joyn'd,To live again in these wilde Woods forlorn? Should God create another Eve, and IAnother Rib afford, yet loss of theeWould never from my heart; no no, I feelThe Link of Nature draw me: Flesh of Flesh,Bone of my Bone thou art, and from thy StateMine never shall be parted, bliss or woe.”

“Extol not riches, then, the toil of fools,The wise man's cumbrance, if not snare; more aptTo slacken virtue and abate her edgeThan prompt her to do aught may merit praise.”