“If music be the food of love, play on;Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,The appetite may sicken, and so die.That strain again! it had a dying fall:O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound,That breathes upon a bank of violets,Stealing and giving odour! Enough; no more:'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.O spirit of love! how quick and fresh art thou,That, notwithstanding thy capacityReceiveth as the sea, nought enters there,Of what validity and pitch soe'er,But falls into abatement and low price,Even in a minute: so full of shapes is fancyThat it alone is high fantastical.”

“Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die.”

“Enough no more; Tis not so sweet now as it was before.”

“Tell me, sweet lord, what is ’t that takes from theeThy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep?Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earthAnd start so often when thou sit’st alone?Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeksAnd given my treasures and my rights of theeTo thick-eyed musing and curst melancholy?”

“It is my soul that calls upon my name;How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night,like softest music to attending ears!-Romeo”

“By the sweet power of music: therefore the poet did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones and floods; since nought so stockish, hard and full of rage, but music for the time doth change his nature. The man that hath no music in himself, nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils; The motions of his spirit are dull as night and his affections dark as Erebus: Let no such man be trusted. Mark the music.”

“Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged!Give me my sin again.”