Come, Master, you can
sing well: you must sing a part of it. as it is in this paper.
Man's life is but vain, for 'tis subject to pain,
And sorrow, and short as a bubble;
'Tis a hodge-podge of business, and money, and care,
And care, and money, and trouble.
But we'll take no care when the weather proves fair;
Nor will we vex now though it rain;
We'll banish all sorrow, and sing till to-morrow,
And angle. and angle again.
Peter. I marry, Sir, this is musick indeed; this has cheer'd my heart, and
made me remember six verses in praise of musick, which I will speak
to you instantly.
Musick ! miraculous rhetorick, thou speak'st sense
Without a tongue, excelling eloquence ;
With what ease might thy errors be excus'd,
Wert thou as truly lov'd as th' art abus'd!
But though dull souls neglect, and some reprove thee,
I cannot hate thee, 'cause the Angels love thee.
Venator. And the repetition of these last verses of musick has called to
my memory what Mr. Edmund Waller, a lover of the angle, says of love
and musick
Whilst I listen to thy voice,
Chloris! I feel my heart decay
That powerful voice
Calls my fleeting soul away:
Oh! suppress that magic sound,
Which destroys without a wound.
Peace, Chloris! peace, or singing die,
That together you and I
To heaven may go;
For all we know
Of what the blessed do above
Is, that they sing, and that they love.
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