The Important Question Is Not,

Music, The Greatest Good That Mortals Know, And All Of Heaven We Have Below. Music Can Noble Hints Impart, Engender Fury, Kindle Love; 40 With Unsuspected Eloquence Can Move, And Manage All The Man With Secret Art. When Orpheus Strikes The Trembling Lyre The Streams Stand Still, The Stones Admire; The Listening Savages Advance, The World And Lamb Around Him Trip The Bears In Aukward Measures Leap, And Tigers Mingle In The Dance The Moving Woods Attended As He Played And Rhodope Was Left Without A Shade.

Should The Whole Frame Of Nature Round Him Break, In Ruin And Confusion Hurled, He, Unconcerned, Would Hear The Mighty Crack, And Stand Secure Amidst A Falling World.

The Greatest Parts, Without Discretion As Observed By An Elegant Writer, May Be Fatal To Their Owner; As Polyphemus, Deprived Of His Eyes, Was Only The More Exposed On Account Of His Enormous Strength And Stature.

The Woman That Deliberates Is Lost.

To A Man Of Pleasure Every Moment Appears To Be Lost, Which Partakes Not Of The Vivacity Of Amusement.