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Where griping grief the heart
would wound
And doleful dumps the mind oppress,
There music with her silver sound
Is wont with speed to give redress
Of troubled minds, for ev'ry sore,
Sweet music hath a salve in store.
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In joy it makes our mirth abound,
In grief it cheers our heavy sprites,
The careful head relief hath found,
By music's pleasant sweet delights;
Our senses, what should I say more,
Are subject unto Music's law.
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The gods by music have their
praise,
The soul therein doth joy;
For as the Roman poets say,
In seas whom pirates would destroy,
A dolphin saved from death most sharp,
Arion playing on his harp.
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O heavenly gift, that turns the
mind,
Like as the stern doth rule the ship,
Of music whom the gods assigned,
To comfort man whom cares would nip,
Since thou both man and beast doth move,
What wise man then will thee reprove.
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