TO A YOUNG LADY, ON BEING TOO FOND OF MUSIC Why is your mind thus all day long Upon your music set; Till reason's swallow'd in a song, Or idle canzonet? I grant you, Melesinda, when Your instrument was new, I was well pleas'd to see you then Its charms assiduous woo.

Psyche formosa requirit, Et poscit te dia deum, puerumque puella;" "Fair Cupid, thy fair Psyche to thee sues, A lovely lass a fine young gallant woos;"