If music be the food of love

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, not with standing

Thy capacity receiveth as the sea,

Nought enters there,

Of what validity and pitch soe'er,

But falls into abatement and low price,

Even in a minute.