Duke. 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 notwithstanding thy capacity
Receiveth as the sea nought enters there
Of what validity and pitch soever
But falls into abatement and low price
Even in a minute! So full of shapes is fancy
That it alone is high fantastical.