Page:The heptalogia, or, The seven against sense - a cap with seven bells (IA heptalogiaorseve00swin).pdf/50

 Mere dead metal, scrawled bars—ah, one touch, you make music! Love's worth saving, youth doubts, but experience depones.

Think, what use, when youth's saddle galls bay's back or roan's, To seek chords on love's keys to strike, other than his chords? There's an error joy winks at and grief half condones, Or life's counterpoint grates the C major of discords— 'Tis man's choice 'twixt sluts rose-crowned and queens age dethrones.

I for instance might groan as a bag-pipe groans, Give the flesh of my heart for sharp sorrows to flagellate,