Monday
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 oer 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.
--Twelfth Night, Act I scene 1
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 oer 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.
--Twelfth Night, Act I scene 1