"Music's the cordial of a troubled breast"
di John Oldham (1653-1683)

Music's the cordial of a troubled breast,
The softest remedy that grief can find,
The gentle spell that charms our cares to rest,
And calms the ruffling passions of the mind.
Music doth all our joys refine;
'Tis that gives relish to our wine;
'Tis that gives rapture to our love.
It wings devotion to a pitch divine;
'Tis our chief bliss on earth, and half our heav'n above.