If Music Be The Food Of Love, Play On; Give Me Excess Of It, That, Surfeiting, The Appetite May Sicken, And So Die.

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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!
-- William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Twelfth Night
-- Act i, Sc. 1

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