If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound, or any air of music touch their ears, you shall perceive them make a mutual stand, their savage eyes turned to a modest gaze by the sweet power of music. Therefore the poet did feign that Orheus drew trees, stones, and floods; since nought so stockish, hard, and full age of rage but music for the time doth change his nature. The man that hath no music in himself, now is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils; the motions of his spirit are dull as night, and his affections dark as Erebus. Let no such man be trusted. Mark the music.
from William Shakespeare “The Marchant of Venice”