Tax not so bad a voice to slander music any more than once. - William Shakespeare

Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises,
Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not.
Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments
Will hum about mine ears; and sometime voices,
That, if I then had waked after long sleep,
Will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming,
The clouds methought would open, and show riches
Ready to drop upon me; that, when I waked,
I cried to dream again.

And to be merry best becomes you; for, out of question, you were born in
a merry hour.

No, sure, my lord, my mother cried; but then there
was a star danced, and under that was I born.

If it be now, ’tis not to come. If it be not to come, it will be now. If it be not now, yet it will come — the readiness is all.