Play on...

“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 south, that breathes upon a bank of violets, stealing and giving odour!’  Quack – that Shakespeare knew a thing or six.  At least I have plenty of choice...