"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."

http://www.mainlesson.com/display.php?author=lamb&book=shakespeare&story=twelfth