A louder Strain begin:
And now,
Let the deep mouth'd Organ blow,
Swell it high and Sink it low.
Hark! how the Treble and the Base
In wanton Fuges each other chase,
And swift Divisions run their Airy Race.
Thro' all the travers'd Scale they fly,
In winding Labyrinths of Harmony,
By turns They rise and fall, by Turns we live and die._

One might not unfitly compare to this difference of Instruments,
the different Make and Constitution of Mens Bodies, with the
Influence they have, and the Impression they make on their Minds,
Passions and Actions. From hence alone they may know much, how to
direct their own proper Capacities, and how they are to suit each
Person they are to use, to the most proper Employment. As Mr.
_Pope_ Speaks of the Instruments of Musick.

_In a sadly pleasing Strain,
Let the warbling Lute complain.
Let the loud Trumpet sound,
Till the Roofs
all around The shrill Echo's rebound.
While in more lengthen'd Notes and slow,
The deep, majestick, solemn Organs blow._

Harmony, in its most restrain'd Sense, is the apt and agreeable
mixture of various Sounds. Such a Composition of them as is
fitted to please the Ear. But every thing in a more extended