C.N. Douglas, comp. Forty Thousand Quotations: Prose and Poetical. 1917.

Sir John Davies

Much like a subtle spider, which doth sit

In middle of her web, which spreadeth wide;

If aught do touch the utmost thread of it,

She feels it instantly on every side.

There was a man bespake a thing,

Which when the owner home did bring,

He that made it did refuse it;

And he that brought it would not use it,

And he that hath it doth not know

Whether he hath it yea or no.

These wickets of the soul are plac’d so high,

Because all sounds do highly move aloft;

And that they may not pierce too violently,

They are delay’d with turns and twinings oft.

For should the voice directly strike the brain,

It would astonish and confuse it much;

Therefore these plaits and folds the sound restrain.

That it the organ may more gently touch.

This is the slowest, yet the daintiest sense;

For ev’n the ears of such as have no skill,

Perceive a discord, and conceive offence;

And knowing not what’s good, yet find the ill.

Wit,—the pupil of the soul’s clear eye.