1682, John Dryden, Mac Flecknoe

Why do I humble thus my ſelf, and ſuing / For peace, reap nothing but repulſe and hate?

At length the sound of a flute broke upon mine ear; it was not played masterly, but the tones were very sweet; and what is more correct, perhaps, they harmonized with my feelings.

For with ſuch puiſſance and impetuous maine / Thoſe Champions broke on them, that forſt the fly, / Like ſcattered Sheepe, whenas the Shepherds ſwaine / A Lyon and a Tigre doth eſpye, / With greedy pace forth ruſhing from the foreſt nye.