"The Devil hath not in all his quiver's choice, an arrow for the heart like a sweet voice". Indeed, so dulcet a dart must be loosed by a gentler hand. It must be guided by an aim more eloquent than his. It must, if it's to strike that vital part, and penetrate that pulsing organ entombed in the breast, climb onto the honey-laden bow from which, with both melody and grace, it'll swiftly fly. Allow me to relieve the eager tension of this string and deliver that which divinity alone most adores: a sweet voice. Relax and enjoy this reading of Lord Byron's "Don Juan".