Though numerous messengers are sent before,
To warn his great arrival. What the cause, 390
The wondrous cause, of this mysterious ill? 391
All heaven looks down astonish’d at the sight.
Is it, that life has sown her joys so thick,
We can’t thrust in a single care between?
Is it, that life has such a swarm of cares,
The thought of death can’t enter for the throng?
Is it, that time steals on with downy feet,
Nor wakes indulgence from her golden dream?