Once friends to peace, gone over to the foe.
“Death, then, has changed his nature too: O Death!
Come to my bosom, thou best gift of Heaven!
Best friend of man! since man is man no more.
Why in this thorny wilderness so long,
Since there’s no promised land’s ambrosial bower, 783
To pay me with its honey for my stings?
If needful to the selfish schemes of Heaven
To sting us sore, why mock’d our misery?
Why this so sumptuous insult o’er our heads?