When being, cursed; extinction, loud implored;
And every thing preferr’d to what we are.
Yet this self-love Lorenzo makes his choice;
And, in this choice triumphant, boasts of joy.
How is his want of happiness betray’d, 899
By disaffection to the present hour!
Imagination wanders far afield:
The future pleases: why? the present pains.—
“But that’s a secret.” Yes, which all men know;
And know from thee, discover’d unawares.