Weary full soon, and restless then, they grew; }
Then off the painful mask of prudence threw; }
For Time has told them all, and taught them what to rue. }
They long again to tread the former round
Of dissipation—“Why should he be bound,
While his sweet inmate of the cottage sighs
For adulation, rout, and rhapsodies?
Not Love himself, did love exist, could lead
A heart like hers, that flutter’d to be freed.” 230
But Love, or what seem’d like him, quickly died;