I had my comforts, and a growing trade
Gave greater pleasure than a fortune made;
And as I more possess’d, and reason’d more,
I lost those comforts I enjoy’d before,
When reverend guides I saw my table round,
And in my guardian guest my safety found:
Now sick and sad, no appetite, no ease,
Nor pleasures have I, nor a wish to please;
Nor views, nor hopes, nor plans, nor taste have I;
Yet, sick of life, have no desire to die.”