Now swift the days of manhood haste away,
And misery’s pressure turns the temples gray.
The woman’s hands an ample casket bear;
She lifts the lid; she scatters ills in air.
Within [40]th’ unbroken vase Hope sole remained,
Beneath the vessel’s rim from flight detained:
The maid, by counsels of cloud-gathering Jove,
The coffer seal’d and dropp’d the lid above.
Issued the rest in quick dispersion hurl’d,
And woes innumerous roam’d the breathing world: