Till all the fiery mettle has its way, 190
And the thick thunder hurries o’er the plain.
When all at once from indolence to toil
You spring, the fibres by the hasty shock
Are tir’d and crack’d, before their unctuous coats,
Compress’d, can pour the lubricating balm. 195
Besides, collected in the passive veins,
The purple mass a sudden torrent rolls,
O’erpowers the heart, and deluges the lungs
With dangerous inundation: Oft the source