While this eternal, this most copious waste 260
Of blood degenerate into vapid brine,
Maintains its wonted measure; all the powers
Of health befriend you, all the wheels of life
With ease and pleasure move: But this restrain’d
Or more or less, so more or less you feel 265
The functions labour. From this fatal source
What woes descend is never to be sung.
To take their numbers, were to count the sands
That ride in whirlwind the parch’d Lybian air;