Exhales his surfeit in prolixer dreams. 460
He without riot, in the balmy feast
Of life, the wants of nature has supplied
Who rises cool, serene, and full of soul.
But pliant nature more or less demands,
As custom forms her; and all sudden change 465
She hates of habit, even from bad to good.
If faults in life, or new emergencies,
From habits urge you by long time confirm’d,
Slow may the change arrive, and stage by stage;