Unlocks the breast, and gives a cordial glow. 445
But if your wrathful blood is apt to boil,
Or are your nerves too irritably strung;
Wave all Dispute; be cautious if you joke;
Keep Lent for ever; and forswear the Bowl.
For one rash moment sends you to the shades, 450
Or shatters every hopeful scheme of life,
And gives to horror all your days to come.
Fate, arm’d with thunder, fire, and every plague
That ruins, tortures, or distracts mankind,