None warmer sought the sires of human-kind. 390
Happy in temperate peace! Their equal days
Felt not th’ alternate fits of feverish mirth,
And sick dejection. Still serene and pleas’d,
They knew no pains but what the tender soul
With pleasure yields to, and would ne’er forget. 395
Blest with divine immunity from ails,
Long centuries they liv’d; their only fate
Was ripe old age, and rather sleep than death.
Oh! could those worthies from the world of Gods