There are sweet follies, frailties to be seen
By friends alone, and men of generous minds. 490
Oh! seldom may the fated hours return
Of drinking deep! I would not daily taste,
Except when life declines, even sober cups.
Weak withering age no rigid law forbids,
With frugal nectar, smooth and slow with balm, 495
The sapless habit daily to bedew,
And give the hesitating wheels of life
Gliblier to play. But youth has better joys;