Opposed a brazen shield of polish bright
To full-orbed Phœbus’ mid-day shafts of light,
That the round mirror, having catched the rays,
Might blast his vision with the dazzling blaze;
Thus his extinguished eyes could ne’er behold
The wicked prosper. O that thus my gold
Might, with the lustre of its yellow light,
Dim through my closing years these orbs of sight,
Whose darkness would not see a thriftless son
Waste the fair fortune which his fathers won!”