Have smiled propitious, and not all its gifts,
As if adventured in a leaky vase,
Been idly wasted, profitless, and vain—
Why quitt’st thou not, thou fool! the feast of life
Filled, and with mind all panting for repose?
But if thyself have squandered every boon,
And of the past grown weary—why demand
More days to kill, more blessings to pervert,
Nor rather headlong hasten to thine end?’
Were Nature thus to address us, could we fail