To feel the justice of her keen rebuke?
So true the picture, the advice so sage!
But to the wretch who moans the approach of death
With grief unmeasured, louder might she raise
Her voice severe:—’Vile coward! dry thine eyes—
Hence with thy snivelling sorrows, and depart!’
Should he, moreo’er, have passed man’s mid-day hour—
‘What! thou lament, already who hast reaped
An ample harvest? By desiring thus
The past once more, the present thou abhorr’st,