But vanished from them like enchanted ground.[29]
One thought content the good to be enjoyed;
This every little accident destroyed:
The wiser madmen did for virtue toil,
A thorny, or, at best, a barren soil:
}
In pleasure some their glutton souls would steep; }
But found their line too short, the well too deep, }
And leaky vessels which no bliss could keep. }
Thus anxious thoughts in endless circles roll,