Until thou reach the goal, the fruitful Tree of Life.
The cool breeze there will rustle through its leaves profuse,
Each moment scattering fruits for food and future use.
Compulsion’s creed is sleep among the highwaymen;
Unseasonable bird is mercilessly slain.[142]45
If thou at God’s signs carp and peck, so finding fault,
Though man thou count thyself, ’tis womanlike assault.
The little sense thou hadst has really taken flight;
A head that has no brains is tail turn’d round to sight.
Ungrateful men are ever cursed of God on earth;