Life mimics the sun: but withdraw such assistance,
The counterfeit goes, the reality stays—
An ice-ball disguised as a fire-orb.
Apol. What craze
Possesses the fool then whose fancy conceits him
As happy?
The Fates. Man happy?
Apol. If otherwise—solve
This doubt which besets me! What friend ever greets him
Except with "Live long as the seasons revolve,"