When change itself can give no more,
'Tis easie to be true.
It is like a cup of cold water after the didactic endearments of Adam, and his repeated apostrophe:
Daughter of God and Man, immortal Eve--
For such thou art, from sin and blame entire.
Then there was John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester. He was drunk for five years on end,--so his biographer, who had it from his own lips, alleges--and he died at the age of thirty-two. Like Sedley, he professes no virtues, and holds no far-reaching views. But what a delicate turn of personal affection he gives to the expression of his careless creed:--
The time that is to come is not,
How can it then be mine?
The present moment's all my lot,
And that, as fast as it is got,