Tells us prosperity’s at the highest degree
The fount and handle of calamity.
Chapman.
O, how portentous is prosperity!
How, comet-like, it threatens while it shines!
Few years but yield us proof of Death’s ambition
To cull his victims from the fairest fold,
And sheathe his shafts in all the pride of life.
When flooded with abundance, purpled o’er
With recent honour, bloomed with every bliss,