And every herb that sips the dew;
Till old experience do attain
To something like prophetic strain.
These pleasures, Melancholy, give, 175
And I with thee will choose to live.
John Milton.
LXXXVII
CONTENTATION.
DIRECTED TO MY DEAR FATHER, AND MOST WORTHY FRIEND,
MR. ISAAC WALTON.
Heaven, what an age is this! what race
Of giants are sprung up, that dare