You’ve sampled my whole stock; my wits are spent!”
You object: “Your years few; body not chill
Or withered with age; your joints supple still?”
True, I dare say: yet though you should defy
Whole centuries to kill—nay, never die—
Nature endures; all would be stale to you!—
Plead guilty; for you know the charge is true.
Call next appellant—one advanced in years,
Who meets Death’s advent with protesting tears.
Would not Nature have reason on her side,