How gladly would I meet mortality, my sentence, and be earth in sensible! How glad would lay me down, as in my mother's lap! There I should rest, and sleep secure.

They eat, they drink, and in communion sweet Quaff immortality and joy.

The conquer'd, also, and enslaved by war, Shall, with their freedom lost, all virtue lose.

And ever against eating cares Lap me in soft Lydian airs, Married to immortal verse

Must I thus leave thee, Paradise?-thus leave Thee, native soil, these happy walks and shades?

And live like Nature's bastards, not her sons.

Few sometimes may know, when thousands err.