Thus every man o'erworks his weary will, } To shun himself, and to shake off his ill; } The shaking fit returns, and hangs upon him still. } No prospect of repose, nor hope of ease, The wretch is ignorant of his disease; Which, known, would all his fruitless trouble spare, For he would know the world not worth his care: Then would he search more deeply for the cause, And study nature well, and nature's laws; For in this moment lies not the debate, But on our future, fixed, eternal state; That never-changing state, which all must keep, Whom death has doomed to everlasting sleep. Why are we then so fond of mortal life, Beset with dangers, and maintained with strife? A life, which all our care can never save; One fate attends us, and one common grave. Besides, we tread but a perpetual round; } We ne'er strike out, but beat the former ground, } And the same maukish joys in the same track are found. } For still we think an absent blessing best, } Which cloys, and is no blessing when possest; } A new arising wish expels it from the breast. } The feverish thirst of life increases still; We call for more and more, and never have our fill; Yet know not what to-morrow we shall try, What dregs of life in the last draught may lie. Nor, by the longest life we can attain, } One moment from the length of death we gain; } For all behind belongs to his eternal reign. } When once the fates have cut the mortal thread, The man as much to all intents is dead, Who dies to-day, and will as long be so, As he who died a thousand years ago. THE LATTER PART OF THE FOURTH BOOK OF LUCRETIUS; CONCERNING THE NATURE OF LOVE. BEGINNING AT THIS LINE: _Sic igitur Veneris qui telis accipit ictum, &c._