And everlasting fool is writ in fire, 358 Or real wisdom wafts us to the skies. As worldly schemes resemble Sibyl's leaves, The good man's days to Sibyl's books compare, (In ancient story read, thou know'st the tale), In price still rising, as in number less, Inestimable quite his final hour. 364 For that who thrones can offer, offer thrones; Insolvent worlds the purchase cannot pay. "O let me die his death!" all nature cries. "Then live his life"--all nature falters there; Our great physician daily to consult, To commune with the grave, our only cure. 370 What grave prescribes the best?--A friend's; and yet, From a friend's grave, how soon we disengage! Even to the dearest, as his marble, cold. Why are friends ravish'd from us? 'Tis to bind, By soft affection's ties, on human hearts, The thought of death, which reason, too supine, Or misemploy'd, so rarely fastens there. Nor reason, nor affection, no, nor both Combined, can break the witchcrafts of the world. Behold, th' inexorable hour at hand! 380 Behold, th' inexorable hour forgot! And to forget it, the chief aim of life, Though well to ponder it, is life's chief end. Is Death, that ever threatening, ne'er remote, That all-important, and that only sure (Come when he will), an unexpected guest? Nay, though invited by the loudest calls Of blind imprudence, unexpected still; Though numerous messengers are sent before, To warn his great arrival. What the cause, 390 The wondrous cause, of this mysterious ill? 391 All heaven looks down astonish'd at the sight. Is it, that life has sown her joys so thick, We can't thrust in a single care between? Is it, that life has such a swarm of cares, The thought of death can't enter for the throng? Is it, that time steals on with downy feet, Nor wakes indulgence from her golden dream? To-day is so like yesterday, it cheats; We take the lying sister for the same. 400 Life glides away, Lorenzo, like a brook; For ever changing, unperceived the change. In the same brook none ever bathed him twice: To the same life none ever twice awoke. We call the brook the same; the same we think Our life, though still more rapid in its flow; Nor mark the much, irrevocably lapsed, And mingled with the sea. Or shall we say (Retaining still the brook to bear us on) That life is like a vessel on the stream? 410 In life embark'd, we smoothly down the tide Of time descend, but not on time intent; Amused, unconscious of the gliding wave; Till on a sudden we perceive a shock; We start, awake, look out; what see we there? Our brittle bark is burst on Charon's shore. Is this the cause death flies all human thought?