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LVI.

Men err, and blindly happiness propose,

Whither their steps and fortunes should aspire;

Alas! they seek, what Earth no longer knows;

Once haply clasp’d, the wanton’s waxing shier;

For, now, it hath ascended to the heavens,

And sits commingling Nature’s shapes and dyes:

Who’s rash to seek it, him, ill fortune leavens

With sick acquirement of unworthy sighs:

Youth courts the sunshine to his vigorous wings;

Sees Hope, that beckons, thinks himself a God;

Rivals the lark, acting the joy it sings;

Till age desponds at Life’s too real rod:

Let youth abandon hope, and court content,

Now bliss mocks hope, then joys were blessings lent.

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LVII.

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