The range of life contracted limits bound;
Yet more confin'd is pleasure's faithless round:
Fair op'ning to the sight, when first we run,
But, ah! how alter'd, when again begun!
When tir'd we view the same known prospect o'er,
And lagging, tread the steps we trod before.
Now clogg'd with spleen, the lazy current flows,
Thro' doubts, and fears, and self-augmenting woes;
Till sated, loathing, hopeless here of bliss,
Some plunge to seek it into death's abyss.