(seq. 62)

56

Of thot, in rude distraction steering off,

Till in the giddy maze the constant whirl,

Shall lead th, intoxicated sence at once,

In melancholy vast & dread ablaze,

Where nought can please the lively senses more

Aspatius might be happy yet could he

Himself believe, or on himself reflect,

And heedful mark the monitor within,

That gives himself the lie, expressive all,

That brave Aspatius wrongs his better part,

And lays his reason & his sense waste,

Without the least emolument of bliss,

That flows from wit insipid & the laugh,

That moves no passion justly but disdain,

Which instant dies & quits the silly breath,

That hove to life the thunder of a fool,

That in his own explosion startles back

As if a God had whispered death at hand ~

Aspatius, didst thou ever meditate

On wonders soft, that in creation shine,