Where billows never break, not tempests roar.

Ingratitude's a weed of every clime, It thrives too fast at first, but fades in time.

Dissensions, like small streams, are first begun, Scarce seen they rise, but gather as they run: So lines that from their parallel decline, More they proceed the more they still disjoin.

Some fell by laudanum, and some by steel, and death in ambush lay in every pill.

Eternal Spring, with smiling Verdue here Warms the mild Air, and crowns the youthful year. . . . . The Rose still blushes, and the vi'lets blow.

For all their luxury was doing good.