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That inly gnaws the secret heart, And Envy wan, and faded Care, Grim-visag'd comfortless Despair,
And Sorrow's piercing dart,
Ambition this shall tempt to rise,
Then whirl the wretch from high,
And grinning Infamy.
That mocks the tear it forc'd to flow;
And keen Remor fe with blood defil'd,
And moody Madness * laughing wild
Amid feverest woe.
Madness laughing in his ireful mood.
Dryden's Fable of Palamon and Arcite,
Lo, in the vale of years beneath
A grisly troop are seen.
More hideous than their Queen:
Those in the deeper vitals rage :
And flow-consuming Age.
To each his suff'rings: all are men,
Condemn'd alike to groan, The tender for another's pain;
Th' unfeeling for his own.
Yet, ah! why should they know their fate ?
Since sorrow never comes too late,
And happiness too swiftly flies.
Thought would destroy their paradise. No more; where ignorance is bliss,
'Tis folly to be wise.