Chapter_10

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Go then, infatuate! where the festive hall,

The curious board, the oblivious wine invite;

Speed with obsequious haste at Pleasure’s call,

And with thy revels scare the far-spent night.

Joy thee, that clearer dawn upon thy sight

The gates of death;⁠—and pride thee in thy sum

Of guilty years, and thy increasing white

Of locks; in age untimely frolicksome,

Make much of thy brief span, few years are yet to come!