We beg one hour of death, that neither she
With widow's tears may live to bury me,
Nor weeping I, with wither'd arms, may bear
My breathless Baucis to the sepulchre.
While strength and years permit, endure labor; soon bent old age will come with silent foot.
[Lat., Dum vires annique sinunt, tolerate labores.
Jam veniet tacito curva senecta pede.]
Wine, not too much, inspires and make the mind,to the soft joys of Venus strong inclined,which, buried in excess, unapt to love,stupidly lies and knows not hom to move