Metin
When with a side course he may safely drive?
Distemper'd minds, distracted with their grief,
Take all for foes who offer them relief;
But when the first fermenting smart is o'er,
They suffer you to probe the ripen'd sore.
135
'Tis madness a fond mother to dissuade
From tears, while on his hearse her son is laid;
But when grief's deluge can no higher swell,
Declining sorrow you'll with ease repel.
Cures have their times; the best that can be tried
140
Inflame the wound, unseasonably applied.
If therefore you expect to find redress,
In the first place take leave of idleness;An excellent remedy, and the most infallible in the distemper of love, which is begot by laziness and effeminacy.
'Tis this that kindl'd first your fond desire,
'Tis this brings fuel to the am'rous fire.
145
Bar idleness, you ruin Cupid's game,
You blunt his arrows, and you quench his flame.
What wine to plain-trees, streams to poplars prove,
Marshes to reeds, is idleness to love.
Mind business, if your passion you'd destroy;
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