Sat. V. The Universal Passion. 115Whose thoughts are suited to her life’s decline.Virtue’s the paint that can make wrinkles shine.That, and that only can old age sustain;

Which yet all wish, nor know they wish for fain.Not numerous are our joys, when life is new,

And yearly some are falling of the few ;

But when we conquer life’s meridian stage,

And downward tend into the vale of age,

They drop a-pace ; by nature some decay,

And some the blasts of fortune sweep away;

’Till naked quite of happiness, aloudWe call for death, and Jhelter in a shroud.

Where’s Portia now? — but Portia left behindTwo lovely copies of her form, and mind.

What heart untouch’d their early grief can view,Like blushing rose-buds dipt in morning dew ?Who into shelter takes their tender bloom,

And forms their minds to fly from ills to come?

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