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40 “Yet still a dark and hideous close “To even intolerable woes, “And welcome in no shape. “And, strange to say, the sons of pleasure, “They who have revell’d beyond measure “In beauty, wassail, wine, and treasure, “Die calm, or calmer, oft than he “Whose heritage was misery: “For he who hath in turn run through “All that was beautiful and new, “Hath nought to hope, and nought to leave; “And, save the future, (which is view’d “Not quite as men are base or good, “But as their nerves may be endued), “With nought perhaps to grieve:— “The wretch still hopes his woes must end, “And Death, whom he should deem his friend, “Appears, to his distemper’d eyes, “Arrived to rob him of his prize, “The tree of his new Paradise. “To-morrow would have given him all, “Repaid his pangs, repair’d his fall;