Page:Ovid's Metamorphoses (Vol. 2) - tr Garth, Dryden, et. al. (1727).djvu/274

250 Nor equal Light th' unequal Moon adorns, Or in her wexing, or her waning Horns. For ev'ry Day she wanes, her Face is less; But gath'ring into Globe, she fattens at Increase. Perceiv'st thou not the Process of the Year, How the four Seasons in four Forms appear, Resembling human Life in ev'ry Shape, they wear? Spring first, like Infancy, shoots out her Head, With milky Juice requiring to be fed: Helpless, tho' fresh, and wanting to be led. The green Stem grows in Stature, and in Size, But only feeds with Hope the Farmer's Eyes; Then laughs the childish Year with Flowrets crown'd, And lavishly perfumes the Fields around, But no substantial Nourishment receives; Infirm the Stalks, unsolid are the Leaves. Proceeding onward whence the Year began, The Summer grows adult, and ripens into Man. This Season, as in Men, is most repleat With kindly Moisture, and prolifick Heat. Autumn succeeds, a sober tepid Age, Not froze with Fear, nor boiling into Rage; More, than mature, and tending to Decay, When our brown Locks repine to mix with odious Grey. Last, Winter creeps along with tardy Pace, Sour is his Front, and furrow'd is his Face; His Scalp if not dishonour'd quite of Hair, The ragged Fleece is thin; and thin is worse than bare. Ev'n our own Bodies daily Change receive. Some part of what was theirs before, they leave; Nor are to-Day, what Yesterday they were; Nor the whole Same to-Morrow will appear. Time was, when we were sow'd, and just began, From some few fruitful Drops, the Promise of a Man: Then Nature's Hand (fermented as it was) Moulded to shape the soft, coagulated Mass; And