“
But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell.
— Repose
But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell.
To husband out life's taper at the close,And keep the flames from wasting by repose.
The wind breath'd soft as lover's sigh, Of such enchanting scene!
These should be hours for necessities,To waste these times.
Our foster-nurse of nature is repose,Will close the eye of anguish.
The best of men have ever loved repose: Imbitter'd more from peevish day to day.
What sweet delight a quiet life affords.
The toils of honour dignify repose.
Study to be quiet.
Deus nobis hæc otia fecit.
