Men drop so fast, ere Life’s mid Stage we tread,
Few know so many Friends alive as dead;
Yet, as immortal, in our uphill Chace,
We press coy Fortune with unslacken’d Pace;
Our ardent Labours for the Toy we seek,
Join Night to Day, and Sunday to the Week,
Our very Joys are anxious, and expire
Between Satiety and fierce Desire.
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