And Time, with heaviest hand of all,
Like that fierce writing on the wall,
Hath stamp'd sad dates--he can't recall.

And error gilding worst designs--
Like speckled snake that strays and shines--
Betrays his path by crooked lines.

And vice hath left his ugly blot--
And good resolves, a moment hot,
Fairly began--but finish'd not.

And fruitless late remorse doth trace--
Like Hebrew lore, a backward pace--
Her irrecoverable race.

Disjointed numbers--sense unknit--
Huge reams of folly--shreds of wit--
Compose the mingled mass of it.

My scalded eyes no longer brook,
Upon this ink-blurr'd thing to look,
Go--shut the leaves--and clasp the book!--

* * * * *