So happily still you your counsels employ,
More blessings than all the whole world we enjoy
But amidst all our stores some who surfeit on peace
The infection had spread of a mortal disease:
To the plague of rebellion the mischief was growing
And the life of the State to your conduct is owing.

These had by their ill usage drove
The beauteous Nymph long since away,
Had she not, vanquished by your love,
Charmed in your soft embraces lay.