The Plague of Athens, which hapned in the second year of the Peloponnesian Warre · Thomas Sprat
~ATHENS~.
Unhappy Man! by Nature made to sway, And yet is every Creatures prey, Destroy’d by those that should his power obey. Of the whole World we call _Mankind_ the Lords, Flattring our selves with mighty words; Of all things we the Monarchs are, And so we rule, and so we domineer; All creatures else about us stand Like some _Prætorian_ Band, To guard, to help, and to defend; Yet they sometimes prove Enemies, Sometimes against us rise; Our very Guards rebel, and tyrannize. Thousand Diseases sent by Fate, (Unhappie Servants!) on us wait; A thousand Treacheries within Are laid weak Life to win; Huge Troops of Maladies without, (A grim, a meager, and a dreadful rout:) Some formal Sieges make And with sure slowness do our Bodies take; Some with quick violence storm the Town, And all in a moment down: Some one peculiar sort assail, Some by general attempt prevail. Small Herbs, alas, can onely us relieve, And small is the assistance they can give; How can the fading Off spring of the Field Sure health and succour yield? What strong and certain remedie? What firm and lasting life can ours be? When that which makes us live, doth ev’ry Winter die?
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.