The ancient Sage, who did so long maintain,
That Bodies die, but Souls return again,
With all the Births and Deaths He had in Store,
Went out , and came no more.
And modern , whose capricious Thought
Is yet with Stores of wilder Notion fraught,
Too soon convinc'd, shall yield that fleeting Breath,
Which play'd so idly with the Darts of Death.