Ah! who can tell? Or rather, who can not

Remember, without telling, Passion's errors?

The drainer of Oblivion, even the sot,

Hath got blue devils for his morning mirrors:

What though on Lethe's stream he seem to float,

He cannot sink his tremours or his terrors;

The ruby glass that shakes within his hand

Leaves a sad sediment of Time's worst sand.