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In the midst of the gay verses of that genial 'bon vivant' Horace, there stands one dreary word whose utter sadness goes to one's heart. It is the word 'exilium' in the well-known passage Omnes eodem cogimur, omnium Versatur urna serius ocius Sors exitura et nos in aeternum Exilium impositura cymbae.
The women used to lie on the side of the bed next the wall: and for that reason they called Caesar, "Spondam regis Nicomedis," They took breath in their drinking, and watered their wine "Quis puer ocius Restinguet ardentis Falerni Pocula praetereunte lympha?"
But as to death, it is inevitable: "Omnes eodem cogimur; omnium Versatur urna serius ocius Sors exitura, et nos in aeternum Exilium impositura cymbae." All must to eternal exile sail away." and, consequently, if it frights us, 'tis a perpetual torment, for which there is no sort of consolation. There is no way by which it may not reach us.
Relations, old acquaintances, and friendships, possess our imaginations and make them tender for the time, according to their condition; but the turn is so quick, that 'tis gone in a moment: "Nil adeo fieri celeri ratione videtur, Quam si mens fieri proponit, et inchoat ipsa, Ocius ergo animus, quam res se perciet ulla, Ante oculos quorum in promptu natura videtur;"
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