Thus cavils she with every thing she sees: (1094)
True grief is fond and testy as a child, (1095)
Who wayward once, his mood with nought agrees: (1096)
Old woes, not infant sorrows, bear them mild; (1097)
Continuance tames the one: the other wild,
Like an unpractised swimmer plunging still. (1099)
With too much labour drowns for want of skill.