No weight of grief,

But, whelm'd in pleaſures, finds relief,
Sunk in the ſweet abyſs. ⁠50
Thou, Semele, with hair a-flow,
Thou by thunder doom'd to dy,
Mingling with the gods in bliſs,
Art happy, for ever, on high:
Thee Pallas does for ever love, ⁠55
Thee chiefly Jupiter, who rules above;
Thee thy ſon holds ever dear,
Thy ſon with the ivy-wreathed ſpear.

Beauteous Ino, we are told,
With the ſea-daughters dwells of Nereus old, ⁠60
And has, by lot, obtain'd
Laſting life, beneath the deep,
A life within no bounds of time reſtrain'd.
The hour of death,
The day when we reſign our breath, ⁠65
That offspring of the ſun,
Which bids us from our labours ſleep,
In vain do mortals ſeek to know,

Or who deſtin'd is to run