Time once at a synod agreed
To cure the abuses of love;
For Cupid had wrote such a creed
As none of the gods could approve.
But first, with Prometheus's leave,
A mortal he begg'd to create;
For as yet not a power could achieve
A conquest o'er love and o'er fate.

As Time in his travels had sound
The various specifics of earth,
Experience, with years rolling round,
Had given their qualities birth.
This faithful associate he knew
Would cull every simple of use;
For Galen had taught where they grew,
And what the effects they produce.

Thus furnished from every clime,
His arduous work he began;
And still, as he tried to refine,
Exclaim'd, What a compound is Man!
Then flush'd with apparent success,
He thought all the hazard was o'er;
And, as he had made such a mess,
'Twas needless to add any more.

But alas! though the compound was fine,
One simple for ever was lost;
'Twas Memory, that blossom of time;
So Man remain'd dull as a post.
Good from evil by chemical art
An anodyne extract may prove;
But had Time not left out this one part,
Absence ne'er had been made to cure love.