The world has cycles in its course, when all

That once has been, is acted o'er again: --

Not by some fated law, which need appal

Our faith, or binds our deeds as with a chain;

But by men's separate sins, which, blended still,

The same bad round fulfil.

Then fear ye not, though Gallio's scorn ye see,

And soft-clad nobles count you mad, true hearts!

These are the fig-tree's signs; -- rough deeds must be,

Trials and crimes: so learn ye well your parts.

Once more to plough the earth it is decreed,

And scatter wide the seed.