Of No Distemper, Of No Blast He Died, But Fell Like Autumn Fruit That Mellow'd Long,-- Even Wonder'd At, Because He Dropp'd No Sooner.

Of No Distemper, Of No Blast He Died, But Fell Like Autumn Fruit That Mellow'd Long,-- Even Wonder'd At, Because He Dropp'd No Sooner.

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Of no distemper, of no blast he died,
But fell like autumn fruit that mellow'd long,--
Even wonder'd at, because he dropp'd no sooner.
Fate seem'd to wind him up for fourscore years,
Yet freshly ran he on ten winters more;
Till like a clock worn out with eating time,
The wheels of weary life at last stood still.
-- John Dryden (1631-1700)
-- Oedipus, Act iv, Sc. 1

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