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...Thus was th'applause they meant
Turned to exploding hiss, triumph to shame,
Cast on themselves from their own mouths. There stood
A Grove hard by, sprung up with this their change,
His will who reigns above, to aggravate
Their penance, laden with fair fruit, like that
Which grew in Paradise, the bait of Eve,
Us'd by the tempter: on that prospect strange
Their earnest eyes they fix'd, imagining
For one forbidden Tree a multitude
Now ris'n, to work them further woe or shame;
Yet parcht with scalding thirst and hunger fierce,
Though to delude them sent, could not abstain,
But on they roll'd in heaps, and up the Trees
Climbing, sat thicker than the snaky locks
That curl'd Megaera: greedily they pluck'd
The Fruitage fair to sight, like that which grew
Near that bituminous Lake where Sodom flam'd;
This more delusive, not the touch, but taste
Deceiv'd, they fondly thinking to allay
Their appetite wigh gust, instead of Fruit
Chew'd bitter Ashes, which th'offended taste
With spattering noise rejected: oft they assay'd,
Hunger and thirst constraining, drugg'd as oft,
With hatefullest disrelish writh'd their jaws
With soot and cinders fill'd; so oft they fell
Into the same illusion, not as Man
Whom they triumphed once lapst. Thus were they plagu'd
And worn with Famine, long and ceaseless hiss,
Till their lost shape, permitted, they resum'd.
    —John Milton, Paradise Lost, X.545-574

The birthdate I entered is farcical, as I prefer not to identify myself in any way publicly online, but the age is in the ballpark.

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