Our rural ancestors, with little blest, Patient of labor when the end was rest, Indulged the day that housed their annual grain, With feasts, and off'rings, and a thankful strain.
When much dispute has past, we find our tenets just the same as last.
Be not the first by whom the new are tried, Nor yet the last to lay the old aside.
To rest, the cushion and soft dean invite, who never mentions hell to ears polite.
These riches are possess'd, but not enjoy'd!
In lazy apathy let stoics boast, their virtue fix'd: 't is fix'd as in a frost; contracted all, retiring to the breast; but strength of mind is exercise, not rest.