Blest leisure is our curse; like that of Cain, It, makes us wander, wander earth around, To fly that tyrant Thought. As Atlas groan'd The world beneath, we groan beneath an hour.

And all may do what has by man been done.

In chambers deep, Where waters sleep, What unknown treasures pave the floor.

Friendship's the wine of life.

They build too low who build beneath the skies.

Beautiful as sweet, And young as beautiful, and soft as young, And gay as soft, and innocent as gay!

Tomorrow is a satire on today, And shows its weakness.