Still paying, still to owe. Eternal woe!

Deep vers'd in books, and shallow in himself.

How gladly would I meet mortality, my sentence, and be earth in sensible! How glad would lay me down, as in my mother's lap! There I should rest, and sleep secure.

O'er many a frozen, many a fiery Alp, Rocks, caves, lakes, fens, bogs, dens, and shades of death.

And, when night Darkens the streets, then wander forth the sons Of Belial, flown with insolence and wine.

What is strength without a double share of wisdom?

Sport, that wrinkled Care derides, And Laughter holding both his sides. Come and trip it as ye go, On the light fantastic toe.