OTEDIOUS Idleness How irksome is Thy foolish Nothing! When all day I strugled through the craggiedst Way Of knottiest Learning to gett up To the fair top Of some deer Knowledge, I did never fynd My Body half so tir'd, so damp'd my Mynd. 2 So tir'd, & damp'd as now: For monstrous Thou Thwart'st ev'n my Essence, & dost choke My sprightfull Flame in drowsy smoke. Surely a Soule which dwells among A quick & strong Consort of Organs, ne'r was seated there To lend to @3Sloths@1 dull Pipe her active Ear. 3 Were I to Curse my Foe, I'd damne Him to No Hell but Thee; in whose blinde grott He, though in health, might lie & rott, And prove Deaths wretched Sacrifice Before he dies; Whilst He himself doth to Himself become Both ye dead Carcase, & the living Tombe. 4 May some Work ever keep Mine Eyes from Sleep Whilst they are wakeing! though it be But some poor Song to throw at Thee Mischeivous @3Sloth.@1 Alas, I grutch That I so much Of this my little Time expend, whilst I All night seald up in lazie Slumbres lie. 5 The longest Summer Day Strait posts away. An honestly imployed Mynd Doth shriveld-up December fynd In wide-spred June; & thinks black Night Crowds out fair Light As soon when Sol through lofty @3Cancer@1 rides, As when down to the @3Fishes@1 depth he slides. |