Another seeks, with equal ardour shown, For lands, and gold in store. Ah! lands and gold, With tears how water’d, gain’d with toils untold! His thirst unquench’d, he hoards, invests, acquires; But with his wealth increased are his desires; And so much more he gains, for more will long: Thus, key in hand, his coffers full among; Yet poor he thinks himself, and learns to know His state is poor, because he thinks it so. Another like illusion his to roam From wife and friends, who flying light and home, To dedicate his vigils the long night In secret haunts of play makes his delight, With vile companions. Betwixt hope and fear His anxious breast is fluctuating drear. See, with a throbbing heart and trembling hand, There he has placed his fortune, all to stand Upon the turning of a die! ’Tis done: The lot is cast; what is it? has he won? Increased is his anxiety and care! But if reverse, O Heaven! in deep despair, O’erwhelm’d in ruin, he is doom’d to know A life of infamy, or death of woe. And is he happier, who distracted lies A slave beneath the light of beauty’s eyes? Who fascinated watches, haunts, and prays, And at the cost of troubles vast essays, ’Mid doubts and fears, a fleeting joy to gain? Love leads him not: his breast could ne’er profane Admit Love’s purer flame; ’tis passion’s fire Alone that draws him, and in wild desire He blindly headlong follows in pursuit: And what for all his toils can he compute? If gain’d at length, he only finds the prize Bring death and misery ev’n in pleasure’s guise. Then look on him, abandon’d all to sloth, Who vacant sees the hours pass long and loth O’er his so useless life. He thinks them slow, Alas! and wishes they would faster go. He knows not how to employ them; in and out He comes, and goes, and smokes, and strolls about, To gossip; turns, returns, with constant stress Wearying himself to fly from weariness. But now retired, sleep half his life employs, And fain would all the day, whose light annoys. Fool! wouldst thou know the sweetness of repose? Seek it in work. The soul fastidious grows Ever in sloth, self-gnawing and oppress’d, And finds its torment even in its rest.