But ’tis not Thought (for still the soul’s employ’d) 35 ’Tis painful thinking that corrodes our clay. All day the vacant eye without fatigue Strays o’er the heaven and earth; but long intent On microscopic arts its vigour fails. Just so the mind, with various thought amus’d, 40 Nor aches itself, nor gives the body pain. But anxious Study, Discontent, and Care, Love without hope, and Hate without revenge, And Fear, and Jealousy, fatigue the soul, Engross the subtle ministers of life, 45 And spoil the lab’ring functions of their share. Hence the lean gloom that Melancholy wears; The Lover’s paleness; and the sallow hue Of Envy, Jealousy; the meagre stare Of sore Revenge: The canker’d body hence 50 Betrays each fretful motion of the mind. The strong-built pedant; who both night and day Feeds on the coarsest fare the schools bestow, And crudely fattens at gross Burman’s stall; O’erwhelm’d with phlegm lies in a dropsy drown’d, 55 Or sinks in lethargy before his time. With useful studies you, and arts that please Employ your mind, amuse but not fatigue. Peace to each drowsy metaphysic sage! And ever may the German folio’s rest! 60 Yet some there are, even of elastic parts, Whom strong and obstinate ambition leads Thro’ all the rugged roads of barren lore, And gives to relish what their generous taste Would else refuse. But may nor thirst of fame 65 Nor love of knowledge urge you to fatigue With constant drudgery the liberal soul. Toy with your books: and, as the various fits Of humour seize you, from Philosophy To Fable shift; from serious Antonine 70 To Rabelais’ ravings, and from prose to song. While reading pleases, but no longer, read; And read aloud resounding Homer’s strain, And weild the thunder of Demosthenes. The chest so exercis’d improves its strength; 75 And quick vibrations thro’ the bowels drive The restless blood, which in unactive days Would loiter else thro’ unelastic tubes. Deem it not trifling while I recommend What posture suits: To stand and sit by turns, 80 As nature prompts, is best. But o’er your leaves To lean for ever, cramps the vital parts, And robs the fine machinery of its play.