Is this thy daily course? The glaring sun } Breaks in at every chink; the cattle run } To shades, and noon-tide rays of summer shun; } Yet plunged in sloth we lie, and snore supine, As filled with fumes of undigested wine. This grave advice some sober student bears, And loudly rings it in his fellow's ears. The yawning youth, scarce half awake, essays His lazy limbs and dozy head to raise; Then rubs his gummy eyes, and scrubs his pate, And cries,--I thought it had not been so late! My clothes, make haste!--why then, if none be near, He mutters, first, and then begins to swear; And brays aloud, with a more clamorous note, Than an Arcadian ass can stretch his throat. With much ado, his book before him laid, And parchment with the smoother side displayed,[206] He takes the papers; lays them down again, And with unwilling fingers tries the pen. Some peevish quarrel straight he strives to pick, His quill writes double, or his ink's too thick; Infuse more water,--now 'tis grown so thin, It sinks, nor can the characters be seen. O wretch, and still more wretched every day! Are mortals born to sleep their lives away? Go back to what thy infancy began, Thou, who wert never meant to be a man; Eat pap and spoon-meat, for thy gewgaws cry; Be sullen, and refuse the lullaby. No more accuse thy pen; but charge the crime On native sloth, and negligence of time. Think'st thou thy master, or thy friends, to cheat? Fool, 'tis thyself, and that's a worse deceit. Beware the public laughter of the town; Thou spring'st a leak already in thy crown; A flaw is in thy ill-baked vessel found; 'Tis hollow, and returns a jarring sound. Yet thy moist clay is pliant to command, Unwrought, and easy to the potter's hand: Now take the mould; now bend thy mind to feel The first sharp motions of the forming wheel. But thou hast land; a country seat, secure By a just title; costly furniture; A fuming pan thy Lares to appease:[207] What need of learning when a man's at ease? If this be not enough to swell thy soul, Then please thy pride, and search the herald's roll, Where thou shalt find thy famous pedigree } Drawn from the root of some old Tuscan tree,[208] } And thou, a thousand off, a fool of long degree; } Who, clad in purple, can'st thy censor greet,[209] And loudly call him cousin in the street. Such pageantry be to the people shown: There boast thy horse's trappings, and thy own. I know thee to thy bottom, from within Thy shallow centre, to the utmost skin: Dost thou not blush to live so like a beast, So trim, so dissolute, so loosely drest? But 'tis in vain; the wretch is drenched too deep,