und
To fly that tyrant, thought.
_Night Thoughts, Night II_. DR. E. YOUNG.

To sigh, yet feel no pain,
To weep, yet scarce know why;
To sport an hour with Beauty's chain,
Then throw it idly by.
_The Blue Stocking_. T. MOORE.

The keenest pangs the wretched find
Are rapture to the dreary void,
The leafless desert of the mind,
The waste of feelings unemployed.
_The Giaour_. LORD BYRON.

A lazy lolling sort,
Unseen at church, at senate, or at court,
Of ever-listless idlers, that attend
No cause, no trust, no duty, and no friend.
There too, my Paridell! she marked thee there,
Stretched on the rack of a too easy chair,
And heard thy everlasting yawn confess
The pains and penalties of idleness.
_The Dunciad, Bk. IV_. A. POPE.

An idler is a watch that wants both hands;
As useless if it goes as if it stands.
_Retirement_. W. COWPER.

There is no remedy for time misspent;
No healing for the waste of idleness,
Whose very languor is a punishment
Heavier than active souls can feel or guess.
_Sonnet_. SIR A. DE VERE.

For Satan finds some mischief still
For idle hands to do.
_Song XX_. DR. I. WATTS.

ILLNESS.

As man, perhaps, the moment of his breath,
Receives the lurking principle of death,
The young disease, that must subdue at length,
Grows with his growth, and strengthens with his strength.
_Essay on Man, Epistle II_. A. POPE.

Diseases desperate grown
By desperate appliance are relieved,
Or not at all.
_Hamlet, Act iv. Sc. 3_. SHAKESPEARE.

So when a raging fever burns,
We shift from side to side by turns,
And 'tis a poor relief we gain
To change the place, but keep the pain.
_Hymns and Spiritual Songs, Bk. II. Hymn 146_. DR. I. WATTS.

Long pains are light ones,
Cruel ones are brief!
_Compensation_. J.G. SAXE.

Then with no throbs of fiery pain,
No cold gradations of decay,
Death broke at once the vital chain,
And freed his soul the nearest way.
_Verses on Robert Levet_. DR. S. JOHNSON.

IMAGINATION.

Within the soul a faculty abides,
That with interpositions, which would hide
And darken, so can deal that they become
Contingencies of pomp; and serve to exalt
Her native brightness. As the ample moon,
In the deep stillness of a summer even
Rising behind a thick and lofty grove,
Burns, like an unconsuming fire of light,
In the green t