The Village and The Newspaper

by George Crabbe

And loudly praise, if it were preach’d aloud;

Some on the labours of the week look round,

Feel their own worth, and think their toil renown’d;

While some, whose hopes to no renown extend,

Are only pleased to find their labours end.

Thus, as their hours glide on, with pleasure fraught

Their careful masters brood the painful thought;

Much in their mind they murmur and lament,

That one fair day should be so idly spent;

And think that Heaven deals hard, to tithe their store