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.