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,