Where it's engraven by a new found art.
XXXII.
The painful ploughman hath his heart's delight;
Who, though his daily toil his body tireth,
Yet merrily comes whistling home at night,
And sweetly takes the ease his pain requireth:
But neither days nor nights can yield me rest;
Born to be wretched, and to live opprest!
XXXIII.
O well were it, if Nature would devise