Base envy withers at another's joy, And hates that excellence it cannot reach.

While I deduce, From the first note the hollow cuckoo sings, The symphony of spring.

Cruel as death, and hungry at the grave.

'Tis silence all, And pleasing expectation.

Their only labour was to kill the time; And labour dire it is, and weary woe, They sit, they loll, turn o'er some idle rhyme, Then, rising sudden, to the glass they go, Or saunter forth, with tottering steps and slow.

Ah! what avail the largest gifts of Heaven, When drooping health and spirits go amiss? How tasteless then whatever can be given! Health is the vital principle of bliss, And exercise of health.