I asked a lad what he was doing;
"Nothing, good sir," said he to me.
"By nothing well and long pursuing,
Nothing," said I, "you'll surely be."
I asked a lad what he was thinking;
"Nothing," said he. "I do declare."
"Many," said I, "in vile inns drinking,
By idle minds were carried there."
There's nothing great, there's nothing wise,
Which idle hands and minds supply;
Those who all thought and toil despise,
Mere nothings live, and nothings die.
A thousand naughts are not a feather,
When in a sum they all are brought;
A thousand idle lads together
Are still but nothings joined to naught.
And yet of merit they will boast,
And sometimes pompous seem, and haughty,
But still 'tis very plain to most,
That "nothing" boys are mostly naughty.
[Page 68--Laziness Land]