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The Curiosity.
I.
UNhappy state of mortals here below,
Whom unkind Heaven does inspire
With such a constant, strong desire
And with such slender facultys to know!
And yet we not content to bear the pain
Of thirst unquencht and fruitless love,
With one more curse our ills improve,
And toil and drudge for what we ne're can gain.
II.
With what strange Frenzy are we all possest
Contented Ignorance to refuse,
And by laborious search to lose
Not the enjoyment only but our Rest!
Something like Oar does on the surface shine,
We taken with the specious shew,
With pains dig in the flattering Mine
But all alas in vain, Truth lies more low.
III.
The greatest Knowledge we can ever gain
From studying Nature, Books or men
Serves just t' employ dull hours, but then
It yields less Pleasure than it costs us pain.
Besides, so short and treacherous is our age,
No sooner are we counted Wise
But envious Death shuts up our eyes,
Just our part is learnt; we quit the Stage.