With shaven crown in a sequester'd cell
A lazy lubbard there was seen to lay;
No work had he, save some few beads to tell,
And indolently snore the hours away.
The nameless joys that bless the nuptial bed,
The mystic rites of Hymen's hallow'd tye
Impure he deems, and from them starts with dread,
As crimes of foulest stain, and deepest dye:
No social hopes hath he, no social fears,
But spends in lethargy devout the lingering years.