Classic Poem

The God of Sloth

How impotent a deity am I!
With godhead born, but cursed, that cannot die!
Through my indulgence mortals hourly share
A grateful negligence, and ease from care.
Lulled in my arms, how long have I withheld
The Northern Monarchs from the dusty field.
How have I kept the British fleet at ease,
From tempting the rough dangers of the seas.
Hibernia owns the mildness of my reign,
And my divinity's adored in Spain.
I swains to sylvan solitudes convey,
Where stretched on mossy beds they waste away,
In gentle inactivity, the day.
What marks of wondrous clemency I've shown,
Some Rev'rend Worthies of the Gown can own.
Triumphant Plenty, with a cheerful grace,
Basks in their eyes, and sparkles in their face.
How sleek their looks, how goodly is their mien,
When big they strut behind a double chin.
Each faculty in blandishments they lull,
Aspiring to be venerably dull.
No learn'd debates molest their downy trance,
Or discompose their pompous ignorance:
But undisturbed, they loiter life away,
So wither green, and blossom in decay.
Deep sunk in down, they, by my gentle care,
Avoid th'inclemencies of morning air,
And leave to tattered crape the drudgery of pray'r.