John Gay

The fly that sips treacle is lost in the sweets.

The fly that sips treacle is lost in the sweets.

Variety's the source of joy below,
From whence still fresh-revolving pleasures flow,
In books and love the read more

Variety's the source of joy below,
From whence still fresh-revolving pleasures flow,
In books and love the mind one end pursues,
And only change the expiring flames renews.

The rising blushes, which her cheek o'er-spread,
Are opening roses in the lily's bed.

The rising blushes, which her cheek o'er-spread,
Are opening roses in the lily's bed.

In every age and clime we see,
Two of a trade can ne'er agree.

In every age and clime we see,
Two of a trade can ne'er agree.

Give me, kind Heaven, a private station,
A mind serene for contemplation:
Title and profit I resign;
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Give me, kind Heaven, a private station,
A mind serene for contemplation:
Title and profit I resign;
The post of honor shall be mine.