Leisure is pain; take off our chariot wheels,
  How heavily we drag the load of life! 
  Blest leisure is our curse; like that of Cain,
  It makes us wander, wander earth around
  To fly that tyrant, thought.
Night Thoughts, Night II.  DR. E. YOUNG.

  To sigh, yet feel no pain,
    To weep, yet scarce know why;
  To sport an hour with Beauty’s chain,
    Then throw it idly by.
The Blue Stocking.  T. MOORE.

The keenest pangs the wretched find
Are rapture to the dreary void,
The leafless desert of the mind,
The waste of feelings unemployed.
The Giaour.  LORD BYRON.

                           A lazy lolling sort,
  Unseen at church, at senate, or at court,
  Of ever-listless idlers, that attend
  No cause, no trust, no duty, and no friend. 
  There too, my Paridell! she marked thee there,
  Stretched on the rack of a too easy chair,
  And heard thy everlasting yawn confess
  The pains and penalties of idleness.
The Dunciad, Bk.  IV.  A. POPE.

An idler is a watch that wants both hands;
As useless if it goes as if it stands.
Retirement.  W. COWPER.

  There is no remedy for time misspent;
  No healing for the waste of idleness,
  Whose very languor is a punishment
  Heavier than active souls can feel or guess.
Sonnet.  SIR A. DE VERE.

  For Satan finds some mischief still
    For idle hands to do.
Song XX.  DR. I. WATTS.

ILLNESS.

  As man, perhaps, the moment of his breath,
  Receives the lurking principle of death,
  The young disease, that must subdue at length,
  Grows with his growth, and strengthens with his strength.
Essay on Man, Epistle II.  A. POPE.

          Diseases desperate grown
  By desperate appliance are relieved,
  Or not at all.
Hamlet, Act iv.  Sc. 3.  SHAKESPEARE.

  So when a raging fever burns,
  We shift from side to side by turns,
  And ’tis a poor relief we gain
  To change the place, but keep the pain.
Hymns and Spiritual Songs, Bk.  II.  Hymn 146.  DR. I. WATTS.

  Long pains are light ones,
  Cruel ones are brief!
Compensation.  J.G.  SAXE.

  Then with no throbs of fiery pain,
    No cold gradations of decay,
  Death broke at once the vital chain,
    And freed his soul the nearest way.
Verses on Robert Levet.  DR. S. JOHNSON.

IMAGINATION.

    Within the soul a faculty abides,
  That with interpositions, which would hide
  And darken, so can deal that they become
  Contingencies of pomp; and serve to exalt
  Her native brightness.  As the ample moon,
  In the deep stillness of a summer even
  Rising behind a thick and lofty grove,
  Burns, like an unconsuming fire of light,
  In the green trees; and, kindling on all sides
  Their leafy umbrage, turns the dusky veil
  Into a substance glorious as her own.
The Excursion, Bk.  IV.  W. WORDSWORTH.