1 'Tis the voice of the Sluggard. I heard him complain |You have waked me too soon! I must slumber again!| As the door on its hinges, so he on his bed,
Turns his sides, and his shoulders, and his heavy head.
2 |A little more sleep, and a little more slumber;| Thus he wastes half his days, and his hours without number: And when he gets up, he sits folding his hands
Or walks about sauntering, or trifling he stands.
3 I past by his garden, and saw the wild bryar
The thorn and the thistle grow broader and higher:
The clothes that hang on him are turning to rags;
And his money still wasts, still he starves, or he begs.
4 I made him a visit, still hoping to find
He had took better care for improving his mind:
He told me his dreams, talk'd of eating and drinking, But he scarce reads his Bible, and never loves thinking.
5 Said I then to my heart, |Here's a lesson for me,| That man's but a picture of what I might be:
But thanks to my friends for their care in my breeding: Who taught me betimes to love working and reading!