Classic Poem

When I solidly do ponder,
How Thoughts wander; I must wonder,
And for Shame exclaim, and own,
Mine are ranging up and down.
Now on Eagle's Wings ascending
Far above the Skies, there spending
Some good Minutes in a Song;
But, alas! this lasts not long.
Unawares they are departing,
And themselves (like Arrows,) darting
In the very Depth of Hell,
Where the Damned wail and yell.
Weari'd with this frightful Crying,
They in haste from thence are flying,
And as giddy-headed hurl'd
Fore- and back-ward in the World.
Thro' Great Britain, France and Holland,
Denmark, Moscovy, Spain, Polland,
Portugal and Italy,
Oft'ner yet thro' Germany.
Hence returning to Braganza,
To the Cape of Bon Speranza;
So, by way of Africa,
Home to Penn Silvania.
Here I bid them to be quiet,
They deny: however try it,
Go to bed, and sleep almost;
But soon starting, take the Post,
And afresh begin to travel,
Not regarding Mire nor Gravel,
River, Valley, Swamps nor hill,
Presently light where they will.
Tripping, traping still the faster
Like a Cur, that lost his Master,
To and fro, from place to place,
Stir their Stumps, and run a Race.
Some times in the Garden ramble
From the Tulip to the Bramble:
From the Rose and Eglantine
To the Nep or Columbine.
Then retiring leave these Flowers,
Sit a while in Shady Bowers,
With a Book to meditate,
And, as if it were, abate.
In a moment, loath to tarry,
Swiftly, as their feet can carry
Their small Bodies, whip away
In the Woods to seek a Stray.
Here they hith'r and thither straggle,
Gad, fig, f[r]isk, stir, waver, waggle
Course and roam, and rove about,
Till there is no Coming out.
Justly I may call them Gropers,
Gypsies, Runnagates, Landlopers,
Vagrants, Fugitives and Rogues,
That deserve the Stocks and Strokes.

Animus sine pondere velox. Horat .