Original - Duke Divinity School

The Sand-hole
While lazy Lout sits colting o’er the hearth
With spacious Hat which hides his gloomy Front
and screens his Sapphire Eyes from loathed Light
I pray the craven Lubber to uprear
His massy Limbs, and ply those lifeless Shanks.
That faint with Idleness can scant sustain
The reeling Bulk; and wend with painful Steps
To dig the cleanly Earth, whose breaking Lumps
Spread the fair Boards in freshest mantle clad.
With hideous yawn he turns up his broad Eyes,
And with a furious Scratch the guiltless Hat
Dismounted greets the ground with slimmy Lips.
With bristly looks and crooked, canker’d Tongue
He speaks the Harsh Denial; Strait Inflamed
With Rage and Scorn, I low’r like watery Clouds
Dependent o’er the Threaten’d Earth: I quick
With angry speed snatch up the boding Spade,
And with Herculean labor I prepare
To dig the brittle Clay from inmost Earth.
With supple Joints and nimble Limbs alert
Sprightly I mount the lofty Stile and safe
On t’other side light on my feet — When Lo!
My faithless Shoes admit the streaming Mud
and chill with itching Cold those Pedestals
On which the stately Frame is born upright.
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