Go then forgetful of its toil and strife,
Pursue the joys of this fallacious life;
Like some poor fly, who lives but for a day,
Sip the fresh dews, and in the sunshine play,
And into nothing then dissolve away.
Are these our great pursuits, is this to live?
These all the hopes this much-lov'd world can give!
How much more worthy envy is their fate,
Who search for truth in a superior state?
Not groping step by step, as we pursue,
And following reason's much entangled clue,
But with one great, and instantaneous view.