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    by Charles Lamb
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    They talk of time, and of time's galling yoke,
    That like a millstone on man's mind doth press,
    Which only works and business can redress:
    Of divine Leisure such foul lies are spoke,
    Wounding her fair gifts with calumnious stroke.
    But might I, fed with silent meditation,
    Assoiled live from that fiend Occupation--
    Improbus Labor, which my spirits hath broke--
    I'd drink of time's rich cup, and never surfeit:
    Fling in more days than went to make the gem
    That crown'd white top of Methusalem:
    Yea on my weak neck take, and never forfeit,
    Like Atlas bearing up the dainty sky,
    The heaven-sweet burthen of eternity.

    Deus Nobis Hæc Otia Fecit.
    If you're writing a Leisure essay and need some advice, post your Charles Lamb essay question on our Facebook page where fellow bookworms are always glad to help!

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