The bookworm's passion brings no keen repentance,
⁠And if he spends he still retains his wealth;
Indulgence in it never yet did sentence
⁠A man to vain regrets and mined health.

Name a pursuit as pleasure-fraught and harmless,
⁠Giving as many hours of calm delight,
And I'll at once abandon mine as charmless:
⁠Till then I'll love it in the world's despite.

Let who will blame, my dear old books I'll cherish,
⁠Since they for all my troubles make amends;
'Twill be my greatest sorrow when I perish
⁠That I no more can guard my silent friends.