On Charles Lamb's Sonnet, "Work."

"Who first invented work?" asks Elia, he
Whose life to an ungenial task was wed,
And answers, "Satan"; but it could not be -
On idleness his foul ambition fed;
By idleness the heavenly domiciles
Were lost to him and all his idle crew;
In idleness he hatches all his wiles,
And mischief finds for idle hands to do.
His business ever was to scamp and shirk,
And scout the task that too ignoble seemed,
And in snug corners serpentlike to lurk
Where no one of his presence ever dreamed;
He never knew the zest of honest work,
Nor ever shall, or he would be redeemed.