O dismal vacancy of heart!
Poor recompence! to feel no smart!
The world has trash, with all its treasure,
And give up Pain, you give up Pleasure.
Oh what a wretch, forlorn, is he,
Who boasts Insensibility!
A wretch, indeed!—to envy born?—
No!—to our wonder and our scorn!
Nor let that pity be forgot,—
He is disgrac'd in feeling not!