To each his suff'rings: all are men,

         Condemn'd alike to groan,

The tender for another's pain;

         Th' unfeeling for his own.

Yet ah! why should they know their fate?

Since sorrow never comes too late,

         And happiness too swiftly flies.

Thought would destroy their paradise.

No more; where ignorance is bliss,

       'Tis folly to be wise.