A bit of metaphysics or a psychologic catch
Will sit upon my breast all day and scratch and scratch and
scratch. Now isn't it a pity that the ragged thorns of culture Should be tearing at my vitals, as Prometheus's the vulture?

I really have no liking for abstruse and subtle question.
I prefer to laugh in sunshine and to cherish my digestion.
But a pack of eager queries, barking, barking, hound me on,
Until I find an hour of life's pure delight is gone.