William Watson 1

Satan finds some mischief still
For idle hands to do.

Satan finds some mischief still
For idle hands to do.

The rills of pleasure never run sincere,
(Earth has no unpolluted spring)
From the cursed soil some read more

The rills of pleasure never run sincere,
(Earth has no unpolluted spring)
From the cursed soil some dang'rous taint they bear;
So roses grow on thorns, and honey wears a sting.

Let justice be done, though the heavens fall.
[Lat., Fiat justitia, ruat coelum.]

Let justice be done, though the heavens fall.
[Lat., Fiat justitia, ruat coelum.]

Mix with your grave designs a little pleasure;
Each day of business has its hour of leisure.

Mix with your grave designs a little pleasure;
Each day of business has its hour of leisure.

Roses grow on thorns and honey wears a sting.

Roses grow on thorns and honey wears a sting.