The mole’s a creature very smooth and slick,
She digs i’ th’ dirt, but 'twill not on her stick;
So’s he who counts this world his greatest gains,
Yet nothing gets but’s labour for his pains.
Earth’s the mole’s element, she can’t abide
To be above ground, dirt heaps are her pride;
And he is like her who the worldling plays,
He imitates her in her work and ways.
Poor silly mole, that thou should’st love to be
Where thou nor sun, nor moon, nor stars can see.
But O! how silly’s he who doth not care
So he gets earth, to have of heaven a share!