refreshment to himself, or in complaisance to others, may sometimes
condescend to play in this, or any other harmless way; but to be
fond of it, to prosecute it with a careful or painful eagerness, to
dote and dwell upon it, to reckon it a brave or a fine thing, a
singular matter of commendation, a transcendent accomplishment,
anywise preferable to rational endowments, or comparable to the
moral excellencies of our mind (to solid knowledge, or sound wisdom,
or true virtue and goodness), this is extremely childish, or
brutish, and far below a man. What can be more absurd than to make
business of play, to be studious and laborious in toys, to make a
profession or drive a trade of impertinency? What more plain
nonsense can there be, than to be earnest in jest, to be continual
in divertisement, or constant in pastime; to make extravagance all
our way, and sauce all our diet? Is not this plainly the life of a
child that is ever busy, yet never hath anything to do? Or the life
of that mimical brute which is always active in playing uncouth and
unlucky tricks; which, could it speak, might surely pass well for a
professed wit?

The proper work of man, the grand drift of human life, is to follow
reason (that noble spark kindled from Heaven; that princely and
powerful faculty, which is able to reach so lofty objects, and
achieve so mighty works), not to soothe fancy, that brutish, shallow
and giddy power, able to perform nothing worthy much regard. We are
not (even Cicero could tell us) born for play and jesting, but for
severity, and the study of graver and greater affairs. Yes, we were
purposely designed, and fitly framed, to understand and contemplate,
to affect and delight in, to undertake and pursue most noble and
worthy things; to be employed in business considerably profitable to
ourselves, and beneficial to others. We do therefore strangely