Various cares mankind employ;
But to gaze on human woe
Seems the universal joy,
For which they all their cares forego.

Each from his pursuit departs,
Suffering, dying Man to see;
Surely there are human hearts
That joy in human misery.

Where fictitious tragic woe
Entertains the gaudy ring,
Each the horror can forego,
And instant mental comfort bring.

When the spirits take alarm,
Prompt to anger, grief, or spleen,
Reason can dissolve the charm,
And say, 'tis a fictitious scene.

But to scenes of real woe,
Where a wretch is truely dying,
Wherefore do such numbers go,
What can be the joy of sighing?

Men of thought, who soar serene,
And loftily philosophize,
Will say they seek the solemn scene,
To contemplate and sympathize.