To sigh, yet feel no pain;

To weep, yet scarce know why;

To sport an hour with Beauty's chain,

Then throw it idly by.

Thomas Moore (1779-1852): The Blue Stocking.

It is a poor sport that is not worth the candle.

George Herbert (1593-1632): Jacula Prudentum.

Some write their wrongs in marble: he more just,

Stoop'd down serene and wrote them in the dust,—

Trod under foot, the sport of every wind,

Swept from the earth and blotted from his mind.

There, secret in the grave, he bade them lie,

And grieved they could not 'scape the Almighty eye.

Samuel Madden (1687-1765): Boulter's Monument.

Sport, that wrinkled Care derides,

And Laughter holding both his sides.

Come and trip it as ye go,

On the light fantastic toe.

John Milton (1608-1674): L'Allegro. Line 31.

For 't is the sport to have the enginer

Hoist with his own petar.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Hamlet. Act iii. Sc. 4.

To sport with Amaryllis in the shade,

Or with the tangles of Neaera's hair.

John Milton (1608-1674): Lycidas. Line 68.

If all the year were playing holidays,

To sport would be as tedious as to work.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): King Henry IV. Part I. Act i. Sc. 2.