in pursuit of {insert}

The Traveler

But while this softer art their bliss supplies,

It gives their follies also room to rise;

For praise too dearly lov'd, or warmly sought,

Enfeebles all internal strength of thought;

And the weak soul, within itself unblest,

Leans for all pleasure on another's breast.

Hence ostentation here, with tawdry art,

Pants for the vulgar praise which fools impart;

Here vanity assumes her pert grimace,

And trims her robes of frieze with copper lace;

Here beggar pride defrauds her daily cheer,

To boast one splendid banquet once a year;

The mind still turns where shifting fashion draws,

Nor weighs the solid worth of self-applause.

Oliver Goldsmith

via Desiring God