Well then, sir, you shall know how far extend, The prayers and hopes of your poetic friend.
He does not palaces nor manors crave, Would be no lord, but less a lord would have.
The ground he holds, if he his own can call, He quarrels not with Heaven because 'tis small:
Let gay and toilsome greatness others please, He loves of homely littleness the ease.
Can any man in gilded rooms attend, And his dear hours in humble visits spend, When in the fresh and beauteous fields he may With various healthful pleasures fill the day?
If there be man, ye gods, I ought to hate, Dependence and attendance be his fate.
Still let him busy be, and in a crowd, And very much a slave, and very proud:
Thus he, perhaps, powerful and rich may grow;
No matter, O ye gods! that I'll allow.
But let him peace and ******* never see;
Let him not love this life, who loves not me.
