When real Blessings are to Men deny'd,
With airy Hopes they gratify their Pride;
To every Wretch this Privilege extends,
However void of Acres or of Friends:
The Bankrupt wishes for the Statesman's Post,
And each Foot--Soldier to command an Host;
The meanest Curate that reads Pray'rs in Town,
Or in the Country, awes the gaping Clown,
Thinks to be call'd, His Grace, before he dies,
And looks at Lambeth with ambitious Eyes;
The brawny Footman, conscious of his Worth,
Forgets his servile State and humble Birth,
Dresses, looks spruce, and with designing Art
Lays tempting Snares to catch his Lady's Heart;
While the smug Chamber--maid, with equal Pride,
Ogles Sir John, and hopes to be his Bride.

Like Fellow--mortals thus I live on Air,
Nor will Self--Love permit me to despair,
Tho' Fortune sinks me to my native Dust,
On future Blessings I securely trust.
Lo! Reader, to thy Bosom I impart
The Secret, whole Ambition of my Heart.

Grant me, kind Heav'n, five hundred Pounds a Year,
From Mortgages and Tythes, and Taxes clear,
And (if a Beggar might presume to chuse)
In a sweet Climate to oblige my Muse,
Where Thames thro' fruitful Countries pours his Tide,
Or where thy wanton Streams, O Medway, glide;
There lodge me in a pleasant rural Seat,
And let the River murmur at its Feet,
Screen'd from the Sun, and shelter'd from the Wind,
Before a Prospect, and a Wood behind.

Then grant me, Heav'n, the second Boon of Life,
Next to a good Estate, a pretty Wife,
A fond, young toying Girl, and full of Flame,
(Not a cold, phlegmatick, insipid Dame)
In whom good Nature, Beauty, and good Sense,
With equal Force their blended Charms dispense,
Tho' virtuous, unreserv'd, and chastly free;
Just such as Laura is--or is to Me.

Thus fix'd in Pleasure, to my Wishes send,
The next substantial Good, a faithful Friend,
To whom I may, with an unguarded Heart,
My Cares, my Sorrows, and my Joys impart,
Reveal the Doubts that rack my tortur'd Mind,
And Ease and Pleasure in his Counsel find:
With whom in rural Sports I may partake,
Start the fleet Hare, or bait the fishy Lake,
With Books or Conversation waste the Day,
And o'er a Bottle wear the Night away.

And grant me, lastly, to complete the rest,
An honest, peaceful, and unshaken Breast,
Free from blind Zeal and superstitious Fear,
That, what I am, a Man I may appear;
That, while I live, no Terrors I may know,
And, when Death strikes, despise the transient Blow.

Grant me all this, and to the painful Great,
Give Titles, Garters, and the Posts of State:
Let Law in Mississipi Bubbles shine,
And Stanhope by new Treaties grow divine.