. . . No Monarch so bless'd, or so happy as me,
While thus, my dear Horace, I hug it in thee:
Admire it in loftier Virgil, or Smile
When with Waggish Catullus my Cares I'd beguile.

When with thee, Ariosto, or Tasso, I sport,
Or go with our Spencer to his Fairy-Court,
Or Cowley, or Oldham, or Davenant pursue,
Or spend a few Hours, neat Waller, with you.

Here I read till I'm quite into Ecstasies carry'd,
As soon as the Sun peeps into my Garret;
There, out of the reach of ill Fate, and Disaster,
I sit; and the Drawer's as great as his Master.