Thy favours, Fortune, I ne'er court,
Nor with thy vot'ries much resort;
But, didst thou bid me chuse a state,
Not meanly poor, nor prineely great,
Place me far from the sound of war,
And all the wranglings of the bar;
Yet nearer to the village spire,
Than to his lordship, or the 'squire.
Three miles from town, be my retreat,
A pleasant cottage, small, but neat,
That, to the stranger wand'ring near,
Wou'd seem to say, content dwells here.
Let gadding woodbines round it creep,
And in each lattice fondly peep;
A garden, too, its front adorn,
Hedg'd careless round; beneath a thorn,
A shade, wherein to muse at ease,
And watch the labours of my bees;
Or study o'er each golden rule,
Of those well known in wisdom's school;
Or here, when eve bids labour rest,
Pipe, to delight some village guest.

No artful walks I'd wish to view,
For nature ne'er to art shou'd bow;
But when the rival pair unite,
Where is the breast they can't delight?
Thus be the front. And now behind,
A wood shou'd check the wild north wind;
And shelter safe a warbling throng,
Whose rent shou'd be a chearful song.
What joy to hear my tenants, free,
Hymn grateful notes, from tree to tree!
No sportsman rude (ah! cruel joy!)
Shou'd e'er the harmless race destroy;
Nor truant school--boy e'er shou'd tear
From them the young and tender care:
Then, oh! mid' Winter's dreary reign,
Wou'd they to visit me but deign,
I to their wants wou'd still attend,
Proud to become each creature's friend.

Next, give me, for a maid or wife,
A nut--brown girl, sworn foe to strife;
One simple in her dress and air,
Unus'd to town, or costly fare:
Who'd cleanly cook my humble meal,
Nor blab the secrets I'd reveal;
Who'd sing without conceit or pain;
Who'd read the news and bible plain;
Who'd write her thoughts in easy prose,
And argue well in virtue's cause.

My wishes, Fortune, would'st thou crown,
The sweets of friendship let me own:
One friend I'd ask, of soul sincere,
Not moving in too high a sphere;
Who'd bend to no proud party knave;
A foe to none, to none a slave;
Who'd scorn by trifles to be bought,
Content in honest home--spun coat.
When Winter reign'd in furious rage,
We'd mark the follies of the age:
Thus converse wou'd each mind illume,
For friendship cheers wild Winter's gloom.
In Summer, nature's laws we'd scan,
Admiring still her beauteous plan;
And oft, by some hoarse--murm'ring stream,
Indulge a fond poetic dream;
Or range, with health, the daisied mead,
Then wou'd this life be life indeed!

Thus, Fortune, seated to my mind,
I'd thank thee oft, and own thee kind.
Secure from folly's tiresome noise,
Where pleasure health and wealth destroys,
Shou'd care or spleen a visit pay,
I'd bid them call another day;
And chearfully survey the past,
Nor think time mov'd too slow or fast;
Nor wish to live, nor fear to die,
But sink to earth, without a sigh.

With such a friend, a wife, and cot,
Who wou'd repine, deserves them not;
And he who vainly wishes more,
May he, like me, thro' life be poor!