FAREWELL thou busy World, and may Here I can eat, and sleep, and pray, Upon thy most conspicuous theatres, II Good God! how sweet are all things here! How cleanly do we feed and lie! Lord! what good hours do we keep ! How quietly we sleep! What peace! what unanimity! How innocent from the lewd fashion, III Oh how happy here's our leisure! By turn to come and visit ye! 1 See Note I. O Solitude, the soul's best friend, That man acquainted with himself dost make, And would be glad to do so still; For it is thou alone that keep'st the soul awake. V How calm and quiet a delight It is alone To read, and meditate, and write, By none offended, nor offending none; To walk, ride, sit, or sleep at one's own ease, And pleasing a man's self, none other to displease! VI Oh my beloved Nymph! fair Dove, Princess of rivers, how I love Upon thy flow'ry banks to lie, And view thy silver stream, When gilded by a Summer's beam, And with my angle upon them, I ever learn'd to practise and to try! VII Such streams Rome's yellow Tiber cannot show, The Iberian Tagus, nor Ligurian Po; The Meuse, the Danube, and the Rhine, Are puddle-water all compared with thine; And Loire's pure streams yet too polluted are With thine much purer to compare : Beloved Dove, with thee To vie priority: Nay, Tame and Isis, when conjoined, submit, VIII Oh my beloved rocks! that rise To awe the earth, and brave the skies, Giddy with pleasure, to look down, And from the vales to view the noble heights above! IX Oh my beloved caves! from dog-star heats, And hotter persecution safe retreats, What safety, privacy, what true delight Your gloomy entrails make, Have I taken, do I take! How oft, when grief has made me fly To hide me from Society, Even of my dearest Friends, have I In your recesses friendly shade All my sorrows open laid, And my most secret woes entrusted to your privacy! X Lord! would men let me alone, What an over-happy one Should I think myself to be, Might I in this desert place, Would I maugre Winter's cold, Without an envious eye On any thriving under Fortune's smile, The Morning Quatrains I THE Cock has crow'd an hour ago, 2 II We have out-done the work of night, III None but the slothful, or unsound, Can the world's business e'er be done. 2 See footnote to Note on the Text. |