Part 2 / Book 2 — Book ii. The Timepiece.
Reading edition
O for a lodge in some vast wilderness, Some boundless contiguity of shade, Where rumor of oppression and deceit, Of unsuccessful or successful war, Might never roach me more.
Mountains interposed Make enemies of nations, who had else, Like kindred drops, been mingled into one.
England, with all thy faults, I love thee still.
Praise enough To fill the ambition of a private man, That Chatham's language was his mother tongue.
There is a pleasure in poetic pains Which only poets know.
Variety's the very spice of life, That gives it all its flavor.