THE WISH.

WELL, then; I now do plainly see, This busie World and I shall ne’er agree; The very Honey of all Earthly Joy Does of all Meats the soonest cloy. And they (methinks) deserve my Pity Who for it can endure the Stings, The Croud, and Buz, and Murmurings Of this great Hive, the City.

AH! yet, ere I descend to the Grave, May I a small House and large Garden have! And a few Friends, and many Books, both true, Both wise, and both delightful too! And since Love ne’er will from me flee, A Mistress moderately fair, And good as Guardian-Angels are, Only belov’d, and loving me!

OH Fountains! when in you shall I Myself, eas’d of unpeaceful Thoughts, espy? Oh Fields! oh Woods! when, when shall I be made The happy Tenant of your shade? Here’s the Spring-head of Pleasure’s Flood, Where all the Riches lye that she Has coin’d and stamp’d for Good.

PRIDE and Ambition here Only in far-fetch’d Metaphors appear; Here nought but Winds can hurtful Murmurs scatter, And nought but Eccho flatter. The Gods, when they descended hither From Heav’n, did always chuse their Way; And therefore we may boldly say, That ’tis the Way too thither.

HOW happy here should I And one dear She live, and embracing die! She who is all the World, and can exclude In Deserts Solitude; I should have then this only Fear, Lest Men, when they my Pleasures see, Should hither throng to live like me, And so make a City here. —From “The Mistress,” by Abraham Cowley.