WELL then! I now do plainly see     This busy 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 crowd and buzz 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 beloved and loving me.

O fountains! when in you shall I Myself eased of unpeaceful thoughts espy? O fields! O woods! when, when shall I be made Thy happy tenant of your shade?     Here 's the spring-head of Pleasure's flood: Here 's wealthy Nature's treasury, Where all the riches lie 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 Echo flatter.     The gods, when they descended, hither From heaven did always choose their way: And therefore we may boldly say     That 'tis the way too thither.

Hoe 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.