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 I. 
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 VIII. 
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Indulge me, nor conceive I drop my theme:
Who cheapens life, abates the fear of death.
Twice-told the period spent on stubborn Troy,
Court-favour, yet untaken, I besiege;
Ambition's ill judged effort to be rich.
Alas! Ambition makes my little less;
Embittering the possess'd. Why wish for more?
Wishing of all employments is the worst;
Philosophy's reverse, and health's decay:
Were I as plump as stall'd Theology,
Wishing would waste me to this shade again.
Were I as wealthy as a South-Sea dream,
Wishing is an expedient to be poor.
Wishing, that constant hectic of a fool,
Caught at a court; purged off by purer air,
And simpler diet; gifts of rural life!