ODE II.
That a pleasant Poverty is to be preferred
before discontented Riches.
1
Why ô doth gaudy Tagus ravish thee,
Though Neptunes Treasure-house it be?
Why doth Pactolus thee bewitch,
Infected yet with Midas glorious Itch?
2
Their dull and sleepie streames are not at all
Like other Flouds, Poeticall,
They have no dance, no wanton sport,
No gentle murmur, the lov'd shore to court.
3
No Fish inhabite the adulterate Floud,
Nor can it feed the neighbouring Wood,
No Flower or Herbe is neere it found,
But a perpetuall Winter sterves the ground.
4
Give me a River which doth scorne to shew
An added beauty, whose cleere brow
May be my looking-glasse, to see
What my face is, and what my mind should be.
5
Here waves call waves, and glide along in ranke,
And prattle to the smiling banke.
Here sad King fishers tell their tales,
And fish enrich the Brooke with silver scales.
6
Dasyes the first borne of the teeming Spring,
On each side their embrodery bring,
Here Lillies wash, and grow more white,
And Daffadills to see themselves delight.
7
Here a fresh Arbor gives her amorous shade,
Which Nature, the best Gard'ner made.
Here I would set, and sing rude layes,
Such as the Nimphs and me my selfe should please.
8
Thus I would waste, thus end my carelesse dayes,
And Robin-red-brests whom men praise
For pious birds, should when I dye,
Make both my Monument and Elegie.