 | A Muse in Livery |  |
The WISH.
I
Ye Pow'rs supreme, who from on highDistribute good and ill,
My wishes hear, to you they fly,
Submitting to your will:
Grant and refuse, ye Gods, what you think best;
And give me virtue to support the rest.
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II
Might I a small estate possess,Sufficient to supply
My wants, and keep me from distress,
From scorn and infamy;
Content with this, ye Gods, I'd ask no more:
But oh! 'tis wretched to be very poor.
III
My house convenient, warm, and neat,But very small should be;
Room just to study, sleep, and eat,
Is full enough for me:
And but so far from London let it stand,
As that its noise and hurry mayn't offend.
IV
A little garden too should joinMy happy rural seat:
An arbour of sweet Jessamin
Should guard me from the heat:
Here I'd retire some part of ev'ry day,
And read, and think my easy hours away.
V
And since an itch to sacred rhymeInflames this longing mind;
O make my muse, tho' soft, sublime;
Tho' easy, yet refin'd:
Let art lie hid in seeming negligence;
And nothing pass for wit, but truth and sense.
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VI
Authors, the best in ev'ry art,My library should boast:
Not such whose learning, but whose parts,
And judgments shine the most.
And some few criticks, whose impartial aim
Is justly to commend, and justly blame.
VII
Some friends I'd have, and those sincere,Good-natur'd, honest men;
With thoughts unprejudic'd and clear,
With judgments strong and plain.
Freely to these I'd open ev'ry doubt,
And freely search for truth the world throughout.
VIII
A wife young, virtuous, fair, and kind,If such a one there be;
Yes, one there is 'mongst woman-kind;
O Kitty! thou art she.
With her, ye Gods, with her but make me blest,
Of all your Blessings—that wou'd be the best.
IX
And since perverse, ill-temper'd men,True bliss can never find,
Let mine be easy and serene,
Compassionate and kind;
With others failings ready to dispense,
Unapt to take, and less to give, offence.
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X
Religion, which for human goodWas certainly design'd;
Study'd the most, least understood,
Is made the lab'rinth of the mind:
Aid me, ye Gods, with your assistance here;
Nor thro' its wild meanders let me err.
XI
In fine, to sweeten all the rest,O give me health and ease!
With pain and sickness ne'er oppress'd,
Nor discontent, the mind's disease.
Then, when fate calls, let death exert his power,
I'll neither wish, nor fear, my dying hour.
| A Muse in Livery | |