Classic Poem

Let the soldier look big with his sword and cockade,
And the courtier exult in his birth-day brocade,
With blessings less splendid quite happy I'd be,
Let content, sweet content, be the portion for me,

Tho' no gilded vase can be found in my store,
Nor my snug tables groan with the Mexican ore,
If a friend will but bless, and a competence I,
Content, sweet content, will all splendour out vie.

Let the patriot loud boast of his virtuous career,
And swear, than his life, that his country's more deaf,
May his brows be incircl'd with wreaths that ne'er fade,
But content, sweet content, be my laurel and shade.

With a wife just the same thing in better or worse,
If brim-full my cellar, or empty my purse,
With such, and friends chosen I'd pass night and day,
Whilst content, sweet content, levels life's rugged way.

But you gods wou'd you plague me thro' this wretch'd life,
Ambition then join to a termagant wife,
And with them in smoky house, let me pent,
Then adieu, then adieu! to all future content.