Classic Poem

When Clouds obscure the Face of Night,
And Stars withold their friendly Light,
With Tempests toss'd, with Fears oppress'd,
The trembling Sailor prays for Rest.

The Savage Tartar , great in Arms,
The Turk , inur'd to fierce Alarms,
What would they not at Seasons give
In unmolested Peace to live?

But ah! it can't be bought and sold!
Not all the Purple, Gems, and Gold,
Which stately Rooms of Princes show,
Can ease them of their Share of Woe!

Our pompous City Magistrate,
In all his gaudy, annual State,
May feel a Tumult in his Mind;
And but a Load of Greatness find!

A sparing Diet will sustain
The Man who lives just neatly plain;
And to contented Use receives
The Table his old Father leaves.

He from his Breast, to Virtue just,
Drives ev'ry Fear, and ev'ry Lust:
Makes all his daily Labours light;
And soundly sleeps away the Night.

In vain we give our Fancies Wings,
And fly them at a thousand Things;
'Tis but a Few we reach at most;
And we to those are quickly lost.

In vain for Quiet Florio runs
To Countries warm'd by other Suns:
Not many Years the Fool can roam;
And these might well be spent at home.

His Cares will not discarded be;
They board the Ship as well as he:
On Horseback these will mount behind;
Out-strip the Hart, out-fly the Wind!

'Tis Heaven's, to will, and to dispose:
'Tis ours, with Providence to close — —
He errs, who makes his Bliss depend
On what superior Fate may send.

The present Hour could we possess,
The present Hour would always bless — —
Since there's no perfect Joy below,
Why should we antedate our Woe.

Death shorten'd William 's glorious Reign;
And let the Gallic Curse remain:
So Heav'n may give to worthless Me
A Length of Life deny'd to Thee .

My Country Friend receives from Fate
The Income of a large Estate;
In his own House can nightly sleep,
Amidst his Horses, Cows, and Sheep.

I, of no Lands nor Rents possess'd,
If with proportion'd Wishes bless'd,
May scorn each envious, grov'ling Mind:
And in the Muse true Solace find.