Classic Poem

Would you, my friend, in little room express
The just description of true happiness;
First set me down a competent estate,
But rais'd and left me by a parent's sweat;
('Tis pleasure to improve, but toil to get:)
Not large, but always large enough to yield
A cheerful fire, and no ungrateful field.
A verse to law-suits, let me peace enjoy,
And rarely pester'd with a town employ.
Smooth be my thoughts, my mind serene and clear,
A healthful body with such limbs I'd bear
As should be graceful, well-proportion'd, just,
And neither weak nor boorishly robust.
Nor fool, nor knave, but innocently wise;
Some friends indulge me, let a few suffice:
But suited to my humour and degree,
Not nice, but easily pleas'd, and fit for me;
So let my board and entertainments be.
With wholesome homely food, not serv'd in state,
What tastes as well in pewter as in plate,
Mirth and a glass my cheerful evenings share,
At equal distance from debauch and care.
To bed retiring, let me find it blest
With a kind modest spouse and downy rest:
Pleas'd always with the lot my fates assign,
Let me no change desire, no change decline;
With every turn of Providence comply,
Not tir'd with life, nor yet afraid to die.