Classic Poem

I often wish'd, that I had clear
For Life, six hundred Pounds a Year,
A handsome House to lodge a Friend,
A River at my Garden's End,
A Terras Walk, and half a Rood
Of Land set out to plant a Wood.

 Well, now I have all this and more,
I ask not to increase my Store;
But here a Grievance seems to lie,
All this is mine but till I die;
I can't but think 'twould sound more clever,
To me and to my Heirs for ever.

 If I ne'er got, or lost a groat,
By any Trick , or any Fault ;
And if I pray by Reasons rules,
And not like forty other Fools:
As thus, ‘Vouchsafe, Oh gracious Maker!
‘To grant me this and t'other Acre:
‘Or if it be thy Will and Pleasure
‘Direct my Plow to find a Treasure:’
But only what my Station fits,
And to be kept in my right wits.
Preserve, Almighty Providence!
Just what you gave me, Competence:
And let me in these Shades compose
Something in Verse as true as Prose;
Remov'd from all th'ambitious Scene,
Nor puff'd by Pride, nor sunk by Spleen.