This, dame fortune, let me crave,
Since I'm doom'd to be thy slave;…
Sweet independence to enjoy,
And liberty that ne'er will cloy.

Give me ease, and give me health,
Give to others store of wealth;
Let fair competence be mine,
And hang me, if I e'er repine.

To some peaceful, happy scene,
Where I may live with joy serene;
Bear me from madness, and from folly,
From dullness, spleen, and melancholy.

Be mine some vicar's ancient seat,
Snug, and warm, and fair, and neat;
A study with good books well stor'd,
A parlour for my homely board;

Where in elbow chair he doz'd,
And his pamper'd bulk repos'd,
Casting dull learning's care aside,
With volumes of scholastic pride.

This grant me, fortune, and, if I,
To use thy blessings e'er deny,
Reject my vow, reject my prayer,
And let me feed with bards on air,