Ode, An

No, no, 'tis in vain in this turbulent Town,
To expect either Pleasure or Rest;
To Hurry and Nonsense still tying us down;
'Tis an overgrown Prison at best.

From hence to the Country escaping away,
Leave the Croud and the Bustle behind;
And there you'll see liberal Nature display
A thousand Delights to Mankind.

The Change of the Seasons, the Sports of the Fields,
The sweetly-diversify'd Scene,
The Groves, and the Gardens — nay ev'ry thing yields
A Happiness ever serene.

Here, here from Ambition and Avarice free,
My Days may I quietly spend;
Whilst the Cits and the Courtiers, unenvy'd for me,
May gather up Wealth without end.

No, I thank 'em, I'll never to add to my Store,
My Peace and my Freedom resign;
For who, for the sake of possessing the Ore,
Would be sentenc'd to dig in the Mine?
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