Classic Poem

We that have known no greater state
Than this we live in, praise our fate:
For courtly silks in cares are spent,
When country's russet breeds content.
The power of scepters we admire;
But sheep-hooks for our use desire.
Simple and low is our condition;
For here with us is no ambition.
We with the sun our flocks unfold,
Whose rising makes their fleeces gold.
“Our music from the birds we borrow;
They bidding us, we them, good morrow.”