Here Nature does a house for me erect,
Nature the wisest architect,
Who those fond artists does despise
That can the fair and living trees neglect,
Yet the dead timber prize.
IV.
Here let me, careless and unthoughtful lying,
Hear the soft winds, above me flying,
With all their wanton boughs dispute,
And the more tuneful birds to both replying,
Nor be myself too mute.
V.
A silver stream shall roll his waters near,
Gilt with the sunbeams here and there,
On whose enamelled bank I’ll walk,
And see how prettily they smile, and hear
How prettily they talk.
VI.
Ah wretched, and too solitary he
Who loves not his own company!
He’ll feel the weight of’t many a day,
Unless he call in sin or vanity
To help to bear’t away.
VII.
Oh solitude, first state of human-kind!
Which blest remained till man did find
Even his own helper’s company.
As soon as two, alas, together joined,
The serpent made up three.
VIII.