And a small spot of ground, for the use of the spade too,
With a Barn for the use of the flail;
A Cow for my dairy, a Dog for my game,
And a Purse when a friend wants to borrow,
I’ll envy no Nabob his riches or fame,
Nor what honours may wait him To-morrow.
From the bleak northern blast may my Cot be completely
Secur’d by a neighbouring hill,
And at night may repose steal upon me more sweetly,
By the sound of a murmuring rill: