Wishing is an expedient to be poor.
Wishing, that constant hectic of a fool;
Caught at a court; purged off by purer air,
And simpler diet; gifts of rural life!
Bless’d be that hand divine, which gently laid 80
My heart at rest, beneath this humble shed.
The world’s a stately bark, on dangerous seas,
With pleasure seen, but boarded at our peril;
Here, on a single plank, thrown safe ashore,
I hear the tumult of the distant throng,