His mind expands with liberty of thought,
And heart proclaims his king-ship dearly bought.
In sleep alone, his deep-drawn sighs confess
His heart’s desire, domestic happiness.
“Domestic happiness,” sweet Gentian sings,
“Belongs to laborers, and not to kings.”
And so she bids us with a graceful ease
Assume a virtue of some dread disease,
Which pleases best the tricky fairy’s mind,
Who hurts so much and yet can be so kind.