To some stick of a neighbour cramm’d into the ark;
Or, if you are sick, or in fits tumble down,
You reach death, ere the doctor can reach you from town.
I’ve heard that how love in a cottage is sweet,
When two hearts in one link of soft sympathy meet:—
I know nothing of that; for, alas, I’m a swain
Who requires (I own it) more links to my chain!
Your jays and your magpies may chatter on trees,
And whisper soft nonsense in groves if they please:
But a house is much more to my mind than a tree;