From what variety of pleasing hopes,
From what gay scenes of joy, would’st thou exclude me,
And tempt my steps to tread Discretion’s paths?
The wild, the dreary prospect lies before me,
And none but prudent fools can rest upon it.
Here I will hold: if there is chance at play,
(And that there is, Hoyle proves in every line,
Through all his works) I yet may be successful;
And if successful, then I must be happy.
But when, or where?—Home has no charms for me—