With “Pensions, Taxes, Marriages, and Jews;”
Or shut the gates of Heav’n on lost mankind,
And wrest their darling hopes, their future views.
Far from the giddy town’s tumultuous strife,
Their wishes yet have never learn’d to stray;
Content and happy in a single life,
They keep the noiseless tenor of their way,
Ev’n now, their books from cobwebs to protect,
Inclos’d by doors of glass, in Doric style,
On fluted pillars rais’d, with bronzes deck’d,