Discharg’d of business, void of strife,
And from the griping scrivener free!
Thus, ere the seeds of vice were sown
Liv’d men in better ages born,
Who plow’d with oxen of their own
Their small paternal field of corn.
Nor trumpets summon him to war,
Nor drums disturb his morning sleep,
Nor knows he merchants’ painful care,
Nor fears the dangers of the deep.