A Paraphrase upon the Eightieth Epistle of the First
Book of Horace
HORACE TO FUSCUS ARISTIUS.
Health, from the lover of the country, me,
Health, to the lover of the city, thee,
A difference in our souls, this only proves,
In all things else, we agree like married doves.
But the warm nest and crowded dove house thou
Dost like; I loosely fly from bough to bough,
And rivers drink, and all the shining day,
Upon fair trees or mossy rocks I play;
In fine, live and reign when I retire
From all that you equal with heaven admire.
Like one at last from the priest's service fled,
Loathing the honied cakes, I long for bread.
Would I a house for happiness erect,
Nature alone should be the architect.
She'd build it more convenient than great,
And doubtless in the country choose her seat.
