ABRAHAM COWLEY
But happy Thou, ta'en from this frantic age,
Where ignorance and hypocrisy does rage'
A fitter time for Heaven no soul e'er chose
The place now only free from those. There 'mong the blest thou dost for ever shine; And wheresoe'er thou casts thy view Upon that white and radiant crew, See'st not a soul clothed with more light than thine.
362 The Wish
WELL then! I now do plainly see This bus>y world and I shall ne'er agree. The very honey of all earthly joy Does of all meats the soonest cloy;
And they, methiriks, deserve my pity Who for it can endure the stings, The crowd, and buzz, and murmuiings, Of this great hive, the city.
Ah, yet, ere I descend to the grave, May I a small house and large garden have; And a few friends, and many books, both true,
And since love ne'er will from me flee, A Mistress moderately fair, And good as guardian angels are,
Only beloved and loving me.
O fountains' when in you shall I Myself eased of unpeaceful thoughts espy? O fields! O woods! when, when shall I be made The happy tenant of your shade?
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