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That common theme for every fop
From the Statesman to the shop
In those coverts ne'er be spread.
Of who's deceased or who's to wed
Be no tidings hither brought
But silent as a midnight thought,
Where the world may ne'er invade, 20
Be those windings and that shade:
Courteous Fate! afford me there
A table spread without my care,
With what the neighb'ring fields impart,
Whose cleanliness be all their art;
Courteous Fate then give me there
Only plain and wholesome fare.
Fruits indeed (would heaven bestow)
All that did in Eden grow;
All but the Forbidden Tree, 30
Would be covetted by me;
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