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Poem by John Stagg
Propitious Heav'n, hear my request, Assign me what you shall think best; Yet were I for myself to chuse, The good occasion thus I'd use: Ч I'd not desire great store of wealth, But just enough, content and health; Aloof from town my house should stand, Upon a spacious plat of land, It's situation near a hill, Near on one side a murm'ring rill, A tow'ring wood behind should rise, It's lofty branches in the skies, Here might I often sit recluse, And sometimes court the sylvian muse; In winter, when the furious North, Hurls his bleak frigid tempest forth, Safe from the storm I'd then retire, And shelter at a good warm fire; Books, pens, and paper, near at hand, Good ale and porter at command, My chimney with fat bacon stor'd, Hot pies to smoak upon my board And if kind Heav'n would hear my voice, I yet would have another choice: Ч I too would have a frugal wife, With whom to share my happy life, Good natur'd still, and soon or late, Resign'd to meet the will of fate; If Heav'n would thus grant my request, I'd think myself supremely bless'd, I'd neither envy states nor kings, Nor vainly gripe for wordly things. But ah! one thing doth yet remain, Which I, alas, can ne'er obtain; Then let me learn to be content, Nor strive to shun what Heav'n has sent.
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