Page:Alexander Pope - Pastorals - en it fr.djvu/24

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My Day or Night myſelf I make,
  When e'er I wake or play,
And could I ever keep awake,
  With me 'twere always Day.

With heavy Sighs, I often hear,
  You mourn my hopeleſs Woe;
But ſure , with Patience I may bear
  A Loſt I ne'er can know.

Then let not what I cannot have,
  My Cheer of Mind deſtroy;
Whilſt thus I ſing, I am a King,
  Altho' a poor blind Boy.