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Far from the city I reſide,
And a thatch'd cottage all my pride.
True to my heart I ſeldom roam,
Becauſe I find my joys at home:
For foreign viſits then begin,
When the man feels a void within.
But tho' from towns and crouds I fly,
No humouriſt, nor cynic, I.
Amidſt ſequeſter'd ſhades I prize
The friendſhips of the good and wiſe.
Bid Virtue and her ſons attend,
Virtue will tell thee, I'm her friend;
Tell thee, I'm faithful, conſtant, kind,
And meek and lowly and reſign'd;
Will ſay, there's no diſtinction known
Betwixt her houfhold and my own.
Author. If theſe the friendſhips you purſue,
Your friends, I fear, are very few.
So little company, you ſay,
Yet fond of home from day to day!
How do you ſhun detraction's rod?
I doubt your neighbours think you odd!
Content. I commune with myſelf at night,
And aſk my heart, if all be right:
If, "right," replies my faithful breaſt,
I ſmile and cloſe my eyes to reſt.
Author. You ſeem regardleſs of the town:
Pray, Sir, how ſtand you with the gown?
