WELL then! I now do plainly see 
   This busy world and I shall ne'er agree. 
The very honey of all earthly joy 
Does of all meats the soonest cloy; 
   And they, methinks, deserve my pity 
Who for it can endure the stings, 
The crowd and buzz and murmurings, 
   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, 
Both wise, and both delightful too! 
   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 
Thy happy tenant of your shade? 
   Here 's the spring-head of Pleasure's flood: 
Here 's wealthy Nature's treasury, 
Where all the riches lie that she 
   Has coin'd and stamp'd for good. 

Pride and ambition here 
Only in far-fetch'd metaphors appear; 
Here nought but winds can hurtful murmurs scatter, 
And nought but Echo flatter. 
   The gods, when they descended, hither 
From heaven did always choose their way: 
And therefore we may boldly say 
   That 'tis the way too thither. 

Hoe happy here should I 
And one dear She live, and embracing die! 
She who is all the world, and can exclude 
In deserts solitude. 
   I should have then this only fear: 
Lest men, when they my pleasures see, 
Should hither throng to live like me, 
   And so make a city here.