XXII THE RETIREMENT "The Complete Angler," Part ii. Cotton's additions were made in 1676, when the first part had reached its fifth edition. I Farewell, thou busy world! and may Here I can eat, and sleep, and pray, And do more good in one short day, Where nought but vanity and vice do reign. II Good God! how sweet are all things here! How cleanly do we feed and lie! What peace! what unanimity! III Oh, how happy here's our leisure By turns, to come and visit ye! IV Dear Solitude, the soul's best friend, That man acquainted with himself dost make, And all his Maker's wonders to entend, And would be glad to do so still; For it is thou alone, that keep'st the soul awake. V How calm, and quiet a delight, Is it, alone To read, and meditate, and write; By none offended and offending none. To walk, ride, sit, or sleep at one's own ease! VI Oh, my beloved nymph! fair Dove! Princess of Rivers! how I love Upon thy flowery banks to lie, And view thy silver stream, And, with my angle upon them, The all of treachery I ever learn'd industriously to try. VII Such streams, Rome's yellow Tiber cannot show, The Iberian Tagus, or Ligurian Po: The Maese, the Danube, and the Rhine, Are puddle-water all, compared with thine: C The rapid Garonne, and the winding Seine, Beloved Dove with thee To vie priority: Nay, Thame and Isis when conjoin'd submit, VIII Oh, my beloved rocks! that rise To awe the earth and brave the skies: Giddy with pleasure to look down, And from the vales to view the noble heights above! Oh, my beloved caves! from Dog-star's heat And all anxieties my safe retreat; What safety, privacy, what true delight, In th' artificial night Your gloomy entrails make, Have I taken, do I take! How oft when grief has made me fly To hide me from society, Ev'n of my dearest friends, have I In your recesses' friendly shade All my sorrows open laid, And my most secret woes entrusted to your privacy ! IX Lord! would men let me alone; What an over-happy one Should I think myself to be, Might I, in this desert place, Which most men in discourse disgrace, Would I, maugre winter's cold, Try to live out to sixty full years old! And all the while, Without an envious eye On any thriving under Fortune's smile, Contented live, and then-contented die. "Poems," 1689. XXIII From THE CONTENTATION That man is happy in his share, And honest labour makes his bed. Who free from debt, and clear from crimes, Who ill of princes in worst times Who from the busy world retires, Who with his angle, and his books, |