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STANZES IRREGULIERS, TO MR IZAAK WALTON, BY C. COTTON.
Farewell, thou busy world, and may We never meet again ; Here I can eat, and sleep and pray, And do more good in one short day Than he who his whole age out-wears Upon the most conspicuous theatres, Where nought but vanity and vice appears.
Good God ! how swe et are all things here. How beautiful the fields appear,
How cleanly do we feed and lie, Lord ! what good hours do we keep, How quietly we sleep,
What peace, what unanimity, How innocent from the lewd fashion, Is all our business, all our recreation.
Oh, how happy here's our leisure,
Oh, how innocent our pleasure,
O ye valleys, O ye mountains,
O ye groves, and crystal fountains,
How I love, at liberty,
By turns to come and visit ye.
Dear Solitude, the soul's best friend. That man acquainted with himself dost make, And all his Maker's wonders to intend,
With thee I here converse at will, And would be glad to do so still, For it is thou alone that'st keep the soul awake.