Abraham Cowley(1618–1667)
The Wish
Well then; I n o w do plainly see,
This busy world and I shall ne'er agree;
T h e very honey of all earthly joy
Does of all meats the soonest cloy;'
And they, methinks, deserve my pity
W h o for it can endure the stings,
T h e crowd, and buzz, and murmurings
Of this great hive, the city.
Ah, yet, ere I d e s c e n d to the grave
May I a small house and large garden have!
And a f e w 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, w h e n in you shall I
Myself, eased of unpeaceful thoughts, espy
O fields! O woods! w h e n , w h e n shall I be made
T h e happy tenant of your shade
Here's the spring-head of pleasure's flood,
Here's wealthy Nature's treasury,
W h e r e all the riches lie that she
Has coined and stamped for good.
Pride and ambition here
Only in farfetched metaphors appear;
Here naught but winds can hurtful murmurs scatter,
And naught but Echo2 flatter.
T h e gods, w h e n they descended, hither
From heaven did always c h o o s e their way;
And therefore we may boldly say
That 'tis the way, too, thither.3
How 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.