Classic Poem

From the court to the cottage convey me away,
For I'm weary of grandeur and what they call gay,
Where pride without measure,
And pomp without pleasure
Makes life in a circle of hurry decay.

Far remote and retir'd from the noise of the town,
I'll exchange my brocade for a plain russet gown.
My friends shall be few,
But well chosen and true,
And sweet recreation our evening shall crown.

With a rural repast, a rich banquet to me,
On a mossy green bank near some shady old tree,
The river's clear brink
Shall afford me my drink,
And temp'rance my friendly physician shall be.

Ever calm and serene, with contentment still blest,
Not too giddy with joy, or with sorrow deprest;
I'll neither invoke
Nor repine at death's stroke,
But retire from the world as I would to my rest.