2i8 JZAAK WALTON AND HIS FRIENDS 



What safety, privacy, what true delight 



In the 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, 

 Even of my dearest Friends, have I 

 In your recesse's friendly shade 

 All my sorrows open laid, 

 And my most secret woes entrusted to your 



privacy ! 



Lord ! would men let me alone, 



What an over-happy one 



Should I think myself to be, 



Might I in this desart place, 



Which most men by their voice disgrace, 



Live but undisturb'd and free ! 



Here in this despis'd recess 



Would I maugre Winter's cold, 



And the Summer's worst excess, 

 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. 



