THE RETIREMENT. 



STANZES IRREGULIERS, 



TO 



MR. IZAAK WALTON. 



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 oat-wears 

 Upon the most conspicuous theatres, 

 Where nought bat vanity and vice appears. 



Good God ! how sweet are all things here I 

 How beautiful the fields appear! 

 How cleanly do we feed and lie I 

 Lord I what good hoars 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'* oar leisure ! 

 Oh, how innocent our pleasure I 

 Oh, ye vallies, Oh, ye mountains ! 

 Oh, ye groves, and crystal fountains, 



How I love, at liberty, 

 By turns, to come and visit ye ! 



IT. 



Dear solitude, the soul's best friend, 



That man acquainted with himself dost make. 



And all his Maker's wonders t'intend : 



With thee I here converse at will, 



And would be glad to do so still, 



For it is thou alone that keep'st the soul awake. 



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 I 

 And, pleasing a man's self, none other to displease. 



