COTTON'S IRREGULAR STANZAS. 355 



Oh, my beloved rocks ! that rise 



To awe the earth and brave the skies : 



From some aspiring mountain's crown, 



How dearly do I love, 

 Giddy \\ ith pleasure, to look down, 



And from the vales, to view the noble heights above ! 

 Oh, my beloved caves ! from Dog-star's heat, 

 And all anxieties, my safe reti-eat ; 

 What safety, privacy, what true delight, 

 In th' 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, 

 Ev'n of my dearest friends, have I 



In your recesses' 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 desert place, 

 Which most men in discourse 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 ! 1 

 And, all the while, 



Without an envious eye 

 On any thriving under Fortune's smile, 



Contented live, and then contented die. 



C. C. 



1 This lie did not, for he was born 1630 and died 16S7. 



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