



















Petition for wan Absolute Aetrent, 
Countess of Winchelsea, 
IVE me, O indulgent Fate! 
Give me yet, before I die, 
A sweet, but absolute retreat 
’Mongst paths so lost, and trees so high, 
That the world may ne’er invade, 
Through such windings and such shade, 
My unshaken liberty. 
No intruders thither come! 
Who visit, but to be from home; 
None who their vain moments pass, 
Only studious of their glass; 
News, that charm to list’ning ears, 
That false alarm to hopes and fears, 
That common theme for every fop, 
From the statesman to the shop, 
In those coverts ne’er be spread, 
Of who’s deceas’d, or who’s to wed, 

