Happy were he could finish forth his…

Happy were he could finish forth his fate In some unhaunted desert moste obscure! From all societies, from love and hate Of worldly folkes, then might he sleepe secure, Then wake againe, and give God praise, Content with hippes and hawes, and bramble berrie, In contemplation spending all his dayes, And change of holy thoughts to make him merrie; Whence when he dyes his tombe may be a bush, Where harmeles Robin dwells with gentle Thrush.