Inscription for a bench beneath a favorite tree

Avaunt! ye noisy sons of wine, Nor round your brows my roses twine: 'Twas not for you that Flora here Bestow'd those beauties of the year.

But ye who social converse love, Or ye whom softer passions move, Come pass with me the careless day, Or in my groves in Freedom stray.

For you this verdant turf is spread, For you this beech here rears its head, For you has Flora scatter'd here The varied beauties of the year.