My Own Fire-side

Kit CUMILE talks of his high-fashion'd joys, Of each trifle he speaks with delight? His hours each day with his horse he employs, And his bottle and mistress at night: Give me the delights that will cherish the mind, Dup'd neither by folly or pride, A wife that is friendly, that's loving and kind, On my knee by my own fire side.

The over-grown cit, that has throve by the gripe, Distressing his neighbours around, Would gladly his sins puff away with his pipe, Or tries them in liquor to drown'd: On his riches he fain wou'd eternity raise, But Time clips the wings of his pride; Give me that eternal, that genial blaze, That glows by my own fire-side.

Let princes, for honor, contend in the wars, And the statesman for profit or place, Astrologers wander about in the stars, Or my lord break his neck in the chace; Such pleasures are transient and dangerous all, 'Tis a truth that can ne'er be deny'd; I sit at my ease, should they rise, should they fall, And regale by my own fire-side.