The Royal Cottager

When e'er I think on that dear spot, On which I fix'd my rural cot, Then, when my rose hung on my arm, All free from guile, and free from harm, My days they glided on with glee, And all things then, were well with me.

But when once drawn away by fate, Unto a more exalted state, By smiling fortune, promis'd fair, Until she brought her train of care; 'Twas then I first began to see, That happiness had fled from me.

The noise of cities, glare of courts, Where gay dissimulation sports, Where envy fain wou'd blight my Rose, Because her cheek so purely glows; Let fortune take her stores again, Give me my cot, and rural plain.

And while I tread the ocean's side, The greatest pleasure, greatest pride, Shall be each day, with Rose to walk, In social inoffensive talk, And when each blissful day shall close, The waves shall lull us to repose.