Here, here I live with what my Board, Can with the smallest cost afford. Though ne'r so mean the Viands be, They well content my Prew and me. Or Pea, or Bean, or Wort, or Beet, What ever comes, content makes sweet: Here we rejoyce, because no Rent We pay for our poore Tenement: Wherein we rest, and never feare The Landlord, or the Usurer. The Quarter-day do's ne'r affright Our Peacefull slumbers in the night. We eate our own, and batten more, Because we feed on no mans score: But pitie those, whose flanks grow great, Swel'd with the Lard of others meat. We blesse our Fortunes, when we see Our own beloved privacie: And like our living, where w'are known To very few, or else to none. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE INDIAN BURYING GROUND by PHILIP FRENEAU WRINKLES by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR A SUMMER SUMMARY by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS CHARACTERS: WILLIAM ENFIELD by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD HARVEST by GERTRUDE RYDER BENNETT A PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF ST. AUGUSTINE by NICHOLAS BRETON GERALDINE by EMILY JANE BRONTE WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL AT KENMORE, TAYMOUTH by ROBERT BURNS TO CHLOE, WHO WISHED HERSELF YOUNG ENOUGH FOR ME by WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT |