To watch the storms, and hear the sky Give all our almanacks the lie; To shake with cold, and see the plains In autumn drowned with wintry rains; 'Tis thus I spend my moments here, And wish myself a Dutch mynheer; I then should have no need of wit, For lumpish Hollander unfit! Nor should I then repine at mud, Or meadows deluged with a flood; But in a bog live well content, And find it just my element: Should be a clod, and not a man; Nor wish in vain for Sister Ann, With charitable aid to drag My mind out of its proper quag; Should have the genius of a boor, And no ambition to have more. |