Give me, oh! indulgent fate,
Give me yet, before I die,
A sweet, but absolute retreat,
'Mongst paths so lost, and trees so high,
That the world may never invade
Through such windings, and such shade,
My unshaken liberty.
No intruders, thither come
Who visit, but to be from home . . .
Courteous Fate, then give me there,
Only plain, and wholesome fare,
Fruits indeed, would Heaven bestow,
All that did in Eden grow,
All, but the forbidden tree,
Would be coveted by me.
Grapes, with juice so crowded up
As breaking through the native cup:
Figs (yet growing) candy'd over
By the sun's attracting power;
Cherries, with the downy peach,
All within my easy reach,
Whilst creeping near the humble ground
Should the strawberry too, be found,
Springing wheresoe'er I strayed,
Through those windings, and that shade . . .
(MS Folger, pp. 220-27)