If I live to grow old, (for I find I go down!)
Let this be my fate in a country town!

Let me have a warm house, with a stone at the gate;
And a cleanly young girl to rub my bald pate!

May I govern my passion with an absolute sway! And grow wiser and better as my strength wears

away,

Without gout or stone, by a gentle decay! 1
In a country town, by a murmuring brook,
The ocean at distance on which I may look ;
With a spacious plain, without hedge or stile,
And an easy pad-nag to ride out a mile.

With a pudding on Sunday, and stout humming liquor,
And remnants of Latin to puzzle the vicar;
With a hidden reserve of Burgundy wine,
To drink the King's health as oft as I dine.

With Plutarch, and Horace, and one or two more
Of the best wits that lived in the ages before;
With a dish of roast mutton, not venison, nor teal,
And clean, though coarse, linen at every meal.
And if I should have guests, I must add to my wish,
On Fridays, a mess of good buttered fish!
For, full well I do know, and the truth I reveal,
I had better do so, than come short of a meal!

With breeches and jerkin of good country grey,
And live without working, now my strength doth
decay;

With a hogshead of Sherry, for to drink when I please;
With friends to be merry, and to live at my ease.
Without molestation, may I spend my last days
In sweet recreation, and sound forth the praise
Of all those that are true to the King and his laws!
Since it be their due they shall have my applause!

1 The final three lines repeat after each stanza.

When the days are grown short and it freezes and snows,
May I have a coal fire as high as my nose!

A fire which, once stirred up with a prong,
Will keep the room temperate all the night long.

With courage
undaunted may I face the last day;
And, when I am dead, may the better sort say,
In the morning, when sober, in the evening, when
mellow :

He is gone, and has left not behind him his fellow! For he governed his passion with an absolute sway! And grew wiser and better, as his strength wore

away,

Without gout or stone, by a gentle decay."

In 1699 John Pomfret expressed a similar ambition in The Choice, a poem which brought its author so much fame that even as late as the opening of the nineteenth century Southey asks: "Why is Pomfret the most popular of the English poets? The fact is certain and the solution would be useful."

The answer is, probably, that, although no poet, Pomfret succeeded in expressing quite clearly a very general feeling of the time. The poem is too long to quote in full, but the following extracts show how closely Pomfret follows in the wake of Cowley :

"If Heaven the grateful liberty would give,
That I might choose my method how to live:
And all those hours propitious fate should lend,
In blissful ease, and satisfaction spend,
Near some fair town I'd have a private seat,
Built uniform, not little nor too great;
Better if on a rising ground it stood;

On this side fields, on that a neighbouring wood.

It should within no other things contain,
But what are useful, necessary, plain :
Methinks 'tis nauseous; and I'd ne'er endure
The needless pomp of gaudy furniture."

He then proceeds to describe the other amenities which he desires, to make this retreat ideally happy: "A little garden, grateful to the eye;

And a cool rivulet run murmuring by:
On whose delicious banks a stately row
Of shady limes or sycamores should grow.

"silent

At the end of this avenue there should be a study" containing the best of Latin literature, Horace, Virgil, Juvenal, Ovid:

"With all those moderns, men of steady sense,

Esteemed for learning, and for eloquence."

These he would read every morning. A small competence to enable him to live "genteelly but not great," to entertain an occasional friend without inconvenience, and to relieve the poor. He would also have good but plain fare on his table, a frugal plenty,' "" enough to satisfy," with something left over for the poor. Good wine, but no drunkenness, he would have, for

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"What freedom prudence, and right reason give, All men may, with impunity, receive:

But the least swerving from their rule's too much; For what's forbidden us, 'tis death to touch."

He would choose also two friends,

"That life may be more comfortable yet,

And all my joys refined, sincere, and great.'

They must be well born, of kindred humour to himself, discreet, have known men as well as books, be brave,

generous, witty, and neither loose nor formal in conduct. Nor are these demands enough, for the poet proceeds to add other essential qualities which they must possess -obligingness, frankness,

"Brisk in gay talking, and in sober, grave;
Close in dispute, but not tenacious; tried
By solid reason, and let that decide."

Another desire (and one which brought the ecclesiastical poet into trouble, for his enemies soon used the lines to bring a charge of advocating immorality against him) he expressed thus:

"Would bounteous Heaven once more indulge,
I'd choose

(For who would so much satisfaction lose,
As witty nymphs in conversation give)
Near some obliging, modest fair to live:
For there's that sweetness in a female mind
Which in a man's we cannot hope to find;
That, by a secret, but a powerful art,
Winds up the spring of life, and does impart
Fresh vital heat to the transported heart.'

He then gives us a sketch of his ideal of womanhood, beginning of course with the "reasonable" element in her character:

"I'd have her reason all her passions sway;

Easy in company, in private gay;

Coy to a fop, to the deserving free;

Still constant to herself and just to me."

The description of her other qualities includes courage, quickness in decision, speech not too reserved nor yet too free, "regular conduct" and "refined mirth," civility to strangers, kindness to neighbours.

Without vanity, revenge and pride," free from deceit, faithful in friendship, good to all, such must be this inimitable lady whom he demands of heaven. Then follow the indiscreet lines which poor Pomfret failed to see might become a weapon against himself:

"To this fair creature I'd sometimes retire;
Her conversation would new joys inspire;
Give life an edge so keen, no surly care
Would venture to assault my soul, or dare,
Near my retreat, to hide one secret snare.
But so divine, so noble a repast,

I'd seldom, and with moderation, taste:
For highest cordials all their virtues lose,
By a too frequent and too bold a use;
And what would cheer the spirits in distress,
Ruins our health when taken to excess."

These lines, taken in conjunction with the passage quoted below, in which Pomfret (who was married) rejects the thought of taking a wife, formed the case of his enemies against him.

Incautious language certainly, and a great gift for a clergyman seeking preferment, to make to his enemies.

In the final section of the poem he tells us how he would avoid lawsuits, would do all he could for his king and his country, and concludes thus :

"If Heaven a date of many years would give,
Thus I'd in pleasure, ease, and plenty live.
And as I near approached the verge of life,
Some kind relation (for I'd have no wife)
Should take upon him all my worldly care,
Whilst I did for a better state prepare.
Then I'd not be with any trouble vexed,
Nor have the evening of my days perplexed;