Years slide soft away
A few paternal acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air,
In his own ground.
Whose flocks supply him with attire,
Whose trees in summer yield him shade,
In winter fire.
Hours, days, and years slide soft away,
In health of body, peace of mind,
Quiet by day,
Together mix'd; sweet recreation,
And innocence, which most does please,
With meditation.
Thus unlamented let me dye;
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lye.
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