by: 
  On whose delicious banks a slately row
  Of shady Lymes or Sycamores should grow. 
  At th’ end of which a silent study plac’d,
  Should be with all the noblest authors grac’d. 
  Horace and Virgil, in whose mighty lines
  Immortal wit and solid learning shines. 
  Sharp Juvenal, and am’rous Ovid too,
  Who all the turns of love’s soft passion knew: 
  He that with judgment reads his charming lines,
  In which strong art with stronger nature joins,
  Must grant his fancy, does the best excel;
  His thoughts so tender, and express’d so well. 
  With all those moderns, men of steady sense,
  Esteem’d for learning, and for eloquence. 
  In some of these, as fancy should advise. 
  I’d always take my morning exercise: 
  For sure no minutes bring us more content,
  Than those in pleasing, useful studies spent.

    I’d have a clear, and competent estate,
  That I might live genteely, but not great: 
  As much as I could moderately spend,
  A little more, sometimes t’ oblige a friend. 
  Nor should the sons of poverty repine
  Too much at fortune, they should taste of mine;
  And all that objects of true pity were
  Should be reliev’d with what my wants could spare: 
  For that, our Maker has too largely giv’n,
  Should be return’d, in gratitude to Heav’n,
  A frugal plenty mould my table spread;
  With healthy, not luxurious, dimes fed: 
  Enough to satisfy, and something more
  To feed the stranger, and the neighb’ring poor: 
  Strong meat indulges vice, and pamp’ring food
  Creates diseases, and inflames the blood. 
  But what’s sufficient to make nature strong,
  And the bright lamp of life continue long,
  I’d freely take, and, as I did possess,
  The bounteous author of my plenty bless.

    I’d have a little vault, but always stor’d
  With the best wines each vintage could afford. 
  Wine whets the wit, improves its native force,
  And gives a pleasant flavour to discourse: 
  By making all our spirits debonair,
  Throws off the lees, the sediment of care,
  But as the greatest blessing Heav’n lends,
  May be debauch’d and serve ignoble ends: 
  So, but too oft, the Grape’s refreshing juice
  Does many mischievous effects produce. 
  My house should no such rude disorders know,
  As from high drinking consequently flow: 
  Nor would I use what was so kindly giv’n
  To the dishonour of indulgent Heav’n. 
  If any neighbour came, he should be free,
  Us’d with respect, and not uneasy be,
  In my retreat, or to himself or me. 
  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.