No swain more sad than I in all the run
(I hope you like the settlement)—not one!
Not that I pine for wealth or cities' din,
Or at the distance we've to go for gin:
Peaceful my lot—the frugal damper cakes
That simple-hearted Amaryllis bakes,
Season'd with pickled pork, my wants supply;
And calmly on my cow-skin couch I lie;
But for the thought—shepherd, I'm overcome—
Have you a case about you with some rum?