Here, here I live with what my Board, Can with the smallest cost afford. Though ne'r so mean the Viands be, They well content my Prew and me. Or Pea, or Bean, or Wort, or Beet, What ever comes, content makes sweet: Here we rejoyce, because no Rent We pay for our poore Tenement: Wherein we rest, and never feare The Landlord, or the Usurer. The Quarter-day do's ne'r affright Our Peacefull slumbers in the night. We eate our own, and batten more, Because we feed on no mans score: But pitie those, whose flanks grow great, Swel'd with the Lard of others meat. We blesse our Fortunes, when we see Our own beloved privacie: And like our living, where w'are known To very few, or else to none. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...YOUTH AND ART by ROBERT BROWNING CACOETHES SCRIBENDI by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES THE PREACHER by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER AT THE VILLAGE DEPOT by ELIZABETH WILCOX BEASLEY THEIR EASTER AND OURS by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 13 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |