I SCORN the heavenly plains above me, In the blest land of Paradise; No fairer women there will love me Than those whom here on earth I prize. No angel blest, his high flight winging, Could there replace my darling wife; To sit on clouds, whilst psalms I'm singing, Would small enjoyment give to life. O Lord, methinks 'twere best to leave me Upon this lower world to dwell; But first from sufferings reprieve me, Some money granting me as well. The world, I know, is overflowing With sin and misery; yet I Have learnt full well the art of going Along its pavement quietly. Life's bustle cannot now annoy me, For 'tis but seldom that I roam; Beside my wife I'd fain employ me In slippers and loose-coat at home. Leave me with her! When she is prattling, My soul drinks in the music dear Of that sweet voice, so gaily rattling, -- Her look so faithful is and clear! For health alone and means of living, Lord, ask I! Let me stay below For many a day its blessings giving, Beside my wife @3in statu quo!@1 |