1 From the court to the cottage convey me away,
For I'm weary of grandeur and what they call gay,
Where pride without measure,
And pomp without pleasure,
Make life in a circle of hurry decay.

2 Far remote and retired from the noise of the town,
I'll exchange my brocade for a plain russet gown;
My friends shall be few,
But well chosen and true,
And sweet recreation our evenings shall crown.

3 With a rural repast, a rich banquet for me,
On a mossy green turf near some shady old tree,
The river's clear brink,
Shall afford me my drink,
And temperance my friendly physician shall be.

4 Ever calm and serene, with contentment still blest,
Not too giddy with joy, nor with sorrow depressed,
I'll neither invoke
Nor repine at death's stroke,
But retire from the world as when to my rest.