The Quiet  Life
By alexander pope
Happy the man whose wish and care.
A few paternal acres bound. 
Content to breathe his native air. 
In his own ground. 
Whose herds with milk whose field with bread.
Whose flocks supply him with attire.
Whose trees in summer yield him shade.
In winter fire.
Blest who can uncorncerndly find.
Hours days and years slide soft away.
In health of body peace of mind.
Quiet by day.
Sound sleep by night years slide soft away.
Together mint sweet increation.
And innounce which most does please.
With meditation.
Thous let me live unknown
Thous unlamented for let me die
Seal from the world and not a stone.
Tell where I lie.