His Retirement

A Purling Brook glides by this place away,
It's Tribute to the Royal Thames to pay,
Nature makes Arbours here, and ev'ry Tree
Disposes all it's Boughs to favour me;

The Birds sweet Notes here Echo's do repeat,
Here gentle Winds do moderate Summers heat:
Clear is the Air, and verdant is the Grass,
My Couch of Flowers, the Stream's my Looking-glass.

Ah Cynthia! All the Birds that hear and see,
Seem in their Language to condole with mee,
And as I mourn, they pretty Songs do sing,
T' express thy Rigour, and my Suffering.

Whilst to the list'ning Air I make my moan,
And sigh and murmur sitting here alone:
The very Air sighs at my misery,
The Waters murmur too in Sympathy.