chooses to, by the hour together. If he does not choose to, well and
good.

Was the composition of _Britannia's Pastorals_ then, a useless or
inconsiderable feat? Not at all: since to read them is to taste a mild
but continuous pleasure. In the first place, it is always pleasant to
see a good man thoroughly enjoying himself: and that Browne thoroughly
"relisht versing"--to use George Herbert's pretty phrase--would be
patent enough, even had he not left us an express assurance:--

"What now I sing is but to pass away
A tedious hour, as some musicians play;
Or make another my own griefs bemoan--"

--rather affected, that, one suspects:

"Or to be least alone when most alone,
In this can I, as oft as I will choose,
Hug sweet content by my retirèd Muse,
And in a study find as much to please
As others in the greatest palaces.
Each man that lives, according to his power,
On what he loves bestows an idle hour.
Instead of hounds that make the wooded hills
Talk in a hundred voices to the rills,
I like the pleasing cadence of a line
Struck by the consort of the sacred Nine.
In lieu of hawks ..."

--and so on. Indeed, unless it be Wither, there is no poet of the time