_Let me live harmlesly, and near the brink
Of_ Trent _or_ Avon _have a dwelling place,
Where I may see my quil or cork down sink,
With eager bit of_ Pearch, _or_ Bleak, _or_ Dace;
_And on the world and my Creator think,
Whilst some men strive, ill gotten goods t'imbrace;
And others spend their time in base excess
Of wine or worse, in war and wantonness.

Let them that list these pastimes still pursue,
And on such pleasing fancies feed their fill,
So I the fields and meadows green may view,
And daily by fresh Rivers walk at will,
Among the_ Daisies _and the_ Violets _blue,
Red_ Hyacinth, _and yellow_ Daffadil,
_Purple_ Narcissus, _like the morning rayes,
Pale_ ganderglass _and azure_ Culverkayes.

_I count it higher pleasure to behold
The stately compass of the lofty_ Skie,
_And in the midst thereof (like burning Gold)
The flaming Chariot of the worlds great eye,
The watry clouds, that in the aire up rold,
With sundry kinds of painted colour flye;
And fair_ Aurora _lifting up her head,
Still blushing, rise from old_ Tithonius _bed.

The_ hils _and_ mountains _raised from the_ plains,
_The_ plains _extended level with the_ ground,
_The_ grounds _divided into sundry_ vains,