God the first garden made, and the first city Cain.
Nothing so soon the drooping spirits can raise As praises from the men, whom all men praise.
The present is an eternal now.
This only grant me, that my means may lie, too low for envy, for contempt to high.
May I a small house and large garden have; And a few friends, And many books, both true.
Vain, weak-built isthmus, which dost proudly rise Up between two eternities!