May I a small house and large garden have; And a few friends, And many books, both true.
The present is all the ready money Fate can give.
This only grant me, that my means may lie, too low for envy, for contempt to high.
Neither the praise nor the blame is our own.
Does not the passage of Moses and the Israelites into the Holy Land yield incomparably more poetic variety than the voyages of Ulysses or Aeneas?
God the first garden made, and the first city Cain.