The Model

My friend is the man I would copy thro? life,
He harbours no envy he causes no strife.
No murmurs escape him tho? fortune bears hard
Content is his portion and peace his reward
Still happy in his station
He minds his occupation
Nor heeds the cares,
Nor knows the snares,
Which vice and folly brings,
Daily working verily
Nightly singing cheerily
Dear to him his wife, his home, his country & his friend.

His heart is enlarges tho? his income is scant,
He lessons that little to others that want;
Tho? his children dear claim on his industry press
He has something to spare for the child of distress
He seeks no idle-squabble
He joins no through-less rabble
To clear the way
From day to day
His honest views extend
When he speaks ?tis verily
When he smiles tis merrily
Dear to him his sport, his toil, honour, & his friend.

How charming to find in his humble retreat
That bliss so much sought unknown to the great
The wife only anxious his fondness to prove
The playful arments of infantine love
Relaxing from his labours
Amid his welcome neighbors
With plain regale
With jest and tale
The happy peasant see
No vain schemes confounding him
All his joys surrounding him
Dear he holds his native land its laws and liberty.