Happy the man, whose wish and care A few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air In his own ground; Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, Whose flocks supply him with attire; Whose trees in summer yield him shade, In winter fire; Blest, who can unconcernedly  find Hours, days, and years, slid soft away In health of body, peace of mind, Quit by day; Sound sleep by night; study and ease Together mixt, sweet recreation, And innocence, which most does please With meditation. Thus let me live, unseen, unknown; Thus unlamented let me die; Steal from the world, and not a stone Tell where I lie Copy write by: ALEXANDER POPE