WRITTEN IN LONDON, SEPTEMBER 1802

          O FRIEND! I know not which way I must look
          For comfort, being, as I am, opprest,
          To think that now our life is only drest
          For show; mean handy-work of craftsman, cook,
          Or groom!--We must run glittering like a brook
          In the open sunshine, or we are unblest:
          The wealthiest man among us is the best:
          No grandeur now in nature or in book
          Delights us. Rapine, avarice, expense,
          This is idolatry; and these we adore:                       10
          Plain living and high thinking are no more:
          The homely beauty of the good old cause
          Is gone; our peace, our fearful innocence,
          And pure religion breathing household laws.