To Watch The Storms, And Hear The Sky Give All Our Almanacks The Lie; To Shake With Cold, And See The Plains In Autumn Drown'D With Wintry Rains; 'Tis Thus I Spend My Moments Here, And Wish Myself A Dutch Mynheer; I Then Should Have No Need Of Wit; For Lumpish Hollander Unfit! Nor Should I Then Repine At Mud, Or Meadows Deluged With A Flood; But In A Bog Live Well Content, And Find It Just My Element; Should Be A Clod, And Not A Man; Nor Wish In Vain For Sister Ann, With Charitable Aid To Drag My Mind Out Of Its Proper Quag; Should Have The Genius Of A Boor, And No Ambition To Have More.