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Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless breast

Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.

I am the man who never got ahead,

Raw towns that we believe and die in; it survives,

Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire;

Bound am I by ne'er a bond,

Their parchment, plate, and pyx in locked cases,

Poetry descended,

Shall we avoid them as unlucky places?