William Lamb's Return From Paris: Asking Me My Wish

You ask my wish--the boon I crave,
O grant it--leave me what I have:
Leave me to rest upon my bed,
With broken heart, and weary head.


No stormy passions now arise,
Nor tears relieve these suffering eyes;
No age--no love disturbs me now,
To God's avenging power I bow.


You've yielded to a wicked crew,
Who ruin me, and laugh at you;
Sweep out the gore, and while you can,
Think for yourself, and be a man.