Then our own Native Land we hate,
Too Cold, too Windy, or too Wet;
Change the thick Climate, and repair
To  or  for Air;
In vain we change, in vain we fly;
Go  mount the Whirling Sky,
Or ride upon the Feather'd Wind;
In vain; If this Diseased Mind
Clings fast and still sits close behind.
Faithful Disease, that never fails
Attendance at her Ladies side
Over the Desart or the Tide
On rolling Wheels or flying Sails.