Old Samuel Johnson's witty lines about a hermit mock these by a young John Milton

 

And may at last my weary age

Find out the peaceful hermitage,

The hairy gown and mossy cell,

Where I may sit and rightly spell

Of ev'ry star that heav'n doth shew,

And ev'ry herb that sips the dew;
Till old experience do attain
To something like prophetic strain.
These pleasures Melancholy give,
And I with thee will choose to live.

-- John Milton, Il Penseroso (c. 1631)