101. The Check.
1.
BUt stay, lie down my soul,
Lie down, (dear soul) and leave
The world, corrupt and foul
With vanity, and cleave
Unto thy self, and like a Hermit, spend
Thy days in silence, till thy days shall end.
2.
He sleeps in silver peace
That in a Cell remains,
Where altercations cease
Both from his breast and brains.
No revolution of the reeling State
Can mend or mischief his monastick fate.
3.
No blustring blast that blows
From rigid mouths of Kings;
No poysoned surge that flows
From worth-consuming springs
Can drown his fortunes by their furious flashes,
Or beat his walls down by their dismal dashes.