IV. The Discharge.
1
Well, 'tis enough, I've charm'd each thought
That mov'd my fancy into crimes:
My little wits I've largely bought,
And now Ile vex no more at times.
Let States run round,
My muse is bound
O're to the peace, I will give o're;
I've said too much, I'le say no more.
2
I have been punish'd for my sin,
And now my state of life I'le change;
Experience jogs me to begin
A fixed frame, and cease to range.
Ile be content
With Parliament,
With a Protector, or a King,
With House of Lords, or any thing.
3
Why should I strive? what's it to me,
Whatever chance in State doth fall?
No rotten Medler I will be,
Since it avails no good at all.
Heart, tongue and Hand
Shall slily stand,
Attending stories high or low,
As Hench-boyes to their Masters do.
4
Let this man wear a sparkling Crown,
And in his hand a Scepter hold;
Let him take't up, or lay it down,
It gains me neither drosse nor gold:
But if I grutch
'Twill lose me much;
And this resembles him that doubles
His own industry for his troubles.
5
Therefore my fancy does decline,
And Virgin-like Ile stand demure;
So shall I ease this heart of mine,
And drink my sacred wine secure;
And laugh at those
That do oppose
State turns, and every change regard,
Receiving ruine for reward.
