His healthy limbs in quiet slumber hushes;—
——all self-private, serving God, he writes
Fearless, and sings but what his heart indites,
'Till Death, dread Servant of the Eternal Judge,
Comes very late to his sole-seated Lodge.—
Let me, Good Lord! among the Great unkenn'd,
My rest of days in the calm country end:
My company, pure thoughts, to work thy will,
My court, a cottage on a lowly hill."[654:A]
So popular was this version in the early part of the seventeenth century, that Jonson, no indiscriminate encomiast, exclaims, in an epigram to the translator,