Classic Poem

I leave the world, it me, yet not alone,
Nor left, have ages for my patrons known.
Or can I be alone, who treat with th' world,
Which is within, your's to th' first Chaos hurl'd.
I onely then to be alone begin,
When on my privacies Sciolists crowd in.
Thus I can pinion time, memory recruit;
From th' Age snatch th' sickle, and reap Wisdomes fruit.
In th' Scheme of th' world my own Nativity finde,
And there gain eyes to see where Chance is blinde.
The fool is solitary, wise-man ne're alone,
Who hath himself, wants no companion.
Who serves himself is never serv'd amisse;
Retirement Wisdoms Cousin German is.
Men live like caged birds, crowd and defile
Each other, while Religion's in exile.
Who leaves himself, 'tis he doth living die;
Inherits worms, who here keeps company.
All do like worms on putrefaction prey,
Or in their actions rottennesse display:
Remote from th' Sun, our dayes are there more long;
Digestion better, life and growth more strong.
Th' worlds glories scorch us, dazle, or exhale;
Or sin turns Ethiop , or guilt makes us pale.
Yet when these scorch, retire, within's a Cave;
In our own bodies we may cooling have.
If Fortunes freeze, or more obscured be;
The souls within, a torch, light, warmth for thee.
Each 's own Umbrella is, and his own sun;
Desert thy self, thy joy and light is done.
Thus you may gain what others strive to seem;
Let me gain Knowledge, others gain Esteem.