Weening that he shall find him here, he plies With greater speed his plumes of gilded scale, And deems as well that Peace, here guested, lies, And Charity and Quiet, without fail.
But finds he is deceived in his surmise, As soon as he has past the cloister's pale.
Here Silence is not; nor ('tis said) is found Longer, except in writing, on this ground.
