| |
| BEAT 1 on, proud billows; Boreas, blow; | |
| Swell, curlèd waves, high as Jove’s roof; | |
| Your incivility doth show | |
| That innocence is tempest-proof: | |
| Though surly Nereus frown, my thoughts are calm; | 5 |
| Then strike, Affliction, for thy wounds are balm. | |
| |
| That which the world miscalls a jail, | |
| A private closet is to me, | |
| Whilst a good conscience is my bail, | |
| And innocence my liberty: | 10 |
| Locks, bars, and solitude together met, | |
| Make me no prisoner, but an anchoret. | |
| |
| I, whilst I wished to be retried, | |
| Into this private room was turned; | |
| As if their wisdom had conspired | 15 |
| The salamander should be burned; | |
| Or like a sophy that would drown a fish, | |
| I am constrained to suffer what I wish. | |
| |
| The cynic loves his poverty; | |
| The pelican her wilderness; | 20 |
| And ’tis the Indian’s pride to be | |
| Naked on frozen Caucasus: | |
| Contentment cannot smart; stoics we see | |
| Make torments easy to their apathy. | |
| |
| These manacles upon my arm | 25 |
| I, as my mistress’ favours, wear; | |
| And for to keep my ancles warm, | |
| I have some iron shackles there: | |
| These walls are but my garrison; this cell, | |
| Which men call jail, doth prove my citadel. | 30 |
| |
| I’m in the cabinet locked up, | |
| Like some high-prizèd margarite, | |
| Or like the great Mogul or Pope, | |
| Am cloistered up from public sight: | |
| Retiredness is a piece of majesty, | 35 |
| And thus, proud sultan, I’m as great as thee. | |
| |
| Here sin for want of food must starve, | |
| Where tempting objects are not seen; | |
| And these strong walls do only serve | |
| To keep vice out, and keep me in: | 40 |
| Malice of late’s grown charitable, sure, | |
| I’m not committed, but am kept secure. | |
| |
| So he that struck at Jason’s life, | |
| Thinking to’ have made his purpose sure, | |
| By a malicious friendly knife | 45 |
| Did only wound him to a cure: | |
| Malice, I see, wants wit; for what is meant | |
| Mischief, ofttimes proves favour by the event. | |
| |
| When once my Prince affliction hath, | |
| Prosperity doth treason seem; | 50 |
| And for to smooth so rough a path, | |
| I can learn patience from him: | |
| Now not to suffer shows no loyal heart, | |
| When kings want ease, subjects must bear a part. | |
| |
| What though I cannot see my King, | 55 |
| Neither in person nor in coin; | |
| Yet contemplation is a thing | |
| That renders what I have not, mine: | |
| My King from me what adamant can part, | |
| Whom I do wear engraven on my heart? | 60 |
| |
| Have you not seen the nightingale, | |
| A pilgrim coopt into a cage, | |
| How doth she chaunt her wonted tale | |
| In that her narrow hermitage? | |
| Even there her charming melody doth prove | 65 |
| That all her bars are trees, her cage a grove. | |
| |
| I am that bird, whom they combine | |
| Thus to deprive of liberty; | |
| But though they do my corps confine, | |
| Yet, maugre hate, my soul is free: | 70 |
| And though immured, yet can I chirp and sing | |
| Disgrace to rebels, glory to my King. | |
| |
| My soul is free as ambient air, | |
| Although my baser part’s immewed, | |
| Whilst loyal thoughts do still repair | 75 |
| To’ accompany my solitude: | |
| Although rebellion do my body bind, | |
| My King alone can captivate my mind. | |
