Had it pleased Heaven To try me with affliction; had he raind All kinds of sores and shames on my bare head; Steepd me in poverty to the very lips; Given to captivity me and my utmost hopes; I should have found in some place of my soul A drop of patience. Shakespeare.Othello, Act IV. Scene 2. (The Moor to Desdemona.)
When Providence, for secret ends, Corroding cares, or sharp affliction, sends; We must conclude it best it should be so, And not desponding or impatient grow. Pomfret.To his Friend under Affliction.
Are afflictions aught But mercies in disguise? th alternate cup, Medicinal though bitter, and prepard By loves own hand for salutary ends. Mallet.Amyntor and Theodora, Canto III. Line 176.