Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
Ar07000
I , whilst I wish to be retir'd , Into this private room am lurn'd ; As if their wisdom had conspir'd The Salamander should be burn'd . Or , like those Sophists that would drown a fifh , I am condemn'd to suffer what I wish . The Cynic hugs his poverty ;
The Pelican her wilderness ; And ' tis the Indian ' s pride to be * Naked on frozen Caucasus . Contentment cannot smart , Stoics we see Make torments easy by their apathy . These manacles upon mine arm , I , as my mistress' favours wear ; ancles
And for to keep my warm I have some iron shackles there . These walls are but my garrison , this cell , Which men call gaol , doth prove my citadel .
So he that strook at Jason ' s life , Thinking he had his purpose sure ; By a malicious , friendly knife , Did only wound him to his cure . Malice , I see , wants wit ; for what is . meant Mischief , oft times proves favour by th' event . I ' in this cabinet Iock'd up
m , Like some high-priz'd margarite ; Or like some great mogul or pope , I ' m cloister'd up from public sight . Retirement is a piece of majesty , And thus , proud Sultan , I ' m as great as thee . Here sin , for want , 6 f food , must starve , Where tempting objects are not seen ; . do onl
And these strong \ Valls y serve To keep rogues out , and keep me in . Malice of late ' s grown charitable sure , I ' m not committed , but I ' m kept secure .
When once my prince affliction hath , Prosperity doth treason seem ; And to make smooth so rough a path , I can learn patience from him . Now not to suffer shews no loyal heart , When kings want ease , subjects must bear a part . What though I cannot see my king ,
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 ? Have you not seen the Nightingale A hermit kept up in a cage ? her wonted tale
How doth she chant In that her narrow hermitage I Even then her charming melody doth prove , That all her boughs are trees , her cage a grove .
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
Ar07000
I , whilst I wish to be retir'd , Into this private room am lurn'd ; As if their wisdom had conspir'd The Salamander should be burn'd . Or , like those Sophists that would drown a fifh , I am condemn'd to suffer what I wish . The Cynic hugs his poverty ;
The Pelican her wilderness ; And ' tis the Indian ' s pride to be * Naked on frozen Caucasus . Contentment cannot smart , Stoics we see Make torments easy by their apathy . These manacles upon mine arm , I , as my mistress' favours wear ; ancles
And for to keep my warm I have some iron shackles there . These walls are but my garrison , this cell , Which men call gaol , doth prove my citadel .
So he that strook at Jason ' s life , Thinking he had his purpose sure ; By a malicious , friendly knife , Did only wound him to his cure . Malice , I see , wants wit ; for what is . meant Mischief , oft times proves favour by th' event . I ' in this cabinet Iock'd up
m , Like some high-priz'd margarite ; Or like some great mogul or pope , I ' m cloister'd up from public sight . Retirement is a piece of majesty , And thus , proud Sultan , I ' m as great as thee . Here sin , for want , 6 f food , must starve , Where tempting objects are not seen ; . do onl
And these strong \ Valls y serve To keep rogues out , and keep me in . Malice of late ' s grown charitable sure , I ' m not committed , but I ' m kept secure .
When once my prince affliction hath , Prosperity doth treason seem ; And to make smooth so rough a path , I can learn patience from him . Now not to suffer shews no loyal heart , When kings want ease , subjects must bear a part . What though I cannot see my king ,
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 ? Have you not seen the Nightingale A hermit kept up in a cage ? her wonted tale
How doth she chant In that her narrow hermitage I Even then her charming melody doth prove , That all her boughs are trees , her cage a grove .