The Profit of Imprisonment. A PARADOX, Written in French by Odet de la Nove, Lord of Teligni, being prisoner in the Castle of Tournay. Translated by JOSVAH SILVESTER. printer's or publisher's device ET VSQVE AD NUBES VERITAS TVA Printed at London by Peter Short, for Edward Blunt. 1594. To the worshipful his approved friend master Robert Nicolson merchant, josuah Silvester wisheth ever all true content. TO you, youth's Lodestar, London's ornament, Friend to the Muses, and the well-inclinde, Loving, and loved of every virtuous mind: To you these tuneles accents I present, Of humble style, and uncouth argument, Not to requite, but to record your kind And gentle favours, by the which you bind, My best endeavours to acknowledgement. Accept (I pray) this present in good part, This simple pledge of my sincere affection, Weigh not the worth, but weigh my willing heart (Perfect goodwill suplies all imperfection) So may I one day wright your worthy name, In better tunes upon a bigger frame. A Sonnet of the author to his book THe body ever-pròne to pleasures and delights Of soft, frail, dainty flesh, and to selfe-ease addicted, Abhors imprisonment as a base pain inflicted To punish the defaults of most unhappy wights. The soul as much surprised with love of heavenly sights And longing to behold the place that appertains her Doth loath the body, as a prison that detain her From her high happiness among the blessed sprights Then, sith both body and soul their bondage neur brook But soul and body both do love their liberty: Tell, tell me (o my muse) who will believe our book? He that hath learned aright both these to mortify, And serve our saviour Christ in body and in spirit Who both from thrall hath freed by his own only merit. A Paradox That adversity is more necessary than prosperity: and that of all afflictions, close prison is most pleasant and most profitable. By the Lord of Teligni. HOw ever fondlie-false a vain opinion be, If the vile vulgar once approve it, commonly Most men esteem it true: so great a credit brings Consent of multitude, even in absurdest things. Nor any mean remains when it is once received, To wrest it from the most of erring minds deceived. Nay, who so shall but say, they ought to alter it, He headlong casts himself in dangers deepest pit. For never nimble bark that on adventure runs Through those blue bounding hills where hoary Neptun wunns Was set upon so sore with never-ceast assault Maintained on every side by winds and waters salt, When raging most they raise their roughest tempest dreaded As th'idiot multitude, that monster many-headed Bestirrs itself with wrath, spite, fury, full of terror 'Gainst what soever man that dares reprove her error. Who undertakes that task, must make account at first To take hot wars in hand and bear away the worst. Therefore a many works, worthy the light, have died Before their birth, in breasts of fathers terrified Not by rough deeds alone; but even by foolish threats: " Yet only noise of words base cowards only beats. Then fear who list for me the common people's cry, And who so list be mute, if other minded: I (Scorning the feeble force of such a vain endeavour) Will freely, spite of fear; say what I censure ever: And though my present state permit me not such scope, Mine unforbiden pen with error's pride shall cope. Close prison now adays th'extremest misery The world doth deem, I deem direct the contrary: And therewithal will prove that even adversities Are to be wished more than most prosperities: And for imprisonment though that be most lamented, Of all the griefs wherewith men fear to be tormented, Yet that's the state most store with pleasure and delight, And the most gainful too to any christian wight. A Paradox no doubt more true, then creditable, The which myself sometimes have also thought a fable, While guileful vanities, fed not, but filled my mind, For strengthening sustenance, with unsubstanciall wind. I hated death to death, I also did detest All sickness and disease that might a man molest. But most I did abhor that base-esteemed state, Which to subjections law ourselves doth subjugate, And our sweet life enthralls unto an others will, For as my fancy wished I would have walked still. Death (thought I) soon hath done, & every grief beside, The more extreme it is the lesser time abides: But now, besides that I esteemed the prisoners trouble Much worse, me thought the time his martyrdom did double. So that to scape that scourge so irksome to my heart, I could have been content to suffer any smart. Lo by blind ignorance how judgements are misleaded: Now that full thirty months I have, experienced, That so much-feared ill, 'tis now so used to me That I a prisoner live much more content and free, Then when as under cloak of a false freedom vain, I was base slave indeed to many a bitter pain. But now I see myself mocked every where almost And feeble me alone met by a mighty host Of such as, as in this case do not conceive as I, But do esteem themselves offended much thereby. And therefore (father dear) this weak abortive child, For refuge runs between th'arms of his grandsire mild, If you accept of it, my labour hath his hire, For careless of the rest all that I here desire, Is only that yourself as in a glass may see The image of th'estate of my captivity, Where, though I nothing can avail the common weal, Yet I avail myself at lest some little deal. Praising th' all-powerful Lord, that thus vouchsafes to pour, Such favours manifold upon me every hour; Whereof yourself ere while so sweet sure proof have tasted, In cruel bitterness of bands that longer lasted, Now I beseech his grace to bless mine enterprise, My heart and hand at once to govern in such wise, That what, I wright, may nought displeasing him contain: For void of his sweet aid who works he works in vain. Within the wide-spred space of these round Elements, What soever is indewd with living soul and sense, Seeks of itself selfe-good; this instinct natural Nature herself hath graven in hearts of creatures all, And of all living things from largest to the least Each one to fly his ill doth evermore his best. Thereof it comes (we see) the wild horse full of strength, Tamely to take the bit into his mouth at length, And so by force we tame each most untamed beast, Which of itself, discreet, of evils takes the least: And though that, that which seems to be his chief restraint He often times despise, that's by a worse constraint, As when the Lion fierce, fearless pursues the shining Of bright keen-pearcing blades, and's royal crest declining Full of the valiant fire, that courage wonts to lend, Runs midst a million swords his whelplings to defend, More fearing far that they their liberty should lose, Than on himself the smart of thousand wounding blows. But all things have not now the self same goods and ills, What helpeth one, the same another hurts and kills: There's odds between the good that savage beasts do like, And that good (good indeed) which soul-wise man must seek: When beasts have store of food, and free from foe's annoy, Smartlesse, and sound, and safe, may as they list enjoy Their fill of those delights, that most delight the sense: That, that's the happiness that fully them contents. But reasonable souls (as God hath made mankind) Can with so wretched good not satisfy their mind. But by how much the more their inly sight excels The brutish appetite of every creature else, So much more excellent the good for which they thirst, Man of two parts is made, the body is the worst, The heav'n-borne soul, the best, wherein man's bliss abides, In body that of beasts, nought having else beside: This body stands in need of many an accessory, To make it somewhat seem: the soul recives this glory That selfelie she subsists; and her abundant wealth. (Unlike the body's store) is ever safe from stealth. Our body took his birth of this terrestrial clod. Our spirit, it was inspired of th'inly breath of God; And either of them still strives to his proper place, This earthborn, stoops to earth; that sties to heaven apace. But as the silly bird, whose wings are wrapped in lime, Feign, but in vain, attempts to fly full many a time: So our fair soul surcharg'de with this foul rob of mud, Is tootoo often held from mounting to her GOOD. She strives, she strikes, sometimes she lifts her up aloft, But, as the worse part (we see) prevaleth oft, This false frail flesh of ours with pleasure painted lure, Strait makes her stoop again down to the dust impure, Happy who th'honour hath of such a victory, He crowns his conquering head with more true majesty Then if he had subdued those nations, by his might, Which do discover first Aurora's early light, And those whom Phoebus sees from his Meridian mount, Th' Anti-podes, and all; more than the sand to count. For small the honour is to be acknowledged King And monarch of the world, ones self un-maistering. But each man on his head this garland cannot set, Nor is it given to all this victory to get, Only a very few, gods dear beloved elect This happy goal have got by vertews live effect, The rest, soon weary of this same so painful war, Like well of heaven, but love the earth before it far: Some, drunk with poisonie dregs of worldly pleasures brute, Know where true good consists, burr never do ensewed: Some, do ensue the same, but with so faint a heart, That at the first assault they do retire and start; Some, more courageous, vow more than they bring to pass (So much more easy 'tis to say, then do, alas) And all through too much love of this vain world's allurements or too much idle fear of sufferings and endurements: Mere vanities, whereto, the more men do incline The farther of they are from their chief good divine. Therefore, so many think themselves so miserable, Therefore the air is filled with outcries lamentable, Of such as do disdaigne the thing that better is, To entertain the worse, with forfeit of their bliss, Therefore, we see those men that riches do possess, Afflicted still with care, and therefore, heaviness Abandons never those, that, fed with honnor's fill, Fawn upon potentates, for flitting favour still; And cause (God wots) they have, to be at quiet never Sith their felicity is so uncertain ever. Neither are Kings themselves exempted from vexation However sovereign sway they bear in any nation, For now they wish to win, anon fear loss no less, Yea though for empire they did this wide world possess, Not one of them, with all, could full contented be, For how man more attains, the more attempteth he. Who (therefore) covets most such soon-past goods uncertain Shall ne'er enjoy the joy of goods abiding-certain, But who so seeks to build a true content to last, On else-what must elsewhere his first foundation cast, For all things here below are apt to alter ever; here's nothing permanent, and therefore who soever Trusts thereto, trusteth to a broken staff for stay; For no earth's vanity can bless a man for aye. We must, to make us blest, our firm assurance found Else where then in this world, this chaunge-inthraled ground We must propose ourselves that perfect, perrish-les, That true unfeigned good, that good all dangerles From th'unjust spoil of thieves, which never, never stands In need of guard, to guard from soldiers pilling hands. Now 'tis with spiritual hands and not with corporal That we do apprehend these heavenly treasures all Treasures so precious, that th'only hope to have-them In full fruition once, with him that frankly gave-them, Fills us with every joy, our sorrows chokes and kills, And makes us feel, amid our most tormenting ills, A much more calm content, than those that every day On this frail earth enjoy their hearts wish every way It's therefore in the spirit not in the flesh that we Must seek our sovereign good and chief felicity Th'one is not capable of any injury, Th'other's thrall to the yoke of many a misery Th'one endless, ever lasts, th'other endures so little That wellnigh yered be got 'tis gone it is so brittle. For who is he that now in wealth aboundeth most, Or he that in the Court King's favours best may boast, Or he that's most with robes of dignity bedight, Or he that swims on seas of sensual sweet delight, But is in peril still to prove the contrary, Poor, hated, honnor-les and full of misery. But one, that scorning all these rich proud pomps & pleasures About him ever bears like Bias all his treasures, Even like to him can leave his native country sacked, Without sustain of loss: and with a mind infract, Even vanquished bereave the victor's victories, Who, though his land he win, cannot his heart surprise Let exile, prisonment, and tortures great and small, With their extremest pains at once assail him all, Let him be left alone among his mighty foes, Poor; friendless, naked, sick, (or if aught worse than those) He doth not only bear all this with patience, But taketh even delight in, such experience: Regarding all these griefs, which men so much affright, As babie-fearing bugs, and skar-crowes void of might: He chooseth rather much such excercize as these, Then mid the flesh delights to rust in idle ease. But very few there are that thus much will admit, Nay few or none there are that easily credit it; The most part taking-part with common-most conceit. Yer they have heard of this, sustain the t'other straight: Not seeing that themselves shun and refuse as ill What unto other men for good they offer still Not one of them will brook his son in sloth to lurk But moves, and stirs him up incessantly to work: Forbids him nothing more than sin-seed idleness: Nor any pleasure vain permits him to possess, (For well he knows, that way to virtue doth not lead, But thitherward who walks a path of pain must tread) If he offend in aught he chastens and reproves him, In somuch sharper sort by how much more he loves-him. Thus handleth man the thing that most he holdeth dear Yet thinks it strange himself should so be handled here. May we not rather think we are beloved of God, When as we feel the stripes of his iust-gentle rod? And that, whom here he lett's live as they list in pleasure, Are such as least he loves, and holds not as his treasure? For so, not of our slaves, but of our sons elect, By sharp-sweet chastisements the manners we correct. In very deed God doth as doth a prudent Sire Who little careth what may cross his child's desire But what may most avail unto his betterment So knowing well that ease would make us negligent, He excerciseth us, he stirs us up and presses, And though we murmur much, yet never more he ceases, He chastens, he afflicts; and those whom most he striketh Are those whom most he loves, and whom he chief liketh. No valiant men of war will murmur or mislike For being placed to prove the foremost push of of pike, Nay rather would they there already front the foe, With loss of dearest blood their dauntless hearts to show. If an exploit approach, or battle-day drawnie, If ambush must be laid, some stratagem to try; Or must they meet the foe in eager skirmish fell, Or for the sleepy host all night keep sentinel: From grudging at the pains, so far of are they all, That blest they count themselves; therefore their General Employs them often times, as most courageous; And them approud, he plants in places dangerous, But no man makes account of such as shun the charge, Whose pain is not so little as their shame is large, All of us in this world resemble soldiers right, From day break of our birth even to our dying night, This life it is a war, wherein the valiantest, With hottest skirmishes are ever plied and priest: Whom our grand Captain most setts-by he sets afrunt, The forward, as most fit to bear the chiefest brunt: Cares, exiles, prisonments, diseases, dolours, losses, Maims, tortures, torments, spoils, contempts, dishonours, crosses All these are hard exploits, & full of bicker bold, Which he commits to those whom he doth dearest hold. But leaveth those behind for whom he careth little, To stretch themselves at ease amid their honours brittle Their pomps, their dignities, their joys, their gems, their treasures Their dainties, their delights, their pastims, & their pleasures Like coward grooms that guard the baggage & the stuff While others meet the foe & show their valour's proof. But have not these (say some) in these afflictions part? No; but of punishment, they often feel the smart. Afflicted those we count, whom chastenings tame, and turn, The other punished, that at correction spurn. The first still full of hope, reap profit by their rods, The later desperate, through spite wax worse by odds. Boy-stragglers of a camp, so should be punished then Being naked forced to fight with troops of armed men, Who cannot reap nor reach the pleasure, nor the meed Nor th'honour incident for doing such a deed, To such praise-winning place, brave soldiers gladly run, Which as a dangerous place these faint-harts sadly shun. What warrior in the world, that had not rather try A million of extremes, yea rather even to die, Then with disgraceful spot to stain his honour bright In these corporeal wars? Yet in the ghostly fight Of glory careless all, we shun all labours pain, To purchase with reproach a rest-nest idely-vaine: Virtue is not achieved, by spending of the year In pleasures soft, sweet shades, down beds and dainty cheer, Continual trauell'tis that makes us there arrive And so by travel too virtue is kept alive; For soon all virtue vades without some excercise But being stirred, the more her vigour multiplies. Besides, what man is he, that feels some member rotten Whereof he fears to die, but causeth strait be gotten, Some Surgeon that with saw, with cauter, or with knife, May take that part away to save his threatened life: And suffers (though with smart) his very flesh and bones To be both seared, and sawed, and clean cutof at once. But to recure the soul: the soul with sin infected, All wholesome remedies are hated and rejected. With the Physician kind th'impatient patient frets, Nor to come near him once his helpful hand he lets: We are half putrefied, through sins contagious spot, And without speedy help the rest must wholly rot. Cutof th'infected part, then are we sound and free, Else all must perish needs, there is no remedy. Most happy they, from whom in this frail life, the Lord (With smart of many pains,) cuts-of the pains abhorred Of th'ever-never death, wherein they lie and languish, That here have had their ease and never tasted anguish. But many, which as yet the adverse part approve, Conceive (if not confess) that it doth more behove By faintles exercise fair virtue to maintain Then overwhelmd with vice, at rest to rust in vain. But yet the'xtremitie of sufferings doth dismay-them, The force where of they fear would easily over-lay them, They love the exercise, the chastenings likewise like them But yet they would have God but seld & softly strike-them Else are they priest to run, to ruin, with the devils, They are so sore afeard of falfe-supposed evils: Most wretched is the man that for the fear of nifles, All lively breathing hopes of happy goodness stifles, Of nifles, sir (say they) seem all their bitter crosses As nothing? nor their pains, nor lamentable losses, That daily they endure? were not the wretches blest If from their heavy load their shoulders were released? Who is not happy sure in misery and woe, No doubt prosperity can never make him so, No more than he that's sick should find more ease and good Upon a golden bed, then on a bed of wood. Man harbours in himself the evil that afflicts-him, And his own fault it is, if discontentment pricks-him: And all these outward ills are wrongfully accused, Which flesh and blood doth blame; for being rightly used They all turn to our good: but who so takes offence Thereby, hath by and by his just rough recompense: For neither in their power nor in their proof the same, Are evils in effect but in conceit and name. Which when we lightly weigh, the least of us surmounts them Nor hurt they any one but him that over-counts them. Neither aught that indeed for evil to be rated Which may by accident be unto good translated: For ill is ever ill, and is contrary ever Directly unto good, so that their natures never Can be constrained to brook each other, neither yet Can th'one be ever turned to th'other opposite: But plainly we perceive that thear's no languor such, But long continuance and custom lighten much. Familiarizing so the fit that how so fret it Even in th'extremity one may almost forget it What better proof of this, than those poor gallie-slaves Which (having been before such rogues and idle knaves) As shunning services to labour wear so loath, That they would starve and die rather than leave their sloth, But being used a while to tug the painful oar, Labour that erst they loathed they now desire the more: Or those that are assailed with burning fever-fit Even then when least of all they dread or doubt of it: Which carefully complain, and cry, and rave, and rage, Frying in inward flames the which they cannot suage; Yet if it wax not worse, the daintiest body makes it In eight days as a use, and as a trifle takes it, Or those that have sometimes the painful rack endured, Who without change of pain being a while enured, The pain that did constrain them to bewail and weep, Seems them so easy then, they almost fall asleep. All are not evils then, that are surnamed so Sith evil never can his nature mingle, no Nor turn it into good; whereas we plainly see On th'other side, that these are changed suddenly. And were they ills indeed, sith they so little last Wear't not a very shame to be so much aghast? But here again (say they) th'ons nature never taketh The others nature on, but still the stronger maketh His fellow give him place, and only beareth sway Till that return again, drive it again away. Nay that can never be: for never perfect good Can by his contrary be banished (though withstood) For good is ever good, and where so ere it go Evil doth ever strive, but with too strong a so. There is no reason then, these, good, or ill to call, That altar in this sort, and never rest at all: Neither to bless or blame them for the good or ill That ever in herself our soul concealeth still. For if that from without our bale, or else our bliss Arrived: ever more withal must follow this, That always, unto all, self ill, self pain, would bring: Self good, one self content: but 'tis a certain thing, They are not taken for their quality and kind, But rather as th'affects of men are most inclined. One, losing but a crown hath lost his patience quite, Another having lost five hundred in a night, Is never mou●d a jot, though (having less in store, Then the'other hath by odds) his loss might grieve him more One being banished doth nothing but lament, Another, as at home, is there as well content. And one in prison penned is utterly dismayed, Another, as at home, lives there as well apaid. Needs must we then confess, that in ourselves doth rest, That which unhappieth us, and that which makes us blest: In us indeed the ill, which of ourselves doth grow: And in us too the good, which from god's grace doth flow To whom it pleaseth him: true good that none can owe-yet, Save those on whom the Lord vouchsafeth to bestowit: And that the bitter smart of all the pains that wring-us, From nothing but our sin, receiveth strength to sting-us. Yea surely in ourselves abides our misery, Our Grandsire Adam left us that for legacy, When he enthralled himself unto the law of sin, Wherein his guilty heirs their greeffull birth begin. The Lord had given to him a Nature and a feature Perfect indeed and blest above all other creature; And of this Earthly world had stablished him as King subjecting to his rule the rains of every thing: His spirit within itself no self-debates did nurse Having no knowledge yet of better nor of worse: His body ever blithe and healthful felt no war, Of those four qualities that now do ever jar, Nor any poysonie plant nor any serpent fell, Nor any noisome beast could hurt him any deal: He might, without the taste of bitter death attain▪ Unto the haven of heaven, where all true joys do reign. And had he not misdone he might have well bequeathed, The same inheritance to all that ever breathed, How happy had he been, if he had never eaten, Th'unlawful fatal fruit that double death did threaten, O that he never had preferred the serpent's flatter Before th'eternal law of all the world's creator. You shallbe (said the fiend) like supreme deities, This sweet fruits sugared juice shall open both your eyes Which now your tyrant God envying all your bliss Blinds with a filmie vail of black obscurities, Lest that you should become his equals in degree Knowing both good and ill as well as ever he. Poor Eve believes him strait, and Man beleeus his wife And biteth by and by the apple asking-life: Whereof so soon as he had tasted, he begins (But all too-late alas) to see his cursed sins. His eyes indeed were , and then he had the skill To know the difference between the good and ill Then did he know how good, good was when he had lost-it And evil too he knew (but ah too dearly costit) Leaving himself (besides the sorrow of his loss) Nothing but sad despair of succour in his cross. He found himself fallen down from blissful state of peace Into a civil war where discords never cease: His soul revolting soon became his bitter foe But (as it oft befalls that worst do strongest grow) She is not eased at all by th'inly striving jars Which do annoy her more them th'ireful open wars. Wrath, hatred, envy, fear, sorrow despair and such: And passions opposite to these, afflict as much, Distracting to an fro the Princess of his life, In restless, mutinies and never-ceasing strife. Then th'humor-brethren all, hot, cold, and wet, and dry Fallen out among themselves, augment his misery. So that by their debate within his flesh there seeded A harvest of such weeds as never can be weeded. All creatures that before as subjects did attend him Now, 'mong themselves conspire by all means to offend-him In brief, Immortal borne, now mortal he became, And bound his soul to bide hells everburning flame, Leaving his woeful heirs even from their birth, s beginning Heirs of his heavy pain, as of his heinous sinning. So that in him the Lord condemned all mankind, To bear the punishment to his foul sin assigned: And none had ever 'scaped, had not the God of grace, (Desiring more to save, then to subvert his race) Redeemed us by the death of his dear only son, And chosen us in him before the world begun, Forgiving us the fault, and with the fault, the fine; All save this temporal death, of Adam's sin the sign. Now in the horror of those easeless, endless pains, It may be rightly said that evil ever reigns: That's evill's very self, and not this seeming-woe, Whereof the wanton world complaineth daily so. Lived we ten thousand years continually tormented In all fell tortures strange that ever were invented, What's that compared to time, that never shall expire, Amid th'infernal flames, whose least-afflicting fire Exceedeth all the pains, all mortal hearts can think? Sure all that we endure, till Lethe drops we drink 'tis all but ease to that, or if it be a pain Is in respect of that a very trifle vain. But were't a great deal worse, why should we evil name, That which we rather find a medicine for the same? Health, wealth, security, honour, and ease do make us Forget our God, and God for that doth soon forsake us: Whereas afflictions are the ready means to move us To seek our health in him that doth so dearly love-us. 'Tis true indeed (say some) that benefit they bring-us, But yet the smart thereof doth so extremely wring-us, That th'evil which they feel that do endure the same, Makes them esteem it just to give it that for name. Man's nature, certainly (it cannot be denied) Is thrall to many throws, while here on earth we bide In body and in soul: the troubled soul sostaines A thousand passions strong, the body thousand pains, And that's the wretched state, the which yere-while I said, Was justly due to us, when Adam disobeyed. But he that's once new-born in jesus Christ by faith, Who his assured hope in God sole settled hath, Who doth believe that god gives essence unto all, And all sustaineth still, that nothing doth befall But by his sacred will, and that no strength that striveth To stop his just decrees, can stand or ever thriveth. Not only doth accept all pains with patience, The which he takes for due unto his deep offence: Nor only is content, if such be gods good pleasure, To feel a thousand fold a much more ample measure, But even delights therein, and void of any fear, Expects th'extremity of all assaults to bear. Whether almighty god abate their wonted vigour, Or (that his may not feel their crosses cruel rigour) Do wholly arm them with new forces for the nonce, To bear the bitter brunt: or whether both at once. And to approve this true; how many daily drink Of torments bitter cup, that never seem to shrink? Alas, what sharper smart? what more-afflicting pains? What worse grief than that, which ceaselessly sustains He that by some mischance, or else by martial thunder, Unhappily hath had some main bone broke in sunder? What torment feeleth not the sore-sicke deep-diseased? One while with cruel fit of burning fever ceased: Another while assailed with colic and with stone, Or with the cureless Gout, whose rigour yields to none. Or thousand other griefs, whose bitter-vexing strife, Disturbs continually the quiet of our life? Yet notwithstanding this, in all this painful anguish, (Though the most part repine, & plain, & mourn, & languish, Murmuring against the Lord, with malcontented voice) Some praise his clemency, and in his rods rejoice. How many such (dear Saints) have tormentors seen, To die between their hands, through moody tyrant's teen? So little daunted at their martyrdom and slaughter, That in th'extremity they have expressed laughter. How many at the stake, nay, in the very flame, Have sung with cheerful voice, th'almighties prais-ful name; Yet were they all compact of Artirs and of veins, Of sinews, bones, and flesh: and sensible of pains, (By nature at the least) as much as any other, For being issued all from one self earthly mother, What makes them then to find such extreme smart so sweet What makes them patiently those deadly pangs to meet, No doubt it is the Lord, who first of nothing made-us, Who with his liberal hand of goodness still doth lade-us Some more, and other less: and never ceaseth space From making us to feel the favours of his grace. Accursed are they indeed whom he doth all abandon To do their lust for law, and run their life at random. Accursed who never taste the sharp-sweet hand of God; Accursed, ah, most accursed who never feel his rod. Such men by nature borne the bondslaves unto sin, Through selfe-corruption end, worse than they did begin: For how thy longer live, the more by their amiss, They draw them nearer hell and farther of from bliss. Such men within themselves their euill's spring contain Their is no outward thing (as falsely they complain) Cause of their cureless ill: for good is every thing, And good can, of itself, to noman evil bring. Now if they could aright these earthly pleasures prise According to their wurth, they would not in such wise, For lack, or loss of those, so vain and transitory Lament so bitterly, nor be so sadlie-sorrie. But overloving still these outward things unstable, To rest in true content, an hour, they are not able, No not a moment's time, their fear doth so assaile-them, And if their fear fall true, that their Good fortune faile-them, Then swell their sullen hearts with sorrow till they burst And then poor desperate souls they deem themselves accursed: And so indeed they are, but yet they ere in this, In blaming other things, for their own selfe-amisse, Other indifferent things, that neither make, nor mar, But to the good, be good; to th'evil, evil are. Is't not great foolishness, for any to complain, That something is not done, which doth him nought constrain? Sith if he use the same, soule-health it hurteth not, Nor if he do not use't it helpeth not a jot. But needs must we complain, (say some) for we have cause; Then at your peril be it; for that which chiefly draws You thereto, tis in truth your brutnesse in misdeeming Things evil, that are good (for sence-contrarie seeming) And whilst that in the dark of this foul errors missed, Your drowsy spirits do droop, alas what marvel be't, If evil follow you, and if injurious still To others you impute your self-engendered ill? Happy are they to whom the Lord vouchsafeth sight To see the lovely beams and life-infusing light, Of his sweet sacred truth; whereby we may perceive And judge arightly, what to love, and what to leave. Such men within their souls, their goods have wholly placed Such goods, as never fire can either burn or waste: Nor any thief can steal, nor pirate make his pray, Nor usury consume, nor tyrant take away; Nor times all-gnawing tooth can fret away, nor finish, Nor any accident of sad mischance diminish. For it is built on God, a rock that ever stands, Not on the vanities of these inconstant sands Which are more mutable than wind and more unstable, And day by day do make so many miserable. O to what sweet content, to what high joys aspires, He that in God alone can limmit his desires! He that in him alone his hopes can wholly rest, He that for only end, waits for the wages blest Wherewith he promiseth for ever sans respect Of their self-meriting, to guerdon his elect. What is it can bereave the wealth of such a man? What is it that disturb his perfect pleasures can? What is it can supplant his honnors and degrees? Sith all his treasures, his delights, his dignities Are all laid up in heaven: where it were all in vain For all the sons of earth to war with might and main. No doubt (will some man say) each christian doth aspire After this body's death to those dear treasures higher That are reserved in heaven, whereof the sweet possession, Fears not the violence of all the world's oppression: But whilst that here below this frail flesh-burthen ties him, But the bare hope he hath, which how can it suffice-him Against the sharp assaults of passions infinite Whose glad-sad cross conflicts afflict him day and night? Needs must I grant indeed, that that same perfect joy We cannot perfectly upon this earth enjoy: But that that hope alone doth not sufficiently, Bless his life where it lives, for my part I deny. Some do not fear we see, to spend their stock and store, To undertake the task of many travails sore: To hazard limbs and lives in service of some Lord, Depending oft upon his foole-fat-feeding word: Or waiting else perhaps, without all other hold Until it please himself his francknes to unfold, Not reeking all their pain they are so inly pleased, With hoped benefit whereof they are not seized. And shall th'assured hope of ever-blisses then For which we have the word, not of vain mortal men, That teach their tongues to lie; but of the highest God The God of truth, truth's self, where truth hath still abode: Shall that (I say) not serve to settle our faint hearts, Against (I will not say) like dangers and like smarts: But 'gainst these petty griefs that now and then do pain-us No more like those then heaven near earth that doth sustain-us? Ah, shall we then despise all trouble and vexation, Supported by a prop of doubtful expectation: And while for earthly things we can endure this Shall we not do as much for an immortal bliss? Indeed not of ourselves, for self-ly nought we can, But God when pleaseth him doth give this strength to man, Whereby he standeth stout: even like a mighty rock Amid the mounting waves when Eol● doth unlock Stern Austers stormy gate, making the waters wrestle And rush with wrathful rage against the sturdy castle Whilst it, for all the force of their fell fury shown Is not so much as moved, and much less overthrown. So fareth such a man: for if from high degree, He suddenly do slide, to live contemnedly With the vile vulgar sort, that cannot make him waver, For well he is assured that gods high holy favour Depends not on the pomp, nor vain, proud state and port, That for the grace of kings adorn the courtly sort. If he be kept in bands, thrall to the tyrannies And extreme cruel laws of ruthless enemies, Both void of help and hope, and of all likelihood Of being ever freed from their hands thirsting-blood; In spite of them he knows that one day he shall die, And then he shall enjoy an endless liberty. If he be forced to fly from his dear country-clime In exile to expire the remnant of his time, He doth suppose the world to be a country common, From whence no tyranny till death can banish no man. If that he must forsake his parents and his kin, And those whose amity he most delighteth in, He knows that where he finds a man, he finds a kinsman For all mankind is come from one self father sinnes-man. If being spoiled of wealth, and wanton pampering plenty He find upon his board two dishes scant of twenty, And to his back one coat to keep the cold away whereas he had before a new for every day: He learneth of Saint Paul, who bids us be content, With food and furniture to this life competent, Sith nothing (as saith job) into this world we brought Nor with us when we die can we hence carry aught. If he be passing poor, and in exceeding lack Of every needful thing for belly and for back, He learneth of the Son, that God the Father heedeth, To give to every one, in time, the thing he needeth: And that the fowls of heaven, and cattle small and great, Do neither sow nor reap, yet find they what to eat: Yea that the Lilies fair which grow among the grass Do neither spin nor work and yet their garments pass For colour and for cost, for art and ornament, The glorious Salomon's rich robes of Parliament. If so, that he be sick, or wounded in the arm, In body, back, or breast, or such like kind of harm: If in extremity of angry pain and anguish Enfeebled still by fits, he bedrid lie and languish: If all the miseries that ever martyred man At once on every side afflict him all they can: The more that he endures, the more his comforts grow, Sith so his wretchedness he sooner comes to know That from world's vanities he may himself advance Which hold all those from heaven, that still delight that dance. He fears not those at all that with their utmost might, Having the body slain can do no farther spite: But only him that with ten thousand deaths can kill, The soul and body both for ever if he will: He knows it is their lot that seek to please their God To be afflicted still with persecutions rod, So that what ever cross, how ever sharp assaile-him His constant heart's content and comfort cannot faile-him But he must die (say you), alas can that dismay? Where is the labourer that (having wrought all day Amid the burning heat, with weariness oppressed) Complains that night is come when he shall go to rest. The Merchant that returns from some far foreign lands, Escaping dreadful rocks and dangerous shelves and sands, When as he sees his ship her home-haven enter safe, Will he repine at God, and as offended chafe For being brought to soon home to his native soil, Free from all perils sad that threaten saylor's spoil? He knows, from thousand deaths that this one death doth lose him That in heavens ever-ioyes, he ever may repose-him: That he must bring his bark into this creak, before In th'ever lasting land he can set foot ashore: That he can never come to incorruption, Unless that first his flesh do feel corruption: So that all rapt with joy, having his help so ready, This shipwreck he escapes, as on a rock most steady. But more perhaps then death the kind of death dismayeth, Which serves him for a bridge that him to heaven convaieth. Whether he end his days by natural disease: Or in a boisterous storm do perish on the seas: Or by the bloody hands of armed foes be slain: Or by mischance a stone fall down, and dash his brain: Or by the murdering ball of newfound earthly thunder By day or else by nighr his bones be pashed asunder Or burned at a stake; or bitterly tormented, By cruel slaughtermen, in tortures new-inuented. Alas, alas, for that, much less than lest he careth: For as a man fallen down into a pit, he fareth, Who if he may be drawn up from the noison place Where adders, toads, and snakes crawl over feet and face, Respects not, whether that ye use a silken skein, Hemp-rope, or chain of gold, so he get up again: Even so, so he may come to his desired bliss The manner and the means to him indifferent is, As for the differing pain (if any him do torture) If it be violent, he knows it is the shorter: But be it ne'er so long, long sure it cannot last To us, whose Post-like life is all so quickly passed. Now such a man, in whom such firm contents do hive, Who can deny to be the happiest man alive? And who so impudent, that dareth now profess, That this worlds sained sweet (whose unfainde bitterness Brings to this very life full many torments fell, And after dingeth down to th'endless pains of hell.) Should be preferred before these seeming-sowres, that make us Taste many true-sweet sweets ere this dead life forsake us. And after lift us up to that same blessed joy, That evermore shall last, exempt from all annoy. So few there will be found (as I suppose) so deeming, As many which (more feared with these ills falsly-seeming: Than inly fallen in love with heaven-ioyes excellence) Approving this estate, flyeed as the pestilence. And yet in this estate is found felicity, (As far forth as it may amid the vanity Of this frail fading world, where each thing hourly changes, For never from itself true happiness estranges. It never doth decay, it never doth decrease, In spite of angry war it ever lives in peace. Maulgre poor want, it hath ten thousand kinds of wealth, Amid infirmities it hath continual health. Environed round with woe, it doth rejoice and sing: Deprived of dignities, it's greater than a king. It sits secure and safe, free from hart-pining fears, For ever with itself it all dear treasures bears. Not needing any aid of men of arms to watch-them, Nor fearing fraud, nor force of any foe to catch-them. Whereas we daily see so many men, whose mind To transitory trash of world wealth is inclined, In their abundance beg, and in their plenty poor, (For who hath had so much, that hath not wished more?) No treasures can suffice the gulf of their desire, Yea, make them Emperors, yet will they more aspire. Peace cannot pacify the fell rebellious broil That in their troubled soul doth ever burn and boil. For every short content of any false delight, A thousand bitter throws torment them day and night. All their estate doth stand abroad in hands of strangers, Therefore the more their wealth, the more their daily dangers The more their miseries, because the more they need, Much strength and many men unto their hoards to heed: Dreading with cause, least craft and cruelty, or either, Bereave them of their bliss, and treasure both together. Needs must we then confess that in adversity, There is more happiness then in prosperity, Sith that the mind of man so soon itself betrays, Unto the guileful snares that worldly pleasure lays, Which make us at the last headlong to hell to run: All which adversity doth make us safely shun. But here it may be asked, if pleasure, state and store, (Plunging us in the pit of vices more and more) Be subject so to make us more and more accursed, Must we esteem that grief (which sense esteemeth worst) Moore fit to better us, and bring us unto bliss, Then those whose smarting sting is not so strong as this? Sure, sith that in ourselves our cause original, Of bliss, and bale we hide, it matters not at all, For still the faithful man one and the same remains, Whether the grief be great or little he sustains: Sith how so ere it be, he takes occasion thence, To seek in God alone, his comfort and defence. But for because our soul, the while she doth consort With this gross fleshly lump, cannot, but in some sort Suffer as sensible, yea, oftentimes so far, That her best functions all, less apt and able are Than else at other times: I do suppose the proof Of one, than other ill, avails more in behoof: That this is so, we see, a sick man oft to find Such joyful quietness, and comfort in his mind, That he esteems himself the best content alive: But yet the sharp disease, which doth his health deprive, Withholdeth in some sort his senses and his wit, That freely otherwhere he cannot use them fit. And so it fares with him, that through resolved well, Endures the cruel strains of any torture fell. Now for the bannishd man, the changing of his dwelling Never disturbs his joy. And he whose wealth excelling Turns in a trice to want, by whatsoever chance, His courage never shrinks nor yet his countenance. So that in their content, all four are all alike, Alike rejoicing all in their afflictions eke: Alike contemning all world's pompous vanities, But the two last, have odds in their extremities In that without impeach, they may apply their mind To many goodly things, wherein great joy they find. (I mean when each distress offends a man alone, Not when he is assailed at once of every one.) Yet perrils quickly passed, danger endureth not, Exile so easy grows that it is soon forgot, The greatest loss that is we mind not many hours, For thousand accidents dictract this soul of ours, Which cannot in such sort the senses still restrain But that they will go feed on many objects vain Whereby at unawares she oftentimes surprised, Is over reached by those, whose rigour she despised: And so the pleasant taste she doth untimely miss, Wherewith affliction sweet doth season hear her bliss, So that, some other state (wherein our soul, less fed With sundry objects vain, shallbe more settled) May rightly be preferred to these which make her stay, And stumble oftentimes, unto her own decay, And therefore I sustain, close prison to be best, Of all afflictions that may a man molest. Considering, all defects to other crosses common, In this are seldom found, and almost, felt of no man. For Prison is a place where God sequesters men, Far from the vile prospect of vanities terren, To make them thence withdraw their hearts and to confess, That in his grace alone consists their happiness. It is a learned school, where God himself reads clearly True wisdoms perfect rules, to those he loveth dearly. There, th'understanding, (free, amid the many chains, That bind the body fast) finds out a thousand means, To learn another day to be more apt and able According to our place for uses serviceable, To profit publike-weale for evermore we ought, In seeking selfe-gaine see that common good be sought, Knowledge is only learned by long excercitation: For which, what fit mean than such a sequestration, Where each-man undisturbd, through diligence may grow According to the gifts that gracious heavens bestow: One in ability to rule a lawful state, The virtuous to advance, and vicious to abate: Another, from the Tomb to fetch Antiquity: Another to discern true truth from sophistry, Another by the feats of elder men at Arms, To fram wise stratagems for woeful wars alarms, (For soldiers oftentimes may more experience get By reading, than they can where camp and camp is met) And (briefly to conclude) some, gravely to advise, Some, bold to execute, as each man's calling lies: But most of all, to search within the sacred writ, The secret mysteries to man's salvation fit. A world of vanities, that do distract us here During our liberty; in durance, come not near: The wall that lets our legs from walking out of door Bounding us round about within a narrow floor, Doth guard us from the gall which Satan spring of spite, Mingles among the sweet of this vain world's delight. If he be happier man that liveth free from foes Then he whom angry troops of enemies enclose: Much more the prisoner then of his high bliss may boast For being so far of from such a huge host Of hateful foes so fierce in malice and in might, Himself so faint and weak, and so unfit to fight: For he, and we God wots in steed of standing toit (However in a vain, we vaunt that we will do-it) When't cometh to the brunt we cannot brook the field But either fly like hares, or else like cowards yield. The sundry objects fond, which make us soon forget Each other chastisement, in this do never let For turn we where we list and look which way we will At all times to our sight one thing is offered still, Whether on pavement, roof, or wall we cast our eye, Always of our estate an Image we descry, And so it also fares with our newes-greedie ear, One very sound resounds about us every where: Where ever hearken we, we here of nought but foes, Our keepers commonly are not too kind (God knows) By the least noise that is continually they tell In what estate we stand and in what house we dwell. So that incessantly our hearts are lift on high: Some times to praise the lord for his benignity, Who doth not punish us after our foul offence, Though by a thousand sins we daily him incense: Some times to magnify his admirable might Which hath our feeble hearts with such great force bedight That we, in steed of grief, or grudging at the pains, Of sharpest chastisements, whereof the world complains, Leaving this loathed Earth we mount the highest place Where through true faith we taste his hunnie-sweeter grace: Some times to give him thanks for all the wealth exceeding Which from his liberal hand we have to help our needing: And to be short, sans cease to meditate on all The countles benefits that from his goodness fall Not suffering any hour to pass away for nought Without exalting him in deed or word or thought. Yet doth the world esteem this, a most hard estate And him that feels the same, it counts unfortunate, But I would gladly see some other state wherein With such commodity, so much content is seen; Wherein less hindrance and less encumbrance lies, To make men miss the path unto perfections prize Sure sir (will some man say) you set a good face onit One might at length convert, commenting so upon-it The cruel'st prison house into a mansion fair, Where 'twere not hard to live content and void of care: You take your prison for a practive man of art, But such as those God knows you find the fewest part: You feign him to be friend to solitude and quiet But the most part are prone to revel and to riot: One must be free from noise that means to study well, Whereof who can be sure in such a servile hell? Besides he must have books, and paper pen and ink, All which in prisoners hands are seldom left I think; So that you do not feign your gail so good and gainful As to find out the same is difficult and painful. I answer in a word (if any so shall wrangle,) I do not bound all bliss within so strait an angle: I say great happiness and hart-reviuing joy Follows th'afflicted sort in every sharp annoy: But that there is no cross that doth so much avail, To make us fit to help our neighbour, as the gail, Wherein the God of grace at his good pleasure gives, Means to effect the same, unto the least that lives. But be it so, in bands, that nothing learn we can, 'tis to be learned enough, to be an honest man: And this is th'only school, wherein th' Arch-maister teacheh, Himself, by secret means, rules that the rudest reacheth Th'advise of such a one more profit doth impart Then of the wicked sort with all their curious art. Concerning solitude, although that commonly Our nature be inclined unto the contrary; There, the assistant grace of God we chiefly find Who changing of our place doth also change our mind. For being free from noise and for obtaining tools To help our knowledge with, as in all other skooles: God ever cares for those that fear his name for love. And if that any such, such inconvenience prove If any money need, or else through ample distance Be destitute of friends, he gets them for assistance The favour of their foes, whose hearts he handles so (However they intent his children's overthrow) That his, of what they need have evermore enough, According as he knows to be to their behoof. Now say that we consent (say some) that this is true: But what if somewhat worse than all this worst ensue? What if he be enforced his country to forsake? What if continual fits his sickly body shake? What if he lose at once his wealth and reputation? on a very side with every sharp vexation? Can he still keep his joy, and can he still retain Such means to profit still, for all this grief and pain? Concerning his content, it's always all alike, Whether that every grief particularly strike, Or whether all at once he feel their utmost anger, And if he be suprisd with so extreme a languor That (as I said before) the spirit it enforce Through suffering of the smart that doth afflict the corpse, To leave his offices, so that he cannot wright Nor read nor meditate nor study, nor indight. It is so quickly passed, that in comparison, regarding so great good, 'tis not to think upon. For, by a mighty grief, our life is quickly ended, Or else by remedy itself is soon amended: And if it be but mean, then is it borne the better And so unto the soul it is not any letter. Besides, we must conceive, our spirit (as oppressed With fainting weariness,) sometimes desireth rest, To gather strength again, during which needful pause We are not to be blamed, sith need the same doth cause: So that the time that's lost while such sharp pangs do pain May be supposed a time of taking breath again. In prison (to conclude) a man at once may try All manner of extremes of earthly misery: In which respect perhaps the worse some deem of it, Being as, 'twear the but that all men strive to hit, But I esteem the same the perfecter for that: For if one cross alone can make us elevate Our groveling earth desires from cogitations base, To have recourse to God, and to implore his grace, Seeking in him alone our perfect joy and bliss: Much more shall many griefs at once accomplish this. For many can do more than one (without respect) And still, the greater cause, the greater the effect. Indeed (say othersome) these reasons have some reason But then whence comes it that so many men in prison With hundred thousand pains, pinched and oppressed sore, In steed of bettering there, wax wurser then before, Instead of sweet content, do still complain and cry, In steed of learning more, lose former industry? Though (in appearance great) your sayings seem but just Yet plain experience (sure) we think is best to trust. That hidden virtue rare that so great good achieves, Lies in the prisoners heart not in his heavy gives, The good grow better there, the bad become the worse For by their sin they turn God's blessing into curse. And that's the cause the most are malcontent and sad Sith evermore the good are fewer than the bad. But wherefore doth not God to all vouchsafe this grace? Proud earth-worms, pause we there: let's fear before his face, Admiring humbly all his holy judgements high Exceeding all too far our weak capacity. The potter's vessel vile, doth us our lesson show Which argues not with him why he hath made it so: Much less may we contend, but rather rest content With that which God hath given. He is omnipotent, All gracious, and all good, most just, and perfect wise: On some, he pours a sea of his benignities, On some, a shallow brook, on other some, a flood. Giving to some, a small, to some a greater good: As, from eternity hath pleased th'eternal Spirit To love men more or less, without respect of merit. For my part should I live ten Nestor's years to pass, Had I a hundred tongues more smooth than Tullye's was, Had I a voice of steel, and had I brazen sides, And learning more than all the Helyconian guides; Yet were I all too-weake to tell the many graces That in ten thousand sorts, and in ten thousand places, Ten hundred thousand times he hath vouchsafed me Not for my merits sake but for his mercy free. But yet 'mong all the goods that of his liberal bounty I have received so oft, non to compare accoumpt-I With this close prisonment, wherein he doth with-draw-me Far from the wanton world, and to himself doth draw-me I posted on a pace to ruin and perdition When by this sharp-sweet pill, my cunning kind Physician Did purge (maugre my will) the poisonie humour fell Wherewith my sin-sick heart already 'gan to swell. I looked for nothing less than for these miseries And pains that I have proved, the world's vain vanities Had so seduceed my soul, with baits of sugared bane, That it was death to me from pleasure to be ta'en: But, (crossing my request) God for my profit, gave Me quite the contrary to that which I did crave. So that, my body barring from a freedom small, He set my soul at large, which unto sin was thrall. Wounding with musket shot my feeble arm, he cured The festering sores of sin, the which my soul endured: Tripping me from the top of some mean dignity, Which drew me up to climb the mount of vanity, He raised me from the depth of vices darksome cell, The which incessantly did ding me down to hell: Easing me (to conclude) of all the grief and care, wherewith these false delights for ever sauced are. He made me find and feel amid my most annoys, A thousand true contents, and thousand perfect joys. But some perhaps amazed, will muse what kind of pleasure Here I can take, and how I pass my time and leisure: For in foul idleness to spend so large a time, It cannot be denied to be a grievous crime. First, in the morning, when the spirit is fresh and fit, I suck the honey sweet from forth the sacred writ, Wherein by faith we taste that true celestial bread, Whence our immortal souls are ever only fed: Then search I out the saws of other sage divines, (The best here to be had) among whose humane lines, Supported by the grace of God's especial power, I leave the thorn behind, and pluck the healthsome flower. Sometimes I do admire, in books of heathen men, Grave sayings savouring more a sacred Christian pen, Than many of our age, whose bold unlearned pride, Thinking to honour God, hath erred on every side: Sometimes, when I observe in every ancient story, Such virtuous precedents, trim patterns of true glory: I woefully bewail our wretched wicked days, where virtue is despised, and vice hath all the praise. Oft I lament to see so many noble wits, (Neglecting God's high praise, that best their learning fits) To sing of nought but lies, and loves & wanton themes, False sooth-sinne flatteries, and idle Fairy dreams, Then turning towards those, that filled with holier flame, For only subject choose th'Eternals sacred name: These chief I admire, whose honourable brows Disdain the feigned crown of fading Laurel boughs, Then full-gorged with the sweets of such a dainty feast (Pricked forward with desire to imitate the best) Oft times I excercise this arte-les muse of mine To sing in holy verse some argument divine. One while to praise my God for all received good: An other while to beg, that in his dear sons blood My black sins he will wash, and that he will not weigh At his high justice beam, how I have gone a-stray. Sometimes, these wretched times to pity and deplore Wherein the wicked ones do flourish more and more, Sometimes to wail the state of sad distressed Zion Imploring to her aid the Tribe of judah's Lion. If any other theme at any time I take, Yet never doth my verse the settled bounds forsake That verity prescribes, nor now no more disguise The ugly face of sin with mask of painted lies. And though that heretofore, I also in my time Have writ loves vanities, in wanton idle rhyme: 'twas as a whetstone that whereon I whet my style, Yer it wear ablely-apt ought graver to compile: Yet I repent thereof: for we must never tend To bring by evil means a good intent to end. When as my weary spirits some relaxation ask, To recreate the same, I take some other task, One while upon the Lute, my nimble joints I ply, Then on the Virginals, to whose sweet harmony Marrying my simple voice in solemn tunes I sing Some psalm or holy song, unto the heavenly King. So that the idlest hour of all the time that flies So fast, is never free from some good excercise. Wherein I joy as much, as ever I have done, In the most choice delights found underneath the sun. But you can never walk nor go to take the air Nor once look out of door, be weather near so fair, But there in solitud you lead your life alone Bard from the fellowship of almost every one, Which doubtless at the last must grieve you needs I think. A man that never thirsts hath never need of drink So though I be bereft these other things you speake-of I miss nor mind them not, as things I never reake-of. For I have scold my heart since my captivity, To wish for nothing else, but what is granted me And what is granted me, contents me passing well. In each condition doth some contentment dwell: But men of differing states have difference in delights, What pleaseth common eyes, that irketh princes sights, What rashelings do delight that sober men despise, What fools take pleasure in, doth but offend the wise, What prosperous people loath, afflicted folk will love, And what the free abhor that prisoners will approve. But all have equally indifferent power to make Them equally content, that can them rightly take: For who so presently, himself can rightly bear, Hath neither passed ill, nor future ill to fear: Th'one, which is now no more, ought now no more affray-us Th'other, which is not yet, as little can dismay-us For what no essence hath, that also hath no might, And that which hath power, can do a man no spite. Besides, sith that our life is but a pilgrimage; Through which we dally pass to th'heavenly heritage: Although it seem to thee that these my bands do let-mee Yet hast I to the goal the which my God hath set-me As fast as thou that run'st thyself so out of breath In posting night and day, by dales and hills and heath. If thou have open fields, and I be prisoner T'importeth me no more, then to the mariner, Whether he go to sea shipped in some spacious ark Or else at lesser scope aboard some lesser bark. Nay, here the least is best, sith this vast ocean wide Whereon we daily sail a thousand rocks doth hide 'Gainst which the greater ships are cast away full oft While small boats, for the most, float over safe aloft. Then may I well conclude with reason and assurance That thear's no better state then to be kept in durance, A sweeter kind of life I never proved then there: Nor was I ever touched with lesser grief and care: If that I care at all it is for others cause And for the miseries this times corruption draws: But being well assured that nothing here betideth Against God's ordinance and will that all things guideth And knowing him to be good, just and most of might I gladly yield myself to th'order he hath pight. For he it is, that now makes me accept so well And like of this estate which others hate as hell, He 'tis that heretofore vouchsafed me like relief When as I was oppressed with a more grievous grief: He 'tis from whom I hope in time too-come no less Athough a hundred fold were doubled my distress. Yea he it is that makes me profit every day, And also so content in this estate to stay, That of my liberty I am not now so feign To think by liberty a happier life to gain For I were well content no more from hence to go, If I might profit most my friends and country so. Now here I humbly pray (expecting such an end) The Lord still towards me his favour to extend, And that he will vouchsafe still to allot like grace, To all that for like cause are handled in like case. FINIS.