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Contentment cannot smart; stoics we see Make torments easier to their apathy.
These manacles upon my arm
I'm in the cabinet lockt up,
Here sin for want of food must starve,
So he that struck at Jason's life, Thinking t' have made his purpose sure, By a malicious friendly knife Did only wound him to a cure. Malice, I see, wants wit; for what is meant Mischief, ofttimes proves favor by the event.
Have you not seen the nightingale,
I am that bird, whom they combine
My soul is free as ambient air, Although my baser part 's immured,
WHERE honor or where conscience does not bind, No other law shall shackle me; Slave to myself I will not be : Nor shall my future actions be confined By my own present mind. Who by resolves and vows engaged does stand For days that yet belong to Fate, Does, like an unthrift, mortgage his estate Before it falls into his hand. | The bondman of the cloister so All that he does receive does always owe; And still as time comes in, it goes away, Not to enjoy, but debts to pay. Unhappy slave and pupil to a bell! Wij, his hour's work, as well as hours, does tell ! Unhappy to the last, the kind releasing' oi.