Prison-pietie, or, Meditations divine and moral digested into poetical heads, on mixt and various subjects : whereunto is added a panegyrick to the right reverend, and most nobly descended, Henry Lord Bishop of London / by Samuel Speed ...

¶ The free Prisoner.

WHat though a Prisoner I am now? Time doth allow Instead of liberty, to walk, To write, or talk. What though 〈◊〉〈◊〉 make me sicken? They do me quicken. My body in confinement lies, But my Soul flies. What though by nature I am dumb? Then I be •…•…ome A silent sinner, and my tongue Doth no man wrong. Or what although I loose my sight? Yes if the light Of Divine Graces shine in me, My Soul can see Let sorrows come when God thinks best, They are my Rest: For in afflictions 'tis my Psalm, The Bruise 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Balm. If I'm afflicted in this World, I am but hu•…•…'d •…•…o Heaven, where all pleasures stand At God's right hand. Th'afflictions of this world of care Cannot compare

To those blest Mansions Christ hath wrought, And dearly bought. Dear may I say, because his blood Is that choice flood That drowns my sorrows and my grief, Gives me relief. Thus all things work together for their good, That have lov'd God, and for his honour stood. A Jayl's the centre of this Iron-age, Yet not my Prison, but mine Hermitage. He that can boldly dare, yet justly do, Fortune's his Subject, and his Vassal too.