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 ...

¶ On P•…•…ce.

THe patient man is of a metal made Not hard, but flexible: He's overlaid With heavy burthens, which do try his skill, Making Affections equal to his Will: All which he bears rather than feed a feud, Not out of cowardize, but fortitude. He by his yielding doth his foes condemn; Rides Conqueror both of himself and them. He above Nature is; and so prolongs His Cognizance, that he doth tire his wrongs. To receive injuries that dayly fall, Pronounceth him more than Heroïcal.

He God's best witness is; and when he stands Before the Bar for truth, his word commands: He hears his unjust, and with fate His Innocence dares to expostulate. His Jaylors that attend him to the Sages, Are not his Guard so fitly as his Pages. His earthly Dungeon is an heavenly Vault; Vertu's his crime, and Patience his fault. His Rack or Wheel, are the ascending stayers That reach to Glory, all adorn'd with Prayers. Good Laws are his protection, not his ends; Minds not revenge, but loves both foes and friends. If crosses do afflict, he doth submit, And is content, 'cause Heaven thinks it fit. He turns an evil into good: 'tis he Can make a Vertue of necessitie. An easie enemy, a certain friend, To injuries can bow and condescend. Than others, far more happy, he applies A satisfaction to his miseries. He that can keep his angry spirit down, Is better far than he that takes a Town. Patience is the Prisoner's Walk, Patience is the Dumb man's Talk. Patience is the Lame man's Thighs, Patience is the Blind man's eyes. Patience is the Poor man's Ditty, Patience is the Exiles City. Patience, the Sick man's bed of Down, Patience is the Wise man's Crown. Patience is the Live man's Story, Patience is the Dead man's Glory. When your Troubles do controul, In your Patience keep yout Soul.