Ostella weeping for my Imprisonment.
WAst not those precious tears for me,
Since Jnnocence cannot be free▪
They sin that live at Liberty.
I boast a freedome more Immense
Than he that is in ev'ry Sense
A Pris'ner to his Conscience▪
Weep not Ostella; for I'm sure
Whil'st thou this Passion do'st endure,
Thou rather help'st to kill than cure.
Should they Ecclipse my eys the sight
Of Day, and shut me up in Night.
Those eyes must then afford me Light.
Should the chill Earth appointed be
My Bed. Content should Cover me;
And I would laugh at Misery.
For how can I be dispossest
Of weet Repose, when in thy Brest
My Heart securely takes its Rest.