Seccombe and Arber, comps. Elizabethan Sonnets. 1904.
FidessaSonnet XLI. The prison I am in is thy fair face!
Bartholomew Griffin (d. 1602)T
Wherein my liberty enchainèd lies;
My thoughts, the bolts that hold me in the place;
My food, the pleasing looks of thy fair eyes!
Deep is the prison where I lie enclosed,
Strong are the bolts that in this cell contain me.
Sharp is the food necessity imposed,
When hunger makes me feed on that which pains me.
Yet do I love, embrace, and follow fast,
That holds, that keeps, that discontents me most:
And list not break, unlock, or seek to waste
The place, the bolts, the food (though I be lost!),
Better in prison ever to remain;
Than, being out, to suffer greater pain.