Bonum est mihi quod humiliasti me

THE STORMS are past; the clouds are overblown;

And humble chere great rigour hath represt.

For the default is set a pain foreknown;

And patience graft in a determined breast.

And in the heart, where heaps of griefs were grown,

The sweet revenge hath planted mirth and rest.

No company so pleasant as mine own.

……..

Thraldom at large hath made this prison free.

Danger well past, remembered, works delight.

Of ling’ring doubts such hope is sprung, pardie!

That nought I find displeasant in my sight,

But when my glass presented unto me

The cureless wound that bleedeth day and night.

To think, alas! such hap should granted be

Unto a wretch, that hath no heart to fight,

To spill that blood, that hath so oft been shed,

For Britain’s sake, alas! and now is dead!