Bliss Carman, et al., eds. The World’s Best Poetry. 1904.
Poems of Sentiment: VI. Labor and RestIn Prison
Sir Roger LEstrange (16161704)B
Swell, curlèd waves, high as Jove’s roof;
Your incivility doth show
That innocence is tempest proof;
Though surly Nereus frown, my thoughts are calm;
Then strike, Affliction, for thy wounds are balm.
A private closet is to me;
Whilst a good conscience is my bail,
And innocence my liberty:
Locks, bars, and solitude together met,
Make me no prisoner, but an anchoret.
Into this private room was turned;
As if their wisdoms had conspired
The salamander should be burned;
Or like those sophists, that would drown a fish,
I am constrained to suffer what I wish.
The pelican her wilderness;
And ’t is the Indian’s pride to be
Naked on frozen Caucasus:
Contentment cannot smart; stoics we see
Make torments easier to their apathy.
I as my mistress’ favors wear;
And for to keep my ankles warm
I have some iron shackles there:
These walls are but my garrison; this cell,
Which men call jail, doth prove my citadel.
Like some high-prizèd margarite,
Or, like the Great Mogul or Pope,
Am cloistered up from public sight:
Retiredness is a piece of majesty,
And thus, proud Sultan, I ’m as great as thee.