A poem composed by a gentleman in prison and in irons This text is an enriched version of the TCP digital transcription B43673 of text R181899 in the English Short Title Catalog. Textual changes and metadata enrichments aim at making the text more computationally tractable, easier to read, and suitable for network-based collaborative curation by amateur and professional end users from many walks of life. The text has been tokenized and linguistically annotated with MorphAdorner. The annotation includes standard spellings that support the display of a text in a standardized format that preserves archaic forms ('loveth', 'seekest'). Textual changes aim at restoring the text the author or stationer meant to publish. This text has not been fully proofread Approx. 4KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 4 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images. EarlyPrint Project Evanston,IL, Notre Dame, IN, St. Louis, MO 2018 B43673 489260623 ocn 489260623 Wing P2670A

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 Early English books online text creation partnership. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 2, no. B43673) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 208673) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English Books, 1641-1700 ; 2956:18) A poem composed by a gentleman in prison and in irons 4 p. s.n., [London : 1648?] Caption title. Place and date of publication suggested by Wing (2nd ed.). Reproduction of original in: New York Public Library.

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 eng Great Britain -- History -- Civil War, 1642-1649 -- Poetry -- Early works to 1800. Great Britain -- Politics and government -- 1642-1649 -- Poetry -- Early works to 1800. eebo A poem composed by a gentleman in prison and in irons. n/a 1648 5 617 10 0 0 0 2 0 486.22 F The rate of 486.22 defects per 10,000 words puts this text in the F category of texts with 100 or more defects per 10,000 words. 2014-06 Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2014-08 Sampled and proofread 2014-08 Text and markup reviewed and edited 2015-03 Batch review (QC) and XML conversion
A POEM , Composed by a GENTLEMAN in PRISON AND IN IRONS . BAT on proud Billows Boreas blow , ●well curled Waves hi●● 〈…〉 Your Incivility doth show , That Innocence is Tempest Proof . Tho' surly Nereus frown , my Thoughts are calm ; Then strike Affliction , for thy Wounds are Balm . That which the World calls a Jail , 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 Pris'ner , but an Anchorite . I , whilst I wish'd to be Retir'd , Into this private Room was turn'd , As if their Wisdoms had conspir'd The SALAMANDER should be burn'd ; But had they known how I enjoyed Me , Prompt , by malicious Spite , they 'd set me free . The CYNICK hugs his Poverty , The PE●●CAN her Wilderness Conten●e●● 〈◇〉 〈◇〉 STOCKS , we 〈◇〉 Make Torments easy to their Apathie . These Manacles upon my Arm I as my Mistress Favours wear , And then to keep my Ancles warm I have some Iron Shackles there . These Walls are but my Prison , and this Cell , Which Men call Jail , does prove my Cittadel . So he that struck at Jason's Life , Thinking he had his Purpose sure , By a malicious friendly Knife Did only wound him to a Cure . Malice , I see , wants Wit ; for what is meant Mischief , ofttimes proves Favour by th' event . I 'm in this Cabinet lock'd up , Like some high prized Margarite ; Or , like some great Mogul or Pope , Am Cloyster'd up from vulgar Sight . Retirement is a Piece of Majesty , And thus , proud Sultan , I 'm as great as Thee . Here Sin , for want of Food , must starve , Where tempting Objects are not seen , And those strong Walls do only serve To keep Vice out , and keep me in . Malice of late's grown charitable sure , I 'm not committed , but I 'm kept secure . When once my PRINCE Affliction hath , Prosperity doth Treason seem , And to make smooth so rough a Path , I can learn Patience now from him : For , not to suffer , shews no Loyal Heart ; When Kings want Ease , Subjects should bear a Part . Have ye not seen the Nightingale , A Pilgrim coop't up in a Cage , How she doth chant her wonted Tale How she her narrow Hermitage ? Ev'n then , her charming Melody doth prove , That all her Boughs are Trees , her Cage a Grove . My Soul is free as ambient Air , Altho' my baser Parts immur'd , While Loyal Thoughts do still repair T' accompany my Solitude : And tho' immur'd , yet I can chirp and sing Disgrace to Rebels , Glory to my KING . What tho' I cannot see my KING Nor in His Person , nor His Coin , Yet 〈◇〉 ●●plation is a Thing That renders , what I have not , Mine . My KING from me , what Adamant can part , Whom I do wear engraven on my Heart . I am that Bird whom they combine Thus to deprive of Liberty , But tho' they do my Case confine , yet , maugre Spite , my Soul is free : Altho' Rebellion do my Body bind , My KING can only captivate my Mind . FINIS .