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160 Thou my pretty captive art? But thy bondslave is my heart; 'Tis but silk that bindeth thee, Knap the thread and thou art free: But 'tis otherwise with me; I am bound, and fast bound, so That from thee I cannot go; If I could, I would not so.

A man prepar'd against all ills to come, That dares to dead the fire of martyrdom; That sleeps at home, and sailing there at ease, Fears not the fierce sedition of the seas; That's counter-proof against the farm's mishaps, Undreadful too of courtly thunderclaps; That wears one face, like heaven, and never shows A change when fortune either comes or goes; That keeps his own strong guard in the despite Of what can hurt by day or harm by night; That takes and re-delivers every stroke Of chance (as made up all of rock and oak); That sighs at others' death, smiles at his own Most dire and horrid crucifixion. Who for true glory suffers thus, we grant Him to be here our Christian militant.