But I forget these chains so cold,
Which goad my bleeding limbs, though high
My reason mounts above the sky.
Dear wife, they cannot sell the rose
Of love, that in my bosom glows.
Remember, as your tears may start,
They cannot sell th’ immortal part!
Thou sun, which lightest bond and free,
Tell me, I pray, is liberty
The lot of those who noblest feel,