Your incivility doth show

That innocence is tempest-proof:

Though surly Nereus frown, my thoughts are calm; 5

Then strike, Affliction, for thy wounds are balm.

That which the world miscalls a jail,

A private closet is to me,

Whilst a good conscience is my bail,

And innocence my liberty: 10

Locks, bars, and solitude together met,

Make me no prisoner, but an anchoret.