The Prisoner in the Tower

Whilst Europe is alarm'd with wars, And Rome foments the Christian jars; Whilst guilty Britain fears her fate, And would repent her crime too late; Here, safe in my confin'd retreat, I see the waves about me beat, And envy none that dare be great.

A quiet conscience, and a friend, Help me my happy hours to spend; Let Celia to my cell resort, She turns my prison to a court; Instead of guards by day and night, Let Celia still be in my sight. And then they need not fear my flight.

Could sense of servile fear prevail, Or could my native honour fail, Her sight would all my doubts control, And give her back my peaceful soul: Such charming truths her words contain; Or, if her angel voice refrain, Her eyes can never plead in vain.