Imprisonment

Why should we murmur to be circumscrb'd, As if it were a new thing to wear fetters? When the whole world was meant but to confine us; Wherein, who walks from one clime to another, Hath but a greater freedom of the prison: Our soul was the first captive, born to inherit But her own chains; nor can it be discharg'd, Till nature tire with its own weight, and then We are but more undone, to be at liberty.