Xli

The prison I am in is thy fair face, Wherein my liberty enchainèd lies; My thoughts, the bolts that hold me in the place; My food, the pleasing looks of thy fair eyes. Deep is the prison where I lie enclosed, Strong are the bolts that in this cell contain me; Sharp is the food necessity imposed, When hunger makes me feed on that which pains me. Yet do I love, embrace, and follow fast, That holds, that keeps, that discontents me most; And list not break, unlock, or seek to waste The place, the bolts, the food, though I be lost; Better in prison ever to remain, Than being out to suffer greater pain.