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LOve with unconfined Wings,
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hovers about my gates,
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And my divine Althema begins,
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to whisper at my grates,
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When I lye tangled in her hair,
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being fettered in her eye,
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The birds that wanton in the air,
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knows no such Liberty.
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When like contented Linits I,
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with silver notes will sing,
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The very meekness of the heart,
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and glory of the thing:
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When I shall noise abroad and spread
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how good their vertues be,
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Fishes that tipple in the deep,
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knows no such liberty.
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My lodging is on the cold boards,
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my cloaths are thin and bare,
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False-hearted friends with flatering words,
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doth seek me to insnare:
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They counsel me to change my mind,
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and so my words deny:
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And I thereby shall surely find,
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a perfect Liberty.
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Faith, Hope, & Patience is my guide,
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my Conscience pure and clear,
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So that the Lord be on my side,
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what Foe need I to fear?
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I neither fear the stroak of Death,
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nor tyrants villany?
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So soon as Christ receives my breath,
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I gain true Liberty.
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A faithful vow I once did make,
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which now I will maintain:
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Whilst I have tongue and breath to speak
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and life in me remain:
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Rather then from Religion turn,
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in fiery flames to fry,
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And if my Corps to ashes burn,
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my soul gains Liberty.
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patience makes plaisters for my sores
|
love lives without controul,
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They lock my body within the doors,
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but cannot lock my soul:
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My Muses too and fro doth run,
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above and beneath the sky:
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The greatest Potentate under the Sun,
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oft wants such Liberty.
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The second Part, to the same tune.
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OUr Keepers cruelty is great,
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to one and to us all,
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He bids us eat our flesh for meat,
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or stones thats in the wall:
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Yet though I am in prison cast,
|
my sences mount on high,
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The wind that bloweth where it list,
|
knows no such liberty.
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Tis neither pardon from the Pope
|
nor prayers made to Saints,
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That can inlarge my further scope,
|
nor shorten my complaints:
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Tis Christ above, the Lord of love,
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which for mankind did dye,
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None but he can pardon me,
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nor work my liberty.
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Theres many men hath Treasure store,
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yet are so worldly bent,
|
Having too much they scrape for more
|
yet never are content,
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Whilst I that am the poorst of all
|
from worldly care am free,
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Which makes me think they live in thrall,
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and I at liberty.
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the man that bears a wavering mind
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is subject to much woe,
|
He that to anger is inclind,
|
must sorrow undergo.
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But he that hath a patient heart,
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though he a prisoner be,
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Exceeds both nature, skill, and art,
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in point of liberty.
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You pensive prisoners everyone
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with hearts loyal and true.
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This lines of mine to work upon,
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I dedicate to you.
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Let faith and patience be your guide,
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and you in time shall see,
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The powers of heaven will so provide
|
you shall have liberty.
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Stone walls cannot a prison make,
|
nor Iron barrs a Cage,
|
A spotless soul being innocent,
|
calls that his hermitage
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So I am blameless in my choice,
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and from all troubles free,
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Angels alone that are above,
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enjoys such li[b]e[r]ty.
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