No other refuge left to fly

No other refuge left to fly,
The lawes of strict necessity
Then cheerfully to entertaine
What she commands us to sustaine;
Beneath each crosse with joy to bow
As if thou wouldst it had bin so;
Nor canst thou wish it alterd be
Whats heavens immutable decree;
In miseries thus win the field,
They onely fate orecome that yield.
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Seneca
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