That which the world miscalls a jail,
A private closet is to me.
. . . .
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That which the world miscalls a jail,
A private closet is to me.
. . . .
Locks, bars, and solitude together met,
Make me no prisoner, but an anchoret.

In durance vile here must I wake and weep,
And all my frowsy couch in sorrow steep.

In durance vile here must I wake and weep,
And all my frowsy couch in sorrow steep.

Prison'd in a parlour snug and small,
Like bottled wasps upon a southern wall.

Prison'd in a parlour snug and small,
Like bottled wasps upon a southern wall.

In durance vile.

In durance vile.

"And a bird-cage, sir," said Sam. "Veels vithin veels, a prison
in a prison."

"And a bird-cage, sir," said Sam. "Veels vithin veels, a prison
in a prison."

Fast closed with double grills
And triple gates--the cell
To wicked souls is hell;
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Fast closed with double grills
And triple gates--the cell
To wicked souls is hell;
But to a mind that's innocent
'Tis only iron, wood and stone.
[Fr., Doubles grilles a gros cloux,
Triples portes, forts verroux,
Aux ames vraiment mechantes
Vous representez l'enfer;
Mais aux ames innocentes
Vous n'etes que du bois, des pierres, du fer.]

And as for their appearances, they four had one likeness, as if a
wheel had been in the midst read more

And as for their appearances, they four had one likeness, as if a
wheel had been in the midst of a wheel.

Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage,
Minds innocent and quiet take
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Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage,
Minds innocent and quiet take
That for an hermitage.

Whene'er with haggard eyes I view
This dungeon that I'm rotting in,
I think of those companions read more

Whene'er with haggard eyes I view
This dungeon that I'm rotting in,
I think of those companions true
Who studied with me at the U-
Niversity of Gottingen.
- George Canning, Song--Of One Eleven Years in Prison,