Sufferance.

For all our works a recompence is sure;
'Tis sweet to think on what was hard t'endure.

We merit all we suffer, and by far
More stripes than God lays on the sufferer.

Abundant plagues I late have had,
Yet none of these have made me sad:
For why? My Saviour with the sense
Of suff'ring gives me patience.

Afflictions they most profitable are
To the beholder and the sufferer:
Bettering them both, but by a double strain,
The first by patience, and the last by pain.

Though a wise man all pressures can sustain,
His virtue still is sensible of pain:
Large shoulders though he has, and well can bear,
He feels when packs do pinch him, and the where.

I cannot suffer; and in this my part
Of patience wants. Grief breaks the stoutest heart.