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Henry King - SONNET. To Patience
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Down stormy passions, down; no more 
Let your rude waves invade the shore 
Where blushing reason sits and hides 
Her from the fury of your tides. 
Fit onely `tis where you bear sway 
That Fools or Franticks do obey; 
Since judgment, if it not resists, 
Will lose it self in your blind mists. 
Fall easie Patience, fall like rest 
Whose soft spells charm a troubled breast: 
And where those Rebels you espy, 
O in your silken cordage tie 
Their malice up! so shall I raise 
Altars to thank your power, and praise 
The soveraign vertue of your Balm, 
Which cures a Tempest by a Calm.
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