Classic Poem

Thou sharpest pains didst with that Courage bear,
And still thy Looks so unconcern'd didst wear:
Beholders seem'd more indispos'd than thee;
For they were sick in Effigie.
Like some well-fashion'd Arch thy Patience stood,
And purchas'd Firmness from its greater Load.
Those Shapes of Torture, which to view in Paint
Would make another faint;
Thou could'st endure in true Reality,
And feel what some could hardly bear to see.
Those Indians who their Kings by Torture chose,
Subjecting all the Royal Issue to that Test
Could ne'er thy Sway refuse,
If he deserves to reign that suffers best.
Had those fierce Savages thy Patience view'd,
Thou'dst claim'd their Choice alone;
They with a Crown had paid thy'Fortitude,
And turn'd thy Death-bed to a Throne.