Vincit qui patitur
The mightie oke, that shrinkes not with a blaste,
But stiflie standes, when Boreas moste doth blowe,
With rage thereof, is broken downe at laste,
When bending reedes, that couche in tempestes lowe
With yeelding still, doe safe, and sounde appeare:
And looke alofte, when that the cloudes be cleare.
When Envie, Hate, Contempte, and Slaunder, rage:
Which are the stormes, and tempestes, of this life;
With patience then, wee must the combat wage,
And not with force resist their deadlie strife:
But suffer still, and then wee shall in fine,
Our foes subdue, when they with shame shall pine.