Let those who are in favour with their stars,Of public honour and proud titles boast,Whilst I whom fortune of such triumph barsUnlooked for joy in that I honour most;Great princes' favourites their fair leaves spread,But as the marigold at the sun's eye,And in themselves their pride lies buried,For at a frown they in their glory die.
The painful warrior famoused for fight,After a thousand victories once foiled,Is from the book of honour razed quite,And all the rest forgot for which he toiled:
Then happy I that love and am belovedWhere I may not remove nor be removed.
