LEt those who are in favour with their stars, Of public honour and proud titles boast, Whilst I whom fortune of such triumph bars Unlook'd for joy in that I honour most; Great Princes' favorites 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 foil'd, Is from the book of honour razed quite, And all the rest forgot for which he toil'd: Then happy I that love and am beloved Where I may not remove, nor be removed.
