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’ 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 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.