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.