Let those who are in favour with their stars,

  Of public honour and proud titles boast,

  Whilst I whom fortune of such triumph bars

  Unlooked 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 beloved

  Where I may not remove nor be removed.
Hear What I Say


     Being your slave what should I do but tend,

  Upon the hours, and times of your desire?

  I have no precious time at all to spend;

  Nor services to do till you require.

  Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour,

  Whilst I (my sovereign) watch the clock for you,

  Nor think the bitterness of absence sour,

  When you have bid your servant once adieu.

  Nor dare I question with my jealous thought,

  Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,

  But like a sad slave stay and think of nought

  Save where you are, how happy you make those.

  So true a fool is love, that in your will,

  (Though you do any thing) he thinks no ill.

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