The poem
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 burièd, For at a frown they in their glory die. The painful warrior famousèd for fight, After a thousand victories once foiled, Is from the book of honour razèd 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.