William Shakespeare (1564–1616)

Let those who are in fauor with their stars,

Of publike honour and proud titles bost,

Whilst I whome fortune of such tryumph bars,

Vnlookt for ioy in that I honour most;

Great Princes fauorites their fair leaues spread

But as the Marygold at the suns eye,

And in them-selues their pride lies buried,

For at a frowne they in their glory die.

The painefull warrier famosed for fight,¹

After a thousand victories once foild,

Is from the booke of honour rased quite,

And all the rest forgot for which he toild:

        Then happy I that loue and am beloued

        Where I may not remoue, nor be remoued.

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.