by: William Shakespeare (1564-1616)
      ET those who are in favor with their stars
      Of public honor and proud titles boast,
      Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars,
      Unlooked for joy in that I honor most.
      Great princes' favorites 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 honor rasèd 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.