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 Belov'D, Where I May Not Remove Nor Be Remov'D.