«  Let those who are in favor 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'favorites their fair leaves spread,
But as the mar igold 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 wich he toiled.
Then happy i that love and am belovèd
Where i may not remove, nor be removèd.  »

William Shakespeare .