Gather the rose of love whilst yet is time.
Vaine is the vaunt, and victory unjust, that more to mighty hands, then rightfull cause doth trust.
Rising glory occasions the greatest envy, as kindling fire the greatest smoke.
Greatest god below the sky.
For deeds to die, however nobly done, And thoughts of men to as themselves decay, But wise words taught in numbers for to run, Recorded by the Muses, live for ay.
In one consort there sat cruel revenge and rancorous despite, disloyal treason and heart-burning hate.