All love is sweet Given or returned And its familiar voice wearies not ever.
Vaine is the vaunt, and victory unjust, that more to mighty hands, then rightfull cause doth trust.
In one consort there sat cruel revenge and rancorous despite, disloyal treason and heart-burning hate.
Ill can he rule the great that cannot reach the small.
Ah, fool! faint heart fair lady ne'er could win.
The nightingale is sovereign of song.