What the great ones do, the less will prattle of

I’ll look to like, if looking liking move; But no more deep will I endart mine eye than your consent gives strength to make it fly.

When remedies are past, the griefs are ended By seeing the worst, which late on hopes depended. To mourn a mischief that is past and gone Is the next way to draw new mischief on. What cannot be preserved when fortune takes, Patience her injury a mockery makes. The robb'd that smiles steals something for the thief; He robs himself that spends a bootless grief.

Strikes deeper, grows with more pernicious root.

And makes me poor indeed.

The painful warrior famous for fight, After a thousand victories, once foil'd, Is from the books of honor razed quite, And all the rest forgot for which he toil'd

If I be waspish, best beware my sting.