I hope to see London once ere I die.
My stars shine darkly over me
The chameleon Love can feed on the air
Present mirth hath present laughter. What's to come is still unsure.
The course of true love never did run smooth.
Through tattered clothes great vices do appear; Robes and furred gowns hide all. Plate sin with gold and the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks. Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw does pierce it.