Sonnet 25

Let those who are in favour with their starsOf public honour and proud titles boast,Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars,Unlook'd for joy in that I honour most.Great princes' favourites their fair leaves spreadBut as the marigold at the sun's eye,And in themselves their pride lies buried,For at a frown they in their glory die.The painful warrior famoused for fight,After a thousand victories once foil'd,Is from the book of honour razed quite,And all the rest forgot for which he toil'd: Then happy I, that love and am beloved Where I may not remove nor be removed.
Win my heart not with favor or fame;or with honor or titles — that's lame.Be you uncouth or proper, a king or a pauper,just love me, and I'll do the same