poor be
flatter'd?
No, let
the
candied
tongue
lick
absurd
pomp, And
crook the
pregnant
hinges of
the knee
Where
thrift may
follow
fawning.
Dost thou
hear?
Since my
dear soul
was
mistress
of her
choice And
could of
men
distinguish,
her
election
Hath
seal'd
thee for
herself.
For thou
hast been
As one, in
suff'ring
all, that
suffers
nothing; A
man that
Fortune's
buffets
and
rewards
Hast ta'en
with equal
thanks;
and blest
