Who worships Cupid doth adore a boy; Boys' earnest are at first in their delight, But for a new soon leave their dearest toy, And out of mind as soon… - Fulke Greville, 1st Baron Brooke

Hard-hearted minds relent and rigor's tears abound, And envy strangely rues his end, in whom no fault was found. Knowledge her light hath lost, valor hath slain her knight, Sidney is dead, dead is my friend, dead is the world's delight.

Love is no true-made looking-glass Which perfect yields the shape we bring; It ugly shows us all that was, And flatters every future thing.

Oh wearisome Condition of Humanity! Born under one law, to another bound: Vainly begot and yet forbidden vanity, Created sick, commanded to be sound: What meaneth Nature by these diverse laws? Passion and reason, self-division cause. Is it the mark, or Majesty of Power To make offences that it may forgive?