And cuckolds smiled in hopes of sweet revenge;
Till Petworth plot made us with sorrow see,
As his estate, his person too was free:
Him no soft thoughts, no gratitude could move;
To gold he fled from beauty and from love;
Yet failing there he keeps his freedom still,
Forced to live happily against his will;
'Tis not his fault, if too much wealth and power
Break not his boasted quiet every hour.
And little Sid.[48] for simile renowned,