3.
Who saw the grief engraven in a crown,
Or knew the bad and bane, whereto it’s bound,
Would never stick to throw and fling it down,
Nor once vouchsafe to heave it from the ground.
Such is the sweet of this ambitious power,
No sooner had, than turns oftsoons to sour,
Achiev’d with envy, exercis’d with hate,
Guarded with fear, supported with debate.
4.