One man, thinks this: and that conceaues another:
So that in one thing very few agree.
Let Stoicks haue their Vertue if they will,
And all the rest their chiefe-supposed good,
Let cruell Martialists delight in blood,
And Mysers ioy their bags with gold to fill:
My chiefest good, my chiefe felicity,
Is to be gazing on my loues faire eie.