Some glory in their birth, some in their skill,
Some in their wealth, some in their bodies’ force,
Some in their garments, though new-fangled ill,
Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horse;
And every humour hath his adjunct pleasure,
Wherein it finds a joy above the rest:
But these particulars are not my measure;
All these I better in one general best.
Thy love is better than high birth to me,
Richer than wealth, prouder than garments’ cost,
Of more delight than hawks or horses be;
And having thee, of all men’s pride I boast:
Wretched in this alone, that thou mayst take
All this away and me most wretched make.
The poet returns to a more relaxed mode, vaunting the richness and delight of his condition in possessing the youth’s love. It is a condition more blessed than that of all those who are engrossed in the latest fashionable pursuits. Hunting, hawking, equestrianism, jousting, fine clothes and all the other appurtenances of wealth are all surpassed by the possession of this one thing. But alas it is a possession which carries a dark side to it, for it is less secure than those other pursuits are, since the one who grants it may take it away at a whim and reduce the beneficiary to the extremes of distress. Therefore in thought he is wretched, or fears to be, even though he is possessed of a greater riches than any wealth could ever buy.
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