There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to,
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,
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There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to,
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,
More pangs and fears than wars or women have;
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Never to hope again.

To laugh, to lie, to flatter to face,
Foure waies in court to win men's grace.

To laugh, to lie, to flatter to face,
Foure waies in court to win men's grace.

A mere court butterfly,
That flutters in the pageant of a monarch.

A mere court butterfly,
That flutters in the pageant of a monarch.

To shake with laughter ere the jest they hear,
To pour at will the counterfeited tear;
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To shake with laughter ere the jest they hear,
To pour at will the counterfeited tear;
And, as their patron hints the cold or heat,
To shake in dog-days, in December sweat.