"At court, I'm told, is beauty's throne, Where every lady's passing rare,— That eastern flowers, that shame the sun, Are not so glowing, not so fair:

"Then, Earl, why didst thou leave the beds Where roses and where lilies vie,

To seek a primrose, whose pale shades Must sicken when those gaudes are by?

"Mong rural beauties I was one;

Among the fields wild-flowers are fair: Some country swain might me have won, And thought my beauty passing rare.

"But, Leicester-or I much am wrong, Or 'tis not beauty lures thy vows; Rather ambition's gilded crown

Makes thee forget thy humble spouse.

"Then, Leicester, why, again I plead(The injured surely may repine)— Why didst thou wed a country maid,

When some fair princess might be thine?

"Why didst thou praise my humble charms, And, oh! then leave them to decay?

Why didst thou win me to thy arms,

Then leave me mourn the livelong day?

"The village-maidens of the plain

Salute me lowly as I go;

Envious they mark my silken train

Nor think a Countess can have woe.