TREASON

What time I write my roundelays,

I am as proud as princes gone,

Who built their empires in old days,

As Tamburlaine or Solomon;

And wisely though companions then

Say well it is and well I sing,

Assured above the praise of men

I am a solitary king.

But when I leave that straiter mood,

That lonely hour, and put aside

The continence of solitude,

I fall in treason to my pride,

And if a witling’ s word be spent

Upon my song in jealousy,

In anger and in argument

I am as derelict as he.