Here lies a King that ruled, as he thought fit, / The universal monarchy of wit.
Then fly betimes, for only they / Conquer Love that run away.
Good to the poor, to kindred dear, / To servants kind, to friendship clear, / To nothing but herself severe.
Give me more love or more disdain; / The torrid or the frozen zone.
Ask me no more where Jove bestows, / When June is past, the fading rose; / For in your beauty's orient deep / These flowers, as in their causes, sleep.