Campaspe

On starres shall I exclame,
Which thus my fortune change?
Or shall I else reuenge
Vpon my selfe this shame,
Vnconstant monarch, or shall I thee blame,
Who let'st Apelles proue
The sweet delights of Alexander's loue?
No, starres, my selfe, and thee, I all forgiue,
And joye that thus I liue:
Kings know not beautie, hence mine was despis'd;
The painter did, and mee hee dearly priz'd.
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