A feignèd, wanton lie that favours fault:
I am a man prone to adoration,
For beyond adore, one seeks to exalt,
And speak sweet aroma’d admiration.
Wherefore to adore breathes alife to praise,
And lifts adorèd one to starred esteem.
Such idols see to fools a worship’s daze;
And so this man a fool to one agleam.
Yet, stars I see to simply be past’s glow,
And words of praise be but the veil of leer.
It is today, as all days, speak to know
I must, and not to feign, but to be clear:
Faults worth favour ar’n attractive feature,
For alike me, you’re no special creature.