An Answer to the First Staff: That Love Is Unlike in Beggars and in Kings

Compare the bramble with the cedar tree;
The pismire's anger with the lion's rage:
What is the buzzing fly where eagles be?
A drop the spark, no seas can tna swage:
Small is the heat in Beggars' breasts that springs,
But flaming fire consumes the hearts of Kings.

Who shrouds himself where slender hairs cast shade?
But mighty oaks may scorn the summer sun:
Small cure will serve, where bees the wound have made;
But dragons' poison through each part doth run.
Light is the love that Beggars' bosom stings,
Deep is the wound that Cupid makes in Kings.

Small channels serve, where shallow springs do slide;
And little help will turn or stay their course:
The highest banks scarce hold the swelling tide,
Which overthrows all stops with raging force:
The baser sort scarce wet them in the springs,
Which overwhelm the heads of mighty Kings.

What though in both the heart be set of love?
The self-same ground both corn and cockle breeds:
Fast by the briar the pine-tree mounts above;
One kind of grass the jade and jennet feeds.
So from the heart, by secret virtue springs,
Unlike desire in Beggars and in Kings.