Book II, Metrum I (Vaughan)

Fortune--when with rash hands she quite turmoils
The state of things, and in tempestuous foils
Comes whirling like Euripus--beats quite down
With headlong force the highest monarch's crown,
And in his place, unto the throne doth fetch
The despis'd looks of some mechanic wretch:
So jests at tears and miseries, is proud,
And laughs to hear her vassals groan aloud.
These are her sports, thus she her wheel doth drive,
And plagues man with her blind prerogative;
Nor is't a favour of inferior strain,
If once kick'd down, she lets him rise again.