Campaspe

ON Stars shall I exclaime,
Which thus my Fortune change,
Or shall I else revenge
Upon my selfe this shame,
Inconstant Monarch, or shall I thee blame
Who lets Apelles prove
The sweet Delights of Alexanders Love?
No, Stars, my selfe, and thee, I all forgive,
And Joyes, that thus I live;
Of thee, blind King, my Beauty was despis'd,
Thou didst not know it, now being known 'tis priz'd.