As with those favoured by stars,
Proudest titles of boast,
Fortune resting on cunning smoked cigars.
In themselves, nothing is toiled,
Famed eyes in our sights,
Thousand victories never once foiled,
Look at pride, by chest of host,
Frown on they glory of self,
As are the lovers of oneself the most.
                                  Fame is then a beloved,
                                  As only by a removed heart.