We thought you without titles great,
And wealthy with a small estate;
While by your humble self alone,
You seem'd unrated and unknown.
But now on fortune's swelling tide
High-borne, in all the pomp of pride;
Of grandeur vain, and fond of pelf,
'Tis plain, my lord, you knew yourself.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem