Only a little more
I have to write,
Then I'll give o'er,
And bid the world good-night.
Tis but a flying minute
That I must stay,
Or linger in it;
And then I must away.
O time that cut'st down all
And scarce leav'st here
Memorial
Of any men that were.
How many lie forgot
In vaults beneath?
And piecemeal rot
Without a fame in death?
Behold this living stone
I rear for me,
Ne'er to be thrown
Down, envious Time, by thee.
Pillars let some set up
If so they please:
Here is my hope
And my Pyramides.