He that thirsts for glory's prize,
Thinking that the top of all,
Let him view th' expansed skies,
And the earth's contracted ball;
'Twill shame him then: the name he wan
Fills not the short walk of one man.
2.
O why vainly strive you then
To shake off the bands of Fate,
Though Fame through the world of men
Should in all tongues your names relate,
And with proud titles swell that story:
The dark grave scorns your brightest glory.
3.
There with nobles beggars sway,
And kings with commons share one dust.
What news of Brutus at this day,
Or Fabricius the just?
Some rude verse, cut in stone, or lead,
Keeps up the names, but they are dead.
4.
So shall you one day—past reprieve—
Lie—perhaps—without a name.
But if dead you think to live
By this air of human fame,
Know, when Time stops that posthume breath,
You must endure a second death.