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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.
212. SAFETY ON THE SHORE.
What though the sea be calm? Trust to the shore,
Ships have been drown'd where late they danc'd before.
