Thy Thoughts to nobler Meditations give,
And study how to die, not how to live.
II.
And how short-liv’d those Glories are,
That vex our Days and Nights with Pain,
And break our Hearts with Care!
In Dust we no Distinction see,
Such Helen is, such Myra thou must be.
III.
And crowd a vainer Monarch for a Smile?
What is that Monarch but a Mortal Man,
His Crown a Pageant, and his Life a Span?
With all his Guards, and his Dominions, he
Must sicken too, and dies as well as we.
IV.
Are swallow’d, and become forgotten things:
One destin’d Period Men in common have,
The Great, the Vile, the Coward, and the Brace,
Are Food alike for Worms, Companions in the Grave.
The Prince and Parasite together lye,
No Fortune can exalt, but Death will climb as high.
