The vanity of human life is like a river, constantly passing away, and yet constantly coming on.

Who sees with equal eye, as God of all, A hero perish or a sparrow fall, Atoms or systems into ruin hurl'd, And now a bubble burst, and now a world.

Religion blushing, veils her sacred fires, And unawares Morality expires.

Ambition first sprung from your blest abodes: the glorious fault of angels and of gods.

But those who cannot write, and those who can, All rhyme, and scrawl, and scribble, to a man.

On cold December fragrant chaplets blow, And heavy harvests nod beneath the snow.

The hungry judges soon the sentence sign, and wretches hang that jurymen may dine.