Some for renown, on scraps of learning dote, And think they grow immortal as they quote.
Man wants little, nor that little long.
Born Originals, how comes it to pass that we die Copies?
Men should press forward, in fame's glorious chase; Nobles look backward, and so lose the race.
We nothing know, but what is marvellous; Yet what is marvellous, we can't believe.
Early, bright, transient, chaste as morning dew, She sparkled, was exhaled, and went to heaven.