Beauty, like ice, our footing does betray; Who can tread sure on the smooth, slippery way: Pleased with the surface, we glide swiftly on, And see the dangers that we cannot shun.
All things are subject to decay and when fate summons, monarchs must obey.
Accurst ambition, how dearly I have bought you.
What passion cannot music raise and quell!
Riches cannot rescue from the grave, which claims alike the monarch and the slave.
Many things impossible to thought have been by need to full perfection brought.