Life seems the smallest portion of existence;
Where twenty ages gather o'er a name,
'T is as a snowball which derives assistance
From every flake, and yet rolls on the same,
Even till an iceberg it may chance to grow;
But, after all, 't is nothing but cold snow.
CI.
And so great names are nothing more than nominal,
And love of Glory's but an airy lust,
Too often in its fury overcoming all