Then be, what once they were, who now are gods;
Be what Philander was, and claim the skies.
Starts timid nature at the gloomy pass?
The soft transition call it; and be cheer’d: 440
Such it is often, and why not to thee?
To hope the best, is pious, brave, and wise;
And may itself procure, what it presumes.
Life is much flatter’d, death is much traduced;
Compare the rivals, and the kinder crown.
“Strange competition!”—True, Lorenzo! strange!