With avarice, and convulsions, grasping hard?
Grasping at air! for what has earth beside?
Man wants but little; nor that little, long;
How soon must he resign his very dust,
Which frugal nature lent him for an hour! 120
Years unexperienced rush on numerous ills;
And soon as man, expert from time, has found 122
The key of life, it opes the gates of death.
When in this vale of years I backward look,
And miss such numbers, numbers too of such,