Soon, not surprising, Death his visit paid.
Her thought went forth to meet him on his way,
Nor gaiety forgot it was to die:
Though Fortune too (our third and final theme),
As an accomplice, play’d her gaudy plumes,
And every glittering gewgaw, on her sight, 904
To dazzle, and debauch it from its mark.
Death’s dreadful advent is the mark of man;
And every thought that misses it, is blind.
Fortune, with youth and gaiety, conspired