Yet, dying, leave his lesson half unlearn’d.
Men perish in advance, as if the sun
Should set ere noon, in eastern oceans drown’d; 90
If fit, with dim, illustrious to compare,
The sun’s meridian with the soul of man.
To man, why, stepdame Nature! so severe?
Why thrown aside thy masterpiece half wrought,
While meaner efforts thy last hand enjoy?
Or, if abortively, poor man must die,
Nor reach, what reach he might, why die in dread?