And endless inhumanities on man?
Fame’s trumpet seldom sounds, but, like the knell,
It brings bad tidings: how it hourly blows
Man’s misadventures round the listening world!
Man is the tale of narrative old time;
Sad tale; which high as Paradise begins; 110
As if, the toil of travel to delude,
From stage to stage, in his eternal round,
The Days, his daughters, as they spin our hours
On Fortune’s wheel, where accident unthought