Or with the tangles of [Neæra’s] hair?
[Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise] 70
(That last infirmity of noble mind)
To scorn delights and live laborious days;
But the fair guerdon when we hope to find,
And think to burst out into sudden blaze,
Comes the [blind Fury with the abhorred shears], 75
And slits the thin-spun life. [“But not the praise,”]
[Phœbus replied, and touched my trembling ears:]
“Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil,