Sepulchri similis nihil nomen retines.
O, strong Necessity! of whose swift course
So many feel, so few escape the force,
Whither, ah whither, in thy prone career,
Hast thou decreed this dying frame to bear?
Me, in my better days, nor foe, nor friend,
Nor threat, nor bribe, nor vanity could bend;
Now, lured by flattery, in my weaker age
I sink my knighthood and ascend the stage.
Yet muse not therefore—how shall man gainsay