Goodness to breathe and live, nor born, i' the brain,
Die there,—how these and many another gift
Of life are precious though abjured by me.
But, for one prize, best meed of mightiest man,
Arch-object of ambition,—earthly praise,
Repute o' the world, the flourish of loud trump,
The softer social fluting,—Oh, for these,
—No, my friends! Fame,—that bubble which, world-wide
Each blows and bids his neighbor lend a breath,
That so he haply may behold thereon