Set up in ostentation, made the gaze,
The gaudy centre of the public eye;
When fortune thus has tossed her child in air,
Snatched from the covert of an humble state,
How often have I seen him dropt at once,
Our morning’s envy, and our evening’s sigh!
As if her bounties were the signal given,
The flowery wreath to mark the sacrifice,
And call Death’s arrows on the destined prey.
Young.