In this world, yields to death;
The fair, the brave, the vain, the wise,
The rich, the poor, the great, and small,
Are each, but worm’s anatomies,
To strew his quiet hall.
Power may make many earthly gods,
Where gold, and bribery’s guilt, prevails;
But death’s unwelcome honest odds,
Kicks o’er the unequal scales.
The flatter’d great, may clamours raise