The circles spread and hide the waters all.

Sackville.

Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise

(That last infirmity of noble minds)

To scorn delights, and live laborious days.

Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil,

Nor in the glittering foil,

Set off to the world, nor in broad rumour lies.

Milton.

For fame the wretch beneath the gallows lies,