Disowning every crime for which he dies,
Of life profuse, tenacious of a name,
Fearless of death, and yet afraid of shame.
Nature has wove into the human mind
This anxious care of names we leave behind.
To extend our narrow views beyond the tomb,
And give an earnest of a life to come;
For, if when dead, we are but dust or clay,
Why think of what posterity shall say?
Her praise or censure cannot us concern,