Whose every trophy, and each laurel wreath
Depends upon a little breath;
Confin'd within the narrow bounds of Time,
10And of uncertain age,
With doubtful hazards they engage,
Thrown down, while victory bids them higher climb;
Their glories are eclips'd by Death.
Hard circumstances of illustrious men
Whom Nature (like the Scythian Prince) detains
Within the body's chains