And still to fate’s sad music sang refrain.
CI
Man is, but who can count his being’s cost?
Who metes the water from the pitcher lost?
The squandered corn upon the sower’s path?
Cast in time’s scale hath good or ill the most?
CII
Each out of Babel answers for himself,
As justice he doth love, or gilded pelf:
Who in the school of ignorance should read