The mighty conquests of the proude,
And blast the laurels of the great.
Thou canst make brightest glorie set
Oth' sudden in a cloude.
How can the feeble workes of Art
Hold out 'gainst the assault of stormes?
Or how can brasse to him impart
Sence of surviving fame, whose heart
Is now resolv'd to wormes?
Blinde folly of triumphing pride!