Envy feeds on the living, after death it rests, then the honor of a man protects him.
Nowadays nothing but money counts: a fortune brings honors, friendships, the poor man everywhere lies low.
Tis on the living Envy feeds. She silent grows When, after death, man's honor is his guard. So I, when on the pyre consumed I lie, Shall live, for all that's noblest will survive.
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