Short is my date, but deathless my renown.
How vain, without the merit, is the name.
There is no greater fame for a man than that which he wins with his footwork or the skill of his hands.
Earth sounds my wisdom, and high heaven my fame.
Our fruitless labours mourn, And only rich in barren fame return.
The rest were vulgar deaths unknown to fame.
The life, which others pay, let us bestow, And give to fame what we to nature owe.
But sure the eye of time beholds no name, So blest as thine in all the rolls of fame.
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