And last, and most, if these were cast behind, The avenging horror of a conscious mind; Whose deadly fear anticipates the blow, And sees no end of punishment and woe, But looks for more, at the last gasp of breath; This makes an hell on earth, and life a death. Meantime, when thoughts of death disturb thy head, Consider, Ancus, great and good, is dead; Ancus, thy better far, was born to die, And thou, dost thou bewail mortality? So many monarchs with their mighty state, Who ruled the world, were over-ruled by fate. That haughty king, who lorded o'er the main, And whose stupendous bridge did the wild waves restrain, (In vain they foamed, in vain they threatened wreck, While his proud legions marched upon their back,) Him death, a greater monarch, overcame; Nor spared his guards the more, for their immortal name. The Roman chief, the Carthaginian dread, } Scipio, the thunder bolt of war, is dead, } And, like a common slave, by fate in triumph led. } The founders of invented arts are lost, And wits, who made eternity their boast. Where now is Homer, who possessed the throne? The immortal work remains, the immortal author's gone. Democritus, perceiving age invade, His body weakened, and his mind decayed, Obeyed the summons with a cheerful face; Made haste to welcome death, and met him half the race. That stroke even Epicurus could not bar, } Though he in wit surpassed mankind, as far } As does the mid-day sun the midnight star. } And thou, dost thou disdain to yield thy breath, Whose very life is little more than death? More than one half by lazy sleep possest; } And when awake, thy soul but nods at best, } Day-dreams and sickly thoughts revolving in thy breast } Eternal troubles haunt thy anxious mind, Whose cause and cure thou never hop'st to find; But still uncertain, with thyself at strife, Thou wanderest in the labyrinth of life. O, if the foolish race of man, who find A weight of cares still pressing on their mind, Could find as well the cause of this unrest, And all this burden lodged within the breast; Sure they would change their course, nor live as now, Uncertain what to wish, or what to vow. Uneasy both in country and in town, They search a place to lay their burden down. One, restless in his palace, walks abroad, And vainly thinks to leave behind the load, But strait returns; for he's as restless there, And finds there's no relief in open air. Another to his villa would retire, And spurs as hard as if it were on fire; No sooner entered at his country door, } But he begins to stretch, and yawn, and snore, } Or seeks the city, which he left before }