Of just ambition, to the grand result, The curtain's fall; there, see the buskin'd chief Unshod behind this momentary scene; 350 Reduced to his own stature, low or high, As vice, or virtue, sinks him, or sublimes; And laugh at this fantastic mummery, This antic prelude of grotesque events, Where dwarfs are often stilted, and betray A littleness of soul by worlds o'errun, And nations laid in blood. Dread sacrifice 357 To Christian pride! which had with horror shock'd The darkest Pagans, offer'd to their gods. O thou most Christian[29] enemy to peace! Again in arms? Again provoking fate? That prince, and that alone, is truly great, Who draws the sword reluctant, gladly sheathes; 363 On empire builds what empire far outweighs, And makes his throne a scaffold to the skies. Why this so rare? Because forgot of all The day of death; that venerable day, Which sits as judge; that day, which shall pronounce On all our days, absolve them, or condemn. Lorenzo, never shut thy thought against it; 370 Be levees ne'er so full, afford it room, And give it audience in the cabinet. That friend consulted, flatteries apart, Will tell thee fair, if thou art great, or mean. To doat on aught may leave us, or be left, Is that ambition? Then let flames descend, Point to the centre their inverted spires, And learn humiliation from a soul, Which boasts her lineage from celestial fire. Yet these are they, the world pronounces wise; 380 The world, which cancels nature's right and wrong, And casts new wisdom: even the grave man lends His solemn face, to countenance the coin. Wisdom for parts is madness for the whole. This stamps the paradox, and gives us leave To call the wisest weak, the richest poor, The most ambitious, unambitious, mean; In triumph, mean; and abject, on a throne. Nothing can make it less than mad in man, To put forth all his ardour, all his art, 390 And give his soul her full unbounded flight, But reaching Him, who gave her wings to fly. When blind Ambition quite mistakes her road, And downwards pores, for that which shines above, Substantial happiness, and true renown; Then, like an idiot, gazing on the brook, We leap at stars, and fasten in the mud; At glory grasp, and sink in infamy. Ambition! powerful source of good and ill! Thy strength in man, like length of wing in birds, 400 When disengaged from earth, with greater ease, And swifter flight, transports us to the skies; By toys entangled, or in guilt bemired, It turns a curse; it is our chain, and scourge, In this dark dungeon, where confined we lie, Close grated by the sordid bars of Sense; All prospect of eternity shut out; And, but for execution, ne'er set free. With error in ambition justly charged,