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Great Carthage low in ashes cold doth lie,
Her ruins poor the herbs in height scant pass,
So cities fall, so perish kingdoms high,
Their pride and pomp lies hid in sand and grass:
Then why should mortal man repine to die,
Whose life, is air; breath, wind; and body, glass?

In what a narrow circuit, among what
abandoned solitudes your fame lies bound!
Amid vast seas your island earth is shut,
though "vast" or "ocean", or what words resound
to name that sea, are idle names and fond,
for what it is: a shallow bog, a pond.