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?

Giunta è tua gloria al sommo e per lo innanzi Fuggir le dubbie guerre a te conviene, Ch' ove tu vinca sol di stato avvanzi Nè tua gloria maggior quindi diviene; Mal' Imperio acquii'tato e prefo dianzi El' onor perdi, se 'l contrario avviene.

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