Anne Kingsmill Finch, Countess of Winchilsea - All is Vanity (Chap.5) lyrics

But With shall last (the vaunting Poet cries) The immortal Streams that from Parna**us flow, Shall make his never-fading Lawrels grow, Above this mouldring Earth to flourish in the Skies: And 2 when his Body falls in Funeral Fire, When late revolving Ages shall consume The very Pillars, that support his Tomb. His name shall live, and his best Part aspire. Deluded Wretch! grasping at future Praise, Now planting, with mistaken Care, Round thy enchanted Palace in the Air, A Grove, which in thy Fancy time shall raise, A Grove of soaring Palms, and everlasting Bays; Could'st Thou alas! to such Reknown arrive, As thy Imagination would contrive; Should numerous Cities, in a vain contest, Struggle for thy famous Birth; Should the sole Monarch of the conquered Earth, His wreathed Head upon thy Volume rest; Like Maro, could'st thou justly claim, Amongst thus inspired tuneful Race, The highest Room, the undisputed Place; And after near Two Thousand Years of Fame, Have thy proud Work to a new People shown; The unequal led Poems made their own, In such a Dress, in such a perfect Stile As on his Labors Dryden now bestows, As now from Dryden's just Improvement flows, In every polish'd Verse throughout the British Isle; What Benefit alas! would to thee grow? What Sense of Pleasure wouldst thou know? What swelling Joy? what Pride? what Glory have, When in the Darkness of the abject Grave, Insensible, and Stupid laid below, No Atom of thy Heap, no Dust would move, For all the airy Breath that form'd thy Praise above? NOTES : 2 [AF] The two Lines with these Marks before them are thus translated by Ben. Johnson from Ovid.