Ah! burning thoughts, now let me take some rest,
And your tumultuous broils a while appease;
Is 't not enough, stars, fortune, love molest
Me all at once, but ye must too displease?
Let hope, though false, yet lodge within my breast,
My high attempt, though dangerous, yet praise.
What though I trace not right heaven's steepy ways?
It doth suffice, my fall shall make me blest.
I do not doat on days, nor fear not d**h;
So that my life be brave, what though not long?
Let me renown'd live from the vulgar throng,
And when ye list, heavens! take this borrowed breath.
Men but like visions are, time all doth claim;
He lives, who dies to win a lasting name.