Classic Poem

Upon the slippery tops of humane State,
The guilded Pinnacles of Fate,
Let others proudly stand, and for a while
The giddy danger to beguile,
With Joy and with disdain look down on all,
Till their Heads turn, and they fall.
Me, O ye Gods, on Earth, or else so near
That I no fall to Earth may fear,
And, O ye Gods, at a good distance seat
From the long Ruins of the Great,
Here wrapt in th' Arms of Quiet let me lye;
Quiet, Companion of Obscurity.
Here let my life, with as much silence slide,
As time that measures it does glide.
Nor let the breath of Infamy or Fame,
From Town to Town echo about my Name.
Nor let my homely Death embroidered be
With Scutcheon or with Elogie.
An old Plebeian let me die,
Alas, all then are such as well as I.
To him, alas, to him, I fear,
The face of Death will terrible appear,
Who in his life flattering his Senseless pride
By being known to all the World beside,
Does not himself, when he is Dying know
Nor what he is, nor whither he's to go.