: a maxim that,
Which draws a monstrous picture of mankind,
Where, in the drapery, the man is lost;
Externals fluttering, and the soul forgot.
Thy greatest glory, when disposed to boast,
Boast that aloud, in which thy servants share. 450
We wisely strip the steed we mean to buy:
Judge we, in their caparisons, of men?
It nought avails thee, where, but what, thou art;
All the distinctions of this little life
Are quite cutaneous, foreign to the man,
When, through death's straits, earth's subtle serpents creep,
Which wriggle into wealth, or climb renown.
As crooked Satan the forbidden tree, 458
They leave their party-colour'd robe behind,
All that now glitters, while they rear aloft
Their brazen crests, and hiss at us below.
Of fortune's fucus[45] strip them, yet alive;
Strip them of body, too; nay, closer still,
Away with all, but moral, in their minds;
And let what then remains, impose their name,
Pronounce them weak, or worthy; great, or mean.
How mean that snuff[46] of glory Fortune lights,
And Death puts out! Dost thou demand a test,
A test, at once, infallible, and short,
Of real greatness? That man greatly lives, 470
Whate'er his fate, or fame, who greatly dies;
High-flush'd with hope, where heroes shall despair.
If this a true criterion, many courts,
Illustrious, might afford but few grandees.
Th' Almighty, from his throne, on earth surveys
Nought greater, than an honest, humble heart;
An humble heart, His residence! pronounced
His second seat; and rival to the skies.
The private path, the secret acts of men,
If noble, far the noblest of our lives! 480
How far above Lorenzo's glory sits
Th' illustrious master of a name unknown;
Whose worth unrivall'd, and unwitness'd, loves
Life's sacred shades, where gods converse with men;
And Peace, beyond the world's conceptions, smiles!
As thou (now dark), before we part, shalt see.
But thy great soul this skulking glory scorns.
Lorenzo's sick, but when Lorenzo's seen;
And, when he shrugs at public business, lies.
Denied the public eye, the public voice, 490
As if he lived on others' breath, he dies.
Fain would he make the world his pedestal; 492
Mankind the gazers, the sole figure, he.
Knows he, that mankind praise