Some Few Lines Made Upon - Poem by William Cleland
To die obscure must be a dismal Fate,
Since Mortals purchase Fame at such a rate;
As burning Cities, razing Regal seats.
Destroying Temples; overturning States.
But meaner sp'rits whom Destiny contracts,
Not to aspire unto such Glorious Acts;
Yet Phaetons in conceit, will be content
E're Fame be wanting to be Fools in Print.
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