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The MottoThe Motto
What shall I do to be forever known,
And make the age to come my own?
I shall like beasts or common people die,
Unless you write my elegy;
Whilst others great by being born are grown,
Their mothers` labor, not their own.
In this scale gold, in th`other fame does lie,
The weight of that mounts this so high.
These men are fortune`s jewels, molded bright,
Brought forth with their own fire and light;
If I her vulgar stone, for either look,
Out of myself it must be strook.
Yet I must on : what sound is`t strikes mine ear?
Sure I Fame`s trumpet hear;
It sounds like the last trumpet, for it can
Raise up the buried man.
Unpassed Alps stop me, but I`ll cut through all,
And march, the Muses` Hannibal.
Hence, all the flattering vanities that lay
Nets of roses in the way;
Hence, the desire of honors or estate
And all that is not above fate;
Hence, Love himself, the tyrant of my days,
Which intercepts my coming praise.
Come, my best friends, my books, and lead me on:
`Tis time that I were gone.
Welcome, great Stagirite, and teach me now
All I was born to know;
Thy scholar`s vict`ries thou dost far outdo,
He conquered th`earth, the whole world you.
Welcome, learn`d Cicero, whose blest tongue and wit
Preserve Rome`s greatness yet:
Thou art the first of orators; only he
Who best can praise thee, next must be.
Welcome the Mantuan swan, Vergil the wise,
Whose verse walks highest, but not flies;
Who brought green poesy to her perfect age,
And made that art which was a rage.
Tell me, ye mighty three, what shall I do
To be like one of you?
But you have climbed the mountain`s top, there sit
On the calm flour`shing head of it,
And whilst with wearied steps we upward go,
See us and clouds below.
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