What win I, if I gain the thing I seek?
A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy.
Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week?
Or sells eternity to get a toy?
For one sweet grape who will the vine destroy?
Or what fond beggar, but to touch the crown,
Would with the sceptre straight be strucken down?

He was a man, take him for all in all,
I shall not look upon his like again.

Woe, destruction, ruin, and decay; the worst is death and death will have his day.