From The Iliad (Book XII), transl. by Alexander Pope

             371        Why boast we, Glaucus! our extended reign,

             372        Where Xanthus' streams enrich the Lycian plain,

             373        Our num'rous herds that range the fruitful field,

             374        And hills where vines their purple harvest yield,

             375        Our foaming bowls with purer nectar crown'd,

             376        Our feasts enhanc'd with music's sprightly sound?

             377        Why on those shores are we with joy survey'd,

             378        Admir'd as heroes, and as gods obey'd?

             379        Unless great acts superior merit prove,

             380        And vindicate the bount'ous pow'rs above.

             381        'Tis ours, the dignity they give, to grace;

             382        The first in valour, as the first in place.

             383        That when with wond'ring eyes our martial bands

             384        Behold our deeds transcending our commands,

             385        Such, they may cry, deserve the sov'reign state,

             386        Whom those that envy, dare not imitate!

             387        Could all our care elude the gloomy grave,

             388        Which claims no less the fearful than the brave,

             389        For lust of fame I should not vainly dare

             390        In fighting fields, nor urge thy soul to war.

             391        But since, alas! ignoble age must come,

             392        Disease, and death's inexorable doom;

             393        The life which others pay, let us bestow,

             394        And give to fame what we to nature owe;

             395        Brave tho' we fall, and honour'd if we live,

             396        Or let us glory gain, or glory give!