What shall I do to be forever know,And make the Age to come my own?I shall like Beasts or Common People dy,Unless you write my Elegy;Whilst others great by being born are grown,Their Mothers Labour, not their own.In this scale Gold, in th' other Fame does ly,The weight of that mounts this so high.These men are Fortunes Jewels, moulded bright; Brought forth with their own fire and light.If I, her vulgar stone for either look,Out of my self it must be strook.
-Abraham Cowley
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