Blown up with painful care and hard to light, 
 A glimmering torch blown in a moment out, 
 Suspended by a web, an angler's bait, 
 Floating at stake along the stream of chance, 
 Snatch'd from its hook by the fish of poverty, 
 A silent cavern is his last abode; 
 The king's repository veil'd with gloom, 
 The umbrage of a thousand oziers bowed, 
 The couch of hallowed bones, the grave's asylum, 
 The brave's retreat and end of ev'ry care.