From the Greek Anthology (vu. 472)
LEONIDAS OF TARENTUM (early 3rd century n.e.) MEASURELESS time or ever, thy years, 0 man, were reckon'd ; Measureless time shall run over thee, low in the ground ;
And thy life between is—what ? The flick of a flying second, A flash, a point—or less, if a lesser thing can be found.
Poor little life !—not even, so fugitive, fill'd with pleasure ! Hateful is death, but life bath a bitterer taste of team. Behold the groundwork of bones ! Exactly drawn to that measure, Do ye exalt your brows, 0 men, to the cloudy spheres ?
Nay, my friend, what use ? The tissue wherewith thou art clothed, See at its end the worm, in the rag of the weftage undone, Like a slough'd skin, like a skeleton leaf, more loathed Far than sonic dusty web which an old dead spider spun.
Study, morning by morning, 0 man, how much thy strength is ; So find rest : be a life plain, without pride, thy law : All thy days upon earth, how long soever their length is, Ponder of what thou art made, that thou art but a man of
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