What rage for fame attends both great and small!

Care to our coffin adds a nail, no doubt, And every grin so merry draws one out.

A fellow in a market town, Most musical, cried razors up and down.

No, let the monarch’s bags and others hold The flattering, mighty, nay, al-mighty gold.

People may have too much of a good thing: Full as an egg of wisdom thus I sing.

The scene was changed. It was a bark that slowly held its way, And o'er its lee the coast of France in the light of evening lay; And on its deck a lady sat, who gazed with tearful eyes Upon the fast receding hills that dim and distant rise.

So All is diff’rent, and yet All is One.