"Though now thy cruelty denies a grave, These and the world, one common lot shall have; One last appointed flame, by Fate's decree, Shall waste yon azure heavens, this earth and sea; Shall knead the dead up in one mingled mass, Where stars and they shall undistinguished pass. And though thou scorn their fellowship, yet know, High as thy own can soar, these souls shall go; Or find, perhaps, a better place below. Death is beyond thy goddess Fortune's power, And parent earth receives whate'er she bore. Nor will we mourn those Romans' fate, who lie Beneath the glorious covering of the sky; That starry arch for ever round them turns, A nobler shelter far than tombs or urns."
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Pharsalia (Nicholas Rowe)
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