"Te maris et terrae numeroque carentis arenae Mensorem cohibent, Archyta, Pulveris exiqui prope litus parva Matinum Munera, nec quidquam tibi prodest The sea, the earth, the innumerable sand, Archytas, thou coulds't measure; now, alas! A little dust on Matine shore has spann'd That soaring spirit; vain it was to pass The gates of heaven, and send thy soul in quest O'er air's wide realms; for thou hadst yet to die."