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Poem by Thomas Urquhart
Epigrams. The Second Booke. № 9. To one, who did glory too much in the faire, and durable fabrick of a gorgious Palace, which he had caused lately to be built
BOast never of the permanence of that, Which neither can prolong your dayes, nor houres; For that your house is stately, strong, and great: The praise is the artificers, not yours: Death cares not for your Palace, who can climb, Without a ladder to the tops of Towers: And shortly with a visage pale, and grim Will come, and turne you naked out of doores: But make your body (like a Church of Marbre) A Castle fit, a vertuous mind to harbour.
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