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 I. 
 II. 
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 VIII. 
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Ambition's boundless appetite out-speaks
The verdict of its shame. When souls take fire
At high presumptions of their own desert,
One age is poor applause; the mighty shout,
The thunder by the living few begun,
Late time must echo; worlds unborn, resound.
We wish our names eternally to live:
Wild dream! which ne'er had haunted human thought
Had not our natures been eternal too.
Instinct points out an interest in hereafter;
But our blind Reason sees not where it lies;
Or, seeing, gives the substance for the shade.