 | Ovid's metamorphoses in fifteen books
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The Poet concludes.
The Work is finish'd, which nor dreads the Rage
Of Tempests, Fire, or War, or wasting Age:
Come, soon or late, Death's undetermin'd Day,
This mortal Being only can decay;
My nobler Part, my Fame, shall reach the Skies,
And to late Times with blooming Honours rise:
Whate'er th'unbounded Roman Power obeys,
All Climes and Nations shall record my Praise:
If 'tis allow'd to Poets to divine,
One half of round Eternity is mine.
| Ovid's metamorphoses in fifteen books
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