LXI.

The list grows long of live and dead pretenders To that which none will gain--or none will know The conqueror at least; who, ere Time renders His last award, will have the long grass grow Above his burnt-out brain, and sapless cinders. If I might augur, I should rate but low Their chances;--they're too numerous, like the thirty[594] Mock tyrants, when Rome's annals waxed but dirty.