Let me look back upon the world before
I leave it, and upon some scatter’d graves,
Altho’ mine eyes are dim with age and tears,
And almost all those graves lie far remote.
Memory! thou hast not always been so kind
As thou art now; at every step I come
Nigher to those before me: part I owe
To thee, and part to age: I ask no more,
For I have seen enough, and go to rest.