Man Speaker monologue (Act 3) — Dalziels' Illustrated Goldsmith

The praise attending pomp and power, The incense given to Kings, Are but the trappings of an hour— Mere transitory things: The base bestow them; but the good agree To spurn the venal gifts as flattery. But when to pomp and power are join'd An equal dignity of mind; When titles are the smallest claim; When wealth, and rank, and noble blood, But aid the power of doing good; Then all their trophies last—and flattery turns to fame. Blest spirit thou, whose fame, just born to bloom, Shall spread and flourish from the tomb; How hast thou left mankind for Heaven! E'en now reproach and faction mourn, And, wondering how their rage was born, Request to be forgiven! Alas! they never had thy hate; Unmoved, in conscious rectitude, Thy towering mind self-centred stood, Nor wanted man's opinion to be great. In vain, to charm thy ravish'd sight, A thousand gifts would fortune send; In vain, to drive thee from the right, A thousand sorrows urged thy end: Like some well-fashion'd arch thy patience stood, And purchased strength from its increasing load. Pain met thee like a friend to set thee free, Affliction still is virtue's opportunity!