It sounds like stories from the land of spirits

If any man obtains that which he merits,

Or any merit that which he obtains.

  .   .   .   .   .   .   .

Greatness and goodness are not means, but ends!

Hath he not always treasures, always friends,

The good great man? Three treasures,—love and light,

And calm thoughts, regular as infants' breath;

And three firm friends, more sure than day and night,—

Himself, his Maker, and the angel Death.

Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834): Complaint. Ed. 1852. The Good Great Man. Ed. 1893.

Nothing can cover his high fame but heaven;

No pyramids set off his memories,

But the eternal substance of his greatness,—

To which I leave him.

Beaumont And Fletcher: The False One. Act ii. Sc. 1.

Farewell! a long farewell, to all my greatness!

This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth

The tender leaves of hopes; to-morrow blossoms,

And bears his blushing honours thick upon him;

The third day comes a frost, a killing frost,

And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely

His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root,

And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured,

Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,

This many summers in a sea of glory,

But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride

At length broke under me and now has left me,

Weary and old with service, to the mercy

Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me.

Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye:

I feel my heart new opened. O, how wretched

Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours!

There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to,

That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,

More pangs and fears than wars or women have:

And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,

Never to hope again.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): King Henry VIII. Act iii. Sc. 2.

I have touched the highest point of all my greatness;

And from that full meridian of my glory

I haste now to my setting: I shall fall

Like a bright exhalation in the evening,

And no man see me more.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): King Henry VIII. Act iii. Sc. 2.

Spanking Jack was so comely, so pleasant, so jolly,

Though winds blew great guns, still he 'd whistle and sing;

Jack loved his friend, and was true to his Molly,

And if honour gives greatness, was great as a king.

Charles Dibdin (1745-1814): The Sailor's Consolation.

Farewell! a long farewell, to all my greatness!

This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth

The tender leaves of hopes; to-morrow blossoms,

And bears his blushing honours thick upon him;

The third day comes a frost, a killing frost,

And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely

His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root,

And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured,

Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,

This many summers in a sea of glory,

But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride

At length broke under me and now has left me,

Weary and old with service, to the mercy

Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me.

Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye:

I feel my heart new opened. O, how wretched

Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours!

There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to,

That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,

More pangs and fears than wars or women have:

And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,

Never to hope again.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): King Henry VIII. Act iii. Sc. 2.

Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine,

His honour and the greatness of his name

Shall be, and make new nations.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): King Henry VIII. Act v. Sc. 5.

But wild Ambition loves to slide, not stand,

And Fortune's ice prefers to Virtue's land.

John Dryden (1631-1701): Absalom and Achitophel. Part i. Line 198.