“Te maris et terrae numeroque carentis arenaeMensorem cohibent, Archyta,Pulveris exiqui prope litus parva MatinumMunera, nec quidquam tibi prodestThe sea, the earth, the innumerable sand,Archytas, thou coulds't measure; now, alas!A little dust on Matine shore has spann'dThat soaring spirit; vain it was to passThe gates of heaven, and send thy soul in questO'er air's wide realms; for thou hadst yet to die.”