Sonnet: The Vanity of thinking to get Fame by Riming

WHAT dost Thou, Man, what thinkst Thou, to what end
Of old Bards emulous, and their ancient Praise,
In Riming spendst Thou all Thy Strength and Days,
Nor ever what's of more concern intend?
Fame which Thou courtest never did commend
Of true Desert, or if she does, delays
Till 'it be too late; no Monument does raise
But to along since dead, or dying Friend.
And Thou, if Thou desir'st that Friend to be,
What art the better for it in the Grave,
Thither Thy Fame will never follow Thee,
Nor with the Dead shalt Thou more Honour have
For Verse, than if Thou Verse hadst never known,
The Living will not, Dead can give Thee none.