'Tis the first sanction Nature gave to man,Each other to assist in what they can;Just or unjust, this law for ever stands;All things are good by law which she commands;The first step, man t'wards Christ must justly live,Who t'us himself, and all we have, did give;In vain doth man the name of just expect,If his devotions he to God neglect;So must we rev'rence God, as first to know 9Justice from Him, not from ourselves, doth flow;God those accepts who to mankind are friends,Whose justice far as their own power extends;In that they imitate the power Divine;The sun alike on good and bad doth shine;And he that doth no good, although no ill,Does not the office of the just fulfil.Virtue doth man to virtuous actions steer,'Tis not enough that he should vice forbear;We live not only for ourselves to care,Whilst they that want it are denied their share. 20Wise Plato said, the world with men was stored,That succour each to other might afford;Nor are those succours to one sort confined,But sev'ral parts to sev'ral men consign'd;He that of his own stores no part can give,May with his counsel or his hands relieve.If Fortune make thee powerful, give defence'Gainst fraud and force, to naked innocence:And when our Justice doth her tributes pay,Method and order must direct the way. 30First to our God we must with rev'rence bow;The second honour to our prince we owe;Next to wives, parents, children, fit respect,And to our friends and kindred, we direct;Then we must those who groan beneath the weightOf age, disease, or want, commiserate.'Mongst those whom honest lives can recommend,Our Justice more compassion should extend;To such, who thee in some distress did aid,Thy debt of thanks with int'rest should be paid: 40As Hesiod sings, spread waters o'er thy field,And a most just and glad increase 'twill yield.But yet take heed, lest doing good to one,Mischief and wrong be to another done;Such moderation with thy bounty join,That thou may'st nothing give that is not thine;That liberality's but cast away,Which makes us borrow what we cannot pay.And no access to wealth let rapine bring;Do nothing that's unjust to be a king. 50Justice must be from violence exempt,But fraud's her only object of contempt.Fraud in the fox, force in the lion dwells;But Justice both from human hearts expels;But he's the greatest monster (without doubt)Who is a wolf within, a sheep without.Nor only ill injurious actions are,But evil words and slanders bear their share.Truth Justice loves, and truth injustice fears,Truth above all things a just man reveres. 60Though not by oaths we God to witness call,He sees and hears, and still remembers all;And yet our attestations we may wrestSometimes to make the truth more manifest;If by a lie a man preserve his faith,He pardon, leave, and absolution hath;Or if I break my promise, which to theeWould bring no good, but prejudice to me.All things committed to thy trust conceal,Nor what's forbid by any means reveal. 70Express thyself in plain, not doubtful words,That ground for quarrels or disputes affords:Unless thou find occasion, hold thy tongue;Thyself or others careless talk may wrong.When thou art called into public power,And when a crowd of suitors throng thy door,Be sure no great offenders 'scape their dooms; 77Small praise from lenity and remissness comes;Crimes pardon'd, others to those crimes invite,Whilst lookers-on severe examples fright.When by a pardon'd murd'rer blood is spilt,The judge that pardon'd hath the greatest guilt;Who accuse rigour, make a gross mistake;One criminal pardon'd may an hundred make;When justice on offenders is not done,Law, government, and commerce, are o'erthrown;As besieged traitors with the foe conspire,T' unlock the gates, and set the town on fire.Yet lest the punishment th'offence exceed,Justice with weight and measure must proceed: 90Yet when pronouncing sentence, seem not glad,Such spectacles, though they are just, are sad;Though what thou dost thou ought'st not to repent,Yet human bowels cannot but relent:Rather than all must suffer, some must die;Yet Nature must condole their misery.And yet, if many equal guilt involve,Thou may'st not these condemn, and those absolve.Justice, when equal scales she holds, is blind;Nor cruelty, nor mercy, change her mind. 100When some escape for that which others die,Mercy to those, to these is cruelty.A fine and slender net the spider weaves,Which little and light animals receives;And if she catch a common bee or fly,They with a piteous groan and murmur die;But if a wasp or hornet she entrap,They tear her cords like Samson, and escape;So like a fly the poor offender dies,But like the wasp, the rich escapes and flies. 110Do not, if one but lightly thee offend,The punishment beyond the crime extend;Or after warning the offence forget;So God himself our failings doth remit.Expect not more from servants than is just,Reward them well, if they observe their trust;Nor them with cruelty or pride invade,Since God and Nature them our brothers made;If his offence be great, let that suffice;If light, forgive, for no man's always wise. 120
My early mistress, now my ancient Muse,That strong Circæan liquor cease t'infuse,Wherewith thou didst intoxicate my youth,Now stoop with disenchanted wings to truth;As the dove's flight did guide Aeneas, nowMay thine conduct me to the golden bough:Tell (like a tall old oak) how learning shootsTo heaven her branches, and to hell her roots.
When God from earth form'd Adam in the East,He his own image on the clay impress'd;As subjects then the whole creation came,And from their natures Adam them did name,Not from experience (for the world was new),He only from their cause their natures knew.Had memory been lost with innocence,We had not known the sentence nor th'offence;'Twas his chief punishment to keep in storeThe sad remembrance what he was before; 10And though th'offending part felt mortal pain,Th' immortal part its knowledge did retain.After the flood, arts to Chaldea fell;The father of the faithful there did dwell,Who both their parent and instructor was;From thence did learning into Egypt pass:Moses in all the Egyptian arts was skill'd,When heavenly power that chosen vessel fill'd;And we to his high inspiration owe,That what was done before the flood we know. 20Prom Egypt, arts their progress made to Greece,Wrapp'd in the fable of the golden fleece.Musæus first, then Orpheus, civiliseMankind, and gave the world their deities;To many gods they taught devotion,Which were the distinct faculties of one;Th' Eternal Cause, in their immortal linesWas taught, and poets were the first divines:God Moses first, then David, did inspire,To compose anthems, for his heavenly choir; 30To th'one the style of friend he did impart,On th'other stamp the likeness of his heart:And Moses, in the old original,Even God the poet of the world doth call.Next those old Greeks Pythagoras did rise,Then Socrates, whom th'oracle call'd Wise;The divine Plato moral virtue shows,Then his disciple Aristotle rose,Who Nature's secrets to the world did teach,Yet that great soul our novelists impeach; 40Too much manuring fill'd that field with weeds,While sects, like locusts, did destroy the seeds;The tree of knowledge, blasted by disputes,Produces sapless leaves instead of fruits;Proud Greece all nations else barbarians held,Boasting her learning all the world excell'd.Flying from thence[1] to Italy it came, 47And to the realm of Naples gave the name,Till both their nation and their arts did comeA welcome trophy to triumphant Rome;Then whereso'er her conqu'ring eagles fled,Arts, learning, and civility were spread;And as in this our microcosm, the heartHeat, spirit, motion gives to every part,So Rome's victorious influence did disperseAll her own virtues through the universe.Here some digression I must make, t'accuseThee, my forgetful, and ingrateful Muse:Couldst thou from Greece to Latium take thy flight,And not to thy great ancestor do right? 60I can no more believe old Homer blind,Than those who say the sun hath never shined;The age wherein he lived was dark, but heCould not want sight who taught the world to see:They who Minerva from Jove's head derive,Might make old Homer's skull the Muses' hive;And from his brain that Helicon distilWhose racy liquor did his offspring fill.Nor old Anacreon, Hesiod, Theocrite,Must we forget, nor Pindar's lofty flight. 70Old Homer's soul, at last from Greece retired,In Italy the Mantuan swain inspired.When great Augustus made war's tempest cease,His halcyon days brought forth the arts of peace;He still in his triumphant chariot shines,By Horace drawn, and Virgil's mighty lines.'Twas certainly mysterious that the name [2]Of prophets and of poets is the same;What the tragedian[3]—wrote, the late success 79Declares was inspiration, and not guess:As dark a truth that author did unfold,As oracles or prophets e'er foretold:'At last the ocean shall unlock the boundOf things, and a new world by Tiphys found,Then ages far remote shall understandThe Isle of Thule is not the farthest land.'Sure God, by these discov'ries, did designThat his clear light through all the world should shine,But the obstruction from that discord springsThe prince of darkness made 'twixt Christian kings; 90That peaceful age with happiness to crown,From heaven the Prince of Peace himself came down,Then the true sun of knowledge first appear'd,And the old dark mysterious clouds were clear'd,The heavy cause of th'old accursèd floodSunk in the sacred deluge of his blood.His passion man from his first fall redeem'd;Once more to paradise restored we seem'd;Satan himself was bound, till th'iron chainOur pride did break, and let him loose again. 100Still the old sting remain'd, and man beganTo tempt the serpent, as he tempted man;Then Hell sends forth her furies, Av'rice, Pride,Fraud, Discord, Force, Hypocrisy their guide;Though the foundation on a rock were laid,The church was undermined, and then betray'd:Though the Apostles these events foretold,Yet even the shepherd did devour the fold:The fisher to convert the world began,The pride convincing of vain-glorious man; 110But soon his followers grew a sovereign lord,And Peter's keys exchanged for Peter's sword,Which still maintains for his adopted sonVast patrimonies, though himself had none;Wresting the text to the old giant's sense,That heaven, once more, must suffer violence.Then subtle doctors Scriptures made their prize;Casuists, like cocks, struck out each others eyes;Then dark distinctions reason's light disguised,And into atoms truth anatomised. 120Then Mah'met's crescent, by our feuds increased,Blasted the learn'd remainders of the East;That project, when from Greece to Rome it came,Made Mother Ignorance Devotion's dame;Then he whom Lucifer's own pride did swell,His faithful emissary, rose from hellTo possess Peter's chair, that HildebrandWhose foot on mitres, then on crowns, did stand;And before that exalted idol all(Whom we call gods on earth) did prostrate fall. 130Then darkness Europe's face did overspreadFrom lazy cells where superstition bred,Which, link'd with blind obedience, so increased,That the whole world some ages they oppress'd;Till through these clouds the sun of knowledge brake,And Europe from her lethargy did wake:Then first our monarchs were acknowledged here,That they their churches' nursing fathers were.When Lucifer no longer could advanceHis works on the false grounds of ignorance, 140New arts he tries, and new designs he lays,Then his well-studied masterpiece he plays;Loyola, Luther, Calvin he inspires,And kindles with infernal flames their fires,Sends their forerunner (conscious of th'event)Printing, his most pernicious instrument!Wild controversy then, which long had slept,Into the press from ruin'd cloisters leap'd;No longer by implicit faith we err,Whilst every man's his own interpreter; 150No more conducted now by Aaron's rod,Lay-elders from their ends create their god.But seven wise men the ancient world did know,We scarce know seven who think themselves not so.When man learn'd undefiled religion,We were commanded to be all as one;Fiery disputes that union have calcined;Almost as many minds as men we find,And when that flame finds combustible earth,Thencefatuusfires, and meteors take their birth; 160Legions of sects and insects come in throngs;To name them all would tire a hundred tongues.So were the Centaurs of Ixion's race,Who a bright cloud for Juno did embrace;And such the monsters of Chimæra's kind,Lions before, and dragons were behind.Then from the clashes between popes and kings,Debate, like sparks from flints' collision, springs:As Jove's loud thunderbolts were forged by heat,The like our Cyclops on their anvils beat; 170All the rich mines of learning ransack'd are,To furnish ammunition for this war:Uncharitable zeal our reason whets,And double edges on our passion sets;'Tis the most certain sign the world's accursed,That the best things corrupted are the worst;'Twas the corrupted light of knowledge hurl'dSin, death, and ignorance o'er all the world;That sun like this (from which our sight we have), 179Gazed on too long, resumes the light he gave;And when thick mists of doubts obscure his beams,Our guide is error, and our visions, dreams;'Twas no false heraldry when madness drewHer pedigree from those who too much knew;Who in deep mines for hidden knowledge toils,Like guns o'ercharged, breaks, misses, or recoils;When subtle wits have spun their thread too fine,'Tis weak and fragile, like Arachne's line:True piety, without cessation toss'dBy theories, the practic part is lost, 190And like a ball bandied 'twixt pride and wit,Rather than yield, both sides the prize will quit:Then whilst his foe each gladiator foils,The atheist looking on enjoys the spoils.Through seas of knowledge we our course advance,Discov'ring still new worlds of ignorance;And these discov'ries make us all confessThat sublunary science is but guess;Matters of fact to man are only known,And what seems more is mere opinion; 200The standers-by see clearly this event;All parties say they're sure, yet all dissent;With their new light our bold inspectors press,Like Cham, to show their fathers' nakedness,By whose example after ages mayDiscover we more naked are than they;All human wisdom to divine is folly;This truth the wisest man made melancholy;Hope, or belief, or guess, gives some relief,But to be sure we are deceived brings grief: 210Who thinks his wife is virtuous, though not so,Is pleased and patient till the truth he know.Our God, when heaven and earth he did create,Form'd man who should of both participate;If our lives' motions theirs must imitate,Our knowledge, like our blood, must circulate.When like a bridegroom from the east, the sunSets forth, he thither, whence he came, doth run;Into earth's spongy veins the ocean sinks,Those rivers to replenish which he drinks; 220So learning, which from reason's fountain springs,Back to the source some secret channel brings.'Tis happy when our streams of knowledge flowTo fill their banks, but not to overthrow.
Ut metit Autumnus fruges quas parturit Aestas,Sic ortum Natura, dedit Deus his quoque finem.
[1]'From thence': Gracia Major. [2] 'The name': Vates. [3] 'The tragedian': Seneca.
Reader, preserve thy peace: those busy eyesWill weep at their own sad discoveries,When every line they add improves thy loss,Till, having view'd the whole, they seem a cross,Such as derides thy passions' best relief,And scorns the succours of thy easy grief;Yet lest thy ignorance betray thy nameOf man and pious, read and mourn; the shameOf an exemption from just sense doth showIrrational, beyond excess of woe. 10Since reason, then, can privilege a tear,Manhood, uncensured, pay that tribute hereUpon this noble urn. Here, here remainsDust far more precious than in India's veins;Within those cold embraces, ravish'd, liesThat which completes the age's tyrannies;Who weak to such another ill appear,For what destroys our hope secures our fear.What sin, unexpiated in this landOf groans, hath guided so severe a hand? 20The late great victim[1] that your altars knew,Ye angry gods! might have excused this newOblation, and have spared one lofty lightOf virtue, to inform our steps aright;By whose example good, condemnèd, weMight have run on to kinder destiny.But as the leader of the herd fell firstA sacrifice, to quench the raging thirstOf inflamed vengeance for past crimes, so noneBut this white, fatted youngling could atone, 30By his untimely fate, that impious smoke,That sullied earth, and did Heaven's pity choke.Let it suffice for us that we have lostIn him more than the widow'd world can boastIn any lump of her remaining clay.Fair as the gray-eyed morn he was; the day,Youthful, and climbing upwards still, impartsNo haste like that of his increasing parts.Like the meridian beam, his virtue's lightWas seen as full of comfort, and as bright. 40Had his noon been as fixed, as clear—but he,That only wanted immortalityTo make him perfect, now submits to night,In the black bosom of whose sable spiteHe leaves a cloud of flesh behind, and flies,Refined, all ray and glory, to the skies.Great saint! shine there in an eternal sphere, 47And tell those powers to whom thou now draw'st near,That by our trembling sense, in Hastings dead,Their anger and our ugly faults are read,The short lines of whose life did to our eyesTheir love and majesty epitomise;Tell them, whose stern decrees impose our laws;The feasted grave may close her hollow jaws.Though Sin search Nature, to provide her hereA second entertainment half so dear,She'll never meet a plenty like this hearse,Till Time present her with the universe!
[1] 'Great victim': Charles I.
Though all the actions of your life are crown'dWith wisdom, nothing makes them more renown'd,Than that those years, which others think extreme,Nor to yourself nor us uneasy seem;Under which weight most, like th'old giants, groan.When Aetna on their backs by Jove was thrown.
CATO. What you urge, Scipio, from right reason flows:All parts of age seem burthensome to thoseWho virtue's and true wisdom's happinessCannot discern; but they who those possess, 10In what's impos'd by Nature find no grief,Of which our age is (next our death) the chief,Which though all equally desire t'obtain,Yet when they have obtain'd it, they complain;Such our inconstancies and follies are,We say it steals upon us unaware:Our want of reas'ning these false measures makes,Youth runs to age, as childhood youth o'ertakes.How much more grievous would our lives appear,To reach th'eighth hundred, than the eightieth year? 20Of what in that long space of time hath pass'd,To foolish age will no remembrance last.My age's conduct when you seem t'admire(Which that it may deserve, I much desire),'Tis my first rule, on Nature, as my guideAppointed by the gods, I have relied;And Nature (which all acts of life designs),Not, like ill poets, in the last declines:But some one part must be the last of all,Which like ripe fruits, must either rot or fall. 30And this from Nature must be gently borne,Else her (as giants did the gods) we scorn.
LÆLIUS. But, Sir, 'tis Scipio's and my desire,Since to long life we gladly would aspire,That from your grave instructions we might hear,How we, like you, may this great burthen bear.
CAT. This I resolved before, but now shall doWith great delight, since 'tis required by you.
LÆL. If to yourself it will not tedious prove,Nothing in us a greater joy can move, 40That as old travellers the young instruct,Your long, our short experience may conduct.
CAT. 'Tis true (as the old proverb doth relate),Equals with equals often congregate.Two consuls[2] (who in years my equals were)When senators, lamenting I did hearThat age from them had all their pleasures torn, 47And them their former suppliants now scorn:They what is not to be accused accuse,Not others, but themselves their age abuse;Else this might me concern, and all my friends,Whose cheerful age with honour youth attends,Joy'd that from pleasure's slav'ry they are free,And all respects due to their age they see.In its true colours, this complaint appearsThe ill effect of manners, not of years;For on their life no grievous burthen lies,Who are well natured, temperate, and wise;But an inhuman and ill-temper'd mind,Not any easy part in life can find. 60
LÆL. This I believe; yet others may dispute,Their age (as yours) can never bear such fruitOf honour, wealth, and power to make them sweet;Not every one such happiness can meet.
CAT. Some weight your argument, my Lælius, bears,But not so much as at first sight appears.This answer by Themistocles was made,(When a Seriphian thus did him upbraid,'You those great honours to your country owe,Not to yourself')-'Had I at Seripho[3] 70Been born, such honour I had never seen,Nor you, if an Athenian you had been;'So age, clothed in indecent poverty,To the most prudent cannot easy be;But to a fool, the greater his estate,The more uneasy is his age's weight.Age's chief arts and arms are to grow wise,Virtue to know, and known, to exercise;All just returns to age then virtue makes, 79Nor her in her extremity forsakes;The sweetest cordial we receive at last,Is conscience of our virtuous actions past.I (when a youth) with reverence did lookOn Quintus Fabius, who Tarentum took;Yet in his age such cheerfulness was seen,As if his years and mine had equal been;His gravity was mix'd with gentleness,Nor had his age made his good humour less;Then was he well in years (the same that heWas Consul that of my nativity), 90(A stripling then), in his fourth consulateOn him at Capua I in arms did wait.I five years after at Tarentum wanThe quæstorship, and then our love began;And four years after, when I prætor was,He pleaded, and the Cincian law[4] did pass.With useful diligence he used t'engage,Yet with the temperate arts of patient ageHe breaks fierce Hannibal's insulting heats;Of which exploit thus our friend Ennius treats: 100He by delay restored the commonwealth,Nor preferr'd rumour before public health.
[1] This piece is adapted from Cicero, 'De Seucctute.' [2] 'Two consuls': Caius Salinator, Spurius Albinus. [3] 'Seripho': an isle to which condemned men were banished. [4] 'Cincian law': against bribes.
When I reflect on age, I find there are Four causes, which its misery declare. 1. Because our body's strength it much impairs: 2. That it takes off our minds from great affairs: 3. Next, that our sense of pleasure it deprives: 4. Last, that approaching death attends our lives.
Of all these sev'ral causes I'll discourse, 109And then of each, in order, weigh the force.
The old from such affairs is only freed,Which vig'rous youth and strength of body need;But to more high affairs our age is lent,Most properly when heats of youth are spent.Did Fabius and your father Scipio(Whose daughter my son married) nothing do?Fabricii, Coruncani, Curii;Whose courage, counsel, and authority,The Roman commonwealth restored did boast,Nor Appius, with whose strength his sight was lost, 120Who when the Senate was to peace inclinedWith Pyrrhus, shew'd his reason was not blind,Whither's our courage and our wisdom comeWhen Rome itself conspires the fate of Rome?The rest with ancient gravity and skillHe spake (for his oration's extant still).'Tis seventeen years since he had Consul beenThe second time, and there were ten between;Therefore their argument's of little force,Who age from great employments would divorce. 130As in a ship some climb the shrouds, t'unfoldThe sail, some sweep the deck, some pump the hold;Whilst he that guides the helm employs his skill,And gives the law to them by sitting still.Great actions less from courage, strength, and speed,Than from wise counsels and commands proceed;Those arts age wants not, which to age belong,Not heat but cold experience make us strong.A Consul, Tribune, General, I have been,All sorts of war I have pass'd through and seen; 140And now grown old, I seem t'abandon it,Yet to the Senate I prescribe what's fit.I every day 'gainst Carthage war proclaim,(For Rome's destruction hath been long her aim)Nor shall I cease till I her ruin see,Which triumph may the gods design for thee;That Scipio may revenge his grandsire's ghost,Whose life at Cannæ with great honour lostIs on record; nor had he wearied beenWith age, if he an hundred years had seen; 150He had not used excursions, spears, or darts,But counsel, order, and such aged arts,Which, if our ancestors had not retain'd,The Senate's name our council had not gain'd.The Spartans to their highest magistrateThe name of Elder did appropriate:Therefore his fame for ever shall remain,How gallantly Tarentum he did gain,With vig'lant conduct; when that sharp replyHe gave to Salinator, I stood by, 160Who to the castle fled, the town being lost,Yet he to Maximus did vainly boast,'Twas by my means Tarentum you obtain'd;—'Tis true, had you not lost, I had not gain'd.And as much honour on his gown did wait,As on his arms, in his fifth consulate.When his colleague Carvilius stepp'd aside,The Tribune of the people would divideTo them the Gallic and the Picene field;Against the Senate's will he will not yield; 170When, being angry, boldly he declaresThose things were acted under happy stars,From which the commonwealth found good effects,But otherwise they came from bad aspects.Many great things of Fabius I could tell,But his son's death did all the rest excel;(His gallant son, though young, had Consul been)His funeral oration I have seenOften; and when on that I turn my eyes,I all the old philosophers despise. 180Though he in all the people's eyes seem'd great,Yet greater he appear'd in his retreat;When feasting with his private friends at home,Such counsel, such discourse from him did come,Such science in his art of augury,No Roman ever was more learn'd than he;Knowledge of all things present and to come,Rememb'ring all the wars of ancient Rome,Nor only there, but all the world's beside;Dying in extreme age, I prophesied 190That which is come to pass, and did discernFrom his survivors I could nothing learn.This long discourse was but to let you seeThat his long life could not uneasy be.Few like the Fabii or the Scipios areTakers of cities, conquerors in war.Yet others to like happy age arrive,Who modest, quiet, and with virtue live:Thus Plato writing his philosophy,With honour after ninety years did die. 200Th' Athenian story writ at ninety-fourBy Isocrates, who yet lived five years more;His master Gorgias at the hundredth yearAnd seventh, not his studies did forbear:And, ask'd why he no sooner left the stage?Said he saw nothing to accuse old age.None but the foolish, who their lives abuse,Age of their own mistakes and crimes accuse.All commonwealths (as by records is seen) 209As by age preserved, by youth destroy'd have been.When the tragedian Nævius did demand,Why did your commonwealth no longer stand?'Twas answer'd, that their senators were new,Foolish, and young, and such as nothing knew;Nature to youth hot rashness doth dispense,But with cold prudence age doth recompense.But age, 'tis said, will memory decay,So (if it be not exercised) it may;Or, if by nature it be dull and slow.Themistocles (when aged) the names did know 220Of all th'Athenians; and none grow so old,Not to remember where they hid their gold.From age such art of memory we learn,To forget nothing which is our concern;Their interest no priest nor sorcererForgets, nor lawyer, nor philosopher;No understanding memory can want,Where wisdom studious industry doth plant.Nor does it only in the active live,But in the quiet and contemplative; 230When Sophocles (who plays when aged wrote)Was by his sons before the judges brought,Because he paid the Muses such respect,His fortune, wife, and children to neglect;Almost condemn'd, he moved the judges thus,'Hear, but instead of me, my Oedipus.'The judges hearing with applause, at th'endFreed him, and said, 'No fool such lines had penn'd'.What poets and what orators can IRecount, what princes in philosophy, 240Whose constant studies with their age did strive?Nor did they those, though those did them survive.Old husbandmen I at Sabinum know,Who for another year dig, plough, and sow.For never any man was yet so old,But hoped his life one winter more might hold.Cæcilius vainly said, 'Each day we spendDiscovers something, which must needs offend;'But sometimes age may pleasant things behold,And nothing that offends. He should have told 250This not to age, but youth, who oft'ner seeWhat not alone offends, but hurts, than we.That, I in him, which he in age condemn'd,That us it renders odious, and contemn'd.He knew not virtue, if he thought this truth;For youth delights in age, and age in youth.What to the old can greater pleasure be,Than hopeful and ingenious youth to see,When they with rev'rence follow where we lead,And in straight paths by our directions tread? 260And e'en my conversation here I see,As well received by you, as yours by me.'Tis disingenuous to accuse our ageOf idleness, who all our powers engageIn the same studies, the same course to hold;Nor think our reason for new arts too old.Solon the sage his progress never ceased,But still his learning with his days increased;And I with the same greediness did seek,As water when I thirst, to swallow Greek; 270Which I did only learn, that I might knowThose great examples which I follow now:And I have heard that Socrates the wise,Learn'd on the lute for his last exercise.Though many of the ancients did the same,To improve knowledge was my only aim.
Now int' our second grievance I must break, 277'That loss of strength makes understanding weak.'I grieve no more my youthful strength to want,Than, young, that of a bull, or elephant;Then with that force content, which Nature gave,Nor am I now displeased with what I have.When the young wrestlers at their sport grew warm,Old Milo wept, to see his naked arm;And cried, 'twas dead. Trifler! thine heart and head,And all that's in them (not thy arm) are dead;This folly every looker on derides,To glory only in thy arms and sides.Our gallant ancestors let fall no tears,Their strength decreasing by increasing years; 290But they advanced in wisdom every hour,And made the commonwealth advance in power.But orators may grieve, for in their sides,Rather than heads, their faculty abides;Yet I have heard old voices loud and clear,And still my own sometimes the Senate hear.When th'old with smooth and gentle voices plead,They by the ear their well-pleased audience lead:Which, if I had not strength enough to do,I could (my Lælius, and my Scipio) 300What's to be done, or not be done, instruct,And to the maxims of good life conduct.Cneius and Publius Scipio, and (that manOf men) your grandsire, the great African,Were joyful when the flower of noble bloodCrowded their dwellings, and attending stood,Like oracles their counsels to receive,How in their progress they should act and live.And they whose high examples youth obeys, 309Are not despisèd, though their strength decays;And those decays (to speak the naked truth,Though the defects of age) were crimes of youth.Intemp'rate youth (by sad experience found)Ends in an age imperfect and unsound.Cyrus, though aged (if Xenophon say true),Lucius Metellus (whom when young I knew),Who held (after his second consulate)Twenty-two years the high pontificate;Neither of these in body, or in mind,Before their death the least decay did find. 320I speak not of myself, though none denyTo age, to praise their youth the liberty:Such an unwasted strength I cannot boast,Yet now my years are eighty-four almost:And though from what it was my strength is far,Both in the first and second Punic war,Nor at Thermopylæ, under Glabrio,Nor when I Consul into Spain did go;But yet I feel no weakness, nor hath lengthOf winters quite enervated my strength; 330And I, my guest, my client, or my friend,Still in the courts of justice can defend:Neither must I that proverb's truth allow,'Who would be ancient, must be early so.'I would be youthful still, and find no needTo appear old, till I was so indeed.And yet you see my hours not idle are,Though with your strength I cannot mine compare;Yet this centurion's doth your's surmount,Not therefore him the better man I count. 340Milo when ent'ring the Olympic game,With a huge ox upon his shoulder came.Would you the force of Milo's body find,Rather than of Pythagoras's mind?The force which Nature gives with care retain,But when decay'd, 'tis folly to complain.In age to wish for youth is full as vain,As for a youth to turn a child again.Simple and certain Nature's ways appear,As she sets forth the seasons of the year. 350So in all parts of life we find her truth,Weakness to childhood, rashness to our youth;To elder years to be discreet and grave,Then to old age maturity she gave.(Scipio) you know, how Massinissa bearsHis kingly port at more than ninety years;When marching with his foot, he walks till night;When with his horse, he never will alight;Though cold or wet, his head is always bare;So hot, so dry, his aged members are. 360You see how exercise and temperanceEven to old years a youthful strength advance.Our law (because from age our strength retires)No duty which belongs to strength requires.But age doth many men so feeble make,That they no great design can undertake;Yet that to age not singly is applied,But to all man's infirmities beside.That Scipio, who adopted you, did fallInto such pains, he had no health at all; 370Who else had equall'd Africanus' parts,Exceeding him in all the lib'ral arts:Why should those errors then imputed beTo age alone, from which our youth's not free?Every disease of age we may prevent,Like those of youth, by being diligent.When sick, such mod'rate exercise we use, 377And diet, as our vital heat renews;And if our body thence refreshment finds,Then must we also exercise our minds.If with continual oil we not supplyOur lamp, the light for want of it will die;Though bodies may be tired with exercise,No weariness the mind could e'er surprise.Cæcilius the comedian, when of ageHe represents the follies on the stage,They're credulous, forgetful, dissolute;Neither those crimes to age he doth impute,But to old men, to whom those crimes belong.Lust, petulance, rashness, are in youth more strong 390Than ago, and yet young men those vices hate,Who virtuous are, discreet, and temperate:And so, what we call dotage seldom breedsIn bodies, but where nature sow'd the seeds.There are five daughters, and four gallant sons,In whom the blood of noble Appius runs,With a most num'rous family beside,Whom he alone, though old and blind, did guide.Yet his clear-sighted mind was still intent,And to his business like a bow stood bent: 400By children, servants, neighbours so esteem'd,He not a master, but a monarch seem'd.All his relations his admirers were,His sons paid rev'rence, and his servants fear:The order and the ancient disciplineOf Romans, did in all his actions shine.Authority kept up old age secures,Whose dignity as long as life endures.Something of youth I in old age approve,But more the marks of age in youth I love. 410Who this observes may in his body findDecrepit age, but never in his mind.The seven volumes of my own reports,Wherein are all the pleadings of our courts;All noble monuments of Greece are comeUnto my hands, with those of ancient Rome.The pontificial, and the civil law,I study still, and thence orations draw;And to confirm my memory, at night,What I hear, see, or do, by day, recite. 420These exercises for my thoughts I find;These labours are the chariots of my mind.To serve my friends, the Senate I frequent,And there what I before digested vent;Which only from my strength of mind proceeds,Not any outward force of body needs;Which, if I could not do, I should delightOn what I would to ruminate at night.Who in such practices their minds engage,Nor fear nor think of their approaching age, 430Which by degrees invisibly doth creep:Nor do we seem to die, but fall asleep.
Now must I draw my forces 'gainst that hostOf pleasures, which i' th'sea of age are lost.O thou most high transcendant gift of age!Youth from its folly thus to disengage.And now receive from me that most divineOration of that noble Tarentine,[1]Which at Tarentum I long since did hear,When I attended the great Fabius there. 440Ye gods, was it man's nature, or his fate,Betray'd him with sweet pleasure's poison'd bait?Which he, with all designs of art or power,Doth with unbridled appetite devour:And as all poisons seek the noblest part,Pleasure possesses first the head and heart;Intoxicating both by them, she finds,And burns the sacred temples of our minds.Furies, which reason's divine chains had bound,(That being broken) all the world confound. 450Lust, murder, treason, avarice, and hellItself broke loose, in reason's palace dwell:Truth, honour, justice, temperance, are fled,All her attendants into darkness led.But why all this discourse? when pleasure's rageHath conquer'd reason, we must treat with age.Age undermines, and will in time surpriseHer strongest forts, and cut off all supplies;And join'd in league with strong necessity,Pleasure must fly, or else by famine die. 460Flaminius, whom a consulship had graced,(Then Censor) from the Senate I displaced;When he in Gaul, a Consul, made a feast,A beauteous courtesan did him requestTo see the cutting off a pris'ner's head;This crime I could not leave unpunished,Since by a private villany he stain'dThat public honour which at Rome he gain'd.Then to our age (when not to pleasures bent)This seems an honour, not disparagement. 470We not all pleasures like the Stoics hate,But love and seek those which are moderate.(Though divine Plato thus of pleasures thought,They us, with hooks and baits, like fishes caught.)When Questor, to the gods in public hallsI was the first who set up festivals.Not with high tastes our appetites did force,But fill'd with conversation and discourse;Which feasts, Convivial Meetings we did name:Not like the ancient Greeks, who to their shame, 480Call'd it a Compotation, not a feast;Declaring the worst part of it the best.Those entertainments I did then frequentSometimes with youthful heat and merriment:But now I thank my age, which gives me easeFrom those excesses; yet myself I pleaseWith cheerful talk to entertain my guests(Discourses are to age continual feasts),The love of meat and wine they recompense,And cheer the mind, as much as those the sense. 490I'm not more pleased with gravity amongThe aged, than to be youthful with the young;Nor 'gainst all pleasures proclaim open war,To which, in age, some nat'ral motions are.And still at my Sabinum I delightTo treat my neighbours till the depth of night.But we the sense of gust and pleasure want,Which youth at full possesses; this I grant;But age seeks not the things which youth requires,And no man needs that which he not desires. 500When Sophocles was asked if he deniedHimself the use of pleasures, he replied,'I humbly thank th'immortal gods, who meFrom that fierce tyrant's insolence set free.'But they whom pressing appetites constrain,Grieve when they cannot their desires obtain.Young men the use of pleasure understand,As of an object new, and near at hand:Though this stands more remote from age's sight, 509Yet they behold it not without delight:As ancient soldiers, from their duties eased,With sense of honour and rewards are pleased;So from ambitious hopes and lusts released,Delighted with itself our age doth rest.No part of life's more happy, when with breadOf ancient knowledge and new learning fed;All youthful pleasures by degrees must cease,But those of age even with our years increase.We love not loaded boards and goblets crown'd,But free from surfeits our repose is sound. 520When old Fabricius to the Samnites wentAmbassador, from Rome to Pyrrhus sent,He heard a grave philosopher maintain,That all the actions of our life were vainWhich with our sense of pleasure not conspired;Fabricius the philosopher desired,That he to Pyrrhus would that maxim teach,And to the Samnites the same doctrine preach;Then of their conquest he should doubt no more,Whom their own pleasures overcame before. 530Now into rustic matters I must fall,Which pleasure seems to me the chief of all.Age no impediment to those can give,Who wisely by the rules of Nature live.Earth (though our mother) cheerfully obeysAll the commands her race upon her lays.For whatsoever from our hand she takes,Greater or less, a vast return she makes.Nor am I only pleased with that resource,But with her ways, her method, and her force. 540The seed her bosom (by the plough made fit)Receives, where kindly she embraces it,Which with her genuine warmth diffused and spread,Sends forth betimes a green and tender head,Then gives it motion, life, and nourishment,Which from the root through nerves and veins are sent;Straight in a hollow sheath upright it grows,And, form receiving, doth itself disclose:Drawn up in ranks and files, the bearded spikesGuard it from birds as with a stand of pikes. 550When of the vine I speak, I seem inspired,And with delight, as with her juice, am fired;At Nature's godlike power I stand amazed,Which such vast bodies hath from atoms raised.The kernel of a grape, the fig's small grain,Can clothe a mountain and o'ershade a plain:But thou, (dear Vine!) forbid'st me to be long;Although thy trunk be neither large nor strong,Nor can thy head (not help'd) itself sublime,Yet, like a serpent, a tall tree can climb; 560Whate'er thy many fingers can entwine,Proves thy support, and all its strength is thine.Though Nature gave not legs, it gave the hands,By which thy prop the proudest cedar stands:As thou hast hands, so hath thy offspring wings,And to the highest part of mortals springs.But lest thou should'st consume thy wealth in vain,And starve thyself to feed a num'rous train,Or like the bee (sweet as thy blood) design'dTo be destroy'd to propagate his kind, 570Lest thy redundant and superfluous juice,Should fading leaves instead of fruits produce,The pruner's hand, with letting blood, must quenchThy heat, and thy exub'rant parts retrench:Then from the joints of thy prolific stemA swelling knot is raisèd (call'd a gem),Whence, in short space, itself the cluster shows, 577And from earth's moisture mixed with sunbeams grows.I' th'spring, like youth, it yields an acid taste,But summer doth, like age, the sourness waste;Then clothed with leaves, from heat and cold secure,Like virgins, sweet and beauteous, when mature.On fruits, flowers, herbs, and plants, I long could dwell,At once to please my eye, my taste, my smell;My walks of trees, all planted by my hand,Like children of my own begetting stand.To tell the sev'ral natures of each earth,What fruits from each most properly take birth:And with what arts to enrich every mould,The dry to moisten, and to warm the cold. 590But when we graft, or buds inoculate,Nature by art we nobly meliorate;As Orpheus' music wildest beasts did tame,From the sour crab the sweetest apple came:The mother to the daughter goes to school,The species changed, doth her law overrule;Nature herself doth from herself depart,(Strange transmigration!) by the power of art.How little things give law to great! we seeThe small bud captivates the greatest tree. 600Here even the power divine we imitate,And seem not to beget, but to create.Much was I pleased with fowls and beasts, the tameFor food and profit, and the wild for game.Excuse me when this pleasant string I touch(For age, of what delights it, speaks too much).Who twice victorious Pyrrhus conquered,The Sabines and the Samnites captive led,Great Curius, his remaining days did spend,And in this happy life his triumphs end. 610My farm stands near, and when I there retire,His, and that age's temper I admire:The Samnites' chief, as by his fire he sate,With a vast sum of gold on him did wait;'Return,' said he, 'your gold I nothing weigh,When those who can command it me obey.'This my assertion proves, he may be old,And yet not sordid, who refuses gold.In summer to sit still, or walk, I love,Near a cool fountain, or a shady grove. 620What can in winter render more delight,Than the high sun at noon, and fire at night?While our old friends and neighbours feast and play,And with their harmless mirth turn night to day,Unpurchased plenty our full tables loads,And part of what they lent, return t'our gods.That honour and authority which dwellsWith age, all pleasures of our youth excels.Observe, that I that age have only praisedWhose pillars were on youth's foundations raised, 630And that (for which I great applause received)As a true maxim hath been since believed.That most unhappy age great pity needs,Which to defend itself, new matter pleads;Not from gray hairs authority doth flow,Nor from bald heads, nor from a wrinkled brow,But our past life, when virtuously spent,Must to our age those happy fruits present.Those things to age most honourable are,Which easy, common, and but light appear, 640Salutes, consulting, compliment, resort,Crowding attendance to and from the court:And not on Rome alone this honour waits,But on all civil and well-govern'd states.Lysander, pleading in his city's praise,From thence his strongest argument did raise,That Sparta did with honour age support,Paying them just respect at stage and court.But at proud Athens youth did age outface,Nor at the plays would rise, or give them place. 650When an Athenian stranger of great ageArrived at Sparta, climbing up the stage,To him the whole assembly rose, and ranTo place and ease this old and rev'rend man,Who thus his thanks returns, 'Th' Athenians knowWhat's to be done, but what they know not do.'Here our great Senate's orders I may quote,The first in age is still the first in vote.Nor honour, nor high birth, nor great command,In competition with great years may stand. 660Why should our youth's short, transient, pleasures dareWith age's lasting honours to compare?On the world's stage, when our applause grows high,For acting here life's tragic-comedy,The lookers-on will say we act not well,Unless the last the former scenes excel:But age is froward, uneasy, scrutinous,Hard to be pleased, and parsimonious;But all those errors from our manners rise,Not from our years; yet some morosities 670We must expect, since jealousy belongsTo age, of scorn, and tender sense of wrongs:Yet these are mollified, or not discern'd,Where civil arts and manners have been learn'd:So the Twins' humours,[2] in our Terence, areUnlike-this harsh and rude, that smooth and fair.Our nature here is not unlike our wine, 677Some sorts, when old, continue brisk and fine;So age's gravity may seem severe,But nothing harsh or bitter ought t'appear.Of age's avarice I cannot seeWhat colour, ground, or reason there should be:Is it not folly, when the way we rideIs short, for a long voyage to provide?To avarice some title youth may own,To reap in autumn what the spring had sown;And, with the providence of bees, or ants,Prevent with summer's plenty winter's wants.But age scarce sows till death stands by to reap,And to a stranger's hand transfers the heap; 690Afraid to be so once, she's always poor,And to avoid a mischief makes it sure.Such madness, as for fear of death to die,Is to be poor for fear of poverty.
[1] 'Tarentine': Archytas, much praised by Horace. [2] 'Twins' humours': in his comedy called 'Adelphi.'
Now against (that which terrifies our age)The last, and greatest grievance, we engage;To her grim Death appears in all her shapes,The hungry grave for her due tribute gapes.Fond, foolish man! with fear of death surprised,Which either should be wish'd for, or despised; 700This, if our souls with bodies death destroy;That, if our souls a second life enjoy.What else is to be fear'd, when we shall gainEternal life, or have no sense of pain?The youngest in the morning are not sureThat till the night their life they can secure;Their age stands more exposed to accidentsThan ours, nor common care their fate prevents:Death's force (with terror) against Nature strives, 709Nor one of many to ripe age arrives.From this ill fate the world's disorders rise,For if all men were old, they would be wise;Years and experience our forefathers taught,Them under laws and into cities brought:Why only should the fear of death belongTo age, which is as common to the young?Your hopeful brothers, and my son, to you(Scipio) and me, this maxim makes too true:But vig'rous youth may his gay thoughts erectTo many years, which age must not expect. 720But when he sees his airy hopes deceived,With grief he says, Who this would have believed?We happier are than they, who but desiredTo possess that which we long since acquired.What if our age to Nestor's could extend?'Tis vain to think that lasting which must end;And when 'tis past, not any part remainsThereof, but the reward which virtue gains.Days, months, and years, like running waters flow,Nor what is past, nor what's to come, we know: 730Our date, how short soe'er, must us content.When a good actor doth his part present,In every act he our attention draws,That at the last he may find just applause;So (though but short) yet we must learn the artOf virtue, on the stage to act our part;True wisdom must our actions so direct,Not only the last plaudit to expect;Yet grieve no more, though long that part should last,Than husbandmen, because the spring is past. 740The spring, like youth, fresh blossoms doth produce,But autumn makes them ripe and fit for use:So age a mature mellowness doth setOn the green promises of youthful heat.All things which Nature did ordain, are good,And so must be received and understood.Age, like ripe apples, on earth's bosom drops,While force our youth, like fruits untimely, crops;The sparkling flame of our warm blood expires,As when huge streams are pour'd on raging fires; 750But age unforced falls by her own consent,As coals to ashes, when the spirit's spent;Therefore to death I with such joy resort,As seamen from a tempest to their port.Yet to that port ourselves we must not force,Before our pilot, Nature, steers our course.Let us the causes of our fear condemn,Then Death at his approach we shall contemn.Though to our heat of youth our age seems cold,Yet when resolved, it is more brave and bold. 760Thus Solon to Pisistratus replied,Demanded, on what succour he relied,When with so few he boldly did engage?He said, he took his courage from his age.Then death seems welcome, and our nature kind,When, leaving us a perfect sense and mind,She (like a workman in his science skill'd)Pulls down with ease what her own hand did build.That art which knew to join all parts in one,Makes the least vi'lent separation. 770Yet though our ligaments betimes grow weak,We must not force them till themselves they break.Pythagoras bids us in our station stand,Till God, our general, shall us disband.Wise Solon dying, wish'd his friends might grieve,That in their memories he still might live.Yet wiser Ennius gave command to all 777His friends not to bewail his funeral;Your tears for such a death in vain you spend,Which straight in immortality shall end.In death, if there be any sense of pain,But a short space to age it will remain;On which, without my fears, my wishes wait,But tim'rous youth on this should meditate:Who for light pleasure this advice rejects,Finds little, when his thoughts he recollects.Our death (though not its certain date) we know;Nor whether it may be this night, or no:How then can they contented live, who fearA danger certain, and none knows how near? 790They err, who for the fear of death dispute,Our gallant actions this mistake confute.Thee, Brutus! Rome's first martyr I must name;The Curtii bravely dived the gulf of flame:Attilius sacrificed himself, to saveThat faith, which to his barb'rous foes he gave;With the two Scipios did thy uncle fall,Rather than fly from conqu'ring Hannibal.The great Marcellus (who restorèd Rome)His greatest foes with honour did entomb. 800Their lives how many of our legions threwInto the breach, whence no return they knew?Must then the wise, the old, the learned fear,What not the rude, the young, th'unlearn'd forbear?Satiety from all things else doth come,Then life must to itself grow wearisome.Those trifles wherein children take delight,Grow nauseous to the young man's appetite;And from those gaieties our youth requiresTo exercise their minds, our age retires. 810And when the last delights of age shall die,Life in itself will find satiety.Now you (my friends) my sense of death shall hear,Which I can well describe, for he stands near.Your father, Lælius, and your's, Scipio,My friends, and men of honour, I did know;As certainly as we must die, they liveThat life which justly may that name receive:Till from these prisons of our flesh released,Our souls with heavy burdens lie oppress'd; 820Which part of man from heaven falling down,Earth, in her low abyss, doth hide and drown,A place so dark to the celestial light,And pure, eternal fire's quite opposite,The gods through human bodies did disperseAn heavenly soul, to guide this universe,That man, when he of heavenly bodies sawThe order, might from thence a pattern draw:Nor this to me did my own dictates show,But to the old philosophers I owe. 830I heard Pythagoras, and those who cameWith him, and from our country took their name;Who never doubted but the beams divine,Derived from gods, in mortal breasts did shine.Nor from my knowledge did the ancients hideWhat Socrates declared the hour he died;He th'immortality of souls proclaim'd,(Whom th'oracle of men the wisest named)Why should we doubt of that whereof our senseFinds demonstration from experience? 840Our minds are here, and there, below, above;Nothing that's mortal can so swiftly move.Our thoughts to future things their flight direct,And in an instant all that's past collect.Reason, remembrance, wit, inventive art,No nature, but immortal, can impart.Man's soul in a perpetual motion flows,And to no outward cause that motion owes;And therefore that no end can overtake,Because our minds cannot themselves forsake. 850And since the matter of our soul is pureAnd simple, which no mixture can endureOf parts, which not among themselves agree;Therefore it never can divided be.And Nature shows (without philosophy)What cannot be divided, cannot die.We even in early infancy discernKnowledge is born with babes before they learn;Ere they can speak they find so many waysTo serve their turn, and see more arts than days: 860Before their thoughts they plainly can express,The words and things they know are numberless;Which Nature only and no art could find,But what she taught before, she call'd to mind,These to his sons (as Xenophon records)Of the great Cyrus were the dying words;'Fear not when I depart (nor therefore mourn)I shall be nowhere, or to nothing turn:That soul which gave me life, was seen by none,Yet by the actions it design'd was known; 870And though its flight no mortal eye shall see,Yet know, for ever it the same shall be.That soul which can immortal glory giveTo her own virtues must for ever live.Can you believe that man's all-knowing mindCan to a mortal body be confined?Though a foul foolish prison her immureOn earth, she (when escaped) is wise and pure.Man's body when dissolved is but the same 879With beasts, and must return from whence it came;But whence into our bodies reason flows,None sees it when it comes, or where it goes.Nothing resembles death so much as sleep,Yet then our minds themselves from slumber keep.When from their fleshly bondage they are free,Then what divine and future things they see!Which makes it most apparent whence they are,And what they shall hereafter be, declare.'This noble speech the dying Cyrus made.Me (Scipio) shall no argument persuade, 890Thy grandsire, and his brother, to whom FameGave, from two conquer'd parts o' th'world, their name,Nor thy great grandsire, nor thy father Paul,Who fell at Cannæ against Hannibal;Nor I (for 'tis permitted to the agedTo boast their actions) had so oft engagedIn battles, and in pleadings, had we thought,That only fame our virtuous actions bought;'Twere better in soft pleasure and reposeIngloriously our peaceful eyes to close: 900Some high assurance hath possess'd my mind,After my death an happier life to find.Unless our souls from the immortals came,What end have we to seek immortal fame?All virtuous spirits some such hope attends,Therefore the wise his days with pleasure ends.The foolish and short-sighted die with fear,That they go nowhere, or they know not where.The wise and virtuous soul, with clearer eyes,Before she parts, some happy port descries. 910My friends, your fathers I shall surely see:Nor only those I loved, or who loved me,But such as before ours did end their days,Of whom we hear, and read, and write their praise.This I believe; for were I on my way,None should persuade me to return, or stay:Should some god tell me that I should be bornAnd cry again, his offer I would scorn;Asham'd, when I have ended well my race,To be led back to my first starting-place. 920And since with life we are more grieved than joy'd,We should be either satisfied or cloy'd:Yet will I not my length of days deplore,As many wise and learn'd have done before:Nor can I think such life in vain is lent,Which for our country and our friends is spent.Hence from an inn, not from my home, I pass,Since Nature meant us here no dwelling-place.Happy when I, from this turmoil set free,That peaceful and divine assembly see: 930Not only those I named I there shall greet,But my own gallant virtuous Cato meet.Nor did I weep, when I to ashes turn'dHis belov'd body, who should mine have burn'd.I in my thoughts beheld his soul ascend,Where his fixed hopes our interview attend:Then cease to wonder that I feel no griefFrom age, which is of my delights the chief.My hopes if this assurance hath deceived(That I man's soul immortal have believed), 940And if I err, no power shall dispossessMy thoughts of that expected happiness,Though some minute philosophers pretend,That with our days our pains and pleasures end.If it be so, I hold the safer side,For none of them my error shall deride.And if hereafter no rewards appear, 947Yet virtue hath itself rewarded here.If those who this opinion have despised,And their whole life to pleasure sacrificed,Should feel their error, they, when undeceived,Too late will wish that me they had believed.If souls no immortality obtain,'Tis fit our bodies should be out of pain.The same uneasiness which everythingGives to our nature, life must also bring.Good acts, if long, seem tedious; so is age,Acting too long upon this earth her stage.—Thus much for age, to which when you arrive,That joy to you, which it gives me, 'twill give. 960