THE

FOURTH

PART.

NOW against (that which terrifies our age)

The laft, and greatest grievance, we engage ;
To her, grim death appears in all her fhapes,
The hungry grave for her due tribute gapes.
Fond, foolish man! with fear of death furpriz'd,
Which either fhould be wifh'd for, or defpis'd;
This, if our fouls with bodies death destroy;
That, if our fouls a fecond life enjoy.
What elfe is to be fear'd; when we shall gain
Eternal life, or have no fenfe of pain?
The youngest in the morning are not fure,
That till the night their life they can fecure,
Their age ftands more expos'd to accidents
Than ours, nor common care their fate prevents :
Death's force (with terror) against nature strives,
Nor one of many to ripe age arrives.

From this ill fate the world's diforders rife,
For if all men were old they would be wife;
Years and experience our forefathers taught,
Them under laws, and into cities brought :
Why only should the fear of death belong
Το 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 vigorous youth may his gay thoughts erect
To many years, which age must not expect;

But

But when he fees his airy hopes deceiv'd;

With grief he fays, Who this would have believ'd?
We happier are than they, who but defir'd

To poffefs that, which we long fince acquir❜d.
What if our age to Neftor's could extend?
'Tis vain to think that lafting, which must end;
And when 'tis paft, not any part remains
Thereof, but the reward which virtue gains.

Days, months, and years, like running waters flow,
Nor what is paft, nor what 's to come, we know :
Our date, how fhort foe'er, muft us content;
When a good actor doth his part prefent,
In every act he our attention draws,

That at the laft he may find just applause ;

So (though but short) yet we must learn the art
Of virtue, on this ftage to act our part;

True wifdom muft our actions fo direct,
Not only the laft plaudit to expect:

Yet grieve no more, though long that part should laft,
Than hufbandmen, because the fpring is paft.

The fpring, like youth, fresh blossoms doth produce,
But autumn makes them ripe, and fit for ufe :
So age a mature mellownefs doth fet

On the green promifes of youthful heat.
All things which nature did ordain are good,
And fo must be receiv'd and understood.
Age, like ripe apples, on earth's bofom 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;

But age unforc'd falls by her own confent,
As coals to afhes, when the fpirit's spent ;
Therefore to death I with fuch joy refort,
As feamen from a tempest to their port.
Yet to that port ourselves we must not force,
Before our pilot, nature, fteers 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 refolv'd, it is more brave and bold.
Thus Solon to Pififtratus reply'd,

Demanded, on what fuccour he rely'd,
When with fo few he boldly did engage;
He faid, he took his courage from his age.
Then death feems welcome, and our nature kind,
When leaving us a perfect fenfe 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 leaft violent feparation.

Yet 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, fhall us disband.
Wife Solon dying, wifh'd his friends might grieve,
That in their memories he still might live.
Yet wifer Ennius gave command to all
His friends, not to bewail his funeral ;
Your tears for fuch a death in vain you spend,
Which strait in immortality fhall end.

In

In death if there be any fenfe of pain,

But a fhort space, to age it will remain.

On which, without my fears, my wishes wait,
But timorous 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 fear
A danger certain ? and none knows how near.
They err, who for the fear of death difpute,
Our gallant actions this mistake confute.
Thee, Brutus, Rome's firft martyr I must name,
The Curtii bravely div'd the gulph of flame :
Attilius facrific'd himself, to save

That faith, which to his barbarous foes he gave;
With the two Scipio's did thy uncle fall,
Rather than fly from conquering Hannibal.
The great Marcellus (who restored Rome)
His greatest foes with honour did intomb.
Their lives how many of our legions threw
Into the breach? whence no return they knew:
Muft then the wife, the old, the learned, fear
What not the rude, the young, th' unlearn'd forbear?
Satiety from all things elfe doth come,
Then life must to itself grow wearifome.
Those trifles wherein children take delight
Grow naufeous to the young man's appetite;
And from thofe gaieties our youth requires
To exercife their minds, our age retires.

And

And when the last delights of age fhall die,

Life in itself will find fatiety.

Now you, my friends, my fense of death fhall hear,

Which I can well defcribe, for he stands near.
Your father Lælius, and your's Scipio,

My friends, and men of honour, I did know
As certainly as we muft die, they live
That life which justly may that name receive:
Till from thefe prifons of our flesh releas'd,
Our fouls with heavy burdens lie opprefs'd;
Which part of man from heaven falling down,
Earth, in her low abyfs, doth hide and drown,
A place fo dark to the cœleftial light,
And pure eternal fire's quite oppofite,
The Gods through human bodies did disperse
An heavenly foul, to guide this universe;
That man, when he of heavenly bodies faw
The order, might from thence a pattern draw:
Nor this to me did my own dictates fhow,
But to the old philofophers I owe.

I heard Pythagoras, and those who came

With him, and from our country took their name;
Who never doubted but the beams divine,

Deriv'd from Gods, in mortal breafts did fhine.
Nor from my knowledge did the ancients hide
What Socrates declar'd, the hour he dy'd;
He th' immortality of fouls proclaim'd,
(Whom th' oracle of men the wifeft nam'd)
Why should we doubt of that, whereof our fenfe
Finds demonftration from experience?

Our