But when he sees his airy hopes deceiv'd;

With grief he says, 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 past, not any part remains
Thereof, 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:
Our date, how fhort foe'er, muft 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 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 fhould last,
Than husbandmen, because the spring is past.
The fpring, like youth, fresh blossoms doth produce,
But autumn makes them ripe, and fit for use:
So age a mature mellownefs doth fet

On the green promises 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 bosom drops,
While force our youth, like fruits untimely, crops;
The sparkling flame of our warm blood expires,
As when huge ftreams 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 resort,
As feamen from a tempeft 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 feems 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 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 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, wish'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 death if there be any fense 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 dispute,
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 fave

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:
Must 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 muft to itself grow wearifome.
Those trifles wherein children take delight
Grow naufeous to the young man's appetite;
And from those gaieties our youth requires
To exercise 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 fenfe of death fhall hear,
Which I can well defcribe, for he ftands near.
Your father Lælius, and your's Scipio,

My friends, and men of honour, I did know;
As certainly as we must die, they live
That life which juftly may that name receive:
Till from these prisons 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 difperfe
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 breasts 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 wisest nam'd)
Why should we doubt of that, whereof our fenfe
Finds demonftration from experience ?

Our

Our 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 foul 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 forfake.
And fince the matter of our foul is pure,
And fimple, which no mixture can endure
Of parts, which not among themselves agree;
Therefore it never can divided be.

And nature fhews (without philosophy)
What cannot be divided, cannot die.
We ev'n in early infancy discern,

Knowledge is born with babes before they learn; Ere they can fpeak, they find so many ways To ferve their turn, and fee more arts than days: Before their thoughts they plainly can exprefs, The words and things they know are numberless, Which nature only, and no art could find, But what she taught before, fhe call'd to mind, These to his fons (as Xenophon records) Of the great Cyrus were the dying words ; "Fear not when I depart (nor therefore mourn) "I fhall be no where, or to nothing turn: "That foul, which gave me life, was feen by none, "Yet by the actions it defign'd, was known;

"And