University of Virginia Library

4. THE FOURTH PART

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 surpriz'd
Which either should be wisht for, or despis'd,
This, 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 gain
Eternal life, or have no sence of pain,
The youngest in the morning are not sure,
That till the night their life they can secure
Their age stands more expos'd to accidents
Then our's, nor common cure 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 disorders rise,
For if all men were old they would be wise,
Years, and experience, our fore-fathers taught,
Them under Laws, and into Cities brought:
Why only should the fear of death belong
To age? which is as common to the young:
Your hopefull Brothers, and my Son, to you
(Scipio) and me, this maxime makes too true,
But vigorous Youth may his gay thoughts erect
To many years, which Age must not expect,
But when he sees his airy hopes deceiv'd,
With grief he saies, who this would have believ'd?
We happier are then they, who but desir'd
To possess that, which we long since acquir'd.
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 remains
Thereof, but the reward which virtue gains.
Dayes, Months, and years, like running waters flow,
Nor what is past, nor what's to come we know,
Our date how short soe're must us content,
When a good Actor doth his part present,
In ev'ry 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 Stage to act our part;
True wisdome must our actions so direct,
Not only the last Plaudite to expect;
Yet grieve no more though long that part should last,
Then Husbandmen, because the Spring is past,
The Spring, like Youth, fresh blossoms doth produce,
But Autumne makes them ripe, and fit for use:
So Age a Mature Mellowness doth set
On the green promises of youthfull heat.
All things which Nature did ordain, are good,
And so must be receiv'd, and understood,
Age, like ripe Apples, on earth's bosom drops,
Whil'st 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 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 our selves 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 resolv'd, it is more brave and bold.
Thus Solon to Pisistratus reply'd,
Demanded, on what succour he rely'd,
When with so few he boldly did ingage,
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 joyn all parts in one,
Makes the least violent separation.
Yet though our Ligaments betimes grow weak,
We must not force them till themselves they break.
Pythag'ras bids us in our Station stand,
Till God our General shall us disband.
Wise Solon dying, wisht his friends might grieve,
That in their memories he still might live.
Yet wiser Ennius gave command to all
His friends, not to bewail his funeral;
Your tears for such a death in vain you spend,
Which strait 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 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 erre, 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 div'd the Gulph of Flame:
Attilius sacrific'd himself, to save
That faith, which to his barb'rous foes he gave;
With the two Scipio's did thy Uncle fall,
Rather to 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 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 it self grow wearisome.
Those Trifles wherein Children take delight,
Grow nauceous to the young man's appetite,
And from those gaieties our youth requires,
To exercise their minds, our age retires.
And when the last delights of Age shall die,
Life in it self will find satietie.
Now you (my friends) my sense of death shall hear,
Which I can well describe, for he stands near.
Your Father Lælius, and yours Scipio,
My friends, and men of honour I did know;
As certainly as we must die, they live
That life which justly may that name receive.
Till from these prisons of our flesh releas'd,
Our souls with heavy burdens lie oppress'd;
Which part of man from Heaven falling down,
Earth in her low Abysse, doth hide, and drown.
A place so dark to the Celestial light,
And pure, eternal fires quite opposite.
The Gods through humane bodies did disperse
An heavenly soul, to guide this Universe;
That man, when he of heavenly bodies saw
The Order, might from thence a pattern draw:
Nor this to me did my own dictates show
But to the old Philosophers I owe.
I heard Pythagoras, and those who came
With him, and from our Countrey took their Name.
Who never doubted but the beams divine
Deriv'd from Gods, in mortal breasts did shine.
Nor from my knowledge did the Antients hide
What Socrates declar'd, the hour he dy'd,
He th'Immortality of Souls proclaim'd,
(Whom th'Oracle of men the wisest nam'd)
Why should we doubt of that? whereof our sence
Finds demonstration from experience;
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 Soul in a perpetual motion flowes,
And to no outward cause that Motion owes;
And therefore, that, no end can overtake,
Because our minds cannot themselves forsake.
And since the matter of our Soul is pure,
And simple, which no mixture can endure
Of parts, which not among themselves agree;
Therefore it never can divided be.
And Nature shews (without Philosophy)
What cannot be divided, cannot die.
We even in early infancy discern,
Knowledge is born with babes before they learn;
Ere they can speak, they find so many wayes
To serve their turn, and see more Arts than dayes,
Before their thoughts they plainly can expresse,
The words and things they know are numberlesse;
Which Nature only, and no Art could find,
But what she taught before, she call'd to mind.
This to his Sons (as Xenophon records)
Of the great Cyrus were the dying words;
This Noble Speech the dying Cyrus made.
Me (Scipio) shall no argument perswade,
Thy Grandsire, and his Brother, to whom Fame
Gave 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 ag'd
To boast their actions) had so oft ingag'd
In Battels, and in Pleadings, had we thought,
That only Fame our vertuous actions bought,
'Twere better in soft pleasure and repose
Ingloriously our peaceful eyes to close:
Some high assurance hath possest 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 vertuous spirits some such hope attends,
Therefore the wise his dayes with pleasure ends.
The foolish and short-sighted die with fear,
That they go no where, or they know not where.
The wise and vertuous Soul with cleerer eyes
Before she parts, some happy Port discries.
My friends, your Fathers I shall surely see,
Nor only those I lov'd, or who lov'd me;
But such as before ours did end their daies:
Of whom we hear, and read, and write their praise.
This I believe, for were I on my way,
None should perswade me to return, or stay:
Should some God tell me, that I should be born,
And cry again, his offer I should scorn;
Asham'd when I have ended well my race,
To be led back, to my first starting place.
And since with life we are more griev'd than joy'd,
We should be either satisfi'd, or cloy'd;
Yet will not I my length of dayes deplore,
As many wise and learn'd have done before:
Nor can I think such life in vain is lent,
Which for our Countrey and our friends is spent.
Hence from an Inne, 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:
Not only those I nam'd I there shall greet,
But my own gallant vertuous Cato meet.
Nor did I weep, when I to ashes turn'd
His belov'd body, who should mine have burn'd:
I in my thoughts beheld his Soul ascend,
Where his fixt hopes our Interview attend:
Then cease to wonder that I feel no grief
From Age, which is of my delights the chief.
My hope's, if this assurance hath deceiv'd,
(That I Man's Soul Immortal have believ'd)
And if I erre, no Pow'r shall dispossess
My thoughts of that expected happiness.
Though some minute Philosophers pretend,
That with our dayes 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,
Yet Vertue hath it self rewarded here.
If those who this Opinion have despis'd,
And their whole life to pleasure sacrific'd;
Should feel their error, they when undeceiv'd,
Too late will wish, that me they had believ'd.
If Souls no Immortality obtain,
'Tis fit our bodies should be out of pain.
The same uneasiness, which every thing
Gives 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.