LUCIUS', ANNAEUS, SENECA THE PHILOSOPHER: HIS BOOK OF THE Shortness of LIFE. Translated into an ENGLISH Poem.  
Multum ille ad bonam mentem profecit, cuj Seneca placere caepit.  Lipsius. 
Imprinted at London for Daniel Frere, at the red Bull in little Britain. 1636.   

TO THE LEARNED AND judicious, Sir Henry Wotton.  
Sir,  
YOur Approbation of some wand'ring Papers, brought casually to your sight, and whispered to be mine, invites me to own this, and send it abroad secured by the Safe Conduct of Your judgement: I venture to transform a Stoic into one of the Muses, to reduce to Harmony a rigid piece of Philosophy; and because an Imperial Envy, and therefore the highest, (that which designed the suppression of Homer, Virgil, and Livy,) censured the Author's Works, to be but Arena sine calce, I have without any violence knit up His short Book of the Shortness of Life, into a natural Poem; which may be thus far useful, that the Readers memory may retain his Acute and Redundant wit with more facility: I make the address to you, thereby to prefix a Precedent, that wisely spins out this narrow Thread of Life in the way prescribed; which Remarkable Example (that being all the Addition I make) must needs contribute no small vigour to the Precepts of Seneca.  
R. F.   

In Senecae de brevitate vitae Librum Elegantissime Translatum.  
OBstruitur tanto mortalis vita dolore,  
Taedeat ut longae semita ducta viae.  
Tam suavis Senecae stilus, et Translatio libri  
Vt placeat multas ferre relecta vices  
Esse brevem cuperem misero sub tempore vitam  
Sed longum vitae de brevitate librum.  
G. A.   

Metaphrasti Dignissimo.  
TO Translate Seneca, and to observe  
His Brevity, and from his sense not swerve,  
Require's a Learned judgement even in Prose;  
But him in Verse to render, and yet lose  
Neither his Quickness, nor his Eloquence,  
Shows both great Skill and our Tongu's Excellence;  
Thus by this happy Version may we see,  
That the Acutest Prose is Poetry,  
And may believe that Seneca ' as in name  
Both Poet and Philosopher's the same.  
R. C.   

L. A. SENECA OF THE Shortness of Life.  
Cham 1 
MOst men (Paulinus) make it Nature's crime,  
That we are borne to a small part of time,  
Which doth so speedily, so swiftly run,  
That life with most is in the entrance done;  
Nor do the Rude and Ignorant alone  
Under this common conceived evil groan;  
But it hath drawn (out of an inward sense)  
Complaints from men of greatest Eminence;  
Hence did the chief Physician exclaim,  
That Art is long, Life short to learn the same;  
And Aristotl ' expostulate with Nature  
(More than a Wiseman ought) to the brute creature  
As most indulgent, since some kind appears  
To live five hundred, some a thousand years,  
Whilst man to High and Noble things designed  
Is to a far less term of life confined.  
The time we have's not short; but much we lose,  
Our life, if of the whole we well dispose,  
Is long enough, and of a large extent  
To bring great things to their accomplishment:  
But when it is not virtuously employed▪  
But with excess or idleness destroyed▪  
Death us at length surprising, life is spent  
Before we have perceived how it went;  
Life is not given, but made short; nor poor  
Can we be said, but prodigal of store;  
For as great Riches falling in the power  
Of a lewd Spendall vanish in an hour,  
And means though small, committed to the care  
Of a good Husband, soon increased are;  
So life well used is long enough;   
Cham 2 
Why then  
Is Nature charged to have dealt ill with men?  
Some to infatiat Avarice are bend;  
Others to fruitless labours are intent;  
This drenched is with Wine; that, dulled with Sloth,  
This man's ambiton leaves him to the Wrath  
And will of others; that, in hope of gain  
Seeks Lands, and Seas his Traffic to maintain;  
Some take delight in War, busied about  
Other men's Ruins, while their own they doubt;  
Some into willing servitude are brought,  
Which an ingrate dependency hath wrought;  
Many do either earnestly affect  
Other men's fortunes, or their own neglect;  
Most, unresolved whereto themselves t' apply,  
Through vain and self displeasing levity  
Fall still upon new projects; some again  
Misliking every course of life, remain  
Yawning till death; so that, what hath been said  
And as an Oracle delivered  
By that great Poet, we for truth may give,  
'Ts the least part of Life that we do live:  
The rest is only Time not Life; they're tied  
And compassed by vice on every side,  
They cannot raise themselves, nor lift their eyes  
To behold truth, and from their strong Lusts rise;  
They never will find leisure to retire  
Into themselves; or if some good desire  
They chance to have, 'tis like, but at the best  
The Sea, that though Winds cease, is not at rest;  
Their passions will afford them no repose;  
Nor would I have thee think I speak of those  
Notoriously bad; they whom the World  
Calls happy, are into like evils hur'ld;  
How many men's great Riches have been found  
An heavy weight to press them to the ground?  
Many to boast their Eloquence so strain  
Themselves, they die by Rupture of a Vein?  
How many have we seen grow pale and wan  
With their continual pleasures? many a man  
Compassed with troops of Suitors, is thereby  
Deprived quite of his own liberty;  
Nay run through all degrees; one goes to law,  
Another Pleads the cause; this stands in awe  
Of Power which threatens death, that him defends  
An other will be judge, and make them friends;  
But none doth to himself himself redeem;  
We mutually are wasted; those that seem  
Of greatest note, do with a fond respect  
Court one another, and themselves neglect;  
It is a folly therefore beyond Sense,  
When great men will not give us Audience  
To count them proud; how dare we call it pride  
When we the same have to ourselves denied  
Yet they how great, how proud so ere, have been  
Sometimes so courteous as to call thee in,  
And hear thee speak; but thou couldst ne'er afford  
Thyself the leisure of a look or word▪   
Cham 3 
THou shouldst not then here in another blame,  
Because when thou thyself dost do the same  
Thou wouldst not be with others, but we see  
Plainly, thou canst not with thine own self be;  
Not all the wits that are, should they conspire,  
This humane blindness could enough admire;  
They will have none to meddle with their Farms,  
And if their bounds be questioned are in Arms;  
But yet will suffer others to encroach  
Upon their lives, and to their great reproach,  
They will not stick officiously to call  
Such as will at the length be Lords of all;  
To share his money no man can abide;  
Their lives 'twixt many all men will divide;  
In keeping their Estate strict care they use;  
But, come the expense of time, theyare most profuse;  
Of what alone (though in itself a vice)  
Is an especial virtue, Avarice;  
With some old man let's thus expostulate;  
Thou hast, we see, run through life's u●most date,  
Attained perhaps, an hundred years or more,  
But tell us now; how much from that great store  
Thy Creditor hath got, thy Mistress, Friend,  
Thy Clients, or the jar (that hath no end)  
Between thy wife and thee? how much is spent  
In chastising thy Slaves? in Compliment,  
And Visits through the town? add here the cure  
Of maladies, thou didst thyself procure,  
Time lost in doing nothing; and behold  
Thou hast far fewer years than thou hast told:  
Consider well what day hath been employed  
As thou determin'st, how thou hast enjoyed  
Thyself, or hast been constant to thy ends,  
Kept thy mind right, what good thine age pretends  
T'have ever done, how many have bereaved  
Thee of thy life when thou hast not perceived,  
When foolish joy, vain hope, greedy desire,  
And flattering company their shares require,  
But a small part will to thyself belong,  
And then thou must confess thou diest young.   
Cham 4 
But what's the cause? we live, as if for ever  
We were to live, minding our frailties never?  
We husband not our time, but let it fly  
As if we had a Storehouse to supply,  
When as perhaps, that day set to be passed  
Upon that thing, or man, will be our last;  
As Mortal, all things sordidly we fear,  
And as Immortal, our Ambitions rear:  
At fifty Years some say they will retire,  
And at threescore believe they shall desire  
To quit their offices: but who can give  
Assurance, that we shall to that time live  
T'effect our purpose? what vain thought us drives  
To give ourselves the Relics of our lives;  
And that time only unto goodness lend,  
That otherwise we know not how to spend?  
That man hath certainly too late begun  
To live, that only lives when life is done;  
What madness is it to defer our rest.  
Till fifty ' or threescore years? and think it best  
Then to begin our life, when only some,  
And perhaps few, will unto that age come?  
The greatest Princes oft have words let fall  
Wherein they wish, commend, prefer 'bove all  
A quiet life; and (might it safely be)  
Would be content to quit their dignity  
For though no outward danger should assail,  
Yet fortune will against herself prevail.   
Chap. 
DIvine Augustus (t'whom the Gods gave more  
Than any mortal man) would oft deplore  
The misery that waits upon a Crown,  
And still desire to lay the burden down,  
His chief discourse to this did ever tend,  
That in a private life his cares should end;  
This hope, though vain, did sweet contentment give,  
That at the length he to Himself should live:  
In an Epistle to the Senate sent,  
Where he desired to let them know, he meant  
That his so often mentioned retreat,  
Should be with reservation of his state,  
Such words I find. But these things rather ought  
Be done, then said; yet so far hath the thought.  
Of that wished time prevailed, that though the glad  
Fruition of the thing he yet not had,  
Yet I, in the discourse I thereof make  
Do in the mean time no small pleasure take:  
So did he value rest, that when he could  
Not compass it in deed, in thought he would;  
He that saw all depend upon his will,  
And unto men and Nations, good or ill  
Gave as he list, thought gladly on that day  
Wherein his greatness he should put away;  
He found what secret cares, and how much sweat  
Such far-renown Honour did beget;  
When first by Citizens, by Colleagues next,  
And lastly by his Kindred deeply vexed,  
He was compelled (so powerfully withstood)  
By land and Sea, to try it out with blood;  
Through Macedonia, Egypt, Sicily,  
Through Asia, Syria, and the coast thereby  
He led his Armies forth to foreign wars  
Wearied with slaughter in our Roman jars;  
While he the Alps appeased, did such reduce  
As in the Empire lived in doubtful truce;  
While beyond Rhine, Danubius, Euphrates,  
He did his bounds remove, in midst of these  
Great acts, in Rome itself did Lepidus,  
Muraena, Caepio, and Egnatius  
Whet all their Swords against him; and before  
This threatening danger he had well passed over,  
His daughter, with so many Nobles bound  
B'Adultry, as by vow, sought to confound  
His yet unbroken age; that once more he  
Might fear a woman with her Anthony:  
And though these ulcers with the members two,  
He quite cut off, yet others quickly grew;  
So bodies still break out, that are oppressed  
With too much blood; he therefore sought for rest;  
There dwelled his thoughts, to that his hopes aspired,  
That could give others all that they desired.  
When Cicero by the malicious feud  
Of Catiline's, and Clodians pursued,  
By Pompey and Crassus grieved, those foes professed,  
These doubtful friends, could not find any rest  
In the perplexed State, which he desired  
To save from ruin, he at length retired;  
No less inconstant in adversity  
Then he was active in prosperity;  
His Consulship that he did so commend,  
Though not without a cause, yet without end,  
How did he then detest? what heaviness  
Writing to Atticus did he express?  
Old Pompey vanquished, and his Son in Spain,  
His broken troops now gathering up again,  
Dost thou demand what I do here? (quoth he)  
In Tusculanum I remain half free:  
He further adds where he bewails time past,  
Condemns the present, and despairs at last  
Of what's to come; did Cicero but call  
Himself half free? a Wise man never shall  
Descend so low; but half he cannot be,  
Unbound, entirely himself, he's wholly free;  
For being above fortune, nothing can  
Be ever thought to be above that man.   
Cham 6 
WHen Livius Drusus one of a bold spirit,  
Did strive the Grachi's mischief, to inherit  
And to obtrud new Laws, followed by all  
Th' Italian rout, scarce weighing what might fall,  
Finding no hope to compass his design,  
Which he with safety could not then decline,  
He cursed his life, who (as he oft would say)  
Was th' only boy that ne'er had leave to play;  
He durst presume though yet but one of those,  
That wore the Robe of Youth, to interpose  
For guilty men, and in such earnest sort  
That he did many sentences extort;  
What would not that ambition undergo?  
Such forward impudence brings certain woe,  
Private and public; therefore he too late  
Complained of want of play-days, whom the state  
And justice, from a boy pernicious found;  
Some thought he slew himself, for of a wound  
Piercing his Groin he died, the means unknown,  
But the act thought unseasonable by none.  
'twere vain to speak of more, whom vulgar fame  
Hath happy called, since selfe-convincing shame  
Their whole life past hath taught them to condemn;  
But these complaints nor others changed, nor them  
For though such words brak from them, yet the will  
And the affections have remained still;  
A Life so led, although a thousand years,  
Seems to best raightned much and short appears;  
Such things devour an Age; though nature run  
Her course, lengthened by Art, yet life's soon done;  
For men observe not, nor give timely stay  
To what's most swift, but let it pass away  
As needless, or to be regained at pleasure;  
I name those first that can afford no leisure  
To any thing but Wine, and Lust, such time  
Is vildly spent: Others, although they climb  
With a vain glorious hope, more bravely ' offend,  
The Covetous, the Wrathful, they that bend  
Their actions to unjust revenge, or war,  
Have more pretence, Their crimes more manly are,  
The sins of Lust are base; do thou survey  
The actions of most men, they spend the day  
Only in counting money, plotting still  
How to deceive, or fearing the like ill,  
Giving or taking favours, waging law,  
Or making feasts, which custom now doth draw  
As duties on them, between good and bad  
They're so turmoiled, no breathing can be had;  
And 'tis confessed by all; that they that dwell  
In too much business, can do nothing well;  
Nor Eloquence, nor liberal Arts can find  
Any admittance, when the busied mind  
Not able to look up, with care is cloyed,  
They that continually are so employed,  
Do nothing less than live, a thing discerned  
By very few, and hardly to be learnt  
Of other Sciences, professors are  
In every place; yea boys have proved so rare  
They have been teachers; but we must apply  
Even all our life to live, nay all to dye:  
Which many Wise men quitting both their treasures  
Their worldly affairs, their offices, their pleasures,  
And ready to depart hence, have professed  
Not yet to know; how short then are the rest?  
We may (believe me) truly think a man  
Raised above humane error, when he can  
So keep his time, that it be shared by none;  
Life then is long, when it is all our own.  
No part will to the owner useless be,  
Nor subject to an others will; for he  
That knows to husband time, think's nothing fit  
Nor worthy here, to be exchanged for it:  
He therefore hath enough, while they that spend  
It on the people, quickly find an end;  
Nor can we therefore think from hence that such  
Know not their loss, how many with too much  
Felicity oppressed, amidst the Rout  
Of Suitors, their law cases, or about  
Some other honest misery, have cried  
That time to live was unto them denied?  
Which we may well believe, since all that make  
Use of thy help, do something from thee take;  
How much hath he whom thou defend'st? or he  
That by thy help expects some dignity?  
Or that old Woman, that with clamour fills  
Thine ears, with proving many Husband's wills?  
How much hath he that sicknesses doth feign  
And by deluding others hopes makes gain?  
Or that great friend, by whom thouart only sure;  
To be regarded as his Furniture?  
Recount (I say) thy days, and thou shalt find  
Only the refuse to thyself assigned:  
This gets the Consulship so much desired,  
And then asks when the year will be expired▪  
That provides public sports, obtained with large  
Expense, and strait grows weary of the charge:  
This Lawyer hurried to every bar  
By troops of Suitors, with more causes far  
Then can be heard, grown weary, doth pretend  
That he could wish the Term were at an end;  
They their own Lives precipitate, that both  
Desire things future, and the present loath;  
While he that suffers none his time to borrow,  
But makes each present day his life, the morrow,  
Nor fears, nor wishes; for what hour can bring  
New joy to him, that knowing every thing  
Hath Mastered all his thoughts? let Fortune use  
Her pleasure, he his constant life pursues:  
Something may added be perchance, although  
Nothing diminished, but yet added so  
As Meat to a full stomach, neither sought,  
Nor yet digested. Let none then be thought  
Old for their wrinkles, or gray-hairs, 'twere wrong  
To say he lived, he only hath been long:  
We cannot truly say that Ship hath sailed,  
On which fierce storms have from the port prevailed,  
And driving too and fro, the voyage crossed,  
That hath not sailed much, but been much tossed:  
I oft have wondered with myself to hear,  
Some demand time, and others not forbear  
To grant it strait, both look upon the cause  
Why it is asked, the thing from neither draws  
Regard, but as nothing were sought, or given;  
That which should be in most esteem, is even  
A trifle made; the error hence doth spring,  
Because it is an incorporeal thing,  
Not subject to the sense, 'tis therefore brought  
Into contempt, or rather nothing thought.  
Our Great men yearly New-year's Gifts receive,  
For which they give by way of contract leave  
To use their labour, diligence, and pains,  
That which costs only time, is counted gains:  
But if such once be sick, and think, Death near  
How are Physicians hugged? or if they fear  
To lose their lives for some notorious crime,  
What bounteous offers are then made for time?  
So various are their thoughts; could men but tell  
The number of their years to come, as well  
As what are past, how would they then both make  
Spare of the one, and at the other quake?  
What certain is (though small) we may divide;  
We must more wary be of what may slide  
So suddenly from us; nor can we suppose  
They know not what a precious thing they lose,  
Because when they their loves would most express,  
Part of their years to give, they will profess,  
They give, 'tis true, but so, that what they leave  
Others, to whom they give, do not receive,  
Nor they themselves take notice of the loss;  
A hidden damage seems an easy cross.  
But none thy years will render, none restore  
Thee to thyself; what ordered was before  
Must be continued in the course begun;  
Time gives no warning, but doth flyly run:  
Nor people's favour, nor the Prince's power  
Can alter, lengthen, or retard one hour;  
Thou busied art, life hasteneth away,  
Death comes at length, and thou must needs obey.   
Cham 9 
CAn any that to Wisdom would pretend,  
Be better busied, then to learn to mend  
His present life? it is a vain pretence  
To think to order time, with times expense;  
And to defer our purpose, when we know,  
Life's greatest damage from delay doth grow.  
Th'expectance of an other day's event,  
Is nothing but a present detriment;  
For to omit a day, is to dispose  
Of what is fortunes, and our own to lose:  
Why stayest thou then? whereon dost thou rely?  
No future thing is sure; live presently.  
Hear how the Poet in a Rapture cries,  
Each best day first from wretched Mortals flies.  
Let's not defer (said he) for if we stay  
'Tis gone, though we lay hold it runs away;  
We therefore of swift time swift use should make,  
And as it were from a quick Torrent, take;  
And to reprove our thoughts, he doth not say  
The best Year soon flies, but the best day;  
Why are we then so slow in such a Flight  
Of time, as if we could pretend a Right  
To Months, or Years, or to the longest date  
That our vast minds could ere desire of fate?  
He speaks but of a day now fleeting; then  
Why marvel we, if wretched mortal men  
(That is, such as be buside) ever find  
Their best days soon gone, whose childish mind  
Age undiscerned invades; for no man keeps  
Any account, by what degrees that creeps:  
As they, whom some tale told, or serious thought  
Deceiving, to their journeys end are brought,  
Before they think them near; so we that make  
This speedy journey ' of Life, both while we wake  
And sleep, by reason of our too much care,  
Do find it done before we be aware.   
Cham 10 
SHould I in parts divide what I propose,  
I easily then might prove the lives of those  
That so much mind the World, to be most short:  
Old Fabianus (none of that odd sort  
Of Chaire-philosophers, but Moral, grave;)  
Was wont to say, that vices must not have  
A slight encounter, theyare (quoth he) our Swords,  
That must repel such Enemies, not words;  
Yet that men may their errors more refrain,  
'Ti better to instruct, then to complain,  
These three degrees of time make up life's sum,  
What is, what was, and what is yet to come,  
The present transient is, and cannot last,  
The future doubtful; only what is passed  
Is certain: fortune here all right doth lose,  
Not any other can thereof dispose;  
This Worldly men have lost, nor can they find  
Leisure enough, their former deeds to mind;  
Or if they could, 'twere an unpleasant thing,  
To think of that which must repentance bring:  
Men care not to look back on time ill spent,  
For that remembrance needs must represent  
The shame, when they shall truly ponder it,  
Of what they took such pleasure to commit,  
Such only as by reasons rule direct  
Their actions, can upon time-past reflect;  
He that hath oft ambitiously desired,  
Proudly contemned, with insolence required  
His captives thraldom; he that hath deceived  
Perfidiously, extortingly bereaved,  
Or hath profusely spent, can hardly be  
Content to have recourse to memory;  
Whereas that only is the Sacred time,  
That doth above all power of fortune clime:  
No sickness can disturb, nor fear, nor want,  
The firm fruition of the same supplant:  
The present is but every single day,  
Which passeth in a moment, but we may  
At our own pleasure all time passed revive,  
Whereof the busied do themselves deprive:  
It is the quiet mind, that can revoke  
All parts of life, whereas a heavy yoke  
Imposed is upon the labouring thought,  
That to look back it hardly can be brought:  
Such lives are swallowed up; and as 'tis vain  
To seek to fill what nothing can retain,  
So is it bootless store of time to give  
To them, whose minds are like a leaking sieve:  
Time present is so short, that 'tis by some  
Thought nothing, gone ere it be fully come,  
And stops no more than the Celestial spear,  
Which never can its constant course forbear,  
Yet that to busied men is only left,  
Whereof they at the instant are bereft.   
Cham 11 
But wouldst thou know how short a time they have?  
Then do but see how long a time they crave;  
How earnestly do old men beg t'obtain,  
Some year's addition to their small remain;  
Who feigning themselves younger do belie  
Their age, and are deceived so willingly,  
As if the fates they also could delude;  
But by some deadly sickness being pursued,  
How fearfully they draw their latest breath,  
And go not, but are haled unto death;  
Then they repent, and vow if they recover  
Their health's, their wont courses to give over;  
Finding their labour to small use employed,  
When what is gotten cannot be enjoyed:  
Whereas a life from worldly troubles free  
Is long enough, and cannot subject be  
To Fortune, Riot, or an others will,  
'tis all our own, and turns to profit still;  
Though it be short, it doth cententment find,  
A Wise man dies with an assured mind:  
But thou, purhaps wouldst be informed▪ whom  
I mean by buside men; not such as come  
Early into the Pleading place, and stay  
So late, that barking Dogs drive them away;  
Nor those, whom either their own Clients smother  
Bravely, or else by following an other  
Contemptuously are trod on; nor yet those  
That for base Lucre, their Estates expose  
To sordid out-cries; or whom flattery  
Draws from their own, at others gates to lie;  
Some men's repose is business; in their Beds  
And Houses of retirement, are their Heads  
Still vainly troubled; such cannot be said  
To be at rest, but Idly busied.   
Cham 12 
THink'st thou them quiet, that with so much care,  
Corinthian rusty Medals will compare,  
That from the false they may discern the true,  
Made precious by the Folly of some few?  
Or those that go to see (for lo we groan  
Not under Roman vices now alone)  
Youths with Oil'd-bodies wrestle on the Stage,  
Bred up on purpose of like shape and age?  
Think'st thou Him quiet, that spends half the day  
To have the tedious Barbour take away  
What grew the night before, that time can spare  
To call a Council upon every hair  
How it must lie; what Choler will he vent  
If once the Barber seems but negligent?  
Who to displease him is as much afeard  
As if he cut the man, and not his beard;  
When by a Per'wigg th'haires restored that's shed,  
Or growing thin is o'er the Forehead spread;  
Into what passion will he strait be put  
If any part of his Dear maine be cut,  
Or if the same be discomposed; he frets  
If all be not reduced to Annulets;  
May we not well believe he takes less care  
To have the State disordered, than his hair;  
Who rather to be spruce, then honest strives;  
Such are more curious of their locks, then lives.  
Are they at rest, who their whole time do pass  
But only with a Comb, and Looking-glass?  
That Songs do either make, or sing, or hear;  
When as the voice, that to the natural ear  
In the plain note sounds best, is taught to run  
Wanton division with writhed Faces done;  
Who on their Finger's measure verses feet,  
And though with serious, or sad things they meet,  
Yet are they ever warbling; such as these  
In Lazy business live, and not in ease:  
Nor have they vacant time, that feasts do make;  
Because we see what curious pains, they take  
T'adorn with Plate their Cupboards, and devise  
To put their Pages in acquaint Liveries;  
How careful are they lest the Cook neglect  
To send the Boar in dressed as they expect?  
With what a quickness do the servants fall  
Unto their business, when they hear the call?  
How neatly doth the Carver play his part,  
In cutting up the fowl with so much art?  
And after their full Cups spewing about,  
How soon th'unhappy boys will wipe it out?  
In these respects, they covet to be thought  
Magnificent, and bounteous, and are brought  
In every course of life, to this condition  
They cannot eat or drink, but with ambition:  
Nor have they quiet lives, that up and down  
Are born in Chairs, and Litters, through the town;  
For which they have their certain hours, when they  
That are their Bearers, dare not be away;  
Who must by other men be put in mind  
To Bath, to Swim, to Sup, and are inclined  
To such a negligence, that they scarce know  
Themselves, whither they hungry be, or no;  
One of the nicer sort (if so it be,  
Niceness to lose humane society,)  
Lifted by men from forth a Bath all wet  
Into a Chair, said to them, am I set?  
So strange a question made, can it be guest  
He knows he lives, or sees, or is at rest?  
'Tis doubtful, which most wretchedness doth show  
To know it not; or to feign not to know;  
Some things we do forget, and some we fain,  
Some errors we are willing to retain,  
As Arguments of Greatness: 'tis for love  
And Abject persons to know what they do.  
Go then, and blame the Players bold abuse▪  
More Follies they omit, than they traduce:  
So Copious is vice grown in this our age,  
Witty in ill alone, that we the Stage  
May rather tax of negligence; can one  
To such a sensuality be grown  
That he by others must be told he fits?  
He is not quiet, that such things forgets;   
Cham 13 
WE rather must some other word devise,  
That he is sick, yea dead will but suffice;  
He is at rest, that doth his rest discern,  
This halfe-alive, that must from others learn  
His body's posture, never can be thought  
Of time to make advantage as he ought;  
'twere long to reckon them that spend the day  
At Chess, at Ball, or at some other play  
Are roasted in the Sun; such men can spare  
No time, whose pleasures tedious business are;  
Nor can we doubt, but they laboriously  
Perform just nothing, who themselves apply  
To fruitless Studies, frequent now in Rome,  
'twas a disease that first from Greece did come,  
To make it a rare piece of skill, to know  
How many in Ulysses Ship did Rowe;  
Th' Iliads or the Odisea, whether  
Were written first; or from the style to gather  
If one composed them both; with such as these,  
Which if concealed, cannot the mind displease,  
And uttered, we thereby are not become  
More learned, but perhaps, more troublesome;  
Behold the Romans also have affected  
These needless Studies, formerly neglected;  
I knew a Wise man of these times would run  
Through every Act, and by what Captain done,  
Affirming that Duillius first assailed  
Our foes at Sea, and prosperously prevailed;  
That Curius Dentatus was the first  
Led Elephants in Triumph; these at worst,  
Examples are of civil Actions, though  
True Glory nothing to such things doth owe,  
Such knowledge profits little, though there be  
Therein a kind of specious vanity;  
Let them that will have also leave t'enquire  
Who first possessed the Romans with desire  
To build a Ship; 'twas Claudius, therefore he  
Was called Caudex, by which word we see  
The joining fast of many Boards is meant,  
Whence public Tables are by one consent  
Called Codices, and Boats of Tiber framed  
For Public use, are Caudicariae named;  
And let this knowledge not be needles thought,  
That first Valerius Corvinus brought  
Messana in Subjection, and thereby  
Added that Surname to his Family;  
Which from Messana, by corruption came  
To be Messalla, but was still the same;  
And it is not a knowledge of much use,  
That Sylla in the Cirque let Lions lose?  
Whereas before they tied were together,  
And that King Boccus sent Dart-flingers thither  
T'encounter them? yet these we may remit;  
But how can this for any use be fit,  
To know that Pompey in the people's sight  
First brought the Eighteen Elephants to fight  
With men condemned? a Prince of High esteem,  
And whom Fame for Humanity might seem  
To rank with Ancient Worthies, to devise  
New deaths for men, and ther'with feed his eyes?  
They fight, they gored are, at length they die,  
And under those Huge Monsters buried lie;  
Surely this aught t'have been forgotten quite,  
That so no great man after might delight  
To Imitate such an inhuman thing,  
And envy that should detestation bring.   
Cham 14 
O, How doth Greatness blind men's judgements! he  
Thought himself raised above Mortality,  
When he so many wretches did ordain  
To be by beasts bred in far Countries slain,  
Devising a strange Combat between Creatures  
Of so unequal strength, and different natures,  
And in the Romans sight shedding such store  
Of Blood; (compelled soon after to shed more,)  
He was at length perfidiously betrayed  
When his own Slave rude hands upon him laid,  
And Murdered him, letting him plainly see  
That his proud Surname was but vanity.  
But to return to my discourses and thence  
To show another fruitless diligence,  
The same man of Metellus said, when he  
The Carthaginians in Sicily.  
Had vanquished, that he only Triumphed  
With Sixscore Elephants, as Captives lead;  
That Sylla first had leave to amplify  
The City bounds for foreign Victory,  
A thing allowed Anciently to none  
But Conquerors in Italy alone;  
This is more worth our knowledge, then t'have found  
The Aventine to be without that bound,  
Because the people when they did descent,  
So mainly from the Senate, thither went;  
Or that the Birds at Remus-Augury  
Were not observed about that place to fly:  
These and a thousand more they do devise,  
Which either are, or else resemble lies;  
But let us on their Credits now rely,  
And think them true, whose errors are thereby,  
Whose Lust suppressed? whom may we therefore call  
More Just, more Valiant, or more Liberal?  
Our Fabianus said, he doubted much  
Whether no knowledge better were, or such:  
They only quiet are that Wisdom mind,  
They only live; nor do they thereby find  
Their lives in firm security alone,  
But every age they add unto their own:  
What ever hath been acted heretofore  
Belongs to them; yea, that unvalued store  
Of Sacred Writers, for our use were borne,  
Who ready are our present lives t'adorn:  
Thus we by others industry are taught,  
Great and rare things from dark oblivion brought,  
And are not limited, but uncontrolled  
The secrets of all ages may behold;  
And if the greatness of our minds would climb  
Above all humane frailty, we have time  
Enough, t'enquire out truths with Socrates,  
To propound questions with Carneades,  
To rest with Epicurus, to suppress  
With Stoics our affections vast excess,  
And with the Cynics to subdue them so,  
That we with Fate even hand in hand may go:  
Why do we then in this short time neglect  
These divine things, that all good men affect?  
Such as have daily offered up and down  
Their meritorious Service in this town,  
As vast in sensual pleasures, as extent,  
That both themselves and others do torment,  
When they have showed folly enough, and been  
At every house that would receive them in;  
How have they been put of by Luxury?  
Or Sleep? or great men's incivility?  
Who having tortured them with long delay,  
Then pretend business, and make hast away;  
Or else to shun the place filled with store  
Of Suitors, have slunk forth at the back Door,  
As if it were not far less barbarous  
To deny entrance, then t'abuse them thus:  
How have they courted him, whose sleepy head,  
Shows he hath yet scarce well recovered  
His last night's surfeit, making others keep  
Ill hours, to wait on his disordered fleepe,  
Who being often told the Suitors name,  
With a proud yawning will repeat the same.  
They are employed to purpose, that do pass  
Their time with Zeno and Pythagoras;  
That often to Democritus resort,  
That Aristotl ' and Theophrastus' Court,  
With other Authors of good Learning; they  
Bid all men welcome, sending them away  
Not empty, but more pleased, more happy far;  
They, day and night at equal leisure are;  
They'll not compel, but teach us, how to dye;  
They'll not consume our years, but will supply  
Ours with their own; their Friendship is to us  
Not costly, their discourse not dangerous.   
Cham 15 
FRom these men we may carry what we will,  
And having gotten much may get more still;  
What happiness, what Reverend Age shall he  
Obtain, that is of their society?  
There hath he those with whom he may advise  
What he should do when any doubts arise;  
There he the truth without Reproach shall hear,  
And being praised, no flattery needs fear:  
By their Example he his life may frame,  
And strive like them to gain a virtuous name:  
The choice of our own Parents did not lie  
In our own Power, Chance gave them; but hereby  
We may be borne, as we ourselves shall please;  
The Families of Noble wits are these;  
Choose then in which thou wilt thy Race advance,  
And be entitled to th' inheritance,  
Not the bare name; to wealth that must not be  
Hoarded up, basely, or maliciously,  
But bountifully spent; men grow not poor  
By such expense, those goods increase the more:  
These shall thy way t'Eternity prepare,  
And fix thee there, from whence none can, or dare  
Think to remove thee; they alone can teach  
Mortality, Immortality to reach:  
Great Honours, Monuments, or what beside  
In strength of Law or structure is by pride  
Devised, shall soon decay, time doth invade  
That soon, which the World hath Sacred made:  
Only true Virtue can resist the rage  
Of present, and of future time, by Age  
That gains esteem; things near them men envy,  
But on remote look with Impartial eye:  
A Wiseman's life is therefore large, not bound  
To those strict terms that Nature doth propound  
To others, Laws, which mankind doth deplore;  
All Ages, like a God, do him adore;  
He in the thought to time past takes content,  
Makes use of what is now, and doth prevent  
That which shall be; thus joining all in one  
His constant life can shortened be by none;  
Whereas their time must short and sad appear,  
Who all these three forget, neglect, or fear;  
And when death cometh, they too late begin  
To know how idly they employed have been.   
Cham 16 
NOr is this any Argument at all  
That they live long, because for death they call;  
Their Folly works on their affections so,  
That they, on what they fear, themselves do throw;  
Thus they seek death, because they fear the same;  
Nor yet can we from hence a reason frame,  
Because the day seems sometimes long, for they  
Repine that hours so slowly pass away  
Ere it be Supper time; if they remain  
But a short while unbusyed, they complain,  
And not well knowing how the time to spend,  
Their thoughts to some new Vanity they bend:  
How tedious seems that time, when they expect  
Some Sword-play, or some Masque that they affect?  
And yet how short is that they like? and short  
Because they like not long, but still resort  
To new delights, so that their days become  
Not long at all, but rather wearisome;  
Those Nights seem ever quickly at an end,  
That men in drinking, or with Harlots spend;  
Hence Poets in their Raptutes, to disguise  
And cherish humane errors, did devise  
That jupiter, to lengthen the delight  
He with Alcmene took, doubled the night:  
But what can this be else, but vice t'inflame,  
To make the Gods the Authors of the same?  
And to Divinity ascribe th'excess  
Of Mortal men's Licentious wickedness?  
How can those nights seem short? that cost so dear?  
They lose the day, that wish the night were near;  
And lose the night with a desire of day;  
So much their fears their pleasures do dismay;  
The thought of these two slender words, (How long)  
Can turn all mirth into a mournful song:  
From this affection Kings their Pour lament,  
And in their Greatness find but small content;  
As being Frighted often with this thought,  
That it must one day to an end be brought.  
When that proud Persian King o'er vast Fields spread  
His spacious Army not then numbered,  
But in the view admired, He there shed tears,  
To think that but within on hundred Years,  
Not any one thereof should be alive;  
When he that wept, soon after did deprive  
By Sea and Land, by Fight, and Flight all those  
Of Life, which he with grief, did then suppose  
Would dye within one hundred Years.   
Cham 17 
How then?  
Comes it to pass, that fear possesseth men  
In midst of joy? because their joys rely  
On nothing, but the self same vanity  
That gave them being: what may we then guess,  
Of that, which to be wretched they confess,  
When the felicity through which they bear,  
And lift their thoughts so high, is not sincere?  
Great fortunes are accompanied with care,  
And of all others, lest assured are;  
They stand in need of other Happiness  
To keep their Happiness, & new success  
To guard their old; all things that come from Chance  
Unstable are; yea that which doth advance  
Itself the Highest, soon falls to Ground;  
Then what true Pleasure can therein be found?  
Needs must their Life both short and wretched be,  
When what they get with so much Misery,  
They keep with more, and doubtfully maintain  
What formerly acquired was with Pain;  
In the mean while, but small account is made  
Of unrecouered time; new things invade  
The old, hope stirs up hope, desire desire,  
They change the matter, not the end require:  
Do we ourselves cease to be Candidate?  
We give our suffrages to others straight;  
If we give over our own suits, we then  
Are hired to follow suits for other men;  
No sooner do we leave of to accuse,  
But to be judges instantly we choose;  
Hath Marius left the Wars? He shall receive  
The Consulship; did Quintius strive to leave  
The charge of the Dictatourship? he now  
Shall be again called to it, from the Plough;  
Scipio, too young for so great things, shall go  
Against the Carthaginians, and overthrow  
Hannibal, and Antiochus subdue;  
The glory of our Consuls, and the true  
Pledge of his Brother's Honour, who unless  
Himself gainsay it, shall with jove po●esse  
An equal place; and when all this is done  
He the preserver with sedition  
Shall be provoked, and having quite refused  
Such Honour as unto the Gods is used,  
He at the length grown old, shall take content  
To go into a wilful Banishment:  
Thus happy or unhappy causes will  
Be never wanting to breed trouble still;  
Variety of business hindereth rest,  
A thing desired by all, by few possessed.   
Cham 18 
EXempt thyself then from the multitude  
My dear Paulinus, having been pursued  
By storms, which might more years than thine require,  
Into a quiet Harbour now retire;  
Think but what private blasts thou hast endured,  
What Public tempests to thyself procured;  
Thy Virtue hath sufficiently been tried  
In Rough Affairs; now let it be applied  
To Calmer Ways; the most (at least, the best)  
Part of thy life, hath solely been possessed  
By the Republic; let then some be spent  
To thine own use; nor is it my intent  
To call thee to a dull and lazy Ease,  
To drown that vigour in delights that please  
The vulgar People; this gives no repose  
To any; there are greater things, than those  
Thou hast already done, that may by thee  
In thy retirement safely acted be;  
Th'Accompts of all the World thou managest  
With temperance, as an others interest,  
With Foresight, thine own, and with a zeal,  
As things that much concern the Publique-weale:  
In doing this thy duty, thou gayn'st love,  
Wherein an other hardly could remove  
A general hatred; it is better though  
To take account of thine own life, then know  
What store of Grain there is; that strength of wit,  
That vigour of thy mind, for great things fit,  
From a charge (Honourable I must confess,  
But not conducing unto happiness:)  
Call home to thee; and think not thou wert borne  
And trained in famous Arts, to lay up Corn;  
Thy Noble Education promised then  
Things of a Higher strain; there want not men  
That moulded are for labour, and can be  
Exact in matters of frugality;  
Dull jades great Burdens fitter are to bear  
Then generous Horses; what a pity 'twere  
Their stately backs with heavy loads to press?  
Think also with thyself, to what excess  
Of envy thouart exposed; thou hast to do  
With hunger, and the common people too:  
No reason works, no equity prevails,  
No Prayers move, when hunger them assails.  
In Caius Caesar's time, (who now at least  
If Sense of things abide in Souls deceased  
Is grieved to find the Roman people left  
In safety, and himself of life bereft,)  
The Store-howses so empty were of grain  
That scarce a week's Provision did remain;  
While he with joined Ships large Bridges made,  
And with the forces of the Empire played,  
The worst of evils (Famine) was at hand,  
And that which follows, Ruin of the land;  
And this th'example of a Foreign King,  
Unfortunately proud and mad, did bring;  
What thoughts had they that then employed were?  
Did they not Stones, Fire, Sword, and Caius fear?  
They all their Art (as they had cause) applied,  
The ill that in their Bowels lurked, to hide;  
For some are cured, ere they their Sickness know;  
While others Deaths from such a knowledge grow.   
Cham 19 
FOr these things than do thou thyself prepare,  
Which more secure, more calm, more Noble are;  
Is it all one (think'st thou) thus to take thought  
That Corn be clean into the Garner brought,  
And laid up dry, lest it grow Musty straight,  
And heat, and that it answer the just weight?  
Or to search out the highest Mysteries,  
To know the Nature of the Deities,  
Their Will, their Form and their Condition?  
To learn what manner of conclusion  
Waits on our Souls, where Fate will them bestow  
So soon as they forth of our Bodies go?  
To understand what holds the heavier things  
Firm in the midst, and what the lighter brings  
To hang above, what highest bears the fire,  
And doth the motions of the Stars inspire,  
With all ●hings else, that are by Nature sent  
To strike the wilest with astonishment.  
Wouldst thou from Earth to these things raise thy mind?  
Do't while thy blood is warm; the Sprightful find  
Easiest Aecesse, this course of life imparts  
These things unto thee, Love of all good Arts,  
True Use of verrue, Courage to defy  
The Pour of Lusts, Skill how to live and dye;  
Together with a firm and constant rest  
Whereof thou never canst be dispossessed;  
All busied men are wretched; but yet none  
Like them that toil, not only in their own  
Frequent affairs, but sleep while others sleep,  
And when they walk the Pace of others keep,  
That eat with others appetites, and wait  
To be commanded; both to Love and hate  
Of all things the most free; their lives seem short  
That thus unto another's Will resort;  
They do not envy him that gets Renown  
By Pleading, or that wears the Purple Gown,  
He ventures his life for it, ●'have men call  
But one year by his Name, he wasteth all;  
Some, having stretched their ambitions wide,  
Die young, and in the midst of all their pride;  
Others, that have great Dignities obtained  
By many Indignity, find they have gained  
But Titles to their Tombs; some, their last Age  
Fed with new hopes, like their first youth engage  
In great and wicked Projects, when they see  
Nothing but Death in their Infirmity,   

Cham 20 HE sordid is, that catched with rude applause,  
Grown old, dies wrangling in a worthless cause,  
Like him, that weary less of toil, than life,  
Faints in the midst of his officious strife;  
Or him, whom dying midst his heaps of Gold,  
His long-fed Heir with laughter doth behold:  
I cannot an Example here let pass  
That comes into my mind; Turanius was  
An aged man, exactly diligent,  
Who after Ninety years, a good part spent  
As procurator, willing to desist,  
By Caius Caesar was at length dismissed;  
But coming Home, he laid him on his Bed,  
Bidding his Servants Mourn as he were dead,  
Who standing round about him, did express  
Sorrow for their old Master's Quietness,  
Nor would his Family their grief refrain,  
Till to his labour he were called again:  
Is it such pleasure then to dye in cares?  
So are the thoughts of most bent to affairs,  
Their Bodies sooner than their minds do fail,  
Thus they their own infirmities assail,  
And Age in no respect more Irksome proves  
Then that from business it them removeth;  
Law doth not force a Soldier to Fight  
At Fifty Years, nor after Threescore cite  
A Senator, men do more hardly draw  
Leave from themselves to rest, then from the Law;  
In the mean time, while one another's peace  
They daily interrupt, and never cease  
To hurry, and be hurried; while they lie  
Together in a mutual misery,  
Their life is without Fruit, without delight,  
Or any thing that should the Soul invite:  
No man makes Death his Object; to their hope  
All men desire to give the largest scope;  
Yea many contrive business beyond Death,  
Resolve of stately Monuments, bequeath  
Great Gifts for Funeral Triumphs, and devise  
Works to be talked of, with proud Obsequies;  
But these, like such as dye to soon, should have  
Torches, and Lamps, to light them to their Grave.   
FINIS.