Twenty and Two EPISTLES OF LUCIUS ANNAEUS SENECA, The Philosopher.  
Translated out of the Original, into English Verse.  
LONDON, Printed by Thomas Harper, MDCLIV.   

To the Reader.  
IT is the opinion of some Critics, that most of the Epistles of Seneca, though entitled to Lucilius, were not usually sent, or so intended: but were emergent conceptions in his Garden, House, or Bed, for such a Wit could no where be idle. And therefore being no continued discourse, like his other Works, but confined to the brevity of Letters, which (as our Author says) ought not to fill the left hand of the Reader, and being withal interweaved with Philosophical Precepts, and Stoical sentences, it is not to be supposed they can or aught to be rendered in all parts with that fluency of Phrase, which is requisite in his Consolations, and other Books of Design. An exuberant Fancy penned in a short discourse, is like waves of the Sea driven into a Creek, which role thick upon each other. Or like fire in a Furnace, the flame whereof, being, as it were, crushed up together, cannot display itself like that of a Pile. Yet how useful the Epistles are, hear what a learned Writer says: One Book, one Epistle of Seneca is sufficient to order and rectify life, if men be willing to be reformed. And truly such is the severity of his admonitions, that what hath been said of Epictetus is by some more properly averred of Seneca. He that shall not be roused up with his acrimony, will hardly be corrected but at the Bar of Hell.   

EPISTLE I.  
SO do Lucilius, mind thine own affairs,  
And time that hitherto hath unawares  
Been stolen, or snatched, or else hath slipped away,  
Collect, and keep: believe 'tis as I say.  
Some of our time is stolen, some snatched, and some  
Slips from us. But our shameful'st loss does come  
By negligence. Observe, and thou'lt find still  
Much of our time is spent in doing ill,  
The greatest part in doing nothing, all  
In doing what's not ours. Whom canst thou call  
To mind that value's time? that life does prize  
Or who condsiers that he daily dies?  
We err in thinking Death makes little haste:  
Whereof a great part is already past:  
Our whole remain of life is in death's power.  
Then do Lucilius as thou writ'st: each hour  
Embrace: if thou'lt the present apprehend,  
Thou wilt the less on the next day depend.  
Life while it is deferred, is in its flight.  
All other things are borrowed: we have right  
Only to time: this slippery alone  
Nature hath given us in possession:  
Whereof most men deprive us as they list.  
But we in so great folly do persist,  
That we for small, and vile things, always such  
As are reparable, think ourselves much  
Engaged: whereas not any one conceives  
That he's a whit in debt who time receaves;  
When that's the only thing that never can  
Be recompensed, by the most grateful man.  
Thou't ask perhaps, what I do, who to thee  
Prescribe these things? I will herein be free:  
As one that's prodigal but diligent,  
I keep a true account of what is spent.  
I cannot say that I do nothing lose,  
But what, and when, and how I can disclose,  
And give the reasons of my poverty.  
But I may well to my own self apply  
What happens unto many, who are brought  
To indigence not by their own default,  
All pity, none relieve's. What is then?  
I do not conceive them to be poor men,  
Whom whatsoever remains suffices. Yet  
I'd rather thou shouldst keep what thou dost get,  
And soon begin to husband what's thine own:  
For as our Ancestors to us have shone  
I'th' bottom 'tis too late of thrift t' advise:  
For both the least, and worst it'h bottom lies.   

EPIST. II.  
BY what thou writ'st me, and by what I hear,  
I have good hope of thee. Thou dost forbear  
To wander too and fro, and by the change  
Of thy abodes, thee from thy rest estrange.  
This toffing up and down notes a sick mind.  
The surest argument that I can find  
Of a sound judgement, is t'have power to stay,  
And with one's self abide. But by the way  
Take heed the reading such variety  
Of Authors, and of Books, do not imply  
A kind of wand'ring lightness: thou hadst need  
To dwell on some men's wit, and thereon feed:  
If thou desirest to draw from thence that good  
Which should be fixed, and throughly understood.  
He's no no where that is every where. And as  
It fares for the most part with them which pass  
Their time in travel, making that their ends,  
They meet with many hosts, but with few friends.  
So must it needs befall them, who apply  
Themselves to no man's wit familiarly,  
But hastily run over all. The meat  
Does ' us no good, which we no sooner eat,  
But presently cast up again; and store  
Of remedies retard our health the more.  
A wound dressed diversely comes not to ' a scar:  
Plants prosper not that oft removed are:  
And there's not so commodious a thing,  
That cursorily used can profit bring.  
Variety of Books distracts the mind.  
And therefore since thou canst not leisure find  
To read all that thou hast, it will suffice  
To have what thou canst read. But herein lies  
Much pleasure, thou wilt say now to resort  
To this book, then to that. It does purport  
A feeble stomach to taste many meats,  
The great diversity whereof begets  
Corruption, and not good nourishment.  
To approved Authors than be most intent:  
And if perchance thou sometimes dost desire  
To look on others, to the first retire,  
'Gainst poverty, 'gainst death get every day  
Some muniments, the like against the sway  
Of other ills. And when thoust fully gone  
o'er many things, be sure to cull out one  
Which the same day thou mayst concoct. I tread  
This path myself: of many things I read,  
I fasten still on some. 'Tis this day's gain  
Which I from Epicurus did obtain:  
For I to others tents use to pass over,  
Not as a fugitive, but to discover.  
Glad poverty's an honest thing, says he.  
if it be glad it is not poverty.  
For he that poverty with constant mind  
Can bear, is rich. Nor can we justly find  
Him to be poor that little hath, he's poor  
Who is not satisfied, but covets more.  
What matter ' is't how much our chests contain,  
What store of corn does in our barns remain,  
What herds of  in our pastures feed,  
What money w' have at use, if we proceed  
To seek what's other men's? If we desire  
Not what we have, but what we may acquire?  
But wouldst thou know what mean in riches lies?  
First what is needful, next what does suffice.   

EPIST. III.  
THou writ'st a Letter, as thou sayest, by ' a friend,  
And therein also dost a caution send,  
Not to leave all thy secrets to his trust,  
For 'tis not used by thee. So that thou dost  
Him in the very same Epistle call  
Thy friend, and yet deniest it withal.  
Thou tak'st that first word in the vulgar sense,  
And callest him friend, as Candidates from thence  
Are styled good men: and as when one we meet,  
Whose name we cannot hit on, him we greet  
With this term, Sir. Let that pass. But if thou  
Thinkest thou mayst any for thy friend avow,  
And yet on him not as much trust confer  
As on thyself, thou dost extremely err,  
And not to the full worth true friendship prize.  
In all things therefore with thy Friend advise:  
But first consult on him. We should not spare  
To trust when friendship's made: we must beware  
Before't be done. But they these duties mix  
Confusedly, who their affections fix  
'Gainst Theophrastus' rule, ere they have ground:  
And love not after they have reason found.  
Consider long, whether thou shouldst admit  
One to thy friendship; having found him fit,  
Take him into thy breast, as freely ' impart  
To him, as to thyself, what's in thy heart.  
How's ' ever live thou so, as not to fear  
Thy foe should of thy actions witness bear.  
But because some things oftentimes arise,  
Which a familiar trust makes secrecies,  
Let thy friend all thy cares, all thy thoughts know:  
Thou't make him faithful if thou thinkest him so.  
For many fearing fraud do fraud invite:  
And by mistrust give other men a right  
T'offend. Why should I then a word suppress  
Before my friend? or with him think I'm less  
Alone, then with myself? some men unfold  
To all they meet what only should be told  
To friends: and what concerns them most, expose  
To every ear. Some again doubt even those  
They have in most esteem: and if they could,  
Locking all secrets in their breast, they would  
Conceal them from themselves. We must do neither.  
For both are always to be cenfurd, either  
To credit all, or none. But th' one is sure  
A fault more candid, th' other more secure.  
So mayest thou tax both them that never  
Are quiet, and them that are quiet ever.  
For 'tis not to be called industry  
To take delight in turmoils, but a high  
Tumultuousness of mind: nor is it rest  
Which every kind of motion does molest,  
But languishment. Take then into thy thought  
What I have from Pamponius been taught:  
To darkness some themselves so much inure,  
That all that's in the light they think obscure.  
These should be intermixed, and by compact  
In acting we should rest, in resting act.  
Consult with Nature, she will guide thee right,  
And tell thee she hath made both day, and night.   

EPIST. IU.  
PRoceed as th' hast begun, and make what hast  
Thou canst, that thou the longer mayst  
Enjoy a well-reformed, and composed mind:  
And truly that enjoyment thou wilt find  
Even while thou dost reform, even while thou dost  
Compose. But yet that other pleasure's most  
To be esteemed, that from a mind proceeds,  
Wherein no impure thought, or motion breeds.  
Think but what joy thou hadst, when laying down  
The robe of youth, thou didst assume the gown,  
And wert allowed to plead. Expect far more,  
When having all thy childish thoughts given over,  
The knowledge of Philosophy shall then  
Bring thee into the fellowship of men:  
For hitherto not only we possess  
Childhood, but what's more grievous, childishness.  
And worse indeed than that, we gravely sit  
Like old men, yet the errors do commit  
Of children, nay of infants: these at light,  
They at false things, but we at both take fright.  
Then go thou on, and somethings will appear  
Less to be feared, because they bring much fear.  
No evil is the greatest that is last.  
Death comes, and we thereat might be aghast  
If it could stay with us, but this is sure,  
It either will not come, or not endure.  
But thou wilt say, it is a rigid thing,  
That we our lives to slight, our minds should bring.  
Dost thou not see upon what slender ground  
Life is despised by many? one is found  
Himself t'have strangled at a wenches door  
Merely for love: an other man, before  
His Master's wrath he'd longer undergo,  
From the house top himself did headlong throw:  
A third, that fled away, himself hath slain,  
Rather than he would be brought back again.  
Think not but virtue may effect as much  
As needless fear. Life's not secure to such  
As use too great endeavour to prolong  
The date thereof: accounting it among  
Their great good-fortunes, that th' have lived to see  
So many Consuls. Our sole care should be  
With full resolved minds our life to leave;  
Which many hold as fast, and strictly cleave  
Thereto, as men grasp Brires, and Thorns, when they  
Are by a furious torrent born away.  
Man for the most part miserably tosses  
Himself, between fear of death, and frequent crosses  
Of life: and though he lives unwillingly,  
Yet notwithstanding knows not how to die.  
The way to make life pleasant then to us,  
Is not to be thereof solicitous.  
No good can the possessor please, unless  
His mind to leave it be in readiness:  
And we can part with nothing with less pain,  
Than what once lost cannot be wished again.  
Wherefore persuade thyself to be prepared,  
To far but as the greatest men have fared.  
A Pupil and an Eunuch Pompey's head  
Commanded: a fierce Parthian his rage fed  
With Crassus' blood: and Lepidus his neck  
Submitted was at Caius Caesar's beck  
To Decius the Tribune: and his own  
Left to Cherea. Fortune hath raised none  
To so great height, to whom her menaces  
Have been inferior to her promises.  
Do not on this tranquillity rely,  
The Sea does change in twinkling of an eye:  
And oftentimes a ship, the very day  
'Tis flattered with a calm, is cast away.  
Think that a Thief, or foe his sword may set  
Against thy breast: and lest there should be yet  
A greater power wanting, there's no slave,  
But of thy life the full command may have.  
For this is sure, whos'ever does resign  
The care of his own life, is Lord of thine.  
If to those Precedents thou'lt have recourse  
Which by close wiles, or open fraud, or force  
Have perished, thou wilt find the wrath of Slaves  
T'have brought as many people to their graves,  
As that of Kings. What is it then to thee  
In what authority or power they be  
Whom thou dost fear? since there is none but may  
Act what thou fearest. What if thy foe shall lay  
Hands on thee accidentally, that so  
Will only send thee where thou wert to go;  
Do not deceive thyself, but think that thou  
Didst always suffer, what thou sufferest now.  
I tell thee from the hour thou first took'st breath,  
Thou hast been daily going towards death.  
These, and the like we often must revolve,  
If we on that last hour will well resolve:  
The fear whereof makes carefulness attend  
On all the rest. But that I may now end  
My letter, take what hath contentment bred  
In me to day, and this I gathered  
Out of an others Orchard. 'Tis great Treasure,  
When poverty with nature's Law keeps measure.  
This Law of nature what it is, behold,  
To keep ourselves from hunger, thirst and cold.  
If we mere thirst and hunger would prevent,  
We need not great men's Palaces frequent,  
Nor suffer a proud look, or an affront  
That hath a show of favour put upon't.  
We need not run the hazard of the Seas,  
Nor of the wars, that's to be had with ease  
Which nature asks. We labour for excess,  
'Tis that wears out our gowns with servilenesse:  
Makes us grow old under a tent: and throws  
Us on strange coasts. Sufficient near hand grows.   

EPIST. V.  
THat thou dost study with such constancy,  
And all things else being by thee layd-by,  
That thou dost wholly aim at this one end,  
How thou mayst daily learn thyself to mend,  
I both approve, and also much rejoice:  
And that thou wouldst persever in thy choice  
Not only I exhort thee, but entreat.  
Yet notwithstanding I must not forget  
To give thee warning to forbear what may  
Or in thy habit, or thy life bewray  
A humour in thee to be singular:  
Like those, who to be gazed on take more care,  
Than to be good. Forbear thou to affect  
Rude garbs: a head un-shorn: or through neglect  
A beard grown rough: an enmity professed  
T'weene money and thee: a couch whereon to rest  
Spread on the ground: or whatsoever beside  
Is courted in a perverse way by pride.  
The very name of a Philosopher,  
Though ne'er so meek, will envy enough confer.  
What if to live retired we shall begin?  
We may descent in all that lies within,  
But greet the people with a cheerful face.  
Let not our gown be splendid, nor yet base.  
Let's not desire t'have plate with gold inlayd.  
Yet let it not an argument be made  
Of thrift, that we both gold, and silver want.  
We to ourselves may this compliance grant  
With common people, that our lives should be  
Better than theirs, but yet not contrary.  
For otherwise we those shall from us scare  
Whom we'd allure: and since they do despair  
T' imitate us in all things, they'll refuse  
To follow us in any. This accrues  
As the first good reaped by Philosophy,  
Public accord joined with humanity:  
The benefit whereof we needs must lose  
If difference in manners interpose.  
Let's see if't be not vain, and odious,  
Which we so much desire should draw on us  
Men's admiration. Sure 'tis our intent  
To live according unto nature's bent.  
But this is contrary, to macerate  
Our bodies, and cheap cleanliness to hate:  
To affect rudeness, and on meats to feed  
Not only vile, but noisome, such as breed  
A loathing. For, as it is luxury  
To covet curious dishes. So to fly  
The usual meats, and such as may be bought  
At easy rates, is madness to be thought.  
Philosophy requires frugality,  
Not punishment: for neatness may comply  
With thriftiness. This mean gives me content,  
When life's between good, and public manners spent.  
Let men admire our life, but know it too.  
What then, must we do that which others do?  
Must we from them in nothing differ? Yes,  
In many things. Let him that careful is  
T' observe, and look more nearly onus, know  
We differ from the people. They that go  
Into our houses, should find cause enough  
To view us, rather than our householdstuff.  
He's noble, who can earthen vessels use  
As they were silver: nor can we refuse  
Him the like honour, who finds no more worth  
In those of Silver; than in those of earth:  
Not to be able riches to possess  
In the right way, shows the minds feebleness.  
I'll now impart what I have learned this day  
From Heraton, to throw our lusts away  
Will remedy our fears. Do thou forbear  
To hope, (says he) and thou'lt desist from fear.  
But thou wilt ask how these things can agree,  
And stand together, that so different be?  
'Tis so, Lucilius, though there seem a main.  
Dissent, yet they are joined. For as one chain  
Couples the prisoner and his keeper, so  
These which are different together go:  
Fear follows hope: nor do I thereat wonder:  
Both lean upon suspension, both lie under  
The care of future things. But the best reason  
Of both, is, we do nothing in fit season,  
Mind not the present, but our thoughts defer.  
And therefore we herein extremely err,  
Turning to ill, man's chief good, Providence:  
Beasts fly the danger obvious to their sense,  
And scaping are secure: man looks upon  
With troubled mind, not only what is gone,  
But even with what's to come himself torments.  
Our best gifs hurt us, memory presents,  
And providence anticipates the pain,  
Which we from our continual fear sustain.  
No man is wretched only in the ill  
That present is; doubt makes him wretched still.   

EPIST. VI  
I Know it (my Lucilius) to be true  
That I'm not only improved, but moulded new:  
Yet 'tis not to be promised, or expected  
That I have nothing left to be corrected.  
Rather how can it possibly be thought  
But that I yet have many things which ought  
To be amended? some I must augment,  
And some diminish? 'tis an argument  
Our mind's reformed, when we the faults descry  
Which formerly in us concealed did lie.  
There is some hope in many sicknesses  
To know w' are sick. I therefore would express  
To thee my sudden change, and reap this good  
To have our friendship throughly understood.  
A friendship which no hope, or fear can ever  
Divide, nor thought of private profit sever.  
That, both with which, and for which men do die;  
Although there be too many that rely  
More upon friends, than friendship: which fault springs  
From want of equal will to honest things.  
For all things should be common by the tie  
Of friendship, but chief adversity.  
Thou canst not think what profit every day  
I gather to myself. But thou wilt say,  
Send me those things which so important be?  
I willingly would pour them into thee.  
For I rejoice to learn that I may teach.  
And there is naught can fall within the reach  
Of my desires, that I would know alone:  
If wisdom were on this condition  
To be bestowed on me, that I should make it  
Known to no other, truly I would not take it.  
Without a partner there is no content  
In any thing, though ne'er so excellent.  
Therefore the Books themselves to thee I'll send  
And that thou mayst not too much labour spend  
To reap that benefit thou dost desire,  
I'll note those things I fancy, and admire,  
That thou mayst sooner find them. But yet know,  
More good will from discourse, than reading grow.  
Thou therefore must upon the place appear,  
Both because men trust more the eye, than ear:  
And that the way by precepts is about,  
But by examples short, and of less doubt.  
Cleanthes, had he only Zeno heard,  
And not familiarly with him conferred,  
Whereby he might his course of life observe,  
And see he did not from his own rules swerve,  
Had not so well resembl'ed him. Nor yet  
Can Plato, Aristotle, and all the great  
Authors of various Sects have so expressed  
Grave Socrates from words, as from the test  
Of his known manners. The society  
Of Epicurus did more magnify  
Poliaenus, Metrodorus, Hermacus,  
Than did his School. 'Tis therefore fit for us  
T'instruct as well as learn, that we may grow  
Mutually helpful. Mean time, 'cause I own  
To thee a daily cent, accept a boon  
That I received to day from Hecater.  
Dost thou inquire what I have gained? said he,  
I've learned a friend to my own self to be.  
For he improves, and cannot be alone,  
A friend t' himself, is so to every one.   

EPIST. VII.  
DOst thou inquire what thou shouldst chief shun?  
The multitude. Thou mightst a hazard run,  
If thou shouldst venture on it yet. For I  
Must needs acknowledge this infirmity,  
The manners which I carry with me thither  
I bring back seldom. For I find that either  
Some thing's disturbed which settled was before:  
Or part of that returns I had giv'n-o're.  
As some Diseases so our strength impair,  
That though we mend, yet brought into the air,  
We presently relapse: so happens it  
To us, whose minds after a tedious fit  
Are comforted: for public intercourse  
Renews our malady, and makes it worse.  
In a great multitude there is scarce one,  
But by discourse, or conversation.  
Or by a dangerous example will  
When we least think on't, tempt us to some ill.  
By how much greater the Assembly is,  
So much the danger's greater. And know this,  
That nothing does good manners more oppose,  
Then to be present at our public shows,  
For Vices there in to us eas'lier steal  
By that delight. And that I may reveal  
My meaning plainly: I return from thence  
More covetous, more proud, and more propense  
To Luxury. Nay further, I grow then  
More inhuman, because I was with men.  
Falling by chance upon a midday sight,  
I looked for sport, and wit, and that which might  
Afford some mild refreshment to men's eyes,  
Which in the morning with strange cruelties  
Inhumanly were fed. But lo I found  
The contrary. For every former wound  
Was mercy. Now all sport b'ing laid aside,  
These are mere murders: no man does provide  
Any defence: their bodies being quite  
Uncovered, not one stroke in vain does light.  
Yet many thither go, and like it far  
'Bove common sword-fights, or those shows that are  
Demanded by the people. Would you know  
The cause? here are no arms to save a blow.  
What needs a Helmet, or a Fencer's skill?  
Those delay death, and make men slowly kill.  
Men in the morning are to beasts exposed:  
And if they scape, they are at noon enclosed  
With fierce beholders, who in sport ordain  
Victors to be overcome, and slayers slain.  
The end is sword, fire, death: and this is done  
But while there is an intermssiion  
Of other Spectacles: and is excused;  
B'ing men condemned, they ought to be so used.  
This deserves death for stealing, that for killing:  
But wretch what dost thou merit to be willing  
To behold this? to hear the people cry  
Strike, burn, and kill: who, pleased with cruelty,  
Are not ashamed to ask, why this so fears  
To rush upon the sword; why that forbears  
To kill with daring confidence: and why  
A third shows such unwillingness to die.  
Strokes provoke wounds, and every mutual blow  
Lights on their naked breasts; and though the show  
Be intermitted, rather than sit still,  
And nothing see, men must each other kill.  
On then, and find ill precedents sharp rods  
To them that make them: thank th' immortal gods,  
That you with so much industry have sought  
To make him cruel, who cannot be taught.  
A tender wit, and not accustomed much  
To constant ways, must be withdrawn from such  
Public assemblies. For what many do  
'Twill be soon and easily brought unto.  
In frequent meetings where are various  
And different minds, Cato, and Laelius,  
And Socrates himself might have been shaken.  
And therefore none of us, though we have taken  
Strong resolutions, can withstand the lewd  
Temptations of a vicious multitude.  
For one example either of avarice,  
Or prodigality will much entice.  
One curious guest will make us by degrees  
Effeminate and wanton. He that sees  
His neighbour rich, grows covetous: and none  
Can entertain a lewd companion,  
But he though honest will be quickly tainted.  
What therefore will they be who are acquainted  
With multitudes? or what secure defence  
Can there be made 'gainst public violence?  
Thou must perforce or imitate or shun.  
But neither of them both aught to be done:  
Lest thou grow like the bad, because theyare many:  
Or many oppose, because thou'rt not like any.  
Into thyself, in what thou mayst, retire:  
Keep company with those that do desire  
To make thee better: and those men admit,  
Whom thou mayst mend, and to thy manners fit.  
These things are mutually performed, and men  
Learn while they each. There is no reason then,  
That thou, to show thy knowledge shouldst dispute,  
Or publicly repeat. That well might suit  
If thou wert like the people: but there's none  
Will understand thee; if perchance some one  
Or other there be found desires to learn,  
Him thou must form thy meaning to discern.  
But thou wilt say, for whom, or to what use  
Learnt I those things? there needs not an excuse  
Of labour lost, the fruit of all thy pains  
In what th' hast learnt, to thine own use remains.  
Yet lest that I should seem t' have learnt to day  
But to myself, I will before thee lay  
Three worthy sentences, all which commeare  
Our present purpose: one whereof shall clear  
The debt this letter owes thee: th'other two  
Shall likewise pay a debt before 'tis due.  
That of Democritus shall first be shown.  
One is as all to me, and all as one.  
He also whosoever he was, said well,  
For who the Author was we cannot tell;  
This question being asked him, to what end  
Those Sciences, which few could apprehend,  
He studied with such industry. To me  
Few are enough, or one, or none, said he.  
The third is noble. Epicurus writ  
To one of the companions of his wit,  
And used these words; I send these things to thee,  
Not unto many: for t' each other we  
Are a full Theatre. I thee advise  
To hoard (Lucilius) these: thou'lt then despise  
The pleasures that are most approved. What though  
Many commend thee, thou art bound to owe  
Thy praises to thyself? If thou beest one  
Whom many like, thy inward goods make known.   

EPIST. VIII.  
THou bid'st me fly the rout, sayest thou, and thence  
Departing, rest with mine own conscience.  
Where are those Precepts then which recommend  
A life to us, that must in action end▪  
What? thinkest thou I the mean while idle sit?  
That I to others may bring benefit,  
I both withdraw, and shut my doors: no day  
From me in idleness does pass away.  
I also spend a good part of the night  
In study: and I seldom sleep invite,  
But stay until it seize on me: and when  
My wearied eyes begin to close, I then  
Continue them in action. My recess  
Is not from men alone, but businesses,  
And chief from mine own, for I prepare  
The work of future ages, and declare  
What will to them bring profit. I present  
In writing admonitions, which are meant  
As safe, and wholesome medicines, which I  
Have oft found useful in extremity.  
And though my wounds are not thereby quite cured:  
Yet being now more easily endured,  
theyare kept at least from festering. The right way,  
From which with weariness I long did stray,  
Having now found, I tother's show: and cry  
All that is pleasing to the vulgar, fly.  
Eat all that fortune offers: look upon  
All worldly goods with a suspicion.  
Wild Beasts and Fishes are deceived with baits.  
Counts thou those Fortune's gifts? they are deceits.  
A happy life by none can be enjoyed,  
Unless he strive those birdlime gifts t'avoid:  
By which we also are made wretched, thus,  
We think that we have them, but they have us.  
They lead us to a precipice and all  
That rise too high, are lifted up to fall.  
Nor is it possible to disobey,  
When riches drive us out of the right way.  
Fly then, or stand upright: them who do so  
Fortune may sift or shake, but not o'erthrow.  
Remember also this safe course t'observe,  
T'allow thy body what may only serve  
To maintain health. And sometimes it must find  
Harsh usage lest it disobey thy mind.  
Let meat thy hunger suage, drink thy thirst slake,  
Let cloth's keep thee from cold, and do thou make  
Thy house thy body's shelter. Take no thought  
Whether't be built of Turf, or Marble, brought  
From other Countries: men may be as well  
Covered with Thatch as Gold. Those things which swell  
With too much cost and pride, thou must neglect,  
And nothing in thee but thy mind respect;  
To which b'ing great, no other thing seems great.  
If this both to myself I do repeat,  
And to posterity, wilt not appear,  
That I more useful am, than if I were  
A surety, or a witness to a will,  
Or to a friend my promise did fulfil  
In the assistance of my hand, or vote  
To his preferment? this for truth I'll note,  
Some seeming to do nothing, great things do:  
Such as belong to earth, and heaven too.  
But that I may conclude, and as a debtor,  
Pay what I use to do in every letter,  
Which shall not issue out of mine own purse,  
But Epicurus shall the same disburse:  
This sentence I in him did read to day,  
If thou true freedom woulds enjoy, obey  
Philosophy, subjection to her  
Doth liberty without delay confer,  
And quickly gives the 
* Manumission.  turn: for that alone  
Is freedom. But perhaps this question  
Will in the mean time be propounded, why  
I thus quote Epicurus, and pass by  
Our Countrymen? But wherefore shouldst not thou,  
Such words, as public sentences allow?  
Do not the Poets many things declare,  
Which by the best Philosophers or are,  
Or should be spoken? I'll not mention make  
Of our Dramatic Poems, they partake  
Of some austerity, and are a mean  
Between the Tragic and the Comic Scene.  
Among the Mimikes what brave words are found?  
And how do Publius his works abound,  
With what does not the sock alone befit,  
But what the tragic busk in might admit?  
One of whose verses that Philosophy  
Concerns, and sirs our present purpose, I  
Will here remember, wherein he denies  
That we have share in casualties:  
What s'ever comes by wishing, is not ours.  
I also call to mind a verse of yours,  
Much better, and more near to our design:  
That is not thine, which fortune hath made thine.  
Mark what is better yet, I've heard thee say,  
What may be given, may be ta'en away.  
I do not reckon this a payment, none  
Can think to pay a debt with what's thine one.   

EPIST. IX.  
TThou dost desire to know, if Epicure  
In one of his Epistls, upon sure  
And just grounds censures them, who do maintain,  
That a wiseman does with himself remain  
Contented, and in that respect needs not a friend.  
He about this with Stilpo does contend  
And others, who the chief good have confined  
Unto a mere impassivenesse of mind.  
But it may be ambiguous, if we  
Think to express the Greek word Apathy,  
In this one word of ours, impatience.  
For that may carry a far different sense  
From what is meant by us. We intent one  
Who throws from him the apprehension  
Of evils: whereas that word may imply  
An absolute impassibility.  
See if it be not better thus expressed,  
A man that with no evil is oppressed,  
Than sensible of none. We disagree  
In this, our wiseman, though the Victory  
Over all evils he obtains, yet still  
He feels them too, but theirs even feels no ill.  
We to each other have thus far consented,  
That a wiseman is with himself contented.  
Though he can satisfy himself alone,  
he'll have a neighbour, friend, companion.  
Mark how he this contentment does divide,  
For he both with himself is satisfied,  
And with apart thereof: as when a foe,  
Or sickness by some humour, or some blow  
Deprives him of a hand: or when an eye  
Is put out by some casuality,  
He is content with what to him is left,  
And is as cheerful when he's so bereft  
As when he was entire. Though he would feign  
Have kept them, yet he seeks them not again  
Being once lost. So does a wiseman rest  
Contented with himself; not that 'tis best  
To live without a friend, but that he may:  
And by that word I would more plainly say,  
He a friend's loss bears with a constant mind,  
For him without a friend, we ne'er shall find.  
'tis in his power that damage to supply:  
If Phidias lose a statue, presently  
He'll make another. This that can create  
Friendships, when he's deprived of one, can strait  
Restore that loss. But thou wilt ask me how?  
I'll tell thee, on condition thou'lt allow  
Of this agreement, that thereby the debt  
Which this Epistle owes thee be out set.  
Shall I, says Hecaton, on thee bestow  
A philter, which its virtue shall notow  
To herbs and charms, but shall itself approve  
If thou desir'st to be beloved, love.  
For we are not more pleased in the full act  
Of friendship, than while we the same contract.  
And look what difference we may suppose  
To be between him that reaps, and him that sows.  
The same 's between him that hath already knit  
Friendship, and him that is preparing it.  
It pleases more said Attalus that grave  
Philosopher, to make friends than to have.  
Painters to paint much more deligted are,  
Than to have painted: for their studious care  
In working gives them very great content:  
But having finished, and their fancies spent,  
The fruit indeed of th' art is then enjoyed,  
But th' art itself is, while the hands employed.  
Our children's youth more useful is, but yet  
Their infancy does more delight beget.  
But to return to what we first propounded.  
Although a wise man can be wholly bounded  
Within himself, yet he desires a friend:  
If for no other, yet for this sole end  
That he may practise amity, and not  
Let such a special virtue be forgot.  
Not for the reasons Epicurus gave  
In that Epistle, that he one may have  
T'assist him when he's fallen into decay;  
Or is restrained, or sick: but that he may  
Have one whom he in sickness may relieve,  
Or from a deadly enemy reprieve.  
Who minds himself, and for that cause embraces  
A mutual friendship, he the same disgraces.  
As he began so will he end. He chose  
A friend in whom his trust he might repose  
In his restraint. No sooner shall the chain  
Rattle, but he is gone. This is the vain  
Friendship, which people temporie call.  
So long he will be welcome as he shall  
Be profitable. And therefore friends flock round  
'Bout them who with prosperity abound:  
But leave them who grow poor to sit alone:  
Such friends when trial comes are quickly gone.  
Of this we find examples every day:  
Some their friends leave for fear, and some betray.  
The end with the beginning must agree.  
If any have begun a friend to be,  
Because 'tis needful: or if he suppose  
That if any fit reward of friendship grows  
But in itself alone, 'twill not be ha●d  
To make him against friendship take reward.  
Why do I seek a friend? because that I  
May then have one with whom I'd wish to die:  
Or else accompany to banishment:  
Or with mine own I may his death prevent.  
What thou describest not friendship is, but trade.  
He that minds profit, will himself persuade,  
To look no further. Between amity  
And Lovers passions there's some sympathy:  
Which we may call mad friendship. Yet there's none  
Will love for gain, or for ambition.  
Love of itself, all other things neglecting,  
Allures the mind of men to the affecting  
Of such a seeming beauty, hoping withal  
That this affection will be mutual.  
What then? can lewd effects of lust agree  
With a good cause? But here thou'lt answer me,  
The question is not whether friendship ought  
For it own self or something else be sought.  
If for itself in aught to be desired,  
He may enjoy it that can live retired  
Contented with himself. But how may he  
Enjoy it? as a thing of excellency:  
And must approach it with a mind unshaken,  
With change of Fortune, or with lucre taken.  
He deprives friendship of her Majesty,  
That seeks her only for prosperity.  
A wise man's with himself content. But this  
By some, Lucilius, perverted is.  
They a wise man too much restrain, and think  
That he into his skin should always shrink.  
We must distinguish, and this sense allow:  
A wise man's with himself content; but how?  
To live in happiness, but not, to live.  
For many things must him assistance give  
In this, whereas to that is requisite  
Only a mind that keeps itself upright,  
And contemns fortune. The distinction  
Crysippus makes, must here be looked upon.  
A wise man needs not any thing, although  
He stands in need of many. But we know  
On th'other side a fool does nothing want,  
And yet wants all, by reason he hath scant  
The use of any thing. A wise man needs  
Hands, eyes, and every other thing that feeds  
The being of this life. A wise man's state  
Needs nothing. For to need does intimate  
Necessity: and this we must deny,  
That any wise man's in necessity.  
Though with himself he then be satisfied,  
Yet he needs friends and many would provide.  
Not that he may get happiness thereby,  
For he without friends can live happily;  
The chief good to no outward help pretends,  
But rests at home, and on itself depends.  
If of itself but any part be sought  
Out of itself, 'tis ready to be brought  
To obey Fortune. What condition then  
Of life, will that be of a wise man, when  
Committed to some prison, he's bereavest  
Of friends: or else in some strange Country left?  
Or held in a long Voyage: or given o'er  
By all, is thrown upon some barbarous shore;  
Like that of Jove at the World's dissolution,  
When Heaven and Earth, and gods are in confusion:  
Whole Nature ceasing for a time. He rests  
Wholly within himself, and there invests  
His cogitations: some such thing as this  
A wise man does. He with him still is,  
And therein wrapped. As long as he's permitted  
To rule his own affairs, he's well acquitted  
With only himself. When he thinks fit he marries,  
Brings up his children, yet he lives, and tarries  
Still with himself: though he'll not live if he  
Shall always be debarred of company.  
No profit of his own does him invite  
To friendship, but a natural appetite.  
And as of other things there's an innate  
Sweetness, so of friendship: as we hate  
A solitary life, so we delight  
In company: as nature does incite  
Man, to love man, so by a secret kind  
Of longing, we to friendship are inclined.  
And though he be most fervent in his love,  
Ranks his friends with himself, ofttimes above,  
Yet in himself he seats his good, and says  
As Stilpo 'gainst whom Epicure inveighs  
In that forenamed Epistle: for when he  
His country, wife, and children, found to be  
Destroyed, and lost, he went forth all alone,  
Yet happy still from that destruction.  
And meeting with Demetrius, whose Surname  
From the destruction of Cities came,  
And was called Poliorcetes: who to boast  
His cruelty, asked if he ought had lost?  
All my things are with me, said he, Behold  
A stout and valiant man, who thus controlled  
The victory of his foe. I have, said he,  
Lost nothing. He compelled his enemy  
To question his own conquest. I bear hence  
All that is mine, as Justice, Temperance,  
Prudence, and even the virtue which does make us  
Count nothing good that ever can forsake us.  
We wonder at some creatures which through fire  
Do pass unhurt: we may that man admire  
Much more, whose constant virtue him affords  
A safe, and secure passage both through swords,  
Ruin, and flames. Dost thou not plainly see  
How much 'tis easier to get victory  
o'er a whole nation, than one man alone?  
Such words no less than he the Stoics own.  
Their unhurt goods they carry with the same  
Courage, through cities when th' are in a flame.  
They are contented with themselves, and bound  
Their whole felicity within that ground.  
But lest thou shouldst conceive, that only we  
Scatter abroad such glorious speeches. He,  
Which so reproves this Stilpo, Epicure  
Hath sent out such, to which I would procure  
Thy approbation: though already I  
Have finished my present diary:  
Who thinks not his own goods most large, and stable,  
Though he possess the world, is miserable.  
Or if thou'lt rather have it thus declared,  
(For we must now not words but sense regard)  
Who judges not himself to be most blest  
Would wretched be, though he the world possessed.  
And that from nature's ground, such words appear  
To be in use the Comic Poet hear:  
He is not blest is who not understood  
So by himself. What though thy state be good,  
If thou conceav'st it ill? Or wilt thou say,  
Though he that's basely covetous, perhaps may  
Say he is happy, or he that's Lord of store  
Of servants, but a servant unto more,  
That his report shall therefore make him so?  
Not what he says, but what he thinks, we know,  
Is to be weighed: nor what he thinks to day,  
But at all times. Then do not thou give way  
To the least thought, that such a rare thing can  
Be ere enjoyed by an unworthy man.  
A wise man only with himself's content.  
A fool to self dislike is always bend.   

EPIST. X.  
IT is so, and I do not change my mind,  
Fly many, few, even one. I cannot find  
With whom thou shouldst converse: my judgement must  
Tell thee, that I thee with thyself dare trust.  
Crates a man who did, they say, partake  
Of Stilpo's documents, of whom I spoke  
In my precedent Letter, when he saw  
A young man secretly himself with draw,  
Asked what he did alone? I speak, said he,  
With mine own self. Crates replied, then be  
Careful, that thou speakest not with an ill man.  
We use to be as watchful as we can  
Of those, who are oppressed with grief and care,  
Lest solitude should bring them to despair.  
Imprudent persons should not be alone:  
For at that time their thoughts do work upon  
Ill counsel given, and are plotting then  
The ruin of themselves, or other men:  
Their ill affections they to deeds dispose,  
What fear, and shame kept secret, they disclose;  
Their boldness than they whet, their lusts inflame:  
Stir up their malice, and the very aim,  
And usual benefit of solitude,  
Not to trust any man, and to exclude  
All fear of witness, is ta'en away,  
And lost t'a fool, he does himself betray.  
See therefore now what I may hope of thee,  
What I may promise rather: for to me  
Hope is a word of doubtful good: there's none  
With whom I'd rather wish thee than alone.  
I call to memory with what height of spirit  
Thou spak'st those words so full of strength & merit:  
Which I did then congratulate, and say,  
Those speeches fell not hastily away  
From th'outward lips, but did with sense abound:  
His like is not among the people found:  
He minds the public weal. So speak, so live:  
To base dejection no admittance give.  
Though all thy former vows thou shouldst remit  
Unto the Gods, yet now it will be fit  
Tourge a new request: that thou mayst find  
Sound reason, health of body, and of mind.  
Yet wherefore should I doubt but thou dost use  
Those prayers daily? do not thou refuse  
To ask God boldly, for thou canst not want  
The thing, that is not in his power to grant.  
But that I may, as I am wont to do,  
With an Epistle, send a present too,  
'Tis true which in Anthenadore we read,  
From all thy lusts thou'lt find thyself then freed,  
When in thy prayers to God, thou'rt thus far brought,  
To seek, but what may publicly be sought.  
For what a madness in most men appears?  
To whisper shameful vows into God's ears?  
If any hearken, than away they go,  
They'll tell God what th' are loath a man should know.  
Mark whether this might not be made a Law:  
That we so live with men as if God saw;  
And that we speak to God, as without shame  
We might believe that men did hear the same.   

EPIST. XI.  
I Have conferred with thy ingenious friend,  
And by his first discourse did apprehend  
His mind, his wit, and how already he  
Improves: he gave a taste what he will be.  
For being surprised, his speech was unprepared,  
And after recollection, found it hard  
To shake off bashfulness (a sign of grace  
In young men) blushes so possessed his face.  
Whereof (as I suppose) he will partake  
E'en then, when he all vices shall forsake,  
And be confirmed in wisdom: which we find  
Cures not the natural weaknesses of mind  
Or body: for although wisdom may  
Correct, it cannot take them quite away.  
That which is fixed within, and is innate,  
Art may amend, but not eradicate.  
Many though very stout, in public sweat,  
Like those whom labour puts into a heat.  
In some, when th' are to speak, most parts so alter,  
Their knees will tremble, & their tongues will falter,  
Their teeth will grate, and their lips cling together:  
Nor can these things be quite removed, either  
By use, or rule. Nature will execute  
Her power: and men that are most resolute  
Convince of frailties: among which I name  
Blushing, which seizes with a kind of shame  
Upon the gravest. Though it most appear  
In younger men, who have more heat, and bear  
A weaker forehead: yet it oft lays hold  
On men of years, yea such as are grown old.  
Some men are never to be feared more,  
Than when they blush: as opening then a door  
To cast out modesty. For Sylla, when  
Blood seized his face, was cruelest to men.  
There could be nothing milder than th' aspect  
Of Pompey: for he could not but detect  
His modesty, as oft as he did make  
Open addresses, and in public spoke.  
When Fabianus was a witness brought  
Into the Senate, modesty so wrought  
Upon him, that, I can remember well,  
He suddenly into a blushing fell,  
Which wondrously became him. This does spring  
More often from the newness of the thing,  
Than shame. Nor yet does it so much astonish  
Such as are unaccustomed, as admonish  
Them, in whom that infirmity does grow.  
For as some have their blood more temperate, so  
Others more quick, moving from place to place,  
And thereby apt to fly up to the face.  
These (as I said) no wisdom can withstand:  
For if it could all frailties countermand,  
It certainly would be the Sovereign  
Of nature's self. We cannot quite restrain  
What the conditions of our birth involve,  
And body's mixture, though we long resolve.  
These things can be no more removed, than brought.  
Comedians, who by their art are taught  
To represent affections, and t'express  
Trouble, and fear, and the minds heaviness,  
Do bashfulness in this sort imitate:  
Their looks like men in a dejected state,  
Are downward cast: their voice is low, their eyes  
Fixed on the ground: but they cannot devise  
How to command a blush, that neither can  
Be hindrd, nor procured, by any man.  
Here wisdom will nor promise, nor assist,  
'Tis its own law, comes and goes when it list.  
But this discourse requires a sentence now:  
Take it, 'tis wholesome, and I wish that thou  
Wouldst fix it in thy mind. We must some wise  
And honest man propound, and for our eyes  
So place him, that we live as if be saw us,  
And do, as if his sight did always awe us.  
This admonition Epicurus gave,  
(lucilius) appointing us to have  
A keeper, and a tutor: and there's cause:  
For if a witness present be, it draws  
Offenders from their vices. Let's apply  
Our thoughts to one, by whose authority  
Our very secrets may be made more holy.  
O happy he! who can prevent our folly,  
Not only when he's seen, but thought upon.  
O happy he! who can so reverence one,  
That by remembrance of him he amends.  
He that an other can so fear, intends  
To be soon feared himself. Therefore propose  
Cato, or if he be too rigid, choose  
One of a milder temper, Lelius.  
Choose one whose speech, and life's ingenuous:  
Whose countenance to thee declares his thought;  
Let such a one into thy mind be brought  
As an example, or a guardian.  
For, as I say, 'tis needful t'have a man,  
After whose manners we our own may square,  
Without a rule, faults uncorrected are.   

EPIST. XII.  
Where 'ere I go, signs of my age appear.  
I come into my country house, and there  
Complain of the expense which the decays  
Are like to put me to: my Bailiff says  
The fault is not in him, he to uphold  
The thing does what he can, but th'house is old.  
This house I built, what fate do I lie under  
When walls of mine own age thus fall in sunder?  
The next occasion I take to chide;  
I frowning say, it cannot be denied,  
These plane-trees are neglected, for they bear  
No leaves, their dry bows shrivel every where.  
How full of moss their bodies are? no doubt,  
This could not be, had they been digged about,  
And watered. Strait way, by my Geminss, he  
Protests and swears, there wants no industry  
To make them thrive. But to prevent my rage,  
Tells me the cause of fading is their age.  
These trees I planted, and first saw them grow,  
What difference then 'tween us? to th' gate I go.  
Ask who's ' this so decrepit, and decayed?  
And at the door, as dead men are, is laid,  
(For he the potter was) whence came he? why?  
Dost thou take care of stranger's corpse? say I.  
But he replies, sir, do not you me know?  
I'm he, on whom you used to bestow  
So many fairings: I Felicius am  
Phylositus the Bayliefs son, the same  
That made you sport. This dotard sure mistakes,  
Say I, turns child, and childish pastime makes.  
And it is very likely, his teeth too  
Fall from his gums, as children's use to do.  
I own this to my country house, that I  
My old age wheresoever I look descry.  
Let's then embrace and love it, for 'tis fraught  
With pleasure, if we use it as we ought.  
Apples are best when they are almost gone;  
And childhood is most comely when 'tis done:  
Wine-drinkers in the last carouse delight,  
That drown their cares, inebriat's them outright.  
All pleasure reserves that which is most sweet  
Until the last: and we our age may greet  
With no small joy, at least if that age be  
Declining, not decrepit: though I see  
Even such as stand upon the utmost brink  
Of life, their pleasures have: or we may think  
To need no pleasure, serves in stead of pleasure.  
Do ubtlesse to banish lusts, hath no small measure  
Of sweetness. But thou'lt say, it irksome is  
T' have death before our eyes. I answer, this  
Ought ever to be looked upon, as well  
By young men, as by old. Death does not tell  
The years of men, nor summon by a role.  
None is so old, but he without control,  
May hope to live a day, and yet a day  
Is a degree of life: our whole age may  
Be found by observation to consist  
Of parts, which many orbs together twist.  
One whereof all begirts, which we may call  
Our birth day reaching to our funeral.  
Another the full space of youth unfolds  
And one our childhood in its circle holds.  
there's then a year in which all times enclosed  
Whereof, b'ing multiplied, our lives composed.  
A month hath a less orb, a day the least,  
Yet this gins, and ends from East, to West.  
And therefore Heracletus, whose known mark,  
Was from dark say to be called dark,  
Was wont to say, one day's the same withal.  
This hath by sundry men had several  
Interpretations: he said it was  
The same in hours, and that for truth must pass.  
Because if from a day the time proceeds  
Of four and twenty hours, all days must needs  
Be equal in themselves, for the night hath  
That which the day hath lost. Another saith  
One day is equal in similitude  
To all. The longest time cannot include  
More than one day, light, darkness, and  
Th'alternate course, by which the world does stand  
Longer or shorter makes no difference,  
For there is still the same circumference.  
We therefore all our days must so dispose,  
As if we finished and completed life, like those  
Who use in armies to bring up the rear.  
Pacuvius, who by abiding there,  
Made Syri'a his own country, when with wine,  
And funeral Feasts he used t'inshrine,  
From supper to his chamber borne with rites,  
And lewd applause of his stolen catamites,  
Caused this to be with airy music sung,  
He ' hath lived, he ' hath lived, and thus his whole house rung.  
What he with an ill conscience did, we may  
Do with a good, and blithe and jocund say,  
As oft as we ourselves to sleep present,  
I have lived, and past the time that nature lent.  
If God be pleased to add another day,  
We should receive it thank efully, and may  
A count him very happy, and a man  
Fixed in th' enjoyment of himself, that can  
Expect the morrow without anxious care.  
Whosoe'er says I have lived, does prepare  
To rise next day to profit? 'tis fit now  
I finish my Epistle. But, sayest thou,  
Shall it to me without advantage come?  
Fear not, it shall bring some. Why said I some?  
Much. For what words more excellentcan be,  
Than these which I give him to send to thee?  
To live in need is ill, but 'tis agreed  
there's no necessity to live in need.  
Why should I not say none? since every where  
The way to liberty is short and clear.  
Thanks be to God no man is forced to live:  
We to necessity itself may give  
The law. But thou wilt say, this came  
From Epicurus, why dost thou lay claim  
To what's another's? what is true, is mine.  
His sayings I'll inculcate with design  
T' have such as so engage to men, that they  
Value their persons, more than what they say,  
In the assurance of this truth to rest,  
Those things belong to all which are the best.   

EPIST. XIII.  
I Know thou hast much courage; for I find,  
That even before I seasoned thy mind  
With precepts which are wholesome, & prevail  
Against adversity, thou didst not fail  
To satisfy thyself 'gainst fortune's power.  
And much more than when she began to lower,  
And made thee come to handy blows, whereby  
Thou hadst occasion thy strength to try.  
For as we never can be confident,  
Till threatening dangers sundry fears present,  
And sometimes set upon us. So the stout  
And constant mind resolving to cast out  
All base subjection to another's will,  
Is trieed by danger, that's the touchstone still.  
He is not like the combat to make good  
That hath no scars. He who hath oft lost blood  
And in the fight grated his teeth, and though  
Repulsd, hath rushed again upon his foe.  
He, who though often falling, letting not  
His courage fall, as often up hath got,  
Will enter with more confidence the list,  
Then let me in this simile persist.  
Fortune hath oft lain heavy on thee, yet  
Thou didst not yield, but always from her get,  
Returning with more courage: virtue thrives  
By provocation, and by wounds revives.  
Yet if thou thinkest it meet, from me accept  
Some aid, by which thou'lt be in safety kept  
There are, Lucillus, may things which scare  
Rather then hurt: most of our dangers are  
More in conceit then truth: to thee I speak  
Not the strong words of Stoics, but more weak.  
For we say, all those things which do wring forth  
Howl and groans, are slight and little worth.  
Let's pass by these great words, though, good Gods, true!  
I wish that thou wouldst only this pursue,  
Not to anticipate thy ill, or make  
That imminent, which ne'er perhaps will take  
Effect, at least is not already come.  
Some things more trouble us than they ought & some  
Before they ought: some other things perplex us  
Extremely, which ought not at all to vex us.  
We grief augment, or feign, or else forestall.  
As for that other which between us does fall  
In question, we'll defer it: what I deem  
To be but light, thou heavy wilt esteem.  
For some, I know, under the whip will smile,  
And others at one buffet groans the while.  
But whether these things from their own strength flow,  
Or from our weakeness we'll hereafter show.  
Mean time do thou but this: when any shall  
Seek to persuade thee thou art wretched, call  
Thy reason to thee, and consider well  
What thou dost feel, and not what others tell.  
Say to thyself with patience, who knowest best  
Thine own condition, why have these expressed  
Such grief for me? why do they tremble so,  
And fear to touch, or to come near? as though  
Calamities infection did contain:  
Does any hurt, in what they fear, remain?  
Is not the thing reputed to be ill,  
Rather than so indeed? be therefore still  
Ready t' interrogate thyself, and say  
Whether do I without a cause give way  
To trouble, and vexation? do I make  
That ill, which is not? what course shall I take,  
Sayest thou, to know if what disturbs my rest  
Be true or false? to try that here's a test.  
We troubled are either at present things,  
Or future, or at both. Sense easily brings  
A judgement of things present: if unbound  
Thy body be and in thy power, and sound,  
And if no injury procures thy woe;  
What future is thou afterward shalt know:  
That is not this day's work. But 'tis expected.  
How art thou sure the ill will be effected?  
For we with jealousies much troubled are;  
And that which oftentimes procures a war  
Report, will much more work on each of us.  
'Tis very true my dear Lucilius,  
We quickly to opinions do adhere,  
And question not the thing that causes fear:  
Nor do we shake it off, but thereat tremble:  
And turning so our backs we much resemble  
Those, whom the dust made by a flock of sheep  
Drives from their tents, or that are struck with deep  
Astonishment, at some strange fable bred  
Among the vulgar, without author spread.  
False things, I know not how, do more molest,  
Whereas the true within their measure rest.  
Whatse'ver an uncertain rumour sends,  
Is subject to conjectures, and depends  
On the construction of a fearful mind.  
And therefore Panic above other kind  
Of fears, is carried on with violence,  
Those without reason are, this without sense.  
Then let's make further search. Some future ill  
Is like t'ensue, we are not sure it will.  
How many ' unexpected things fall out?  
How many ' expected are ne'er brought about.  
But say they should hereafter chance. Yet why  
Shouldest thou make haste to meet thy misery?  
When ill does come thou soon enough wilt grieve.  
In the mean time do thou the best believe.  
What shall I gain by thy credulity?  
Time. Many things may intervene, whereby  
Th'approaching danger may be stopped, or past:  
Or else upon an others head be cast.  
A raging fire hath oped away to flight.  
And some have from a ruin'd house fallen light.  
Some from the stroke of death have been reprieved  
And have the executioner furvived.  
For even il-fortune hath its levity,  
It may, or may not come. And therefore I  
Advile thee while 'tis not, to think the best.  
Oft-times when no true fignes do manifest  
Ensuing ill, the mind vain things pretends:  
And either doubtful words misapprehends,  
Or when another is with us offended,  
Conceives far more, than is perhaps intended:  
Not weighing how much anger he does show,  
But to what height an angry man may go,  
If fear be what it may, there will be found  
No cause of life, of misery no bound.  
Let wisdom here assist: by strength of mind  
Let's now reject the fear, whereof we find  
Apparent cause: at least let error chase  
Error away, and let hope fear displace.  
Of those things which are feared there's none so sure,  
But it is surer, that what does procure  
Both fear and hope, deceives us. Let us then  
Take care t'examine fear, and hope, and when  
All things are found uncertain, let us do  
For our own ease what  most mind unto.  
And though there be more arguments of fear,  
yet let us this course follow, and forbear  
To toil and vex ourselves, and keep this still  
Fixed in our minds, thus most men, though no ill  
They feel, nor certain are they ever shall,  
Do ner'thelesse into distempers fall.  
For no man makes resistance when he finds  
Fear once begin to trouble him, or minds  
How to find out the truth. No man resorts  
To reason, when his ears meet sad reports.  
Or says the author's vain, and being vain  
Does either vainly credit them or feign.  
We yield up our belief to what we hear:  
And doubtful things, as they were certain, fear.  
We keep no moderation in our error,  
A scruple soon converts into a terror.  
I am ashamed such language to devise,  
And cherish thee with such slight remedies.  
Let others say perhaps this will not be:  
But thou, what if it happen? we shall see  
Whether it will or not. 'Twill come perchance  
For my behoof, death will my life advance.  
Poison made Socrates more great. If we  
The sword, th'assertor of his liberty,  
Wrist out of Cato's hand, we then detract  
Much, from the glory of so brave an act.  
But too much time is in advising spent,  
T'encourage thee is more expedient.  
I do not lead thee to those ways which thwart  
Thy nature, thou for these things framed art.  
Then let not thy endeavours be forborn,  
Thy innate gifts to cherish and adorn.  
But I shall end my Letter now, if I  
Set to the seal, that is, if I apply  
Some gallant phrase that to our use relates.  
Follie 'mong other ills, appropriates  
This also, that it still gins to live.  
If to the meaning of these words thou'lt give  
(lucilius the best of men) good heed,  
Thou'lt understand what sordid things proceed  
From the vain thoughts of men, who daily mind  
New ways of life, and when even death they find  
Approaching, they vain hopes of life pursue.  
Look round about, and thou shalt often view  
Old men that are prepared to venture on  
Long journeys, business, and ambition.  
Yet nothing can be found of greater scorn,  
Than an old man beginning to be borne.  
I should not add an author to this speech,  
But that it is more hidden from the reach  
Of vulgar ears, and is not found among  
Those say that by Epicure are fling  
Abroad, and into common use are grown,  
Which I have both approved, and made mine own.   

EPIST. XIV.  
I Yield there is in us an inbred care  
Of our own bodies: I confess they are  
To be preserved. But though I not deny  
Indulgence due to them, yet slavery  
I do deny. For who the body serves,  
Who out of fear for that, from reason swerves  
Too much, whose sole regard to that is tied,  
He surely will serve many things beside.  
We must dispose our actions, not as though  
We for the body ought to live, but so  
As we without the body cannot live:  
The too much care whereof does often give  
Tormenting fears, load's us with sorrows, flings  
Contempt upon us, and reproaches brings.  
Whos'ever his own body too much prizes,  
All other things that honest are, dispises.  
Let a strict care thereof be had, yet so,  
That when the duties we to reason own,  
To honour, and fidelity require,  
Let's not refuse to cast it into fire.  
Yet let us shun, as much as in us lies,  
Not only harms but incommodities.  
Let us our safety mind, and not forbear  
A daily care t'avoid the things we fear.  
Whereof there are three kinds, as I suppose,  
Want, sicknesses, and all the ill that grows  
From an offended power, of which none beats  
So fiercely on us, as what power threats.  
That raises tumults, and a noise does make;  
As for those other which from nature take  
Their ground, want, sickness filently appear,  
And with no terror strike the eye or ear:  
This comes with dreadful pomp, fire, sword, and chains,  
And savage beasts sent in with horr'id pain's  
To humane breasts: here may we also look  
Upon a prison, gibber, rack, or hook:  
Stakes through the mouth forced from the fundament,  
And members by driven horses piecemeal rend:  
The coat with combustible matter anointed,  
And what else cruell-tyrants have appointed.  
'Tis then no wonder if the fear of this  
Be greatest, whose varieties great is,  
And preparation terrible. For as  
A Torturer the sooner brings to pass  
His purpose, when with sundry instruments  
Of various torments he himself presents.  
(For they who else with patience would hold out  
By that dire pomp to yield are brought about)  
So of such things as tame and quell the thought  
They prevail most that with most show are brought.  
Those plagues are no less grievous, hunger, thirst,  
Impostumes bred, and in the entrails burst:  
Fevers that scald the bowels: but yet they  
Are hid from view, have nothing to display.  
These like great armies by their equipage,  
And dreadful sight o'ercome ere they engage.  
Then let us strive offences to forbear.  
Sometimes it is the people we must fear,  
And sometimes, if a Senate rule the state,  
With the chief men we must ingratiate:  
Sometimes we must of all those stand in awe  
Who of, and to the people give the law.  
Thave all these friends, is hard: it may suffice  
At least, to have them not our enemies.  
A wiseman therefore will not undergo  
The anger of great men, but eat it so  
As mariners do storms, which thou mightst see  
When thou didst cross the Sea to Sicily.  
Rash pilots value not the South-wind's threats,  
Which the Sicilian Sea with fury beats,  
And forces in to whirlpools. They forbear  
The left hand-shore, and to the other steer  
Nearer Carib des where the waters roar:  
But the more wary, they inquire before  
Of men that know the place, of tide and wether,  
And shun the place where whirlwinds meet together.  
here's the condition of a wiseman, he  
avoids the place that dangerous may be;  
But with this caution, not to have it thought  
He does avoid it. Safety much is wrought  
By seeming not to seek it purposely,  
For we accuse the power that we do fly;  
Wherefore we must our thoughts to this inure,  
How from the people we may be secure.  
To do which, first let's shun whats'ever stirs  
Great emulation 'mong competitors.  
Next, let us not be Lords of any thing  
That to the spoiler may great profit bring.  
How smal's the body's spoil? none will pursue  
Man's blood for that mere cause, or very few.  
Gain more than hatred moves. A thief let's go  
An empty traveller. A poor man though  
He be beset is safe. From three things then,  
According to the rules of ancient men,  
We must take special care our lives t'exempt;  
From hatred, and from envy, and contempt.  
How this may, be wisdom alone will show,  
For there's a middle way, though hard to know,  
Whereby into contempt we may not run,  
While we the fear of envy seek to shun.  
Nor while we would avoid suspicion,  
To make ourselves fit to be trod upon.  
Some, 'cause they may be feared, to fear have cause;  
We must be circumspect, for either draws  
An equal danger. Let us therefore fly  
For our own safeguard to Philosophy.  
This not with good men only, but with such  
As are not wholly bad, will grace us much.  
For Oratory, and what else invites  
The people's favour, have their opposites.  
This which is peaceful, and its own work minds  
Can ne'er be scorned: but from all science finds  
A due regard, even from the worst that are,  
For wickedness can never run so far,  
Nor ever against virtue so conspire,  
But that Philosophy will keep entire  
Its name and honour: always with this tie,  
That it be handled calmly and modestly.  
But what? did Cato then phlosophise  
Calmly and modestly, when his advice  
Opposed a civil war? when he between  
Two potent princes armed with rage, and spleen,  
Did intercede: and who, when some contended  
With Caesar, some with Pompey, both offended.  
It is a question whether it were fit  
For a wiseman then at the helm to fit.  
What meanest thou Marcus Cato? the contest  
Is not for liberty, that was suppressed  
Long since: the strife is whether now  
We shall to Caesar or to Pompey bow.  
What's this to thee? thou hast therein no share:  
We must receive a Prince, what needest thou care  
Which shall be he? the better cannot gain  
The conquest, he that shall at length be feign  
To yield, may be the worse: he cannot be  
The better, that obtains the victory.  
I here on Cato's latter years do touch.  
But truly neither were his former such,  
That a wise man might be admitted to  
That rapine, which was like the state t'undo.  
What else did Cato then, but cry aloud,  
Throwing forth empty words, when in the crowd  
Of people, he was spit on, and abused?  
And when he to be carried forth refused,  
They dragged him from the Senate house at last,  
And after all him into prison cast.  
We'll show in time whether a wiseman may  
Suffer his labour to be cast away.  
In the mean while I bid thee look upon  
Those, who from public businesses have gone  
To order their own lives: and without a we  
Of power, to bring mankind to reason's law.  
A wise man public manners never flies,  
Nor draws the people after novelties.  
What then, will he who lives thus be secure?  
This verily I can no more assure  
Than health in temp'rat men, and yet we know  
That health from temperance does chief grow.  
A ship is sometimes in the Haven lost:  
What thinkest thou ' of that which in the sea is tossed?  
He that unsafe is in a quite life,  
What hazard will he run by public strife?  
The innocent do sometimes perish: true,  
But oftener the nocent. He may rue  
The art that he professes, who is hit,  
And wounded through the ornaments of it.  
A wiseman therefore will his thoughts apply  
To reason, not events. Beginnings lie  
In our own power: fortune directs the end,  
Unto whose sentence I'll not condescend.  
But it may bring some trouble, some distress!  
A thief is not condemned to death, unless  
He kill. But now I know thy daily pay  
Is looked for: I gold in thy hand will lay.  
And since of gold I have made mention, take  
What will the use thereof more grateful make.  
He enjoys riches most, who needs them least.  
Tell me sayest thou, the author. 'Tis professed,  
(That thou mayst know what freedom we intent)  
That what belongs to others we'll commend.  
The words to Epicurus appertain,  
Or Metrodore, or other of that train.  
What matter is't who spoke them, they were spoken  
To all. To stand in need of riches is a token  
We are in fear for them: and I suppose  
No man enjoys the thing he fears to lose:  
Or that to which his care is how to add.  
For where much thought of the increase is had  
Th' enjoyment is forgot. His business is  
To make up reckon: and he'll seldom miss  
The market: and as oft as he can spare  
Time from those things, he turns the Calendar,  
And notes when use is to be called for;  
So from a Lord he turns solicitor.   

EPIST. XV.  
IN elder times it hath a custom been,  
And to my age continued, to begin  
Epistles, If thou be'st in health 'tis well.  
And let us likewise say, if thou canst tell  
How to Philosophise 'tis well, for this  
Is health indeed, the mind that wants it is  
But sick: the body too though it be strong,  
Hath only what to mad men does belong.  
Seek therefore this health first, then that which will  
Not cost thee much, if thou'lt be healthful still.  
The exercise that does the arms extend,  
Dilates the breast and sides, I not commend  
To studious men (Lucilius): for although  
Thou shouldst so cram thy paunch, that thou shouldst grow  
T'have brawny limbs, a fat ox yet at length  
Will far exceed thee both in weight and strength.  
Wherefore as much as in thee lies, restrain  
Thy body: to thy mind let lose the rain:  
For many inconveniences attend  
Them, that much pains about the body spend.  
As first all exercise that's violent  
Hurts those, who are to contemplation bend.  
And next, strong meats debilitate the wit,  
And render it for study more unfit.  
Besides, we must conceive of what strange parts  
They be, who are the masters of these arts:  
Men wholly conversant in wine and oil,  
Who think the day well spent, if with much toil  
They sweat enough, and what they sweat out then  
Next morning fasting they restore again  
With other liquor: but much drink and sweat  
Will the cardiacal disease beget.  
There are some exercises which are short  
And easy, which the body's health support,  
And fix, in little time, whereof much care  
Is to be had, of which kind chief are  
Running, and swinging of the arms with weight,  
Capering upright; and sometimes to leap strait  
Forward along the ground, and not refuse  
Sometimes to shake the feet as Fuller's use.  
Thou'lt any of these by practice easy find:  
But yet be sure to look bacl to the mind,  
And to employ it day and night, for that  
Is fed with labour which is moderate:  
This kind of exercise nor heat, nor cold  
Can hinder, no not though we be grown old.  
Pursue that good which better grows by age;  
Nor would I have thee still thy mind engage  
In study, and in writing, but t'allow  
Some respite, lest thou break what thou wouldst bow.  
The motion of a chair, or coach will jog,  
And stir the body, yet the mind not clog.  
Or thou mayst walk abroad, and not forbear  
To read the while, to dictate, speak or hear.  
Nor is't amiss sometimes thy voice to strain;  
But from Musician's notes, and tunes refrain.  
But if the garb of walking thou'dst be taught,  
Get one of those who are by hunger brought  
To these new arts, he will direct thy pace,  
And teach thee how to eat with a good grace:  
And will proceed as far in impudence,  
As thou wilt suffer him with patience.  
But what? shall then thy voice begin with  
It is more natural to let it rise  
By some degrees: as pleaders at the first  
Softly begin, then into clamours burst:  
For none will in the entrance of his speech  
Implore a pardon, and the judge beseech.  
But howe'er thy fervour thee persuade,  
Thou vices sometimes strongly must invade,  
And sometimes mildly, and thereof make choice  
According to thy strength of sides, and voice.  
But when thy voice thou higher shalt extend,  
And then bring lower, let it not descend  
At once, but by degrees: and be thou sure  
To let it keep the master's temprature:  
And that it be not suffered to engage  
Into an ignorant and clownish rage.  
For 'tis not our intent by doing thus  
To exercise our voice, but that to us  
Our voice should be an exercise. But lo  
I've saved thee no small trouble: I'll bestow  
A grateful gift beside that benefit,  
Behold a precept that hath worth in it;  
A fools ' life is unpleasant, and does waste  
In fear, being wholly on the future cast.  
Thou't ask perhaps, who spoke these words? the same  
Which spoke before. But what is this we name  
A fool's life? Is it thinkest thou that  
Of Baba, and Ixion so laughed at?  
No, it is ours: whose blind desires do fly  
Headlong on things which never satisfy,  
But often hurt us: whom if any thing  
Can have sufficed, it had: who do not bring  
Our thoughts to ponder what a sweetness lies  
In seeking nothing: and how high we rise  
When we b'ing full do not for more contend,  
Nor yet on fortune any way depend.  
Wherefore (Lucilius) often call to mind  
How much thoust: how many are behind  
More than before. And if thou'lt shun a strife  
Ungrateful to the Gods, and thine own life,  
Never forget how many thoust outgone.  
But what needest thou mind others? look upon  
Thyself, whom thoust outstripped. Propound an end  
Which thou mayst not be able to transcend,  
Although thou wouldst. These riches which deceive us,  
Better when sought, than had, will one day leave us.  
If any solidness therein were found,  
They'd fill at last the place where they abound:  
But now the drinkers thirst they more excite,  
And always with an outward pomp invite.  
Why should I beg of fortune to bestow  
Upon me that, which she sets out for show  
To catch me with, rather than put this task  
Upon myself, not to be brought to ask?  
But wherefore should I so forget the frail  
Estate of man; that fortune should prevail  
To make me ask? I shall be sure to heap  
Up store of wealth: what thereby shall I reap?  
Labour for labour. Behold time makes haste,  
Or this is my last day, or near my last.   

EPIST. XVI.  
I Know (Lucilius) thou art well assured  
A blessed life can never be procured,  
No not in any reasonable sort,  
Unless to wisdom's precepts we resort:  
And also that such blessedness is stable  
When wisdom is complete, and tolerable  
When it is but begun. Yet thou must make  
This thy assurance better root to take,  
And gather strength by constant meditation.  
It is a work of far more commendation,  
And where in greater difficulties found,  
To perform honest things, than to propound.  
We than should never cease, until we find  
Our fleeting will, turned to a constant mind.  
Wherefore there needs not many words t'advance  
My thoughts of thee, nor so much circumstance.  
I find thou hast much profited, and know  
The things thou writ'st are not set out for show,  
But real and unfaind. Yet i'll declare  
My mind: my hopes of thee already are  
Enough confirmed, not my assurance yet.  
And I in thee would the like thoughts beget.  
Thou shouldst not trust thyself too soon: but try,  
And often search what crannies in thee lie.  
But above all, try whether thou hast learnt  
Philosophy, or the life therein concerned.  
Philosophie's no vulgar work, nor brings  
Vain ostentation; but consists in things,  
And not in words: nor is't to be employed  
'Gainst idleness, or sports where with we are cloyed  
It builds, and forms our minds, our lives disposes,  
Governs our actions, and to us discloses  
What's to be done, what shunned: it is our guide,  
And sets us right when doubts our thoughts divide:  
No man's secure without this. Every day  
Innumerable accidents themselves display,  
In which sound reason must direct our sen●●:  
And that must evermore be fetched from hence.  
But some will say what needs Philosophy,  
If there be an ore-ruling destiny?  
And how can that avail if God command?  
Or how, if no man fortune can withstand?  
Things certain are immutable, and I  
Cannot provide against uncertainty.  
If God dispose my counsels, and decree  
What I shall do, what then is left to me?  
Though some or all of these, Lucilius,  
Be so indeed, yet it is fit for us  
T'embrace Philosophy: for whether fate  
To fixed decrees do us necessitate;  
Or whether God the universal guide  
Do preordain what ever shall betid:  
Or whether chance do cross what we intent,  
Yet still Philosophy must us defend.  
This will persuade us willingly t'obey  
God: but resist with courage fortune's sway:  
This teaches to depend on providence,  
And to bear miseries with patience.  
But here we'll not dispute, how it may be  
That any of our actions can be free,  
If providence overrule; or if a chain  
Of causes bind to what the fates ordain:  
Or else if new and sudden accidents  
Have power to cross and frustrate our intents,  
I now return t'advise there not to let  
Thy mind grow cold, and what it learned, sorget;  
But to confine it to a task, that so  
A passion may into a habit grow.  
But all this while, thou, if I know thee right,  
Expect's some gift from what I now indite.  
Search, and thou'lt find: nor think it strange at all,  
That still of others goods i'm liberal:  
Why said I others? what's well, said I, take  
For mine, as this that Epicurus spoke.  
Thou't ne'er be poor if thou keep'st natures law,  
Nor ere be rich if thee opinion awe.  
For nature with a little is content,  
Opinion to immensity is bend.  
Heap thou to thine own self as vast a treasure  
As some possess: let fortune beyond measure  
Raise thee to wealth: let gold enough be had  
To load thee with: be thou with purple clad:  
Let riches, and delights so much abound  
That thou with marbles coverest the ground.  
Let silver be not for thy use alone,  
But at thy pleasure to be trod upon.  
Add statues, pictures, for an ornament,  
And whatsoever Luxurious arts invent;  
All these will but incite thee to contend  
For more. Our naturaii desires have end:  
Such as from false opinion take their ground  
Can never cease, for falsehood knows no bound.  
He at the length comes home that keeps his way:  
But he that roves will into deserts stray.  
Then leave all vanity: and if thou'dst find  
Whether when thou seek'st any thing, thy mind  
Be led to seek it rather by a just,  
And natural desire, than by blind lust;  
Consider if it can somewhere abide.  
Having gone far, if thou shalt still provide  
To go yet farther, know than thou dost fall  
Upon a thing that is not natural.   

EPIST. XVII.  
IF thou beest wise all these things cast away,  
Nay, that thou mayst be wise, with speed assay,  
And with full force to get a perfect mind.  
If any thing withhold thee, thou mayst find  
How to remove, or cut it from thee quite.  
But thou wilt say domestic cares of right  
REquire my thoughts, which I'll not lay aside  
Until sufficient means I shall provide  
To live at ease: lest poverty become  
To me a burden, or myself to some.  
If thus thou sayest, thou dost not apprehend  
The force of that, to which thou dost pretend:  
But looking on the outside of that good  
Wisdom procures, thou hast not understood  
The inner parts thereof, whereby to know  
What prosit from Philosophy will grow:  
How that to us the greatest things commends,  
And, as we learn from Cicero descends  
Even to the least. Believe me if thou'lt take  
That for thy guide, it will not let thee make  
Count-casting thy delight. But thou wouldst fly  
By these delays the fear of poverty.  
Yet what if that should not be feared but sought,  
For many men by riches have been brought  
To neglect knowledge? poverty is found  
To be secure and free: when trumpets sound  
That knows itself not sought for: when the cry  
Of fire is heard, that seeks but how to fly,  
Not what to carry forth. If there be cause  
To go to sea, that no disturbance draws  
Within the haven, or about the shore;  
Where one alone is followed which such store  
Of servants, and attendants, that there's need  
Of other country's plenty them to feed.  
Where there are few, and they well governed,  
If they but seek to have their bellies fed,  
'Tis done with ease: for hunger is appeased  
With little, gluttony is never pleased.  
There is no more desired by poverty,  
But only pressing want to satisfy.  
Why shouldst thou this companion then refuse,  
Whose manners rich men that are temprate use?  
If thou desir'st to be from trouble free,  
Or poor, or like a poor man thou must be:  
No useful study can be undertaken  
Unless our diligence we oft awaken  
With frugalnesse, and frugalnesse we see  
Is nothing else, but willing poverty.  
Hence then with these excuses: I want yet  
What is sufficient: if I once can get  
The Sum that I propound, in the next place  
I wholly will Philosophy embrace.  
But that which is to thee a second thought,  
And is deferred, should first of all be sought.  
I will provide, sayest thou, wherewith to live;  
Thou must learn also an account to give  
Of thy provision. Although something may  
Hinder thy living well, nothing can stay  
Thy dying well. There is no reason why  
We should be hindered from Philosophy  
By poverty, or more than that, by need:  
Nay yet, a little further to proceed,  
We must for this to hunger us inure,  
Which men in besieged Cities do endure.  
And what reward, do they obtain for all  
Their patience, but only not to fall  
Within the victor's power? how much more great  
Is this, that makes our freedom so complete  
And permanent, that we nor men need fear,  
Nor gods? and truly we should not forbear  
To come to this, although we hungry be.  
Armies we know have suffered penury,  
And said on roots of grass, and things that shame,  
And modesty permit me not to name.  
And all this for a kingdom, and to make  
The wonder more, another's right to take.  
To suffer poverty can any doubt  
That from his mind he may throw madness out?  
We should not therefore first our means enlarge:  
Philosophy receaves us without charge.  
But so it is, when all things else are gained,  
Men are content that wisdom be obtained.  
This they will have to be the last provision  
Of life, or to speak plain, addition.  
But whether thou hast any thing, do thou  
Forthwith embrace Philosophy: for how  
Appears it else, that th' hast not now too much;  
Or whether thy condition be such  
That thou hast nothing, yet resolve to make  
That the first thing whereof thou wilt partake.  
But I shall want what necessary is?  
What necessary is thou canst not miss.  
For nature with the least things will comply,  
And a wise man on nature will rely.  
But if extreme necessities insist,  
He can the world relinquish when he list;  
And by that means no longer need become  
A burden to himself, or troublesome.  
And if he have a little to sustain  
Life, is content: and being not in pain  
For things beyond necessity, bestows  
On back, and belly what to them he owes.  
And being sat, derides the rich man's ways,  
And laughing at his course of getting, says,  
Why dost thou so defer? why dost thou wait  
For use of money put out at a rate?  
Or expect profit from a growing trade?  
Or why that blessed old man dost thou persuade  
To write thee down his heir, since thou mayst pitch  
Upon a nearer way to make thee rich?  
Wisdom exhibits wealth: which on all them  
It does bestow, who riches do contemn.  
But this belongs to others: thou hast more  
Than needful is: look on the age before,  
And thou art in excess. All times present  
To every man what is sufficient.  
I might here end my Letter, but that I  
Have bred thee ill. The Parthian Kings deny  
Admittance without presents, there's no shift  
But at my farewell I must bring some gift.  
And this to me shall Epicurus lend,  
Many by getting wealth have found no end  
Of miseries, but only an exchange.  
Nor should this any way to thee seem strange:  
Since in the mind alone the fault does lie,  
Not in the thing: that which made poverty  
A burden, riches also irksome made.  
For as a sick-man whether he be laid  
Upon a bed of wood, or gold, no ease  
Does find, but carries with him his disease.  
So fares it with a mind that sick is, whether  
It be in wealth or poverty, in either  
It is unsatisfied, and its own ill  
Where ere it be removed does carry still.   

EPIST. XVIII.  
DEcember is a month wherein all sorts  
Of people in the City melt in sports.  
Where luxury such privilege obtains,  
And not gets so publicly the reins,  
As if some odds there should appear to all  
Between days of work, and Saturne's festival.  
Whereas there is so little difference made,  
That we may verify what one hath said;  
In former times 'twas evident and clear  
December was a month, but now a year.  
Wert thou with me, we would confer together,  
What course therein were to be taken; whether  
We should not change at all our former use,  
Or not severely seeming to refuse  
The people's custom, merrily sit down  
At supper with them, and throw off our gown.  
But though at festivals  not refused  
To change our , a thing but only used  
In times of tumuit, and of public woe;  
Yet thou at least if I thee rightly know,  
Who take upon me to discern, dost neither  
Desire that we should become altogether  
Like the cap-wearing multitude, nor yet  
Unlike: unless perhaps we ought to get  
Such power o'er our minds, as not to follow  
Pleasures, even then when all in pleasures wallow:  
It is a certain sign of a fixed thought,  
When that nor goes to ill, nor can be brought.  
This shows we are more resolute and stout,  
To come forth sober from a drunken rout.  
But this more temprate, not to be exempted,  
Nor yet with their ill manners to be tempted.  
It is permitted to us that we may  
Do the same things, although another way.  
For we may keep a feast without excess.  
I find in me so great a willingness  
To prove the firmness of thy mind, that I  
By the advice of wisemen will apply  
To thee this counsel: Let some time be had  
Wherein-thou faring coursely, and being clad  
As meanly, mayst thus say: Behold the thing  
That is so terrible, my mind I'll bring  
While I am in prosperity t'abide  
Hardship, and will, while fortune smiles, provide  
Against her frowns. Soldiers in time of peace  
Do exercise their arms, and never cease  
To keep their guards, and to make works, although  
They apprehend no danger of a foe.  
They in unnecessary pains proceed,  
To be thereby prepared in times of need.  
That which thou wouldst not fear when it does come,  
Practise before. This course is used by some,  
Who every month do practise poverty,  
And bring themselves even to necessity:  
That they who daily are therein concerned,  
May never fear what they have often learned.  
I would not have thee think that I intent  
By this my admonition, to commend  
To thee a custom practised now a days,  
To sup alone, and in a cottage, ways  
That luxury devises, to avoid  
The superfluity wherewith it's cloyed.  
But I would have thee lodge, be clad, and feed  
As coursely, as thou truly wert in need.  
Three or four days together thus employed,  
And sometimes more, the thing will be enjoyed  
By thee at length as an experiment,  
Which was before but a mere compliment.  
Then will thy joy (Lucilius) be great,  
When fed but with two farthings-worth of meat,  
Thou't find no need of fortune to suffice thee,  
Things needful she though angry not denies thee.  
Nor is there cause for thee to think therefore  
That thou dost much, for thou shalt do no more,  
Than many thousand slaves and poor men do,  
Save only that thou art not forced thereto.  
Nor wilt thou find more difficulty when  
'Tis always done, than when but now and then.  
Let's exercise though but against a stake:  
And that hereafter Fortune may not take  
Us unprovided, let our constant care  
Bee, to make poverty familiar:  
We more securely riches shall possess,  
When poverty we know brings no distress:  
The great voluptuous master Epicure  
Had certain times, when hunger he would cure  
Despitefully, to see if his full pleasure  
Did yet want any thing, and in what measure.  
And whether it were worthy to be sought  
With carefulness, and with great labour bought.  
For so he says in certain Letters sent  
To Poliaenus, when the government  
Was in Charines': where he does much boast  
His dinner did not a full farthing cost:  
But Metrodor's a whole one, who had not  
So far in that proficiency yet got.  
Then wherefore should this diet not suffice  
Thy appetite? when pleasure therein lies:  
Yea pleasure that will constantly abide,  
And will not often need to be supplied  
For although water and course batter fried,  
Or crusts of barleybread be things denied  
To be delightful, yet it is the height  
Of pleasure, that we can therein delight:  
And bring ourselves to that which fortune can  
Though wicked, not deny to any man.  
The food allowed to prisoners is more large,  
And men condemned are not by them whose charge  
It is to execute, so strictly fed.  
Then what great courage in that mind is bred,  
Which of its one accord to that descends,  
Which they feel not whom th'utmost woe attends?  
This is t'anticipate the strokes of fortune.  
Wherefore (Lucilius) let me tree importune  
Now to begin these men to imitate:  
And to design some days thine own estate  
So to neglect, that thou mayst suffer want:  
With poverty learn to be conversant.  
My friend, take courage riches to despise,  
And worthily to Godlike honour rise.  
For no man can resemble God, but he  
Who contemns riches. I forbidden not thee  
To possess wealth: but I would have thee bear  
It so, as to possess it without fear.  
Which thou wilt do, if thou canst be assured  
That happiness without wealth is procured:  
If thou on riches shalt so cast thine eye,  
As if they were to departed presently.  
But I must now to a conclusion grow;  
But first thou'lt bid me pay thee what I owe.  
I'll thee assign to Epicurus, he  
Shall reckon, and thy paymaster shall be.  
From extreme anger, madness does ensue.  
Thou needs must understand this to be true,  
Since thou findest thy condition to be so,  
That thou hast both a servant and a foe.  
This passion works on all men, and does move  
Not only from malignity, but love:  
Not only from things serious, but from small,  
And things of sport. Nor is't material  
From how great cause it comes, but in what mind  
It falls. For as no difference we find  
In what proportion fire is thrown, but where:  
For we may cast the greatest without fear  
On wet or solid places, where as dry  
And combustible matter suddenly  
Will feed a spark into a ruin: So,  
My dear Lucilius, anger that does go  
On in a violence, will soon engage  
Itself, into a mad, and frantic rage.  
We then as well for health's sake this must shun,  
As not into intemperance to run.   

EPIST. XIX.  
AS often as I read thy letters, I  
Rejoice: & am with good hope filled thereby.  
For they in thy behalf not only make  
A promise to me, but do undertake.  
On then, I thee entreat, finish thy task.  
For there is nothing I can better ask  
Of any friend, then for him make request;  
Steal if thou canst from cares, if not. th' hast best  
Snatch thyself off; we time enough have spent  
In vanities: Let's be in age content  
To pack up our commodities. Then how  
Are we to blame?  lived at sea, let's now  
Die in the port. Yet thou shouldst not protense  
To get a public name by thy recess:  
Which thou must neither glory in, nor hid.  
For I'll not seek to draw thee so aside,  
As our of hateful sulsinesse to keep  
No company, but in some hole to creep.  
Let thy retirement then appear to us,  
But let it not become notorious.  
Such as have yet no course of life begun,  
May live obscure, and all acquaintance shun.  
But thou canst not: the vigour of thy wit,  
And learned eloquence adorning it,  
Thy noble correspondencies have shown  
Thee to the open world: th' art so well known,  
That though thou shouldst resolve to lie concealed,  
Thy worth by former things will be revealed.  
Thou canst not live in darkness, wont light  
Will find thee out where ere thou tak'st thy flight.  
Without distaste of any, without blame  
From thine own self, thou quietness mayst claim.  
For what shalt thou forsake that thou canst say  
Is with ill will forsaken? Clients? they  
Do not seek thee, but something from thee. Friends?  
Friendship was valueed once: it now contends  
For prey. Will th'old-man whom thou dost forsake  
Altar his will? the Client him betake  
TO an other gate? no great thing can be bought  
At a cheap price. Take this into thy thought,  
Whether thou findest they have relinquished thee,  
Or some of those things which thy evils be.  
I could have wished thou hadst remained within  
The bounds of thine own birth, and hadst not been  
Raised to that height! a quick prosperity  
Far from a happy life hath placed thee:  
Commands, and governments, and what depends  
Thereon: and yet more honour thee attends,  
Place after place; what wilt thou have at last?  
On what design will thy vast hopes be cast,  
Ere thou first still? thy full desire thou'lt gain?  
That cannot be, for as there is a chain  
Of causes whereto fate, they say, is knit,  
So is there of desire, and like to it:  
One takes beginning from an others end.  
To such a kind of life thou dost descend,  
As of itself can never come to check  
Thy grievances. Wherefore withdraw thy neck  
Worn with the yoke, which to cut off is less  
Offensive than to let it still oppress.  
If thou t'a private life shalt have recourse  
All things will be much less, yet will have force  
To fill abundantly: whereas the most  
Now fetched with charge from many a distant coast  
Will not suffice. To which hast thou most mind,  
In want t' abound, or be in plenty pinned?  
Felicity both greedy is, and must  
Be still exposed to others greedy lust.  
As long as thou shalt unsuffysed abide,  
Others with thee will not be satisfied.  
But how (sayest thou) shall I get off? lay hold  
On any means. Think with thyself how bold,  
And rash for money thou hast often been:  
How diligent that thou mightst honour win.  
Something must be attempted then for rest:  
Or else thy daily pains to manifest  
Thy care of this man's business, now and then  
To perform civil offices to men,  
Will force thee to grow old in toil, and dwell  
In miseries, to which thou canst not tell  
Which way with modesty an end to give.  
For what avails it that thyself wouldst live  
In peace? thy fortune will not: which even yet  
If suffered to grow greater, will beget  
As much new fear as profit. I will now  
Maecenas quote, who did the truth avow  
Even from the rack where favour him had laid:  
For height itself is with great height dismayed.  
If thou inquirst where this is to be read,  
'Tis in his book which is entitled  
Prometheus. By which saying this is meant,  
That greatness hath the greatest discontent.  
How then can any power be so much worth,  
That thou such words of surfeit shouldst bring forth?  
He was a man of wit, and like from thence  
To have produced to Roman eloquence  
A great example, had not happiness  
By weakening, nay by gelding made him less.  
Lo this will be the end, if thou before  
Shalt not take in thy sails, and make to shore,  
As he too late intended. I could let  
This sentence of Maecenas pass for debt:  
But thou, if I mistake thee not, wilt hold  
It fit to be paid in coin that's old.  
And therefore Epicurus here shall lend  
The money, which for payment I intent.  
We ought, says he, with seriousness to think  
Rather with whom, than what we eat and drink.  
For they who at flesh meals a friend refuse,  
Led but the life that Wolves and Lions use.  
This will not thy condition be, unless  
Thou dost retire: thou'lt else, I must confess,  
Have guests, but those thy Nomenclator shall  
In order from a heard of clients call.  
Who hires a servant at the door, or makes  
Friendship with any at a feast, mistakes.  
A public person, one that is beset  
With his own happiness, hath never met  
With greater ill, than when he thinks h'hath got  
Those men his friends t'whom he himself is not:  
Or else believes that his large courtesies  
Bestowed on men will be sufficient ties:  
Since some the more theyare tied, the more they hate:  
A small debt will a debtor alienate,  
A great one bring him to turn fo. What then?  
Are benefits no pledges among men?  
Yes, if we choose receivers; if no waist  
Be made, but that they be with judgement placed.  
Then since to be thyself thou dost begin,  
Let this sage counsel on thy reason win,  
To think it much concernible to know,  
Not what, but upon whom thou dost bestow.   

EPIST. XX.  
IF thou beest well, and thinkest that thou art grown  
So worthy, as at length to be thine own,  
I'm glad. For 'twill my glory be, if I  
Free thee from storms thou hadst no hope to fly.  
But this I crave, Lucilius, and entreat,  
That thou wouldst give Philosophy a seat  
Within thy breast, and let some proof be shown  
Of what thoust gained, not by bare words alone,  
And writing, but by constancy of mind,  
And by thy lust's abatement: Let words find  
Credit by actions. They who do declaim,  
And seek by eloquence to get a name,  
Have their designs; and they who catch the ears  
Of idle youth with vain disputes, have theirs.  
Philosophy instructs to do, and not to say:  
And requires this of all, her rules t'obey:  
That our whole life should with our words agree,  
And not by different actions changed be.  
Wisdoms chief work, and office hereto tend,  
That words and deeds drive only at one end.  
But who will this perform? Few, yet some will.  
'Tis difficult: a wise man must not still.  
Go the same pace, but ever the same way.  
Upon this observation therefore stay:  
Does thy apparel and thy house descent?  
Art thou to thine own self munificent,  
But sordid to thy servants? Dost thou feed  
With frugalness, in building yet exceed?  
Lay hold upon one certain way to live,  
And thereby to thyself directions give.  
Some bear it low at home, abroad live high.  
There is a fault in this diversity,  
And shows the mind is weak, and cannot guide  
Itself, but suffers it to start aside.  
And I will now declare to thee whence springs  
This levity, this difference both of things,  
And counsels. No man to himself propounds  
What he would have, or goes upon firm grounds;  
Or if he do, he will not persevere,  
But suddenly another course will steer.  
Nor does he only change, but back ward look,  
Resuming what with hatred he forsook.  
And therefore that I may the course decline,  
Which th'Ancients used wisdom to define,  
And briefly comprehend our lives whose frame;  
Wisdom what is't? To will and nill the same.  
Yea though we add not this distinction,  
That it be always right we go upon.  
For there is nothing that can always please  
unless't be right. Most men have this disease,  
They know not but at th'instant while their will  
Is strongly bend, what will their mind fulfil.  
Nay very few do fully know what they  
Would, or would not. men's judgements always stray,  
And turn to th' contrary. The greater sort  
Do for the most part make their life a sport.  
Therefore where thou beginnest press on: perchance  
Thou either to the highest shalt advance,  
Or know alone there's not a highest yet.  
But how thou'lt say, shall all my followers get  
A livelihood? if thou shalt not proceed  
To feed that troop, it then itself will feed:  
Or what thy bounty would not let thee know,  
Thou shalt be sure thy poverty will show.  
This will discover true and faithful friends:  
Whosoever shall departed had other ends  
Than only thee to serve; for this alone  
Should poverty be liked, it makes it known  
Of whom we are beloved. When shalt thou see  
That day, wherein thy honour will not be  
Dissembled with? let then thy thoughts retire  
All hither, thy whole care, and thy desire.  
All other wishes to the God's release,  
That with thyself thou mayst remain in peace:  
And with the fruits thence growing be content:  
For what felicity can represent  
God more? reduce thyself to things though small,  
Yet such as thou from them canst never fall.  
And that this may be done with willingness,  
The tax that on this Letter I assess,  
Shall further it, which I from Epicure  
Will borrow, though thy envy I endure.  
Thy words, believe it, will have more renown,  
When uttered from a homely couch and gown.  
For they will not be spoken then alone,  
But be for truth by demonstration known.  
And how indeed can I think otherwise  
Of our Demetrius sayings, when he lies  
Naked, and little better than in straw?  
We then from him not only precepts draw  
Of truth, but testimony. What? therefore  
May not a man contemn wealth having store?  
Why not? that man enjoys a noble mind,  
Who though he takes the wealth that he does find  
Is heaped upon him, yet does often sit  
To recollect himself, and laugh at it:  
And rather hears he's rich than feels. 'Tis much  
In riches company to have no touch  
Of the infection. He's more great that's poor  
In midst of wealth, but he that wants is more  
Secure. But thou wilt say, I cannot tell  
How this would bear't, if into want he fell;  
Nor do I know says Epicure how he  
That's poor would riches bear, if they should be  
Upon him cast. Therefore we must in either  
Respect the mind, and must consider whether  
This can indulgent be to poverty,  
Or that to wealth use no indulgency.  
For otherwise a homely bed and gown  
Are but slight arguments, unless't be known  
Whether he of his own accord does choose them,  
Or through necessity be forced to use them.  
But the minds greatness then is manifest,  
When we make haste to these things as the best,  
And think them easy too: for sure they are  
Easy: and if, Lucilius, thou'lt prepare  
Them with premeditated thoughts to greet,  
Believe it thou wilt also find them sweet:  
For therein that especially does lie,  
Without which nothing's sweet, security.  
Wherefore I judge it necessary now,  
And great men, as I say, have don't, t'allow  
Some certain days, our plentiful estate  
To lay as't were aside, and imitate  
True, by imaginary poverty.  
And this so much the rather we should try,  
Because we drenched are in daily pleasure,  
And all attempts as difficult do measure.  
We must be rousd from sleep with a sharp touch,  
And showed that nature stands us not in much:  
For no man is borne rich, whosoe'er is sent  
Into the world is bid to be content  
With milk and clouts: from these beginnings we  
With Kingdoms hardly can sufficed be.  
The order is intermitted in the two following Epistles.   

EPIST. XXVI.  
I Told thee lately old-age did appear  
To be before me: now, I rather fear,  
'tis left behind me. Therefore some new term  
Must fit these years, this body so infirm.  
Because indeed old age is chief meant  
Of age that's weary, not of age that's spent.  
Put me among decrepit men, and such  
As ready are the brink of life to touch.  
Yet I rejoice with thee that I do find  
Time's injury in body, not in mind.  
For vices only, and what served t'uphold  
And minister to vices, are grown old.  
My mind is lively and is joyful too  
That with the bodied has not much to do.  
A great part of the burden that oppressed  
The soul, is off. She ships, and does contest  
With me 'bout age. She says it is her youth.  
And we may well believe it to be truth:  
She than improves. I joy to think what I  
Own in this time of rest and modesty  
To wisdom, what to age: and strictly search  
What things I cannot, what I would not reach.  
And whether I can any thing effect,  
Which I would rather utterly reject.  
For if I cannot do a thing that's bad,  
Then that I cannot do it, I am glad.  
What damage therefore can a man pretend,  
When he finds that which ought to end, to end?  
It is the greatest damage thou wiltsay,  
To waste, to pine, or rather melt away.  
For we are not with sudden violence  
Laid prostrate, but are gently carried hence.  
Each day draws something from our strength. What death  
Can then be better than to puff out breath  
When nature's spent? not that there's any ill  
In wounds, or other accidents which kill.  
But because this is a more easy way  
To be with-drawn after a soft decay.  
For my part, as if trial were at hand,  
And that day, to whose sentence I must stand  
For all my times expense, I'm thus prepared  
To say: whats'ever I have yet declared  
By deeds or words is nothing: those I find  
To be deceitful pledges of my mind:  
And were wrapped up in many an outward show;  
I must trust death if I the truth would know.  
I do not therefore fearfully expect  
That day, wherein I plainly shall detect,  
Whether when arts and fallaces departed,  
I speak great things, or have them in my heart.  
Whether I wore a vizard to disguise  
When I with boldness fortune did despise.  
Remove men's estimation which is still  
Uncertain, and mistakes both good and ill.  
Remove thy studies, thy whole life's chief care,  
And death of thee true judgement will declare.  
This I would say: disputes and learnt discourse,  
And all that observation can enforce  
From precepts of wise men, with readiness  
Of language, cannot the mind's strength express.  
For many very timorous, and weak  
In resolution, often boldly speak.  
It plainly will appear what thou hast done  
When thy toll is departing. I'll not shun  
The judgement: but will cheerfully assent  
To the condition. This to me is meant.  
Yet thou must also think that I impart  
My mind to thee. 'tis true thou younger art?  
What's that? Years are not numbered. 'tis a doubt  
In what place death will come to find thee out.  
And therefore be thou ready to embrace  
And meet him willingly in any place.  
But I would end this Letter, and my hand  
Is near the close. Yet rites, I understand,  
Must be performed, and portage must be paid.  
I need not tell on whom the charge is laid.  
Thou know'st whose chest I use. Do thou but stay  
A while, and I myself these debts will pay.  
In the mean time disbursement I'll procure  
Of this intended sum from Epicure,  
Who thus hath said. Think whether it be more fit  
That death should come to us, or we to it.  
The meaning of these words does open lie.  
It is a noble work to learn to die.  
'tis needless, thou perhaps wilt say, to learn  
What we can use but once? we may discern  
The reason of the needfulness from thence.  
For when we cannot have experience  
That we have learned: we are obliged thereby  
To practise such a thing continually.  
Contemplate death, He bids us, who says so,  
Contemplate freedom. Who to die does know,  
Knows not to serve: he o'er all power prevails,  
At least is out of it. What then are Jails  
To him; or hideous dungeons which do more  
Afflict? he always finds an open door.  
There is one chain that binds us fast. The love  
Of life: which though we should not quite remove,  
Yet we should loosen so, that, when there's cause,  
Nothing should hinder us, or make us pause  
With courage, and alacrity to run  
And do that quickly which must once be done.   

EPIST. XLI.  
THou seek'st a safe and profitable thing,  
If thou endeavour'st, as thou writ'st, to bring  
Thy mind to become good. It is but vain  
To wish, what from thyself thou mayst obtain.  
We need not lift our hands to Heaven, nor crave  
The Sexton's leave that we access may have  
To th'ears of th'image, as if then we were  
More easily heard. For God to us is near:  
Is with us, nay within us. This I say,  
There is a sacred spirit that does stay  
And rest in us: and is our guardian too,  
Observing all the good and ill we do:  
And us, as we use it, it always uses.  
No man is good till God the good infuses.  
Who can without him above fortune rise?  
In great designs with him we must advise.  
In all good men (although we cannot tell,  
What God) a God undoubtedly does dwell.  
If thou to some thick wood shouldst come by chance,  
Whose ancient trees their lofty heads advance  
'Bove common height: whose arms are spread between  
Each other so, no sunshine can be seen.  
The trees so tall: the place so still: the shade  
So strange, that wonder does thy thoughts invade:  
And this in midst of a large champion set,  
Will instantly religious thoughts beget.  
And if we find a cave in rocks much worn,  
By which a hanging mountain is upborne:  
Not made by hands, but by mere nature brought  
To such a hollowness: it strikes a thought  
Of some Divinity to be implored.  
The heads of mighty rivers are adored:  
The deep eruptions of vast floods do claim  
Their Altars, and we consecrate a name  
To sources of warm waters, and some lakes  
A siradinesse, or deepness sacred makes.  
When we behold a man not scared with danger,  
Untouched with lusts, to vain delights a stranger  
Happy in adverse fortune, quiet, when  
Tempestuous storms rage's most: transcending men,  
And equalling the gods: will not our sense  
Tell us we ought this man to reverence?  
Will we not say this doubtless is some Being  
Greater and higher far, than is agreeing  
To reason, to believe that it can be  
Like to the little body which we see?  
Some heavenly virtue thither sure descends.  
A mind that's fixed, and for true worth contends:  
That slights, as quite beneath it all things here,  
And laughs at what we either wish or fear,  
Must needs b'inspird: a thing that so ore-tops  
The rest, subsists not but by heavenly props.  
And therefore the chief part of such a mind  
Descends not hither, but remains behind.  
As the sunbeams do seem to touch the earth,  
Bu● remain there from whence they were sent forth,  
Eve● so a great and holy mind, although  
(Tha● we Divine things may more nearly know)  
It does converse with us, yet never leaves  
Its place but to it's first beginning cleaves.  
There it depends, and thither strives: and is  
That part of us which is our only bliss.  
But what is that? a mind that's understood  
To lean on nothing but its proper good  
For how can greater foolishness be shown,  
Than to praise men for what is not their own?  
Or with great admiration to be struck  
At that, which from thee other men may pluck?  
A golden bridle betters not a horse.  
A Lion with a guilded maine, by force  
And want of 〈…〉, that out of fear  
With a submissive readiness will bear  
Whats'ever is imposed, is looked upon  
In a much different condition  
From him that is un-awd, and is entire  
In courage. This, (as nature does require)  
Fierce in assaults, in dreadful fury, gay:  
And terrible in countenance (which may  
Be called his beauty) far transcends that cold  
And stupid Lion, though adorned with gold.  
We praise a vine if it with grapes abound:  
If with the weight of fruit it touch the ground,  
Who will prefer before this, as a vine,  
That which with golden grapes, & leaves do shine?  
A vines true worth by fruitfulness is known,  
And man commended is for what's his own.  
He hath a gallant family: is possessed  
Of a fair house: he lends at interest:  
Plants and sows much. All these things are not 〈◊〉  
But are about him. That alone can win  
And merit a just praise, which never can  
Be given, or be taken from a man,  
Which is his property. But wouldst thou find  
What is that property? it is the mind.  
And in the mind right reason. For by nature  
A man is found a rationable creature.  
To finish then his good he ought to do  
Completely that which he is borne unto.  
But what is that right reason does direct  
A man to do? what he hath power t'effect:  
In all things his own nature to consult,  
But common madness makes this difficult.  
We thrust each other into vice. How then  
Can any be reduced to goodness, when  
No man to hinder wickedness will strive,  
But into viciousness the people drive?  
FINIS.   

Reader, the Author being out of Town, hath occasioned divers faults to be committed in the Printing of the foregoing Epistles; for which the Printer entreats thee to make a favourable interpretation: some whereof are here set down.  
Page 16 line 1. read know. p. 21. l. 16. 1. It will. p. 22. l. 10. r. teach. p. 33 l 25. r. he is not blest who is. p. 35. l. 1. r. witnesses. p. 38. l. 14 r. 'fore our eyes. p. 39 l. 21. r. Genius. p. 40. l. 16. r. drown's. p. 41. l. last, r. he used himself. p. 42. l. 3. r. airy music. p. 46. l. 13. r. by this. p. 47. l. 14. r. that most men. p. 50. l. 12. r. variety. p. 58 l. 10. r. thoust got. p. 66. l. 3. r. this to me. ibid. l. 21. r. riot gets. p. 71. l. 22. after Snatch thyself off: insert, we time enough have spent in vanities.