L. A. SENECA THE PHILOSOPHER, HIS BOOK OF CONSOLATION to MARCIA. Translated into an English POEM. LONDON. Printed by E. P. for HENRY SEILE, and are to besold at the Tiger's head in St. Paul's Churchyard. 1635. TO THE READER. REader, to offer thee a piece of Seneca Englished, when the whole is Endenized here, and almost every where else, might seem ridiculous; but if his Copious Brevity, and Powerful Facility, two eminencies peculiar to Seneca, be lost, or at the best, but faintly expressed in those several Translations, (as perhaps not to be reached by any Prose but his own) it may be worth an hours' pains to see the same in a new way, more pathetically rendered to the life; which in the opinion of judicious men, thou wilt find in this Poem, provided thou dost not mar it in the reading. PHILOPHRASTES. TO THE NOBLE LOVER OF all Virtues, and Fautor of all Goodness, the Illustrious and truly Religious, JOHN Earl of Bridgewater, Viscount Brackly, Baron of Elsmere, Knight of the Bath, Lord Precedent of Wales, and one of the Lords of his Majesty's most Honourable Privy Council. THe worthiest Subjects (as the Sages say) Be those who be their Country's joyful stay Which Gods due glory, next their Prince's Fame And these three marks do make their best blessed aim; How well's your worth approved to God and Man, Our Church, our King, our Kingdom's witness can, How well your life doth hit this triple white, Whose Goodness, Gravenesse, Greatness, all delight May that bright name shine uneclipsed here Whom all his Country justly holds most dear; Whom Heaven hath stellified for's Piety, Whom his great King loves for's loyalty. O may this threefold twist be ne'er untwined, Long may Learning of you a sure friend find. May Honours Pinnace Fame's swollen sails admit, Tackled with merit, Piloted with wit. That as you God, God may you ever honour, The while you fight under Faith's sacred Banner. That as you grace your King, your King may grace you, Your God, your King, your Country may embrace you, With humble heart and voice thus says, thus prays, Who in devout admiring rest always. Most devoted to your Virtues. RC: L. A. SENECA OF CONSOLATION TO MARCIA. Cap. 1 But that I knew thee Marcia to be, As from their faults, from women's weakness free; And that thy manners argue thou wert sent, To reinforce some ancient precedent, I nothing had against thy grief attempted, Since from the like, even men are not exempted. Nor could I hope the time now so unfit, The fault so great, and thou the Judge of it, That any reason could thy will importune, To be appeased, and to forgive thy fortune; But thy known courage, and the large extent Of thy tried virtues, made me confident. 'Tis manifest how in thy Father's case, Thou showd'st thyself, who in thy love had place, As ample as thy Children then alive, Save that thou wouldst not he should them survive, And yet that's doubtful too, great piety Against things fit, reserves a liberty: Thy Father's death, as much as in thee lay, Thou hinderdest, when thou saw'st no other way, For him t'escape the shameful servitude, Which through Sejanus hate had soon ensued, Thou favour'dst not his purpose, but content To yield thyself, and privately lament; Swallow'dst thy groans, yet never hadst the art, In cheerful looks to hide a woeful heart: And this thou didst, when through the wretched times, 'Twas goodness to forbear unnatural crimes; But when an alteration made truth seem Somewhat more safe, thou didst indeed redeem Thy Sire from death, by publishing the wit, Which valiantly with his own blood he writ: Well mayst thou therefore thy great merits boast, For Rome's Records, whereof most part were lost: Posterity that to his endless glory, May freely read an uncorrupted story, Shall render thankes, which he shall likewise give, For that through thee his memory shall live, And flourish here, whilst any of our heirs Shall be desirous to revolve th'affairs Of their forefathers, or shall seek t'inherit The knowledge of a perfect Roman spirit. Whilst any shall require to know a man, Free in thought, word, and action, who even then, When all men's necks so slavishly did bear Sejanus yoke, was wholly void of fear. It had been damage to the public weal, T'have suffered wilful envy to conceal. A work with two such eminencies fraught, Both Eloquence and free revealed thought. he's read, and in men's hands and hearts abides, Where boldly he times menacings derides: But those vile miscreants of whom there needs No memory, but for their damned deeds, Shall ne'er obtain of any tongue to be Hereafter named, though to their infamy. These acts of thine forbade me to look back Upon thy Sex, to weigh what that might lack; Or to respect thy looks, where grief doth rest, And is thereof, as at the first, possessed: Behold how plainly I intent to deal, That do not on thy passions closely steal, But have revived old woes, wouldst thou be sure This may be healed, thoust seen as great a cure. Let others then deceitful medicines borrow, I am resolved to skirmish with thy sorrow, And if thou'lt hear me speak, to make thee know How to dry up those tears, that now more flow From custom then from reason, which I meant, And gladly would perform with thy consent, But if thou shalt in wilfulness persist, I'll do't perforce though thou thyself resist, Although thou hast determined to embrace, And hug thy sorrow in thy dead son's place. But what good can there from our labour rise? All means have been assayed, thy friends, allies, And others whose authority might threat Thy disobedience, have been known t'entreat, For Learning's cause, and for thy father's sake, Yet none could profit longer than they spoke. Yea time itself, Natures best remedy, That heals all woes, hath lost his force in thee. Three years are now expired, and yet at length, Thy grief decays no jot, but gathers strength: Custom hath so prevailed, that now 'tis grown, To make thee think it shame to cease thy moan: For as all vices entering our breast Take root, if they at first be not suppressed; So this and such like wilful discontent, Raging against itself, finds nourishment In its own bane, sorrow that knows no measure, Becomes the wretched creatures deadly pleasure. I therefore could have wished, I had begun This cure betimes, it had been easily done; A wound yet green, the Surgeon may be bold To sear it and to search it, but grown old, And to an ulcer bred, he must be fain To do't with more advice and greater pain; I cannot, as I might have done at first, Heale up thy grief with ease, it must be burst. Cap. 2 I Know that such as to advise intent, Begin with Precepts, with Examples end, I must invert this order, for there's need, That diversely with diverse we proceed; Reason prevails with some, others must hear Of famous persons, that their minds may rear, To things of splendour, therefore I'll produce Two main examples proper for our use, And both of thine own Sex and of this age; The first's of one that unto sorrow's rage, Exposed herself; the second's of another, Who in a greater loss did wisely smother Her passions, not permitting them to sway, But soon reduced her thoughts into the way. These were no meaner pers'nages in life, Then great Augustus' sister and his wife; Both lost their son's young and of fair renown, Equal in hope t'have worn th'imperial Crown: Octavia lost Marcellus, Caesar's joy, Whom as a help he had begun t'imploy In state affairs, he was a Youth of rare Conceit and Judgement, and past all compare, Weighing his years and fortunes for his gift, Of continence and well-beseeming thrift: Patient of toil, to no delights betrayed, Able to bear what ere his Uncle laid, (Or as I may so say without the guilt Of flattery) upon his shoulders built, Whose choife was not with partial conceit, For sure he was a base for any weight. So deeply did the Mother apprehend This Prince's death, that she would never lend An ear to any comfort, but was all Her life time such as at his Funeral; Grief did enthrall her thoughts, which I'll not say She durst not, but refused to disobey; Accounting it a second deprivation, To cease from her resolved lamentation, No picture ever of her dearest Son Would she behold, but his remembrance shun, Envy'ng all Mothers, and was most offended With Livia, to whom she saw descended, The happiness she looked t'have called her own, Her whole desire was still to be alone, Flying the light, and minding not the lays That were composed in Marcellus praise. And careless of all public rites, would hate The too much glory of his Brother's state, Whereof tooth end she might herself deprive, She seemed then to be interred alive. Nor could her Daughters bringing to her sight, Their Children daily, change her mournful plight, Who deemed herself, to their reproach bereft, Although she saw them all in safety left. Cap. 3 SO one after this was Livia's patience tried, By the like fatal blow, for Drusus died, A famous Captain then, and like to be Inheritor of Caesar's dignity; Who with successful fortune did invade The heart of Germany, and there displayed The Roman Ensigns, where the Roman name Was hardly known, so freely was his fame Acknowledged by his very enemies, That they admired his daring enterprise, And in his sickness mutual greetings sent, Scarce wishing that was most expedient: And at his death caused for his Country's sake, Came people from all quarters to partake Of Funeral Duties, who in great remorse, Did Triumph-like to Rome conduct the Coarse. His Mother, as each tender Parent wishes, Had not the means to enjoy his latest kisses; But waiting on the Body many a mile, Was as she went by every flaming pile, So often put in mind of her dead Son, Yet she when once the obsequies were done, Him and her sorrow buried in one Grave, And wept no more than decency might crave, Or then became great Caesar's Majesty, And therefore ceased not to magnify The Acts of Drusus, wheresoever she came, And willingly to speak and hear his name. Whereas none could make mention of the other, But it begat new sorrow in the Mother. Choose then by which Example thou'lt be led, If by the first, esteem thyself but dead; All Children will avoid thee, and thy sight As ominous, all Mothers will affright; No solace will seem fit, thou'lt hate the Sun, And curse thy years that will no faster run, And which is worst, and most against thy mind, Known in the better part, the world may find, And by thy carriage plainly will descry, Thou wouldst no longer live, yet canst not dye. But if this famous Queen thou'lt imitate, Thou shalt not dwell in woe, nor macerate Thyself with cares, 'tis madness to increase Our own regret and hinder our own peace; That temper which in thee hath erst been known, Thou'lt keep, for modesty in grief is shown; And even the Youth himself worthy of rest, By glad remembrance thou wilt make more blessed. Cap. 4 I Will not by more powerful precedents, Attempt to make thee bear humane events, Inhumanely, to dry a Mother's eyes, Upon the day of her son's obsequies; I'll put the case, the question is we see, Whether that grief should great or endless be; I make no doubt but thou dost most approve Livia's example, whom thou well didst love. She calls thee to her counsels, who at first, When sorrows raging fury was at worst, Was willing for her comfort to confer, With Learned Arêus the Philosopher, Which she confessed afforded much relief, More than the Roman people, whom her grief, Would have dejected, more than Caesar's state Which tears of friends ought not to aggravate, Crazed already with that fatal blow, More than Tiberius, whose deserts did show, That in that great and general distress, She was in nothing but in number less. Thus Arêus began (as I suppose) And with his due observer thus did close: Unto this day (for what I ere could see) Who still have kept thy Husband company, And not your public businesses alone, But even your private consultations known: Thou hast endeavoured (Livia) to commit Nothing that justly might be thought unfit, And not in great things only, but in small, thoust taken care, to do no act at all, That the bold censurer of Princes, Fame, Should need to give thee pardon for the same; And sure I think that no one thing doth grace, Such as are set in high and public place, More, than to give free pardon unto many, And yet themselves not ask the same of any: Wherefore observe herein thy wont guise, Do naught thou'dst wish undone, or otherwise. Cap. 5 NExt I entreat thee that thou wouldst not be, Harsh to those friends that come to visit thee, Who as thou seest are doubtful what to do, Whether to speak of Drusus, yea or no, Lest silence should deprive him of his due, Or mention of him, grief in thee renew. We when we meet, his memory retain, But before thee in silence deep remain. Thus want'st thou great contentment, thy Son's praise, Which doubtless thou wouldst with thy hazard raise, If so thou mightst to all eternity, Wherefore permit, or rather call to thee, Such as are willing to repeat his Name, And open thou thine ears to hear the same, And do not think it irksome, like to those, That all advice part of their ill suppose. thoust hitherto the other part intended, And in the worst thy fortune apprehended; Not looking on the pleasures of thy Son, His life, his love, his studies well begun. Thy thought insists on death, the last of things, Whereto, as that were not enough it brings All that it can collect, as if thereby, Thou wouldst be famous for thy misery. Cap. 6 Think with thyself that courage is not shown, In actions of prosperity alone, Nor can we well discern a Pilots skill, When winds blow fair, or when the Seas are still; It is adversity that must express A constancy of mind, and not success. Stoop not therefore, but bear thyself upright, And though at first the noise may thee affright, Endure whatever fortune hath designed, she's ne'er o're-matcht but by an equal mind. He showed her then her Son that did survive, And all her dead Sons Children yet alive. Behold thine own case Marcia; Arêus came To comfort thee, though in another name: And that I may not flatter thee, admit Thy loss so great, that none can equal it; If tears can Fate overcome, let's all consent To spend the day in mournful languishment; Let anguish all night long deny us rest, And let our hands assault our wounded breast, Let fury seize our face, and let all kind Of cruelty be used that grief can find: But if no sorrow can the dead recall, If fate be ever fixed, not moved at all, And Death what once it gets, doth still retain, Let passions cease as altogether vain; And let's be wise, not suffering our sense, To be transported with this violence: It is a shame to see a Pilot quit His necessary charge, and to remit His floating ship unto the Tempest's rage, Not daring in the storm himself t'engage; Whereas he praise deserves that holds the helm, And shipwrecked, strives till Seas him overwhelm. Cap. 9 BUt it is natural, when dear friends dye, To mourn I yield, if done with modesty; And not then only, but when urgent reason Requires their absence from us for a season; The firmest thoughts at parting will relent, And with a kind of grief the same resent: But now opinion hath suggested more Than Nature ere required of us before; Behold the passions of bruit beasts, how strong And violent they are, yet last not long. The Cow but for a time is heard to low, And Mares to neigh, and wander to and fro, Wild Beasts pursuing the vast Woods about The footsteps of their young, to find them out, Do oft review their spoilt Dens in rage, But in short time their wrath doth quite assuage. Birds haunt their empty nests in doleful plight, Yet soon appeased, resume their wont flight. No creature so bewails his young ones loss, As man, who even nourisheth his cross, Lamenting not according to the ill He feeleth, but according to his will. And that it may appear thus to enthral Ourselves to grief, not to be natural; First, Women are more subject to such passions Than men, the wild and barbarous Nations More than the civil, th'ignorant and rude More than such as with learning are endued, Whilst Nature holds the selfsame force in all, That which is various is not natural: Fire burns all people at all times alike Both men and women, irons force doth strike, And cut all bodies of like mixture, why? Nature can never change her property. Want, loss of Children grievously affect This, or that man, whilst some the same neglect: As custom and opinion make them seem, More or less terrible, so men them deem. Cap. 8 YEa further what is natural abides, But time consumes all sadness, and provides A remedy by sorrow-healing age, Against the most perverse unbridled rage. Thy grief continues great, grown hard of late, Not furious as at first, but obstinate; Yet that by slow degrees an end shall find, All business will at present ease thy mind. Now thou dost watch that naught might thee relieve, But whether thou command'st thyself to grieve, Or whether only thou permit'st the same, Is that which more or less augments thy blame. How much more would it to thine honour tend, Rather to give, than to receive an end? Rather to quit thy sorrow, than to stay, Until against thy will it we are away. Cap. 9 WHence comes it then, if not from Nature's will, That we so grievously bewail our ill? The reason is, we never do present Mischances to our thoughts before th'event, And as it were exempted from such crosses, No warning take by others frequent losses. How many Funerals pass by our door? Yet we on death think not a jot the more. While others Children go unto the grave, We think what honours, riches, ours shall have. How many rich men have we seen grow poor, Yet think of no decay of our own store? Needs must we therefore tumble to the ground, What strikes us unawares doth most confound: Mishaps fall lightly on us, when our care Foreseeing them hath taught us to prepare. But wouldst thou know thy danger, that the Dart That wounds another, might have pierced thy heart? As one unarmed approaching near a wall, Whence shot and stones in great abundance fall, Expect a wound, and when the Arrows fly Before thee and behind thee, boldly cry, Fortune I am prepared, and though I see Thou hitst another, yet thou aimedst at me. Who is there, that his own hath looked upon, As a thing perishing and quickly gone? Who is there, that beforehand was content To think of want, of death, or banishment? Or who is he, that having been advised What may befall, hath not the same despised, And wished it on his foe, or on the head Of him perhaps that so admonished: But strucken once, will then cry out alas, I never thought it would have come to pass; As if one could be safe against what may, And doth to many happen every day. It is a Verse that Publius Name advanceth, That may to all that unto one man chanceth. One hath his Children lost, thine slain may be, This mans condemned, thine innocence not free. This error doth our misery procure, Enduring what we thought not to endure: Whereas the foresight of a future blow, Doth mitigate the force of present woe. Cap. 10 THese goods of fortune that about us shine, As Children, Honours, Riches, and a fine And noble Wife, fair Palaces, and store Of Suitors, that attend us at our door, With all things else that are from fortune sent, Are ornaments not given us, but lent, Our Scene therewith is for the time adorned, Then to the owners back they are returned: Some stay a day, some more, few to the end, We cannot boast them ours, what others lend; The use is ours during the owners will, What's borrowed for uncertain time must still Be ready without strife to be repaid, No debtor should his creditor upbrayed, We must our Parents then so love, and those Who by the Law of Nature we suppose Will outlive us, as of their lives increase, We had no promise of the shortest lease: And all these humane things must so receive, As at the instant we the same should leave: Let's not defer, but take our present pleasure Of Parents, Children, and of worldly treasure, For Death's at hand, and nothings in our power, To hold (a day were too much time) an hour, There is a sudden change of all delight, Our life is not a passage but a flight. Know then if thou beway lest thy Son's death, The fault was in the time that gave him breath, 'Twas then decreed, on those conditions he Came forth thy womb, and first was given thee. Into her Kingdom Fortune all men brings, To suffer worthy and unworthy things, When they all kind of misery endure, Some feel the fire for punishment or cure, To some she makes the Sea become their graves, And having struggled with the raging waves, She doth not drive them to the shore at last, But into some Sea-Monsters belly cast, Others with sickness wasted she doth hold, Long between life and death, and uncontroled, Using her wretched vassals at her pleasure, In punishments and favours keeps no measure. What need we then the parts of life lament, When as the whole in misery is spent; New unexpected mischiefs on us seize, Before that we old sorrows can appease, Thou therefore must thy passions still enure, T'endure those things that thou canst least endure: And equally thy constant thoughts divide 'Twixt present ill, and that which may betide. Cap. 11 WHence then proceeds this strange oblivion Of thine and all the world's condition? Thou mortal art, and mortals hast brought forth; How couldst thou hope, a body framed of earth Subject to chance, to sickness and to pain, Can solid, and eternal things contain. Thy son's departed, hastened to that end, To which all those that now survive him bend: Even all those troops that wrangle at the bar, That fill the theatres, that prostrate are In Temples, death at sundry times doth strike, The honoured and despised she maketh like. Apollo's Oracle thou must fulfil, Know thine own self it is the chiefest skill. What's man? a vessel broken with a knock, Notable to endure a common shock: By nature weak, on others aid depending, And in his chiefest strength himself defending Against a Savage Beast, becomes her prey, His body is composed of mire and clay, Though ne'er so neat, and comely to behold, Impatient of toil, of heat, or cold, Whom very ease and rest consumes, and whom The sustenance he takes doth overcome, Dying as well with surfeit as with want, Whose soul suspicious of her guard can scant Be wooed to stay, but oft leaps out for fear, When as a sudden noise doth strike the ear. Why do we wonder at the death of one? When as the same can be escaped by none: There needs no great ado, the smell, the taste, Watching, and weariness, man's life doth waste; Humours and meats that do maintain his breath, Become at length the causes of his death, Where ere he goes, his weakness he may find, In change of Air, of Water, and of Wind Not used unto, in every thing appears The frailty of his life begun in tears. And yet what Tumults doth this vile wretch move? What thoughts he harbours in him, fare above His silly reach, and how doth he devise To children's Children perpetuities: And while he's busied in his vain pretence, Death unexpected comes and takes him hence, And that which we call age, is at the most The course of some few years, that swiftly post. Cap. 12 TEll me (O Marcia) if at least there be A reason of the grief which troubles thee, Whether the same thy damage do respect, Or most on thy deceased son reflect; Is it that thou no pleasure yet hast gained, Or that thou mightst, if he had still remained? If't be confessed none hitherto t'have had, Thy loss then doubtless is not half so bad. Men have those things more willingly forsaken, Wherein they have but little pleasure taken. But if thou sayest th'hadst joy in him before, Give thankes for that, grudge not t'have had no more. His very education was gains, Sufficient for all thy care and pains, Unless thou'lt say that those which nourish whelps And little Birds, with all such flattering helps Of diverse minds, do in the touch, or sight, Or fawning of mute creatures take delight, And that our children's education, Is not sufficient fruit thereof alone. Then though his labour, diligence, and wit Did not redound unto thy benefit, Yet certainly some fruit from hence doth grow, T'have had him once, and to have loved him so. But he might have increa'st in years, and worth, 'Tis better yet than not t'have brought him forth, For were it in our choice, whether that we Would not at all or not long happy be, We should desire, rather than none, t'accept A benefit that could not long be kept: Doubtless thou wouldst not wish t'have had a Son, Whose ill conditions and lewd courses run, Would have but made him bear the empty name, Rather than thine that so adorned the same. A young man quickly wise, and soon devout, A husband, and a father soon, and out Of knowledge of his worth, soon made a Priest, And in all good things else as quickly blessed. No great felicity can long remain, Men may perhaps a Common good retain, The Gods, who length of days to him denied, With ages full perfection that supplied. Nor canst thou say, that thou alone by Fate Art thus designed to be unfortunate; Look round about, and thou shalt easily find In every place examples of this kind; Captains, and Princes, yea as Poets writ, The Gods themselves are not exempted quite; Which they the rather would have us believe, That we with such partakers less might grieve. Look round I say, and see if thou canst spy A house afflicted with such misery, That dothnot find a kind of ease, to know Another plunged in a greater woe. Though I of thee have no such ill conceit To think that others woes should thine abate, To hear of many mourners is at best But envious comfort to a mournful breast, Yet some I will repeat, not to th'intent To show that this to man is incident, For that were folly, but to show how some By bearing, have afflictions overcome. And herein Lucius Sylla shall be first, Who lost his Son, which did not slack his thirst Of vengeance to his foes, nor any way His fury to the Citizens allay; But after his great loss as fully bore The Surname Happy, as he did before, And on men's ruins building his success, Their hatred his despised, and scorned no less The very enure of the Gods, whose crime It was that Sylla to that height did climb. Yet here I will not censure but let pass As yet a thing uniudged what Sylla was, Although his foes confess to his renown He both took up Arms well, and laid them down: I only prove the same not ill to be, That may concur with great felicity. And therefore let not Greece too much admire Her Xenophon, who at the holy fire And as he was about his Sacrifice, Of his Son's death received sure advise, Who only bidding then the music cease, And taking from his head the Crown, made peace With all his rising passions instantly, And so accomplished the solemnity. Cap. 13 OUr own high Priest Puluillus did the same, To whom the tidings of his Son's death came, Even in the midst of that most solemn state, When he the Capitol did consecrate, Whereof he took no notice, but went on, Chanting the Hymn of Consecration, And without sign of grief devoutly prayed To jupiter the Commonwealth to aid. Couldst thou conceive that sorrow like t'abide, Which he at first assault so well did hide? He worthy was to be so highly employed, And worthy of the Priesthood he enjoyed, Who in a constant zeal did not forbear To serve the Gods, yea when they angry were: Yet coming home he mourned, and tears let fall, And having done the rites of Funeral, Unto the Capitol again returned, With cheerful looks as though he had not mourned. Paulus Emilius, when he captive led King Perseus in such Triumph, buried The Sons that wholly he relied upon, When all the rest were in adoption; What they were whom he kept thou may'st suppose, When Scipio himself was one of those Were given away, it was no small regret, To see him in his empty Chariot set: Yet he discoursed, and thanked the Gods that gave Him his desire, who oftentimes would crave, That if perchance they should some ill pretend After so great a Victory to send, It rather might upon himself redound, Than any way the Commonwealth to wound. How bravely did he bear that stroke of Fate, Who did his children's deaths congratulate: No stranger chance could any man betid, He lost his comforts and his helps beside; Yet notwithstanding Perseus never had The happiness, to see Emilius sad. Cap. 14 WHat should I need to urge a multitude Of precedents, by fortune so pursued? As if it were not harder fare to name Them, upon whom misfortunes never came. Survey the Consuls, Lucius Bibulus And Caius Caesar have been dealt with thus; Two colleagues that were enemies professed, Yet both by Fortune equally oppressed. Lucius a man for honesty commended Rather than valour, had two Sons that ended Their lives at once, and that which to be borne Was worse than death, they both were made a scorn To an Egyptian Soldier who them slew, Yet he, who all that year himself withdrew To shun his fellows envy, did for all The news of such a double Funeral Come forth the next day, and with cheerful face Performed the public duties of his place: He might bewail one day his two sons fate, That did a year lament the Consulate. Caesar, when he all Brittany ore-ran With arms not bounded by the Ocean, Herd of his Daughter's death, whereon he knew A public damage was most like t'ensue, For he on Pompey quickly cast his eyes His Son in Law, who would have no man rise Beside himself, although so near of kin, That he might look to have his share therein; Yet Caesar that high charge performed again. Within three days, and did his grief restrain, As soon as he, the glory of our Rome, Was wont all other things to overcome. Cap. 15 WHat should I other Caesar's deaths rehearse, 'Gainst whom the fates the rather have been fierce, To give the world a wholesome document, Since they, who from the race of Gods were sent To propagate the same, could not command Their own, though others lives were in their hand. Divine Augustus having been deprived Of Children and of Nephews too, revived Th'extinguished name of Caesar, with a Son Received into it by adoption: Yet he endured it constantly, as one That had his future interest foreknown, And by his own example would maintain, That no man should against the Gods complain. Tiberius' lost both him that he begat, And him that he adopted, yet thereat Unmoved, he o'er the Corpse of his dead Son, Pronounced the Funeral Oration, Where but a veil as then was requisite, Did hide the Body from the High Priests sight, And though the people round about him wept, Yet he his countenance unclouded kept; Letting Sejanus that stood next him know, How easily he could any friend forgo. Thou seest how all these famous men have fared, Whom Fate for no respect of worth hath spared, Which like a tempest with impetuous blast, Flies round the World and all things down doth cast, And ask but any man the reason why, The answer is, that all are borne to dye. Cap. 16 YEt here perchance thou'lt tell me, I forget I comfort now a woman, since I set Before thee men's examples, but let none Imagine Nature hath less favour shown To women, or their virtues more restrained, In whom like power to goodness is contained: And who, believe me, can through custom bear Of grief, and labour, equally their share. Where speak I this (good Gods) but in that place Where Brutus and Lucretia the race Of Tyrants did expel? for as we know That we our liberty to Brutus own, So we for Brutus are to Lucrece bound, By whom so great a benefit we found. Where speak I? but where Claelia the force Of foe and flood contemning, rid her Horse Through Tiber, for which bold attempt each Pen Ranks her amongst the valiantest of men: Whose Statue fixed in the sacred street, Where frequently the Roman people meet, Our young men in their Coaches doth upbraid, When they on horseback there behold a Maid. But if examples thou desir'st to have Of women, that their children's deaths with brave And constant minds have borne, we may find store, And need not beg the same from door to door. One family had two Cornelia's, The first the Daughter of great Scipio was, The Gracchi●s Mother, who twelve Children bore, And all again did back to Fate restore: Often of them Rome little notice took, And therefore she their loss might easily brook, But Titus, and his Brother Caius, then If not accounted good, yet famous men, She both saw slain, and for a grave at last, Beheld their bodies into Tiber cast; Telling all those that thought her in distress, And seemed to pity her unhappiness, That she unhappy never could be thought, That had into the world the Gracchis brought. The other saw her Livius Drusus dead, A young man of great hope, that followed The Gracchi's steps, who having then propounded Some controverted Laws, to death was wounded In his own house, the actor never known, Yet she with the same mind that he had shown In stout defence of those his Laws, endured The unrevenged murder so procured. Now Marcia thou mayst reconciled be To Fortune, if that she no worse by thee Than by the house of Scipio hath done, And spared no more the Caesars than thy Son. This life doth various accidents produce, And granteth peace to none, nor scarce a truce. Thou hadst four Children Marcia, Shots that fall Amongst a thick troop, hardly can miss all; And therefore 'twere more strange that thou so many, Shouldst long enjoy without the loss of any. But thou perhaps dost Fortune most accuse, In that she did not only take but choose; It can by no means be accounted wrong, To share with death, to whom they all belong, Two daughters with their children are alive, Nor yet did fortune utterly deprive Thee of that Son that thou dost so deplore, (Having forgotten him that died before,) For he two daughters also left behind That should bring him, not sorrow to thy mind, Which thou great pleasures, or great pains mayst make, Accordingly as thou the same shalt take. The husbandman, when any trees he finds Torn by the roots, or split with sudden winds, Some grafts thereof doth instantly replant, And with advantage soon supplies their want, For time, whom all these humane things obey, Is swift as well in growth as in decay: Place thou those daughters in Metellius stead, And let two joys be from one sorrow bred. It is the nature of all mortals, most To Covet what they utterly have lost, And with such earnestness the same t'effect, As what they present have, they quite neglect. Behold how fortune hath to thee extended Her favour, though she seemed to be offended, Who doth, beside those daughters that yet live, The comfort of so many Nephews give. Cap. 17 COnsider likewise Marcia, that if all According unto merit should befall, No evil ever goodmen should betide, But now both good and bad alike divide. And though it grievous be, to have him dye, On whom his parents might so much rely, Yet it is humane, thou and all mankind Art certainly to all these things designed, To suffer loss, to dye, to hope, to fear, To grieve and to be grieved, to appear Desirous, and yet fearful to departed, And not to know in what estate thou art. If any man beforehand should propound To one that were for Syracuse bond The good and evil that from thence arise, And thus, before he went, should him advise: These rare things shalt thou find, first thou shalt see That Island severed from Italy, By such a narrow sea, as by consent Of all, is thought t'have been the continent, Through which the sea with sudden breach did flow, And ever since the land divided so. Then thou by known Charybdis gulf must sail, Which while the winds forbear their southern gale, Continues calm, but otherwise hath power The greatest vessels wholly to devour: Next shalt thou see the clear and famous spring Of Arethusa, whereof Poets sing, Which either there gins, or passage makes Beneath the Sea, and not thereof partakes: And then thou shalt the safest harbour gain That nature ere did make or art obtain For ships to ride in, where it shall be shown, Where all the power of Athens was o'erthrown, And where were many thousand captives shut In one vast prison out of main rocks cut. Thou shalt arrive at Syracuse at length, A city of large circuit and great strength. Where winter is so temperate, that no day, Without some sunshine ere doth pass away: But when thoust found all this, thou shalt be sure A hot contagious summer to endure, That with diseases will the land annoy, And that mild winter's Benefit destroy: There shalt thou Dionysius behold Who having law and equity controlled, The County's freedom under foot doth tread, And though he have divinest Plato read, Yet to the height of Tyranny aspires, And after a base exile life desires. Some he will burn, and some to death will scourge, Others when no occasion him doth urge He will behead, and overgrown with vice He male and female will to lust entice, And 'mongst those brutish sins that men should loathe, he'll active be at once and passive both. thoust heard what may invite, what may deter, And therefore with thy serious thoughts confer, Whether thou wilt resolve to go or stay: If after all this warning any say, He will adventure, let him bear the blame That undertook advisedly the same. Thus nature doth to every one declare, If thou bring'st children, know, some may be fair, Some foul, and some, if that thou many have, Their country may betray as well as save. Despair not but thy children may attain To so great worth, as may men's tongues restrain From obloquy, yet likewise think they may Be such as will a curse upon thee lay. I see no cause but thee they should outlive, Yet be prepared them unto death to give In childhood, youth, or age, for there appears Small difference here in concerning years, Since parents seldom go but with moist-eyes To any of their children's obsequies. When thou hast all these things before thee laid, Thou no way canst the heavenly powers upbraid, If thou wilt then bring children, for behold How they beforehand did the truth unfold. Cap. 18 With this example therefore we may well The lives of men and women parallel, As thou, intending Syracuse to view, Hast understood what thereon will ensue, So now imagine that before thy birth, I come to tell what thou shalt find on earth. Here nature thee into a city brings Common to gods and men, where in all things Contained are, by laws eternal tide, Where the celestial bodies do abide, In their unwearied courfe: there shall thine eyes Behold the stars in their varieties, And see with admiration one great light That fills the world, dividing day and night By daily motion, by whose annual race, Winter and Summer have their equal space. Then shalt thou see the Move succeed the other, Who by encounters borrows from her brother Her dimmer light, which sometimes not appearing, And sometimes with full face the sad earth cheering, Is, in increasing and decreases strange, And every day from what she was doth change. Then shalt thou see five planets that all bend Their courses severally, and do contend With heavens swift motion, these control the fates Of private people, and of public states, Which subject are to good or bad effects According to their different aspects. Then shalt thou see the clouds, the rain, and wonder At obliqne lightnings, and heaven-piercing thunder; And when thine eyes are filled with that fight, Behold the earth affordeth new delight, Smooth boundless plains, & high snow-headed mountains, The falls of rivers, and clear streaming fountains, Floods from one source that run both East & west, And tottering woods with their own beight oppressed. Thick forests fraught with beasts, and birds that fly, And warble forth their differing harmony: Then shalt thou see the diverse situations Of cities, and of fare disjoined nations, Whereof some for security retire Into the mountains, some the plains desire, Others delight near rivers to remain, And some to dwell in Fens do not disdain. Then shalt thou see the ploughman till the land, Preparing harvest with industrious hand, Trees fructify alone, brooks gently slide Along the moddowes, in their flowery pride, Havens and creeks that all beholders please, And scattered Lands giving names to Seas. What should I tell of precious stones, of gold, That swiftest torrents in their sands enfold? Of fires in midst of land and sea that shine, And of the Ocean whose large arms intwine The spacious earth, which that in three parts cuts, And so a bar betwixt the nations puts: Which rageth oft with an unbridled will Within whose waters, that are seldom still, Huge monsters live, that all belief exceed, Some are so great and heavy that they need The art of others, some so lightly float, Their course is swifter than the swiftest boat, And some such floods of water from them fling As oftentimes do ships in danger bring. Where thou shalt see adventurous fleets prepared To find out lands whereof few ever heard, There being nothing now left unattempted By humane boldness, nor art thou exempted, But shalt thyself herein have much to do As a spectator, and an actor too: Thou Arts shalt learn and teach, some liberal, Mechanic some, some Philosophical To perfect life, but having all this found, Know, that this city likewise will abound With pestilent diseases, that will foul, And quite destroy the body and the soul, Wars, rapines, poison hasting so our ends, Shipwrecks, ill air, and loss of dearest friends, Death and the same, as much uncertain, when, As whether easy or with torments, then Bethink thyself if thou on life wilt venture, For here thou must go out that there dost enter. Thou'lt choose to live, why not? can I suppose Thou seekest that whereof thou'rt loath to lose Any one part: live therefore as is fit, And bear thy loss as one prepared for it. But here perhaps 'twill be objected thus, That none before hand hath consulted us, Our parents, who the world's condition knew, Consulted were and thence our covenant grew. Cap. 19 But to return to consolations now, First let us see what's to be done, then how: We commonly with sorrow much are moved Upon the loss of those we dear loved, And yet we find that we can easily bear The absence of our friends, which cometh near? To death itself, because we are thereby Deprived of their help and company: Opinion then our sorrow doth beget, And we ourselves a rate upon it set, This remedy we have, let's but conceive That they as absent only took their leave, And since we all must follow, 'tis no more But to suppose that they are gone before. Yet this perchance our grief doth much augment That children are for our protection sent, But shall I tell, what strange to thee may seem, That childless folks are now in most esteem, And fruitfulness that usually hath faved Old age from ruin, is so much depraved, That many their own children strive to hate, And seek the means to become desolate. But as for thee, thy damage not so much As thy affection makes thy sorrow such, For he unworthy comfort is to have That parteth with a child as with a slave, Or that doth think of any thing beside, The very person of his Son that died. Why doth thy passion then remain so strong, Because he's dead, or that he lived not long? If that the reason be, because he's dead, Then sure thou shouldst have ever sorrowed; For thou didst ever know he was to dye: Three or four lines omitted, repugnant to the rest, impugning the immortality of the soul. And therefore think what he hath gained thereby, Since his enthralled bondage now doth cease, And he abideth in eternal peace, Where no vain fear of poverty affrights him, Nor vainer hope of getting wealth delights him, And where no provocations of lust Do him into unlawful pleasures thrust: Who neither envies any others good, Or any way by envy is withstood, Whose ears hear no revile, and whose eyes Behold no manner of calamities: Who doth no more depend upon events That hourly alter from their first intents, But hath obtained a place of that defence, That fraud nor force can ever drive him thence. Cap. 20 HOw little do men know their miseries That do not death as nature's best gift prize: Whether that she felicity include, Or the calamity that them pursued Doth drive away, or whether she do end The irksome troubles that old age attend, Or that the same the flower of youth doth crop, In the chief prime of his expected hope, Or whether tender childhood she recall, Ere that into a worse condition fall: She is the end of all, the help of many, The wish of some, not meriting from any More than from these, to whom without request She with the soon hath herself addressed. She free's the slave in spite of his stern lord, Shakes off his chains, and of her own accord Releaseth prisoners that committed stand, By cruel tyrants under strict command. She teacheth them that are in banishment (Whose thoughts and eyes are on their country bend) Not to be troubled, how, when they are dead Or in what place they shall be buried. She when blind fortune hath divided ill Her gifts, between those that had by natures will An equal right, doth them again restore To that equality they had before. She it is that could never yet obey, That takes all sense of poverty away, She it is Marcia whom thy father sought, That makes it not a punishment be thought To have been borne, but helps us in despite Of fortunes threats, to keep our minds upright. Death is our refuge, though we tortured be In several kinds, she us at length shall free: Some their heads down ward are to gibbets tied, And some with stretched out arms are crucified, Where every member sundry engines rend, And some have stak's thrust through their fundament, Yet death's their cure: here enemies invade, There friends insult, yet death at length brings aid, It is not hard to serve, when at one step We weary grown may into freedom leap: Against the injury of life we have A sure and common benefit, a grave. Think but what good a timely death hath brought, And how much ill a longer life hath wrought. Had Pompey this great Empire's strength and pride, At Naples of his burning-fever died, He then the Prince of Rome had sure been styled, Whereas his glorious hopes were all beguiled By the addition of a little time, And he thrown swifter down, than he could climb. He saw his legions lie before him dead, Whose vanguard by grave Senators was led, That did escape, to testify to all The too long life of him their General: His sacred body he did then submit To base Egyptians that betrayed it, Though had he lived, it would have been a grief, To think how he was forced to seek relief, That Pompey through the world surnamed the great, Of any King should life or aid entreat. Had Tully died when he escaped the slaughter Designed by Catiline, or with his daughter Had left the world, he had great honour won, And had not seen so many mischiefs done, Swords sheathed in mutual bowels, and their goods By murderers shared, who therefore sought their bloods: Nor been so much unhappy to behold The Consulary spoils at out-cries fold, When as our state no insolence debarred, But unto thiefs and traitors gave reward, Encouraging all sorts of lewd designs, The Senate having many Catilines. If Cato, when from Cyprus he did bring To Rome the wealth of that deceased King. Haddit with the same, intended for the pay Of a dire civil war, been cast away, This honour had accompanied his end, That none in Cato's presence durst offend, Whereas a little tract of time compelled Him, that Rome's freedom with his own upheld, To fly from Caesar and to Pompey cleave, And at the length himself of life bereave. An early death no damage than hath sent Upon thy son, but rather did prevent The cares that to a longer life belong, And therefore do not think de died too young. For if the life of the most aged man Considered be, what is it but a span? As in an Inn he lodgeth in the world, And in a moment out again is hurled; So swiftly posts our life, and if the story Thou dost but read of cities that most glory In their antiquity, it will appear, That nothing can be old accounted here. All humane things are frail, and have no right To any part of that vast infinite. We say the earth, men, cities, rivers, seas, Whose larger circuit comprehends all these, Are but a point compared with all the rest, Our life, of no part of a poynt's possessed Compared with time, the world exceeding fare, Whose revolutions thereby measured are. Why should our minds then on that thing be bend, Which brought unto the uttermost extent Is little more than nothing? therefore he Lives long enough that can contented be: For though thy life a hundred years should last, Yet that compared with all the time that's past And is to come, would in effect amount No more then to the shortest in account. He died not too soon that lived the time. Appointed, though he died in his prime: Men live not all alike nor beasts, for some Grow weary, when to fourteen years they come, And that which is their last, is man's first age, We all of us have our prefixed stage, Which we by no endeavour can exceed, Nor should we grudge at what is so decreed: He had what was allotted him, no chance His life could ere diminish, or advance, We all are in this error, to conceive That we this world are never like to leave But in old crooked age, when as we know We may as well in youth or childhood go. Our birth is towards death the first degree, And what we live beyond is given free: Fate ply's her work, and to delude our sense, Makes death steal on us under life's pretence, For childhood doth our infancy surprise, And youth or childhood, than age quickly hies, And such as seem increases, if well weighed, Are damages that secretly invade. Cap. 21 BUt thou complainest Marcia that thy Son Attained not the years he might have done, Yet knowest not whether the same were fit, Or whether that were not a benefit: For no man is in such assured estate But may in time become unfortunate, So frail are worldly things, and we may boast Lest of that part of life that pleaseth most: And therefore death that bringeth certain rest, Is ever to be wished for of the best, Because we plainly see that in this vast Confusion, nothing's sure but what is past. Who could assure thee that the beauteous frame Of thy son's body, though he kept the same With modesty safe-guarded from the eyes, Of a lewd city filled with luxuries, Should likewise from diseases be secure, And to old age unblemished endure? Cap. 22 Think on the spots wherewith the soul is stained, How some great wits have not to age retained The ways of virtue in their youth begun, But have into degenerate courses run: How luxury, which men should ever hate So much the more because it cometh late, Doth oftentimes the hope of youth deface, And gluttony intruding in the place Of temperance well begun, so makes men swerve, That they in age the belly only serve, When as their chiefest care is but to think Continually what they shall eat & drink. Add likewise ruins both of sword and fire, Shipwrecks, diseases that strange cures require, Where corrosives pierce live men's bones & marrow, And Surgeons hands their very intralles harrow, Who many times some secret pain to ease, Give remedies as bad as the disease: Then after these, consider banishment, For sure thy Son was not more innocent Than was Rutilius; or a prison, he Then Socrates could hardly wiser be; Or voluntary death; he could not raise His virtues above holy Cato's praise. All which consdered duly, in regard That death must in the end be life's reward, Thou may'st conclude that nature dealeth best With those to whom she soon giveth rest: For life so wretched is, that it would scant Accepted be but of the ignorant. And therefore as its best not to be borne, So next to that is quickly to return; Think on the time wherein Sejanus gave To Satrius his mercenary slave, Thy father's goods, whose free speech him offended, Saying, He was not put, but had ascended Upon our necks, and when it did appear That he his statue did intent to rear In Pompey's Theatre, that had of late Been burnt and now rebuilt with no less state, Cremutius crying out against it, said, The Theatre then truly perished. For what man could behold Sejanus sit On Pompey's ashes, and not storm at it, Or see the most unworthy soldier crowned With honour of a Captain so renowned? Yet there his image with th'inscription stood, And those fierce dogs nourished with humane blood, That being gentle unto him alone, Their fury to all others might be shown, At Cordus suddenly began to bay, That he to live must now Sejanus pray, Or of his daughter must to die crave leave, Inexorable both: he to deceive His daughter did resolve, and with intent His plot to hide, he used a bath, and went Into his chamber with pretence to eat. Then sending forth his servants threw some meat Out at the window, to make show thereby As if he there had supped privately: He fasted so the next day and the third, Whereby a mortal weakness he incurred: Then thee embracing thus his mind revealed, My dearest daughter, I have nought concealed In all my life from thee, save this alone, I now a journey towards death am gone, And have by this time gotten half the way: Thou me, nor may'st, nor canst, revoke or stay. This said, he caused the windows to be shut, And from that time himself in darkness put: This fact divulged through Rome, had great applause, Because the prey was snatched from th'wolf's jaws, But his accusers by Sejanus sent, To the tribunal of the Consuls went, Craving that Cordus might be yet withheld From doing what themselves had him compelled, So loath were they who hungerly did gape That in this manner he should them escape: There grew a doubt whether they might by law A man accused from such an act withdraw, Whilst this was in dispute on every side, Cordus at home released himself and died. Seeft thou not Marcia, what unlooked for woe In such recourses of ill times do flow? Thou grievest that fate did one to dye constrain, And yet another scarce could leave obtain. Cap. 23 But beside this, that future things are still Doubtful, and never certain but to ill, The passage is more easy, when the soul Is speedily dismissed from her foul Abode, for she doth then contract less slime, And to her station may more lightly climb. Great spirits cannot willingly reside Long in the body, nor those straits abide, But to break through, and mount aloft, desire, And to their first original aspire. And therefore learned Plato sayeth well, A wise man's mind on death doth ever dwell, Doth wish, doth will, and thereto in effect In all his actions hath his whole respect. When such grave virtue Marcia thou didst view In thy young Son, and how he did subdue All his affections, given to no vice, In midst of wealth abhorring avarice, How honour without pride he did possess, And recreations without wantonness, Couldst thou conceive that he could long remain? What ere at highest is, goes back again; Virtue grown perfect vanisheth away; And fruits that ripen soon, do soon decay, Fire that burns clear, is soon extinguished, That lasteth more that with gross matter fed Burns with a thick smoke, for it best subsisteth With nourishment whose quality resisteth: So wit, that is most delicate and pure, Is ever found a short time to endure; For dissolution followeth apace, When as for future growth there is no place. Fabian reports a monstrous thing in nature, Of a child seen in Rome of a man's stature, But it soon died, as wisemen did presage, His stature had so gained on his age. Decay doth still maturity attend, And things when growth is spent, draw near their end. Cap. 24 COunt thy Sons virtues then, and not his years, Though he t'have lived long enough appears, Who fourteen years was under Tutors bred, And by thy counsel ever governed; Who though he had a household of his own, Unwilling was to have thee live alone, And being fit the wars to undertake, The same refused wholly for thy sake; For think how small a time they are enjoyed, That often are in foreign parts employed; How mothers usually that time lament, No less than death which in the wars is spent; And then believe he lived as long as others That always have been absent from their mothers. He thus remaining in thy house and sight, To order there his studies took delight, Gaining a wit by precepts daily read, That would his grandfathers have equalled, Had it not been withstood by bash fullness, That great worth oft in silence doth suppress: A youth of rare aspect, who 'mongst so many Men-tempting women, gave no hope to any, But when the lust of some durst him assault, Would blush and think his comeliness a fault. This holiness of manners was the cause That he, though very young, with great applause Was made a Priest, by means his mother used, Though notwithstanding he had been refused, Had not his own true worth their judgements led, Then do not thou conceive him to be dead, But that his virtues make him so remain, That thou for him shalt never grieve again: For all, that can be now, thou hast endured, The rest is free from chance, of joy assured. And if thy Son thou wilt but rightly prize, Then know his image only buried lies, And that not very like, whilst he, now eased Of all the burdens that him so displeased, Is rendered to himself, for flesh, and skin, And all the rest that we are wrapped in, Are nothing but the fetters of the soul, And such as do her faculties control, Which she opposing ever strives to be In endless bliss, from all dark errors free; And therefore 'tis but folly to repair Unto his Sepulchre, where ashes are, And bones, and that which troubled him, no more Parts of thy Son, than were the clothes, he wore: For he went hence entire, staying a while Above us to be purged from the vile Contracted dregs of nature, mounted then And was received amongst those happy men, The Scipio's, and the Cato's, with the rest That life contemned and now in death are blessed. Thy father there (O Marcia, though that place Makes all of kin) his Grandchild doth embrace, And there instructs the new enlightened youth Not by conjecture, but assured truth In all the courses of the stars near hand, And makes him all those secrets understand: And as a stranger joyeth to find one That in a city where he is not known, Will take the pains to lead him up and down, And show him all the pleasures of the town, So glad was he, when he did first arrive (Being of heavenly things inquisitive) Of this well known interpreter, that so, He likewise might be showed the things below, For 'tis a pleasure to th'infranch ised mind To view from heaven what it hath left behind. Frame all thy actions then as they were done In sight both of thy father and thy Son, Who are not now, as when from hence they went, But every way become more excellent, And be ashamed of these trivial things, To grieve for them, whose change such honour brings, Who left the world to fix themselves on high, And there to dwell in endless liberty, Where neither Seas, nor hills, nor danger bars Their intercourse, whose ways are mixed with stars. Cap. 26 THink therefore now that from that heavenly Tower Thy father speaks, who had with thee like power That thou hadst with thy Son, not in that strain Wherein he did of civil wars complain, Wherein the banishers themselves he sent, With shame into eternal banishment, But with a fare more elevated wit, As he doth now in greater glory sit. Why Daughter doth thy grief remain so long? Why dost thou so continue in the wrong? To think thy Son ill dealt with? who withdrew Himself to his forefathers when he grew Weary of life, dost thou not know what blasts Of trouble fortune upon all things casts? How she her favour only doth confer On those that have conversed least with her? Wilt thou that I those famous Kings repeat, Whose happiness would have been found complete, Had timely death, whereof none ere repent, The evils of their future lives prevented? Or Roman captains, who could nothing lack, Had some few years of life been given back? Or those great men that of their own accord Exposed their necks unto the soldier's sword? Thy father and thy grandfather behold He murdered was, I showing with how bold A mind I writ, did rather than to lie At others mercy, choose to fast and dye. Why is he in our house so much bewailed, Whom death in so great measure hath availed? We dwell together in a glorious light, And see you compassed with a dismal night, Where all your best things base and sordid are, And may not with the least of ours compare. What should I say? here are no battles fought By land or sea, no mischiefs done or thought? Our Courts are not with clamours filled, our days Perpetual are, our hearts, our lives, our ways Open, and nothing hid within our breast, But all events to us are manifest. I when I lived, took pleasure to compose The story of one age, and but of those That in a corner of the world did dwell, We the succession of all times can tell, And do the rise and falls of kingdom's view, The ruins of great cities with the new And uncontrolled courses of the Seas, For know, that if it may thy sorrow ease, To understand the truth of common fate, That nothing shall continue in the state That now it is, time all things shall devour, And not with men alone, of Fortune's power, (The smallest part alas!) shall pastime make, But the whole world shall of the same partake. Here it shall hills suppress, there rocks enforce, And sup up Seas, and change the usual course Of rivers, and dissolving all commerce, The race of man shall utterly disperse: Causing elsewhere the trembling earth to cleave, And greedily whole cities to receive Into her bowels, belching out from thence Damps that will breed a general pestilence. Then shall it both with inundations drown And with strange fires all mortal things burn down: And when the world that is to be renewed, Shall thus dissolve, there shall be deadly feud Between the stars that with such order shine Which shall their fires to that vast fire resign. We also being blessed souls that claim Eternity, when God shall please to frame The world anew, must therein have our share, And shall to our first elements repair. And therefore, Marcia happy is thy Son, That knows all this as't were already done. FINIS. Imprimatur SA. BAKER, Episcopo Londinensi à sacris.