CATO mayor OF OLD AGE. A Poem.  
By the Honourable Sir JOHN DENHAM Knight of the BATH.  
In the SAVOY, Printed for Henry Herringman at the Sign of the Anchor in the Lower-Walk of the New-Exchange. 1669.   

TO THE READER.  
I Can neither call this Piece Tully's nor my own, being much altered from the Original, not only by the change of the Style, but by addition and substraction. I believe you will be better pleased, to receive it, as I did, at the first sight; for to me Cicero did not so much appear to writ, as Cato to speak; and to do right to my Author, I believe no Character of any person was ever better drawn to the life than this. Therefore neither consider Cicero, nor Me, but Cato himself, who being then raised from the dead to speak the language of that Age and Place, neither the distance of place or time makes it less possible to raise him now to speak ours.  
Though I dare not compare my Copy with the Original, yet you will find it mentioned here, how much fruits are improved by Grafting; and here, by grafting Verse upon Prose, some of these severer Arguments may receive a more mildred and pleasant taste.  
Cato says( in another place) of himself, that he learned to speak Greek between the seventieth and eightieth year of his Age, beginning that so late, he may not yet be too old to learn English, being now but between his seventeenth and eighteen hundred year. For these reasons I shall leave to this Piece no other name than what the Author gave it of  
CATO mayor.   

THE PREFACE.  
THat Learned critic, the younger Scaliger, comparing the two great Orators, says, that nothing can be taken from Demosthenes, nor added to Tully; and if there be any fault in the last, it is the Resumption, or dwelling too long upon his arguments: for which reason having intended to translate this Piece into Prose,( where Translation ought to be strict) finding the matter very proper for Verse, I took the liberty, to leave out what was only necessary to that Age, and Place, and to take, or add what was proper to this present Age, and occasion; by laying his sense closer, and in fewer words, according to the style and ear of these times. The three first parts I dedicate to my old friends, to take off those melancholy reflections, which the sense of Age, Infirmity, and Death may give them. The last part I think necessary for the Conviction of those many, who believe not, or at least mind not the immortality of the Soul, of which the Scripture speaks only positively, as a Lawgiver, with an Ipse dixit; but it may be, they neither believe that( from which they either make doubts, or sport,) nor those, whose business it is to interpret it, supposing they do it only for their own ends: But if a Heathen Philosopher bring such arguments from reason, nature, and Second Causes, which none of our Atheistical Sophisters can confute, if they may stand convinced, that there is an Immortality of the Soul, I hope they will so weigh the consequences, as neither to talk, nor live as if there were no such thing.   

Of Old-Age.  
Cato, Scipio, Laelius.  Scipio to Cato. 
THough all the Actions of your  
Life are crowned  
With Wisdom, nothing makes  
them more renowned,  
Then that those years, which others think extreme,  
Nor to yourself, nor us uneasy seem,  
Under which weight, most like th'old Giant's groan,  
When Aetna on their backs by Jove was thrown.  Cat. 
What you urge ( Scipio) from right reason flows,  
All parts of Age seem burdensome to those,  
Who Virtue's, and true Wisdom's happiness  
Cannot discern, but they who those possess  
In what's imposed by Nature, find no grief,  
Of which our Age is( next our Death) the chief,  
Which though all equally desire to'obtain,  
Yet when they have obtained it, they complain;  
Such our inconstancies, and follies are,  
We say it steals upon us unaware:  
Our want of reas'ning these false measures makes,  
Youth runs to Age, as Childhood Youth o'retakes;  
How much more grievous would our lives appear  
To reach th'eight hundreth, then the eightieth year?  
Of what, in that long space of time hath past,  
To foolish Age will no remembrance last,  
My Ages conduct when you seem to'admire,  
( Which that it may deserve, I much desire)  
'tis my first rule, on Nature, as my Guide  
Appointed by the Gods, I have rely'de,  
And Nature,( which all Acts of life designs)  
Not like ill Poets, in the last declines;  
But some one part must be the last of all,  
Which like ripe fruits, must either rot, or fall,  
And this from Nature must be gently born,  
Else her( as Giants did the Gods) we scorn.  Lal. 
But Sir, 'tis Scipio's, and my desire,  
Since to long life we gladly would aspire,  
That from your grave Instructions we might hear,  
How we, like you, might this great burden bear.  Cat. 
This I resolved before, but now shall do  
With great delight, since 'tis required by you.  Lael. 
If to yourself it will not tedious prove,  
Nothing in us a greater joy can move,  
That as old Travellers the young instruct,  
Your long, our short experience may conduct.  Cat. 
'tis true,( as the old Proverb doth relate)  
Equals with equals often congregate.  
Two Consuls( who in years my equals were,) 
Caius Salinat●r.   
When Senators, lamenting I did hear, 
Spurius Albinus.   
That Age from them had all their pleasures torn,  
And them their former suppliants now scorn,  
They, what is not to be accused, accuse,  
Not others, but themselves their age abuse,  
Else this might me concern, and all my friends,  
Whose cheerful Age, with Honour, Youth attends,  
joyed that from pleasure's slavery they are free,  
And all respects due to their age they see,  
In it's true colours, this complaint appears  
The ill effect of Manners, not of years,  
For on their life no grievous burden lies,  
Who are well-natur'd, temperate, and wise:  
But an inhuman, and ill-temper'd mind  
Not any easy part in life can find.  Lael. 
This I believe, yet others may dispute,  
Their age( as yours) can never bear such fruit,  
Of Honour, Wealth, and Power, to make them sweet,  
Not every one such happiness can meet.  Cat. 
Some weight your argument( my Laelius) bears,  
But not so much, as at first sight appears,  
This answer by Themistocles was made,  
( When a Seriphian thus did him upbraid,  
You those great Honours to your Country owe,  
Not to yourself) had I at Seripho 
An Isle to which condemned men were banished   
Been born, such honour I had never seen,  
Nor you, if an Athenian you had been:  
So Age, clothed in undecent poverty,  
To the most prudent cannot easy be,  
But to a fool, the greater his estate,  
The more uneasy is his Age's weight.  
Age's chief arts, and arms, are to grow wise,  
Virtue to know, and known to exercise,  
All just returns to Age then Virtue makes,  
Nor her in her extremity forsakes,  
The sweetest Cordial we receive at last  
Is conscience of our virtuous actions past.  
I,( when a youth) with reverence did look  
On Quintus Fabius, who Tarentum took,  
Yet in his age such cheerfulness was seen,  
As if his years and mine had equal been,  
His Gravity was mixed with Gentleness,  
Nor had his Age made his good humour less,  
Then was he well in years( the same that he  
Was Consul, that of my Nativity)  
( A Stripling then) in his fourth Consulate  
On him at Capua I in arms did wait,  
I five years after at Tarentum wan  
The Quaestorship, and then our love began,  
And four years after, when I Praetor was  
He Pleaded, and the 
Against Bribes.  Cincian Law did pass.  
With youthful diligence he used to engage,  
Yet with the temperate Arts of patient Age  
He breaks fierce Hannibal's insulting heats;  
Of which exploit thus our friend Ennius treats,  
He by delay restored the Common-wealth,  
Nor preferred Rumour before public Health.  

THE ARGUMENT.  

When I reflect on Age, I find there are  
Four Causes, which its Misery declare.  
1. Because our Bodies Strength it much impairs;  
2. That it takes off our Minds from great Affairs:  
3. Next, That our Sense of Pleasures it deprives:  
4. Last, That approaching Death attends our Lives.  
Of all these several Causes I'll discourse,  
And then of each, in Order, weigh the force.    

THE FIRST PART.  

1. THe Old from such affairs is only freed,  
Which vigorous youth, and strength of body need.  
But to more high affairs our age is lent,  
Most properly when heats of youth are spent.  
Did Fabius, and your Father Scipio  
( Whose Daughter my Son married) nothing do?  
Fabricii, Coruncani, Curii;  
Whose courage, counsel, and authority,  
The Roman Common-wealth restored, did boast,  
Nor Appius, with whose strength his sight was lost,  
Who when the Senate was to Peace inclined  
With Pyrrhus, shew'd his reason was not blind.  
Whither's our Courage and our Wisdom come?  
When Rome itself conspires the fate of Rome.  
The rest with ancient gravity and skill  
He spake( for his Oration's extant still)  
'tis seventeen years since he had Consul been  
The second time, and there were ten between;  
Therefore their Argument's of little force,  
Who Age from great employments would divorce.  
As in a Ship some climb the Shrouds, to'unfold  
The Sails, some sweep the Deck, some pump the Hold;  
whilst he that guides the Helm, employs his skill,  
And gives the Law to them by sitting still.  
Great actions less from Courage, strength, and speed,  
Then from wise Counsels and Commands proceed;  
Those Arts Age wants not, which to Age belong,  
Not heat, but could experience makes us strong,  
A Consul, Tribune, General, I have been,  
All sorts of war I have past through, and seen  
And now grown old, I seem to'abandon it,  
Yet to the Senate I prescribe what's fit.  
I every day 'gainst Carthage war proclaim,  
( For Rome's destruction hath been long her aim)  
Nor shall I cease till I her ruin see,  
Which Triumph may the Gods design for thee;  
That Scipio may revenge his Grandsire's Ghost,  
Whose life at Cannae with great Honour lost  
Is on Record, nor had he wearied been  
With Age, if he an hundred years had seen,  
He had not used Excursions, Spears, or Darts,  
But Counsel, Order, and such aged Arts,  
Which, if our Ancestors had not retained,  
The Senate's Name, our Council had not gained,  
The Spartans to their highest Magistrate,  
The Name of Elder did appropriate:  
Therefore his famed for ever shall remain,  
How gallantly Tarentum he did gain,  
With vigilant Conduct, when that sharp reply  
He gave to Salinator, I stood by,  
Who to the Castle fled, the Town being lost,  
Yet he to Maximus did vainly boast,  
'twas by my means Tarentum you obtained;  
'tis true, had you not lost, I had not gained;  
And as much Honour on his Gown did wait,  
As on his Arms, in his Fifth Consulate,  
When his Colleague Carvilius stepped aside,  
The Tribune of the People would divide  
To them the gallic, and the Picene Field,  
Against the Senate's will, he will not yield,  
When being angry, boldly he declares  
Those things were acted under happy stars,  
From which the Commonwealth found good effects,  
But otherwise, they came from bad Aspects.  
Many great things of Fabius I could tell,  
But his Son's death did all the rest excel;  
( His Gallant Son, though young, had Consul been)  
His Funeral Oration I have seen  
Often, and when on that I turn my eyes,  
I all the Old Philosophers despise,  
Though he in all the Peoples eyes seemed great,  
Yet greater he appeared in his retreat;  
When feasting with his private friends at home,  
Such Counsel, such Discourse from him did come,  
Such Science in his Art of Augury,  
No Roman ever was more learned than he;  
Knowledge of all things present, and to come,  
remembering all the Wars of ancient Rome,  
Nor only these, but all the World's beside;  
Dying in extreme age, I prophesi'd  
That which is come to pass, and did discern  
From his Survivors I could nothing learn.  
This long discourse was but to let you see,  
That his long life could not uneasy be.  
Few like the Fabii or the Scipio's are  
Takers of Cities, Conquerors in War,  
Yet others to like happy Age arrive,  
Who modest, quiet, and with virtue live:  
Thus Plato writing his Philosophy,  
With Honour after ninety years did die.  
The Athenian Story writ at ninety four  
By Isocrates, who yet lived five years more,  
His Master Grogias at the hundredth year  
And seventh, not his studies did forbear,  
And asked, why he no sooner left the Stage,  
Said, he saw nothing to accuse Old Age.  
None but the foolish, who their lives abuse  
Age, of their own Mistakes and Crimes accuse,  
All Commonwealths( as by Record is seen)  
As by Age preserved, by Youth destroyed have been,  
When the Tragedian Naevius did demand,  
Why did your Common-wealth no longer stand?  
'twas answered, that their Senators were new,  
Foolish, and young, and such as nothing knew;  
Nature to Youth hot rashness doth dispense,  
But with could prudence Age doth recompense;  
But Age( 'tis said) will memory decay,  
So( if it be not exercised) it may;  
Or, if by Nature it be dull, and slow,  
Themistocles( when aged) the Names did know  
Of all th' Athenians, and none grow so old,  
Not to remember where they hide their Gold.  
From Age such Art of Memory we learn,  
To forget nothing, which is our concern.  
Their interest no Priest, nor Sorcerer  
Forgets, nor Lawyer, nor Philosopher;  
No understanding, Memory can want,  
Where wisdom studious industry doth plant.  
Nor does it only in the active live,  
But in the quiet and contemplative;  
When Sophocles( who Plays, when aged wrote)  
Was by his Sons before the Judges brought,  
Because be paid the Muses such respect,  
His Fortune, Wife, and Children to neglect,  
Almost condemned, he moved the Judged thus,  
Hear, but instead of me, my Oedipus,  
The Judges hearing with applause, at th' end,  
Freed him, and said no Fool such Lines had penned.  
What Poets, and what Orators can I  
Recount? What Princes in Philosophy  
Whose constant Studies with their Age did strive,  
Nor did they those, though those did them survive.  
Old Husbandmen I at Sabinium know,  
Who for another year dig, plough, and sow.  
For never any man was yet so old,  
But hoped his life one Winter more might hold.  
Caecilius vainly said, each day we spend  
Discovers something, which must needs offend,  
But sometimes Age may pleasant things behold,  
And nothing that offends: He should have  told  
This not to Age, but Youth, who oftener see  
What not alone offends, but hurts, then wee:  
That, I in him, which he in Age condemned,  
That us it renders odious, and contemned.  
He knew not virtue, if he thought this, truth;  
For Youth delights in Age, and Age in Youth.  
What to the Old can greater pleasure be,  
Then hopeful, and ingenious Youth to see?  
When they with reverence follow where we led,  
And in straight paths by our directions tread;  
And even my conversation here I see,  
As well received by you, as yours by me.  
'tis dis-ingenious to accuse our Age  
Of Idleness, who all our sergeant's engage  
In the same Studies, the same Course to hold;  
Nor think our reason for new Arts too old.  
Solon the Sage his Progress never ceased,  
But still his Learning with his dayes increased;  
And I with the same greediness did seek  
As( water when I thirst) to swallow Greek,  
Which I did only learn, that I might know  
Those great Examples, which I follow now:  
And I have heard that Socrates the wise  
learned on the Lute for his last exercise,  
Though many of the ancients did the same,  
To improve Knowledge was my only aim.    

THE SECOND PART.  

NOw int' our second grievance I must break,  
That loss of strength makes nnderstanding weak.  
I grieve no more my youthful strength to want,  
Then young, that of a Bull, or Elephant;  
Then with that force content, which Nature gave,  
Nor am I now displeased with what I have.  
When the young Wrestlers at their sport grew warm,  
Old Milo wept, to see his naked arm;  
And cried, 'twas dead, Trifler thine heart, and head,  
And all that's in them( not thy arm) are dead;  
This folly every looker on derides,  
To glory only in thy arms and sides.  
Our gallant Ancestors let fall no tears,  
Their strength decreasing by increasing years;  
But they advanced in Wisdom every hour,  
And made the Common-wealth advance in power.  
But Orators may grieve, for in their sides  
Rather than heads, their faculty abides;  
Yet I have heard old voices loud and clear,  
And still my own sometimes the Senate hear.  
When th' Old with smooth and gentle voices pled,  
They by the ear their well-pleased Audience led:  
Which, if I had not strength enough to do,  
I could( my Laelius, and my Scipio)  
What's to be done, or not be done, instruct,  
And to the maxims of good life conduct.  
Cneius and Publius Scipio, and( that man  
Of men) your Grandsire the great african,  
Were joyful, when the flower of Noble blood  
Crowded their Dwellings, and attending stood,  
Like Oracles their Counsels to receive,  
How in their Progress they should act, and live.  
And they whose high examples youth obeys,  
Are not despised, though their strength decays.  
And those decays( to speak the naked truth,  
Though the defects of Age) were Crimes of Youth.  
Intemperate Youth( by sad experience found)  
Ends in an Age imperfect, and unsound.  
Cyrus, though aged( if Xenophon say true)  
Lucius Metellus( whom when young I knew)  
Who held( after his Second Consulate)  
Twenty two years the high Pontificate;  
Neither of those in body, or in mind  
Before their death the least decay did find.  
I speak not of myself, though none deny  
To age( to praise their youth) the liberty:  
Such an unwasted strength I cannot boast,  
Yet now my years are eighty four almost:  
And though from what it was my strength is far,  
Both in the first and second punic war,  
Nor at Thermopylae, under Glabrio,  
Nor when I Consul into Spain did go;  
But yet I feel no weakness, nor hath length  
Or Winters quiter enervated my strength;  
And I, my Guest, my Client, or my friend,  
Still in the Courts of Justice can defend:  
Neither must I that Proverb's truth allow,  
Who would be ancient, must be early so.  
I would be youthful still, and find no need  
To appear old, till I was so indeed.  
And yet you see my hours not idle are,  
Though with your strength I cannot mine compare.  
Yet this Centurion's doth yours surmount,  
Not therefore him the better man I count.  
Milo when entering the olympic Game,  
With a huge ox upon his shoulder came.  
Would you the force of Milo's body find?  
Rather than of Pythagoras's mind?  
The force which Nature gives with care retain,  
But when decayed, 'tis folly to complain;  
In age to wish for youth is full as vain,  
As for a youth to turn a child again.  
simplo, and certain Nature's ways appear,  
As she sets forth the seasons of the year.  
So in all parts of life we find her truth,  
Weakness to childhood, rashness to our youth:  
To elder years to be discreet and grave,  
Then to old age maturity she gave.  
( Scipio) you know, how Masinissa bears  
His Kingly Port, at more than ninety years;  
When marching with his foot, he walks till night;  
When with his horse, he never will alight;  
Though could, or wet, his head is always bare;  
So hot, so dry, his aged members are.  
You see how Exercise and Temperance  
Even to old years a youthful strength advance.  
Our Law( because from age our strength retires)  
No duty which belongs to strength requires.  
But age doth many men so feeble make,  
That they no great design can undertake;  
Yet, that to age not singly is applied,  
But to all man's infirmities beside.  
That Scipio( who adopted you) did fall  
Into such pains, he had no health at all;  
Who else had equalled africanus parts,  
Exceeding him in all the Liberal Arts.  
Why should those errors then imputed be  
To Age alone, from which our youths not free?  
every disease of age we may prevent,  
Like those of youth, by being diligent.  
When sick, such moderate exercise we use,  
And diet, as our vital heat renews;  
And if our bodies thence refreshment finds,  
Then must we also exercise our minds.  
If with continual oil we not supply  
Our Lamp, the Light for want of it will die:  
Though bodies may be tired with exercise,  
No weariness the mind could e're surprise.  
Caecilius the Comedian, when of Age,  
He represents the follies on the Stage;  
They're credulous, forgetful, dissolute,  
Neither those Crimes to age he doth impute;  
But to old men to whom those Crimes belong.  
Lust, petulance, rashness, are in youth more strong  
Than age, and yet young men those vices hate,  
Who virtuous are, discreet, and temperate:  
And so what we call dotage, seldom breeds  
In bodies, but where Nature sowed the seeds.  
There are five Daughters and four gallant Sons,  
In whom the blood of Noble Appius runs,  
With a most numerous Family beside;  
Whom he alone though old, and blind did guide.  
Yet his clear-fighted mind was still intent,  
And to his business like a Bow stood bent:  
By Children, Servants, Neighbours so esteemed,  
He not a Master, but a Monarch seemed.  
All his Relations his admirers were,  
His Sons paid reverence, and his Servants fear:  
The Order and the ancient Discipline  
Of Romans, did in all his actions shine.  
Authority( kept up) old age secures,  
Whose dignity, as long as life endures.  
Something of youth I in old age approve,  
But more the marks of age in youth I love.  
Who this observes, may in his body find  
Decrepit age, but never in his mind.  
The seven Volumes of my own Reports,  
Wherein are all the Pleadings of our Courts.  
All noble Monuments of Greece are come  
Unto my hands, with those of ancient Rome.  
The Pontificial, and the Civil Law,  
I study still, and thence Orations draw.  
And to confirm my Memory, at night,  
What I hear, see, do, by day, I still recite.  
These exercises for my thoughts I find,  
These labours are the Chariot of my mind.  
To serve my friends, the Senate I frequent,  
And there what I before digested, vent.  
Which only from my strength of mind proceeds,  
Not any outward force of body needs:  
Which, if I could not do, I should delight  
On what I would to ruminate at night.  
Who in such practices their minds engage,  
Nor fear, nor think of their approaching age;  
Which by degrees invisibly doth creep:  
Nor do we seem to die, but fall asleep.    

THE THIRD PART.  

NOw must I draw my forces 'gainst that Host  
Of Pleasures, which i'th' Sea of age are lost.  
Oh, thou most high transcendent gift of age!  
Youth from its folly thus to disengage.  
And now receive from me that most divine  
Oration of that noble Tarentine, 
Archytas much praised by H●vate.   
Which at Tarentum I long since did hear;  
When I attended the great Fabius there.  
ye Gods, was it man's Nature? or his Fate?  
betrayed him with sweet pleasures poisoned bait?  
Which he, with all designs of art, or power,  
Doth with unbridled appetite devour;  
And as all poisons seek the noblest part,  
Pleasure possesses first the head and heart;  
Intoxicating both, by them, she finds,  
And burns the Sacred Temples of our Minds.  
Furies, which Reasons divine chains had bound,  
( That being broken) all the World confounded.  
Lust, Murder, Treason, Avarice, and Hell  
itself broken loose; in Reason's palace dwell,  
Truth, Honour, Justice, Temperance, are fled,  
All her attendants into darkness lead.  
But why all this discourse? when pleasure's rage  
Hath conquered reason, we must treat with age.  
Age undermines, and will in time surprise  
Her strongest Forts, and cut off all supplies.  
And joined in league with strong necessity,  
Pleasure must fly, or else by famine die.  
Flaminius, whom a Consulship had graced  
( Then Censor) from the Senate I displaced;  
When he in gall a Consul, made a Feast,  
A beauteous courtesan did him request,  
To see the cutting off a Prisoner's head;  
This Crime I could not leave unpunished,  
Since by a private villainy he stained  
That public Honour, which at Rome he gained.  
Then to our age( when not to pleasures bent)  
This seems an honour, not disparagement.  
We, not all pleasures like the stoics hate;  
But love and seek those which are moderate.  
( Though Divine Plato thus of pleasures thought,  
They us, with hooks and baits, like fishes caught.)  
When Quaestor, to the Gods, in public Halls  
I was the first, who set up festivals.  
Not with high tastes our appetites did force,  
But filled with conversation and discourse;  
Which Feasts, Convivial Meetings we did name.  
Not like the ancient Greeks, who to their shane,  
called it a Compotation, not a Feast;  
Declaring the worst part of it the best.  
Those Entertainments I did then frequent  
Sometimes with youthful heat and merriment:  
But now( I thank my age) which gives me ease  
From those excesses, yet myself I please  
With cheerful talk to entertain my guests,  
( Discourses are to age continual feasts)  
The love of meat and wine they recompense,  
And cheer the mind, as much as those the sense.  
I 'm not more pleased with gravity among  
The aged, than to be youthful with the young;  
Nor 'gainst all pleasures proclaim open war,  
To which, in age, some natural motions are.  
And still at my Sabinum I delight  
To treat my Neighbours till the depth of night.  
* But we the sense and gust of pleasure want,  
Which youth at full possesses, this I grant;  
But age seeks not the things which youth requires,  
And no man needs that, which he not desires.  
When Sophocles was asked if he denied  
Himself the use of pleasures, he replied,  
I humbly thank th' Immortal Gods, who me  
From that fierce Tyrants insolence set free.  
But they whom pressing appetites constrain,  
Grieve when they cannot their desires obtain.  
Young men the use of pleasure understand,  
As of an object new, and near at hand:  
Though this stands more remote from age's fight,  
Yet they behold it not without delight:  
As ancient souldiers from their duties eased,  
With sense of Honour and Rewards are pleased.  
So from ambitious hopes, and lusts released,  
Delighted with itself, our age doth rest.  
No part of life more happy, when with bread  
Of ancient Knowledge, and new Learning fed;  
All youthful pleasures by degrees must cease,  
But those of age even with our years increase.  
We love not loaded Boards, and Goblets crowned,  
But free from surfeits, our repose is sound.  
When old Fabritius to the Samnites went  
ambassador from Rome to Pyrrhus sent,  
He heard a grave Philosopher maintain,  
That all the actions of our life were vain;  
Which with our sense of pleasure not conspired.  
Fabritius the Philosopher desired,  
That he to Pyrrhus would that maxim teach,  
And to the Satanites the same doctrine preach;  
Then of their Conquest he should doubt no more,  
Whom their own pleasures overcame before.  
Now into rustic matters I must fall,  
Which pleasure seems to me the chief of all.  
Age no impediment to those can give,  
Who wisely by the Rules of Nature live.  
Earth( though our Mother) cheerfully obeys,  
All the commands her race upon her lays.  
For whatsoever from our hand she takes,  
Greater, or less, a vast return she makes,  
Nor am I only pleased with that resource,  
But with her ways, her method, and her force,  
The seed her bosom( by the plough made fit)  
Receives, where kindly she embraces it,  
Which with her genuine warmth, diffused, and spread  
Sends forth betimes a green, and tender head,  
Then gives it motion, life, and nourishment,  
Which from the root through nerves and veins are sent,  
Streight in a hollow sheathe upright it grows,  
And, form receiving, doth itself disclose,  
Drawn up in ranks, and files, the bearded spikes  
Guard it from birds as with a stand of pikes.  
When of the Vine I speak, I seem inspired,  
And with delight, as with her juice am fired;  
At Nature's God-like power I stand amazed,  
Which such vast bodies hath from atoms raised.  
The kernel of a grape, the figs's small grain  
Can cloath a Mountain, and o'er shade a plain:  
But thou( dear Vine) forbid'st me to be long,  
Although thy trunk be neither large, nor strong,  
Nor can thy head( not helped) itself sublime,  
Yet like a Serpent, a tall three can climb,  
whatever thy many fingers can intwine  
Proves thy support, and all it's strength is thine,  
Though Nature gave not legs, it gave thee hands,  
By which thy prop the proudest Cedar stands;  
As thou hast hands, so hath thy off-spring wings,  
And to the highest part of Mortals springs,  
But lest thou shouldst consume thy wealth in vain,  
And starve thyself, to feed a numerous train,  
Or like the Bee( sweet as thy blood) designed  
To be destroyed to propagate his kind,  
Lest thy redundant, and superfluous juice,  
Should fading leaves instead of fruits-produce,  
The Pruner's hand with betting blood must quench  
Thy heat, and thy exub'rant parts retrench:  
Then from the joints of thy prolifick stem  
A swelling knot is raised( called a gem)  
Whence, in short space itself the cluster shows,  
And from earths moisture mixed with Sun-beams grows,  
I'th' Spring, like youth, it yields an acid taste,  
But Summer doth, like age, the sourness waste,  
Then clothed with leaves from heat, and could secure,  
Like Virgins, sweet, and beauteous, when mature.  
On fruits, flowers, herbs, and plants, I long could dwell  
At once to please my eye, my taste, my smell,  
My Walks of trees, all planted by my hand  
Like Children of my own begetting stand,  
To tell the several nature of each earth,  
What fruits from each most properly take birth:  
And with what arts to enrich every mould,  
The dry to moisten and to warm the could.  
But when we graft, or Buds inoculate,  
Nature by Art we nobly meliorate,  
As Orpheus music wildest beasts did tame,  
From the sour Crab the sweetest Apple came:  
The Mother to the Daughter goes to School,  
The species changed, doth her laws o're-rule;  
Nature her self doth from her self depart,  
( Strange transmigration) by the power of Art  
How little things, give law to great: we see  
The small Bud captivates the greatest three.  
Here even the Power Divine we imitate,  
And seem not to beget, out to create.  
Much was I pleased with fowls and beasts, the tame  
For food and profit, and the wild for game.  
Excuse me when this pleasant string I touch,  
( For age, of what delights it, speaks too much)  
Who, twice victorious Pyrrhus conquered,  
The Sabines and the Samnites captive lead,  
Great Curius, his remaining dayes did spend,  
And in this happy life his triumphs end.  
My Farm stands near, and when I there retire,  
His, and that Age's temper I admire,  
The Samnites chiefs, as by his fire he sate,  
With a vast sum of Gold on him did wait,  
Return, said he, your Gold I nothing weigh,  
When those, who can command it, me obey:  
This my assertion proves, he may he old  
And yet not sordid, who refuses Gold.  
In Summer to sit still, or walk, I love,  
near a cool Fountain, or a shady Grove,  
What can in Winter render more delight?  
Then the high Sun at noon, and fire at night,  
While our old friends, and neighbours feast, and play,  
And with their harmless mirth turn night to day,  
Unpurchas'd plenty our full tables loads,  
And part of what they lent, returns to our Gods.  
That honour, and authority which dwells  
With age, all pleasures of our youth excels,  
Observe, that I that Age have only praised  
Whose pillars were on youths foundations raised,  
And that( for which I great applause received)  
As a true maxim hath been since believed.  
That most unhappy age great pity needs,  
Which to defend itself, new matter pleads,  
Not from gray hairs authority doth flow,  
Not from bald heads, nor from a wrinkled brow,  
But our past life, when virtuously spent,  
Must to our age those happy fruits present,  
Those things to age most honourable are,  
Which easy, common, and but light appear,  
Salutes, consulting, compliment, resort,  
crowding attendance to, and from the Court,  
And not on Rome alone this honour waits,  
But on all Civill, and well-governed States.  
Lysander pleading in his City's praise,  
From thence his strongest argument did raise,  
That Sparta did with honour Age support,  
Paying them just respect, at Stage, and Court,  
But at proud Athens Youth did Age out-face,  
Nor at the plays, would rise, or give them place,  
When an Athenian Stranger of great age,  
arrived at Sparta, climbing up the Stage,  
To him the whole Assembly rose, and ran  
To place and ease this old and reverend man,  
Who thus his thanks returns, the Athenians know  
What's to be done, but what they know, not do.  
Here our great Senat's Orders I may quote,  
The first in age is still the first in vote,  
Nor honour, nor high-birth, nor great command  
In competition with great years may stand.  
Why should our Youths short, transient pleasures, dare  
With Age's lasting honours to compare?  
On the World's Stage, when our applause grows high,  
For acting here, life tragic Comedy,  
The lookers on will say we act not well,  
Unless the last the former Scenes excel:  
But Age is froward, uneasy, scrutinous,  
Hard to be pleased, and parsimonious;  
But all those errors from our Manners rise,  
Not from our years, yet some Morosities  
We must expect, since jealousy belongs  
To age, of scorn, and tender sense of wrongs,  
Yet those are mollified, or not discerned,  
Where civil arts and manners have been learned,  
So the Twins humours in our Terence, 
In his Comedy called Adelphi.  are  
Unlike, this harsh, and rude, that smooth and faire,  
Our nature here, is not unlike our wine,  
Some sorts, when old, continue brisk, and fine,  
So Age's gravity may seem severe,  
But nothing harsh, or bitter ought to appear,  
Of Age's avarice I cannot see  
What colour, ground, or reason there should bee,  
Is it not folly? when the way we ride  
Is short, for a long voyage to provide.  
To Avarice some title Youth may own,  
To reap in Autumn, what the Spring had sown;  
And with the providence of Bees, or Ants,  
Prevents with Summers plenty, Winters wants,  
But Age scarce sows, till Death stands by to reap,  
And to a strangers hand transfers the heap;  
afraid to be so once, she's always poor,  
And to avoid a mischief, makes it sure  
Such madness, as for fear of death to dy,  
Is, to be poor for fear of Poverty.    

THE FOURTH PART.  

NOw against( that which terrifies our age)  
The last, and greatest grievance we engage,  
To her, grim death appears in all her shapes,  
The hungry grave for her due tribute gapes,  
Fond, foolish man! with fear of death surprised  
Which either should be wished for, or despised,  
This, if our Souls with Bodies, death destroy,  
That, if our Souls a second life enjoy,  
What else is to be feared? when we shall gain  
Eternal life, or have no sense of pain,  
The youngest in the morning are not sure,  
That till the night their life they can secure  
Their age stands more exposed to accidents  
Then ours, nor common cure their fate prevents:  
Death's force( with terror) against Nature strives,  
Nor one of many to ripe age arrives,  
From this ill fate the world's disorders rise,  
For if all men were old they would be wise,  
Years, and experience, our fore fathers taught,  
Them under Laws, and into Cities brought:  
Why only should the fear of death belong  
To age? which is as common to the young:  
Your hopeful Brothers, and my Son, to you  
( Scipio) and me, this maxim makes too true,  
But vigorous Youth may his gay thoughts erect  
To many years, which Age must not expect,  
But when he sees his airy hopes deceived,  
With grief he says, who this would have believed?  
We happier are then they, who but desired  
To possess that, which we long since acquired.  
What if our age to Nestor's could extend?  
'tis vain to think that lasting, which must end;  
And when 'tis past, not any part remains  
Thereof, but the reward which virtue gains.  
Dayes, Months, and years, like running waters flow,  
Nor what is past, nor what's to come we know,  
Our date how short so e're must us content,  
When a good Actor doth his part present,  
In every Act he our attention draws,  
That at the last he may find just applause,  
So( though but short) yet we must learn the art  
Of virtue, on this Stage to act our part;  
True wisdom must our actions so direct,  
Not only the last Plaudite to expect;  
Yet grieve no more though long that part should last,  
Then Husbandmen, because the Spring is past,  
The Spring, like Youth, fresh blossoms doth produce,  
But autumn makes them ripe, and fit for use:  
So Age a Mature Mellowness doth set  
On the green promises of youthful heat,  
All things which Nature did ordain, are good,  
And so must be received, and understood,  
Age, like ripe apple, on earth's bosom drops,  
whilst force our youth, like fruits untimely crops;  
The sparkling flamme of our warm blood expires,  
As when huge streams are poured on raging fires,  
But age unforced falls by her own consent,  
As Coals to ashes, when the Spirit's spent;  
Therefore to death I with such joy resort,  
As Seamen from a Tempest to their Port,  
Yet to that Port ourselves we must not force,  
Before our Pilot Nature steers our course,  
Let us the Causes of our fear condemn,  
Then death at his approach we shall contemn,  
Though to our heat of youth our age seems could,  
Yet when resolved, it is more brave and bold.  
Thus Solon to Pisistratus replied,  
Demanded, on what succour he relied,  
When with so few he boldly did engage,  
He said, he took his courage from his Age.  
Then death seems welcome, and our Nature kind,  
When leaving us a perfect sense and mind;  
She( like a Workman in his Science skilled)  
Pulls down with ease, what her own hand did build.  
That Art which knew to join all parts in one,  
Makes the least violent separation.  
Yet though our Ligaments betimes grow weak,  
We must not force them till themselves they break.  
Pythag'ras bids us in our Station stand,  
Till God our General shall us disband.  
Wise Solon dying, wished his friends might grieve,  
That in their memories he still might live.  
Yet wiser Ennius gave command to all  
His friends, not to bewail his funeral;  
Your tears for such a death in vain you spend,  
Which straight in immortality shall end.  
In death if there be any sense of pain,  
But a short space, to age it will remain.  
On which without my fears, my wishes wait,  
But timorous youth on this should meditate:  
Who for light pleasure this advice rejects,  
Finds little, when his thoughts he recollects.  
Our death( though not its certain date) we know,  
Nor whether it may be this night, or no:  
How then can they contented live? who fear  
A danger certain, and none knows how near.  
They err, who for the fear of death dispute,  
Our gallant actions this mistake confute.  
Thee ( Brutus) Rome's first Martyr I must name,  
The curtij bravely dived the gulf of flamme:  
Attilius sacrificed himself, to save  
That faith, which to his barbarous foes he gave;  
With the two Scipio's did thy Uncle fall,  
Rather to fly from Conquering Hannibal.  
The great Marcellus( who restored Rome)  
His greatest foes with Honour did entomb.  
Their Lives how many of our Legions threw,  
Into the breach? whence no return they knew;  
Must then the wise, the old, the learned fear,  
What not the rude, the young, th'unlearn'd forbear?  
Satiety from all things else doth come,  
Then life must to itself grow wearisome.  
Those Trifles wherein Children take delight,  
Grow nauceous to the young man's appetite,  
And from those gaieties our youth requires,  
To exercise their minds, our age retires.  
And when the last delights of Age shall die,  
Life in itself will find satiety.  
Now you( my friends) my sense of death shall hear,  
Which I can well describe, for he stands near.  
Your Father Laelius, and yours Scipio,  
My friends, and men of honour I did know;  
As certainly as we must die, they live  
That life which justly may that name receive.  
Till from these prisons of our flesh released,  
Our souls with heavy burdens lye oppressed;  
Which part of man from Heaven falling down,  
Earth in her low abyss, doth hid, and drown.  
A place so dark to the Celestial light,  
And pure, eternal fires quiter opposite.  
The Gods through human bodies did disperse  
An heavenly soul, to guide this Universe;  
That man, when he of heavenly bodies saw  
The Order, might from thence a pattern draw:  
Nor this to me did my own dictates show  
But to the old Philosophers I owe.  
I heard Pythagoras, and those who came  
With him, and from our country took their Name.  
Who never doubted but the beams divine  
derived from Gods, in mortal breasts did shine.  
Nor from my knowledge did the ancients hid  
What Socrates declared, the hour he died,  
He th'Immortality of Souls proclaimed,  
( Whom th'oracle of men the wisest named)  
Why should we doubt of that? whereof our sense  
Finds demonstration from experience;  
Our minds are here and there, below, above;  
Nothing that's mortal can so swiftly move.  
Our thoughts to future things their flight direct,  
And in an instant all that's past collect,  
Reason, remembrance, wit, inventive art,  
No nature, but immortal, can impart.  
Man's Soul in a perpetual motion flows,  
And to no outward cause that Motion owes;  
And therefore, that, no end can overtake,  
Because our minds cannot themselves forsake.  
And since the matter of our Soul is pure,  
And simplo, which no mixture can endure  
Of parts, which not among themselves agree;  
Therefore it never can divided be.  
And Nature shows( without Philosophy)  
What cannot be divided, cannot die.  
We even in early infancy discern,  
Knowledge is born with babes before they learn;  
Ere they can speak, they find so many ways  
To serve their turn, and see more Arts than dayes,  
Before their thoughts they plainly can express,  
The words and things they know are numberless;  
Which Nature only, and no Art could find,  
But what she taught before, she called to mind.  
This to his Sons( as Xenophon records)  
Of the great Cyrus were the dying words;  
Fear not when I depart( nor therefore mourn)  
I shall be no where, or to nothing turn:  
That Soul, which gave me life, was seen by none,  
Yet by the actions it designed, was known;  
And though its flight no mortal eye shall see,  
Yet know, for ever it the same shall be.  
That Soul, which can immortal glory give,  
To her own virtues must for ever live.  
Can you believe, that man's all-knowing mind  
Can to a mortal body be confined?  
Though a foul, foolish prison her immure  
On earth, she( when escaped) is wise, and pure.  
Man's body when dissolved is but the same  
With beasts, and must return from whence it came;  
But whence into our bodys reason flows,  
None sees it, when it comes, or where it goes.  
Nothing resembles death so much as sleep,  
Yet then our minds themselves from slumber keep.  
When from their fleshly bondage they are free,  
Then what divine, and future things they see?  
Which makes it most apparent whence they are,  
And what they shall hereafter be declare.  
This Noble Speech the dying Cyrus made.  
Me ( Scipio) shall no argument persuade,  
Thy Grandsire, and his Brother, to whom famed  
Gave from two conquered parts o'th World, their Name,  
Nor thy great Grandsire, nor thy Father Paul,  
Who fell at Cannae against Hannibal;  
Nor I( for 'tis permitted to the aged  
To boast their actions) had so oft engaged  
In Battels, and in Pleadings, had we thought,  
That only famed our virtuous actions bought,  
'twere better in soft pleasure and repose  
Ingloriously our peaceful eyes to close:  
Some high assurance hath possessed my mind,  
After my death, an happier life to find.  
Unless our Souls from the Immortals came,  
What end have we to seek Immortal famed?  
All virtuous spirits some such hope attends,  
Therefore the wise his dayes with pleasure ends.  
The foolish and short-sighted die with fear,  
That they go no where, or they know not where.  
The wise and virtuous Soul with clearer eyes  
Before she parts, some happy Port descries.  
My friends, your Fathers I shall surely see,  
Nor only those I loved, or who loved me;  
But such as before ours did end their daies:  
Of whom we hear, and red, and writ their praise.  
This I believe, for were I on my way,  
None should persuade me to return, or stay:  
Should some God tell me, that I should be born,  
And cry again, his offer I should scorn;  
ashamed when I have ended well my race,  
To be lead back, to my first starting place.  
And since with life we are more grieved than joyed,  
We should be either satisfied, or cloyed;  
Yet will not I my length of dayes deplore,  
As many wise and learned have done before:  
Nor can I think such life in vain is lent,  
Which for our country and our friends is spent.  
Hence from an inn, not from my home, I pass,  
Since Nature meant us here no dwelling place.  
Happy when I from this turmoil set free,  
That peaceful and divine assembly see:  
Not only those I named I there shall greet,  
But my own gallant virtuous Cato meet.  
Nor did I weep, when I to ashes turned  
His beloved body, who should mine have burned:  
I in my thoughts beholded his Soul ascend,  
Where his fixed hopes our Interview attend:  
Then cease to wonder that I feel no grief  
From Age, which is of my delights the chief.  
My hope's, if this assurance hath deceived,  
( That I Man's Soul Immortal have believed)  
And if I err, no power shall dispossess  
My thoughts of that expected happiness.  
Though some minute Philosophers pretend,  
That with our dayes our pains and pleasures end.  
If it be so, I hold the safer side,  
For none of them my Error shall deride.  
And if hereafter no rewards appear,  
Yet virtue hath itself rewarded here.  
If those who this Opinion have despised,  
And their whole life to pleasure sacrificed;  
Should feel their error, they when undeceived,  
Too late will wish, that me they had believed.  
If Souls no Immortality obtain,  
'tis fit our bodies should be out of pain.  
The same uneasiness, which every thing  
Gives to our Nature, life must also bring.  
Good Acts( if long) seem tedious, so is Age  
Acting too long upon this Earth her Stage.  
Thus much for Age, to which when you arrive,  
That Joy to you, which it gives me, 'twill give.   
FINIS.