necessity, men happen to be married to it, I can only give them St. Paul's advice: "Brethren, the time is short; it remains, that they, that have wives, be as though they had none.-But I would that all men were even as I myself." In all cases, they must be sure, that they do mundum ducere, and not mundo nubere. They must retain the superiority and headship over it: happy are they, who can get out of the sight of this deceitful beauty, that they may not be led so much as into temptation; who have not only quitted the metropolis, but can abstain from ever seeking the next market-town in their country. coxcomb? A man, who is excessive in his pains and diligence, and who consumes the greatest part of his time in furnishing the remainder with all conveniences and even superfluities, is to angels and wise men no less ridiculous; he does as little consider the shortness of his passage, that he might proportion his cares accordingly. It is, alas, so narrow a strait betwixt the womb and the grave, that it might be called the Pas de Vie, as well as that the Pas de Calais. We are all putge (as Pindar calls us), creatures of a day, and therefore our Saviour bounds our desires to that little space: as if it were very probable that every day should be our last, we are taught to demand even bread for no longer a time. The Sun ought not to set upon our cove CLAUDIAN'SOLD MAN OF VERONA. tousness, no more than upon our anger; but, as DE SENE VERONENSI, QUI SUBURBIUM NUNQUAM EGRESSUS EST. FELIX, qui patriis, &c. to God Almighty a thousand years are as one day, so, in direct opposition, one day to the covetous man is as a thousand years; tam brevi fortis jaculatur ævo multa, so far he shoots beyond his butt: one would think, he were of the opinion of the Millenaries, and hoped for so long a reign HAPPY the man, who his whole time doth bound upon Earth. The patriarchs before the flood, Within th' enclosure of his little ground. A neighbouring wood, born with himself, he sees, IX. who enjoyed almost such a life, made, we are sure, less stores for the maintaining of it; they, who lived nine hundred years, scarcely provided for a few days; we, who live but a few days, provide at least for nine hundred years. What a strange alteration is this of human life and manners! and yet we see an imitation of it in every man's particular experience; for we begin not the cares of life, till it be half spent, and still increase them, as that decreases. What is there among the actions of beasts so illogical and repugnant to reason? When they do any thing, which seems to proceed from that which we call reason, we disdain to allow them that perfection, and attribute it only to a natural instinct and are not we fools, too, by the same kind of instinct? If we could but learn to "nummight), we should adjust much better our other ber our days" (as we are taught to pray that we accounts; but, whilst we never consider an end of them, it is no wonder if our cares for them be without end, too. Horace advises very wisely, and in excellent good words, -Spatio brevi Spem longum resecess from a short life cut off all hopes that grow too long. They must be pruned away like suckers, that choak the mother-plant, and hinder it from bearing fruit. And in another place, to the same sense, THE SHORTNESS OF LIFE, AND UN- Vitæ summa brevis spem nos vetat inchoare CERTAINTY OF RICHES. longam 6; which Seneca does not mend, when he says Ir you should see a man, who were to cross from Oh! quanta dementia est spes longas inchoanDover to Calais, run about very busy and soli- tium! but he gives an example there of an accitous, and trouble himself many weeks before inquaintance of his, named Senecio, who, from a making provisions for his voyage, would you commend him for a cautious and discreet person, or laugh at him for a timorous and impertinent 1 Cor. vii. 29. 7. very mean beginning, by great industry in turning about of money through all ways of gain, had attained to extraordinary riches, but died on a 212 sudden, after having supped merrily, in ipso actu benè cedentium rerum, in ipso procurrentis fortunæ impetu, in the full course of his good fortune, when she had a high tide, and a stiff gale, and all her sails on; upon which occasion he cries, out of Virgil7, Thou dost thyself wise and industrious deem; Officious fool! that needs must meddling be Insere nunc, Melibae, pyros; pone ordine For when to future years thou' extend'st thy vites! For this Senecio I have no compassion, because he was taken, as we say, in ipso facto, still labouring in the work of avarice; but the poor rich man in St Luke (whose case was not like this) I could pity, methinks if the Scripture would permit me; for he seems to have been satisfied at last, he confesses he had enough for many years, he bids his soul take its ease; and yet for all that, God says to him, "Thou fool, this night thy soul shall be required of thee; and the things thou hast laid up, who shall they belong to 8?" Where shall we find the causes of this bitter reproach and terrible judgment? We may find, I think, two; and God, perhaps, saw more. First, that he did not intend true rest to his soul, but only to change the employments of it from avarice to luxury; his design is, to eat, and to drink, and to be merry. Secondly, that he went on too long before he thought of resting; the fullness of his old barns had not sufficed him, he would stay till he was forced to build new ones: and God meted out to him in the same measure; since he would have more riches than his life could contain, God destroyed his life, and gave the fruits of it to another. Thus God takes away sometimes the man from his riches, and no less frequently riches from the man: what hope can there be of such a marriage, where both parties are so fickle and uncertain? by what bonds can such a couple be kept long together? Why dost thou heap up wealth, which thou must Why dost thou build up stately rooms on high, Suppose, thou Fortune couldst to tameness bring, Yet Death at all that subtilty will laugh; 7 Buc. i, 4, Luke xii. 20. cares, Ev'n aged men, as if they truly were Children again, for age prepare; In the last point of their short line. Wisely the ant against poor winter hoards In Of power and honour the deceitful light Might half excuse our cheated sight, Like lightning, that, begot but in a cloud (Though shining 'bright, and speaking Whilst it begins, concludes its violent race, Oh scene of fortune, which dost fair appear Be prudent, and the shore in prospect keep; Pity great men, great things despise. Thy fellow-poet, Cowley, mark; X, THE DANGER OF PROCRASTINA A Letter to Mr. S. L. I AM glad that you approve and applaud my de- son, whom you and I love very much, and would believe as soon as another man) cum dignitate otium. This were excellent advice to Joshua, who could bid the Sun stay too. But there is no fooling with life, when it is once turned beyond forty. The seeking for a fortune then, is but a desperate after-game it is a hundred to one, if a man fling two sixes and recover all; especially, if his hand be no luckier than mine. There is some help for all the defects of fortune; for, if a man cannot attain to the length of his wishes, he may have his remedy by cutting of them shorter. Epicurus writes a letter to Idomeneus (who was then a very powerful, wealthy, and, it seems, bountiful person) to recommend to him, who had made so many men rich, one Pythocles, a friend of his, whom he desired might be made a rich man too; "but I entreat you that you would not do it just the same way as you have done to many less deserving persons, but in the most gentlemanly manner of obliging him, which is not to add any thing to his estate, but to take something from his desires." The sum of this is, that, for the uncertain hopes of some conveniences, we ought not to defer the execution of a work that is necessary; especially, when the use of those things, which we would stay for, may otherwise be supplied; but the loss of time, never recovered: nay, farther yet, though we were sure to obtain all that we had a mind to, though we were sure of getting never so much by continuing the game, yet, when the light of life is so near going out, and ought to be so precious, le jeu ne vaut pas la chandelle, the play is not worth the expense of the candle: after having been long tost in a tempest, if our masts be standing, and we have still sail and tackling enough to carry us to our port, it is no matter for the want of streamers and top-gallants; -utere velis, Totos pande sinus-9 A gentleman in our late civil wars, when his quarters were beaten up by the enemy, was taken Cæsar (the man of expedition above all others) was so far from this folly, that whensoever, in a journey, he was to cross any river, he never went one foot out of his way for a bridge, or a ford, or a ferry; but flung himself into it immediately, and swam over and this is the course we ought to imitate, if we meet with any stops in our way to happiness. Stay, till the waters are low; stay, till some boats come by to transport you; stay, till a bridge be built for you; you had even as good stay till the river be quite past. Persius (who, you use to say, you do not know whether he be a good poet or no, because you cannot understand him, and whom therefore, I say, I know to be not a good poet) has an odd expression of these procrastinators, which, methinks, is full of fancy: Jam cras hesternum consumpsimus; ecce aliud Our yesterday's to morrow now is gone. And now, I think, I am even with you, for your otium cum dignitate, and festina lente, and three or four other more of your new Latin sentences: if I should draw upon you all my forces out of Seneca and Plutarch upon this subject, I should overwhelm you; but I leave those, as Triarii, for your next charge. I shall only give you now a light skirmish out of an epigrammatist, your special good friend; and so, vale. MARTIAL, Lib. V. Epigr. lix. prisoner, and lost his life afterwards, only by Cras te victurum, cras dicis, Posthume, sem staying to put on a band, and adjust his periwig: he would escape like a person of quality, or not at all, and died the noble martyr of ceremony and gentility. I think, your counsel of festina lente is as ill to a man who is flying from the world, as it would have been to that unfortunate well-bred gentleman, who was so cautious as not to fly undecently from his enemies; and therefore I prefer Horace's advice before yours, per; &c. TO MORROW you will live, you always cry: In what far country does this morrow lie, That 'tis so mighty loug ere it arrive? Beyond the Indies does this morrow live? 'Tis so far fetch'd this morrow, that I fear 'Twill be both very old and very dear. To morrow I will live, the fool does say: To day itself's too late; the wise liv'd yesterday. MARTIAL, Lib. II. Epigr. xc. Quinctiliane, vagæ moderator summe juventæ, &c. WONDER not, sir, (you who instruct the town In the true wisdom of the sacred gown) That I make haste to live, and cannot hold Patiently out till I grow rich and old. Life for delays and doubts no time does give, XI. OF MYSELF. It is a hard and nice subject for a man to write of himself; it grates his own heart to say any thing of disparagement, and the reader's ears to hear any thing of praise from him. There is no danger from me of offending him in this kind; neither my mind, nor my body, nor my fortune, allow me any materials for that vanity. It is sufficient for my own contentment, that they have preserved me from being scandalous or remarkable on the defective side. But, besides that, I shall here speak of myself only in relation to the subject of these precedent discourses, and shall be likelier thereby to fall into the contempt, than rise up to the estimation, of most people, As far as my memory can return back into my past life, before I knew, or was capable of guessing, what the world, or the glories or business of it, were, the natural affections of my soul gave me a secret bent of aversion from them, as some plants are said to turn away from others, by an antipathy imperceptible to themselves, and inscrutable to man's understanding. Even when I was a very young boy at school, instead of running about on holy-days and playing with my fellows, I was wont to steal from them, and walk into the fields, either alone with a book, or with some one companion, if I could find any of the same tempor. I was then, too, so much an enemy to all constraint, that my masters could never prevail on me, by any persuasions or encouragements, to learn without book the common rules of grammar; in which they dispensed with me alone, because they found I made a shift to do the usual exercise out of my own reading and observation. That I was then of the same mind as I am now (which, I confess, I wonder at myself) may appear by the latter end of an ode, which I made when I was but thirteen years old, and which was then printed with many other verses, The beginning of it is boyish; Thus would I double my life's fading space; But boldly say each night, To morrow let my sun his beams display, You may see by it, I was even theu acquaint ed with the poets (for the conclusion is taken out of Horace3); and perhaps it was the immature and immoderate love of them, which stampt first, or rather engraved, these characters in me: they were like letters cut into the bark of a young tree, which with the tree still grow proportionably. But, how this love came to be produced in me so early, is a hard question: I believe, I can tell the particular little chance that filled my head first with such chimes of verse, as have never since left ringing there: for I remember, when I began to read, and to take some pleasure in it, there was wont to lie in my mother's parlour, (I know not by what accident, for she herself never in her life read any book but of devotion) but there was wont to lie Spenser's works; this I happened to fall upon, and was infinitely delighted with the stories of the knights, and giants, and monsters, and brave houses, which I found every where there (though my understanding had little to do with all this;) and, by degrees, with the tinkling of the rhyme and dance of the numbers; so that, I think, I had read him all over before I was twelve years old, and was thus made a poet as immediately as a child is made an eunuch. With these affections of mind, and my heart wholly set upon letters, I went to the university, but was soon torn from thence by that violent public storm, which would suffer nothing to stand where it did, but rooted up every plant, even from the princely cedars to me the hyssop. Yet, I had as good fortune as could have befallen me in such a tempest; for I was cast by it into the family of 3 3 Od. xxix. 41, No matter, Cowley; let proud Fortune see, Let all her gifts the portion be Rebellion, and hypocrisy. Do thou not grieve nor blush to be, one of the best persons, and into the court of one of the best princesses, of the world. Now, though I was here engaged in ways most contrary to the original design of my life, that is, into much company, and no small business, and into a daily sight of greatness, both militant and triumphant (for that was the state then of the English and French courts); vet all this was so far from altering my opinion, that it only added the confirmation of reason to that which was before but natural inclination. I saw plainly all the paint of that kind of life, the nearer I came to it; and that beauty, which I did not fall in love with, when, for aught I knew, it was real, was not like However by the failing of the forces which I to bewitch or entice me, when I saw that it was had expected, I did not quit the design which [ adulterate. I met with several great perhad resolved on; I cast myself into it a corps sons, whom I liked very well; but could not perdu, without making capitulations, or taking perceive that any part of their greatness was to counsel of Fortune. But God laughs at a man, be liked or desired, no more than I would be glad who says to his soul, "Take thy ease:" or content to be in a storm, though I saw many presently not only with many little incumbranships which rid safely and bravely in it; a storm ces and impediments, but with so much sickness would not agree with my stomach, if it did with (a new misfortune to me) as would have spoiled my courage. Though I was in a crowd of as the happiness of an emperor as well as mine: good company as could be found any where; yet I do neither repent, nor alter my course. though I was in business of great and honourable Non ego perfidum dixi sacramentum: nothing trust; though I eat at the best table, and enjoy-shall separate me from a mistress which I have ed the best conveniences for present subsistence that ought to he desired by a man of my condition in banishment and public distresses; yet I could not abstain from renewing my old schoolboy's wish, in a copy of verses to the same effect: Well then 4; I now do plainly see This busy world and I shall ne'er agree, &c. And I never then proposed to myself any other advantage from his majesty's happy restoration but the getting into some moderately convenient retreat in the country; which I thought in that case I might easily have compassed, as well as some others, with no greater probabilities or pretences, have arrived to extraordinary fortunes : but I had before written a shrewd prophecy against myself; and I think Apollo inspired me in the truth, though not in the elegance, of it: "Thou neither great at court, nor in the war, Nor at the exchange, shalt be, nor at the wrangling bar. Content thyself with the small barren praise, Which neglected verse does raise." Their several pleasures let them use; With Fate what boots it to contend? And some small light it did dispense, I met loved so long, and have now at last married; though she neither has brought me a rich portion, nor lived yet so quietly with me as I hoped from her : -Nec vos, dulcissima mundi quam. Nor by me e'er shall you, But this is a very pretty ejaculation.-Because I have concluded all the other chapters with a copy of verses, I will maintain the humour to the last. MARTIAL, Lib. X. Epigr. xlvii. Vitam que faciunt beatiorem &c. SINCE, dearest friend, 'tis your desire to see ♦ We have these verses, under the name of Let exercise a vigorous health maintain, The Wish, in the MISTRESS, Without which all the composition's vain. |