Twenty and Two EPISTLES OF LUCIUS ANNAEUS SENECA, The Philosopher.

Translated out of the Originall, into English Verse.

LONDON, Printed by Thomas Harper, MDCLIV.

To the Reader.

IT is the opinion of some Criticks, that most of the Epistles of Seneca, though intitled to Lucilius, were not usually sent, or so intended: but were emergent concepti­ons in his Garden, House, or Bed, for such a Wit could no where be idle. And therefore being no continued discourse, like his other Works, but confin'd to the brevity of Letters, which (as our Author sayes) ought not to fill the left hand of the Reader, and being withall interweav'd with Philosophicall Precepts, and Stoicall sentences, it is not to bee suppos'd they can or ought to bee rendred in all parts with that fluency of Phrase, which is requisite in his Consolations, and other Bookes of Designe. An exuberant Phansie pent in a short discourse, is like waves of the Sea driven into a Creek, which role thick upon each other. Or like fire in a Furnace, the flame whereof, being, as it were, crush'd up together, cannot display it selfe like that of a Pile. Yet how usefull the Epi­stles are, heare what a learned Writer sayes: One Booke, one Epistle of Seneca is sufficient to order and rectifie life, if men be willing to be reform'd. And truly such is the severity of his admonitions, that what hath been said of Epictetus is by some more properly aver'd of Seneca. He that shall not be rous'd up with his acrimony, will hardly be corrected but at the Bar of Hell.

EPISTLE I.

SO doe Lucilius, mind thine owne affaires,
And time that hitherto hath unawares
Been stoln, or snatcht, or else hath slipt away,
Collect, and keepe: believe 'tis as I say.
Some of our time is stoln, som snatcht, and som
Slips from us. But our shameful'st loss does come
By negligence. Observe, and thou't find still
Much of our time is spent in doing ill,
The greatest part in doing nothing, all
In doing what's not ours. Whom canst thou call
To minde that value's time? that life does prize
Or who condsiers that he dayly dies?
We err in thinking Death makes little hast:
Whereof a great part is already past:
Our whole remaine of life is in deaths power.
Then doe Lucilius as thou writ'st: each houre
Embrace: if thou't the present apprehend,
Thou wilt the lesse on the next day depend.
Life while it is defer'd, is in its flight.
All other things are borrow'd: we have right
Onely to time: this slipprie alone
Nature hath giv'n us in possession:
Whereof most men deprive us as they list.
But wee in so great folly doe persist,
That we for small, and vile things, alwayes such
As are reparable, thinke our selves much
Engag'd: whereas not any one conceaves
That he's a whit in debt who time receaves;
When that's the onely thing that never can
Be recompenc'd, by the most gratefull man.
Thou't aske perhaps, what I doe, who to thee
Prescribe these things? I will heerein be free:
As one thats prodigall but diligent,
I keepe a true account of what is spent.
I cannot say that I doe nothing lose,
But what, and when, and how I can disclose,
And give the reasons of my poverty.
But I may well to my owne selfe apply
What happen's unto many, who are brought
To indigence not by their owne defaut,
All pity, none relieve's. What is then?
I do not conceave them to be poore men,
Whom whatsoere remaines suffices. Yet
I'd rather thou should'st keepe what thou dost get,
And soone begin to husband what's thine owne:
For as our Ancestors to us have shone
I'th bottom 'tis too late of thrift t' advise:
For both the least, and worst it'h bottome lies.

EPIST. II.

BY what thou writ'st me, and by what I heare,
I have good hope of thee. Thou do'st forbeare
To wander too and fro, and by the change
Of thy abodes, thee from thy rest estrange.
This toffing up and downe notes a sicke minde.
The surest argument that I can find
Of a sound judgement, is t'have power to stay,
And with one's selfe abide. But by the way
Take heed the reading such variety
Of Authors, and of Bookes, doe not implie
A kind of wandring lightnesse: thou had'st need
To dwell on some mens wit, and thereon feed:
If thou desirest to draw from thence that good
Which should be fixt, and throughly understood.
He's no where that is every where. And as
It fare's for the most part with them which passe
Their time in travell, making that their ends,
They meet with many hosts, but with few friends.
So must it needs befall them, who apply
Themselves to no mans wit familiarly,
But hastily run over all. The meat
Does' us no good, which we no sooner eat,
But presently cast up againe; and store
Of remedies retard our health the more.
A wound drest diversly comes not to' a scar:
Plants prosper not that oft removed are:
And ther's not so commodious a thing,
That cursorily us'd can profit bring.
Variety of Bookes distracts the mind.
And therefore since thou canst not leasure finde
To read all that thou hast, it will suffice
To have what thou canst read. But heerein lies
Much pleasure, thou wilt say now to resort
To this booke, then to that. It does purport
A feeble stomacke to tast many meates,
The great diversity whereof begets
Corruption, and not good nourishment.
To approv'd Authors then be most intent:
And if perchance thou sometimes dost desire
To looke on others, to the first retire,
'Gainst poverty, 'gainst death get every day
Some muniments, the like against the sway
Of other ills. And when th'hast fully gon
Ore many things, be sure to cull out one
Which the same day thou mayst concoct. I tread
This path my selfe: of many things I read,
I fasten still on some. 'Tis this dayes gaine
Which I from Epicurus did obtaine:
For I to others tents use to pass over,
Not as a fugitive, but to discover.
Glad poverty's an honest thing, sayes hee.
if it be glad it is not povertie.
For he that povertie with constant minde
Can beare, is rich. Nor can we justly find
Him to be poor that little hath, he's poor
Who is not satisfi'd, but covets more.
What matter 'ist how much our chests contain,
What store of corne does in our barnes remain,
What herds of cattel in our pastures feed,
What mony w' have at use, if we proceed
To seek what's other men's? If we desire
Not what we have, but what we may acquire?
But would'st thou know what mean in riches lies?
First what is needfull, next what does suffice.

EPIST. III.

THou writ'st a Letter, as thou saist, by' a friend,
And therin also dost a caution send,
Not to leave all thy secrets to his trust,
For 'tis not us'd by thee. So that thou dost
Him in the very same Epistle call
Thy friend, and yet denyest it withall.
Thou tak'st that first word in the vulgar sence,
And cal'st him friend, as Candidates from thence
Are stil'd good men: and as when one we meet,
Whose name we cannot hit on, him we greet
With this term, Sir. Let that pass. But if thou
Think'st thou maist any for thy friend avow,
And yet on him not as much trust confer
As on thy selfe, thou dost extreamly erre,
And not to the full worth true friendship prize.
In all things therefore with thy Friend advise:
But first consult on him. We should not spare
To trust when friendship's made: we must beware
Before't be done. But they these duties mix
Confusedly, who their affections fix
'Gainst Theophrastus rule, ere they have ground:
And love not after they have reason found.
Consider long, whether thou should'st admit
One to thy friendship; having found him fit,
Take him into thy brest, as freely' impart
To him, as to thy selfe, what's in thy heart.
Hows' ever live thou so, as not to feare
Thy foe should of thy actions witness beare.
But because some things oftentimes arise,
Which a familiar trust makes secrecies,
Let thy friend all thy cares, all thy thoughts know:
Thou't make him faithfull if thou think'st him so.
For many fearing fraud do fraud invite:
And by mistrust give other men a right
T'offend. Why should I then a word suppress
Before my friend? or with him think I'm less
Alone, then with my selfe? some men unfold
To all they meet what onely should be told
To friends: and what concerns them most, expose
To ev'ry eare. Some againe doubt ev'n those
They have in most esteeme: and if they could,
Locking all secrets in their brest, they would
Conceale them from themselves. Wee must do nei­ther.
For both are alwayes to be cenfurd, either
To credit all, or none. But th' one is sure
A fault more candid, th' other more secure.
So mayest thou tax both them that never
Are quiet, and them that are quiet ever.
For 'tis not to be called industrie
To take delight in turmoyles, but a high
Tumultuousnesse of minde: nor is it rest
Which ev'ry kind of motion does molest,
But languishment. Take then into thy thought
What I have from Pamponius beene taught:
To darknesse some themselves so much inure,
That all thats in the light they think obscure.
These should be intermixt, and by compact
In acting we should rest, in resting act.
Consult with Nature, she will guide thee right,
And tell thee she hath made both day, and night.

EPIST. IV.

PRoceed as th' hast begun, and make what hast
Thou canst, that thou the longer mayst
Enioy a well-reform'd, and compos'd minde:
And truly that inioyment thou wilt find
Even while thou dost reforme, even while thou dost
Compose. But yet that other pleasur's most
To be esteem'd, that from a minde proceeds,
Wherin no impure thought, or motion breeds.
Thinke but what ioy thou hadst, when laying down
The robe of youth, thou didst assume the gown,
And wert allowd to plead. Expect far more,
When having all thy childish thoughts giv'n ore,
The knowledge of Philosophie shall then
Bring thee into the fellow-ship of men:
For hitherto not only we possesse
Childhood, but what's more grievous, childishnes.
And worse indeed than that, we gravely sit
Like old men, yet the errors doe commit
Of children, nay of infants: these at light,
They at false things, but we at both take fright.
Then go thou on, and somthings will appeare
Lesse to be fear'd, because they bring much feare.
No evill is the greatest that is last.
Death comes, and we therat might be agast
If it could stay with us, but this is sure,
It either will not come, or not indure.
But thou wilt say, it is a rigid thing,
That wee our lives to slight, our minds should bring.
Dost thou not see upon what slender ground
Life is dispis'd by many? one is found
Himselfe t'have strangled at a wentches dore
Meerly for love: an other man, before
His Masters wrath he'd longer undergo,
From the house top himselfe did headlong throw:
A third, that fled away, himselfe hath slaine,
Rather than he would be brought back againe.
Thinke not but vertue may effect as much
As needlesse feare. Life's not secure to such
As use too great endeavour to prolong
The date therof: accounting it among
Their great good-fortunes, that th' have liv'd to see
So many Consulls. Our sole care should bee
With full resolved mindes our life to leave;
Which many hold as fast, and strictly cleave
Thereto, as men grasp Brires, and Thorns, when they
Are by a furious torrent born away.
Man for the most part miserably tosses
Himselfe, 'tween fear of death, and frequent crosses
Of life: and though he lives unwillingly,
Yet notwithstanding knows not how to die.
The way to make life pleasant then to us,
Is not to be thereof solicitous.
No good can the possessor please, unless
His minde to leave it be in readiness:
And we can part with nothing with less paine,
Than what once lost cannot be wish'd again.
Wherefore perswade thy selfe to be prepar'd,
To fare but as the greatest men have far'd.
A Pupil and an Eunuch Pompey's head
Commanded: a fierce Parthian his rage fed
With Crassus bloud: and Lepidus his neck
Submitted was at Caius Caesar's beck
To Decius the Tribune: and his own
Left to Cherea. Fortune hath rais'd none
To so great height, to whom her menaces
Have been inferior to her promises.
Doe not on this tranquility relie,
The Sea does change in twinkling of an eye:
And oftentimes a ship, the very day
'Tis flatter'd with a calme, is cast away.
Think that a Thiefe, or foe his sword may set
Against thy breast: and lest there should be yet
A greater power wanting, there's no slave,
But of thy life the full command may have.
For this is fure, whos'ever does resigne
The care of his owne life, is Lord of thine.
If to those Presidents thou't have recourse
Which by close wiles, or open fraud, or force
Have perish'd, thou wilt finde the wrath of Slaves
T'have brought as many people to their graves,
As that of Kings. What is it then to thee
In what authority or pow'r they be
Whom thou dost feare? since there is none but may
Act what thou fear'st. What if thy foe shall lay
Hands on thee accidentally, that soe
Will onely send thee where thou wert to goe;
Do not deceive thy selfe, but think that thou
Didst alwayes suffer, what thou suffer'st now.
I tell thee from the houre thou first took'st breath,
Thou hast been dayly going towards death.
These, and the like we often must revolve,
If we on that last houre will well resolve:
The feare whereof makes carefulness attend
On all the rest. But that I may now end
My letter, take what hath contentment bred
In me to day, and this I gathered
Out of an others Orchard. 'Tis great Treasure,
When poverty with natures Law keeps measure.
This Law of nature what it is, behold,
To keep our selves from hunger, thirst and cold.
If we meer thirst and hunger would prevent,
We need not great mens Pallaces frequent,
Nor suffer a proud looke, or an affront
That hath a shew of favour put upon't.
We need not run the hazard of the Seas,
Nor of the wars, that's to be had with ease
Which nature askes. Wee labour for excesse,
'Tis that weares out our gownes with servilenesse:
Makes us grow old under a tent: and throwes
Us on strange coasts. Sufficient near hand grows.

EPIST. V.

THat thou do'st studie with such constancy,
And all things else being by thee layd-by,
That thou do'st wholly aime at this one end,
How thou mayst dayly learne thy selfe to mend,
I both approve, and also much rejoyce:
And that thou wouldst persever in thy choice
Not onely I exhort thee, but entreat.
Yet notwithstanding I must not forget
To give thee warning to forbeare what may
Or in thy habit, or thy life bewray
A humor in thee to bee singular:
Like those, who to be gaz'd on take more care,
Than to bee good. Forbeare thou to affect
Rude garbes: a head un-shorn: or through neglect
A beard grown rough: an enmity profest
T'weene mony and thee: a couch whereon to rest
Spred on the ground: or whatsoere beside
Is courted in a perverse way by pride.
The very name of a Philosopher,
Though nere so meeke, will envy enough confer.
What if to live retir'd we shall begin?
We may dissent in all that lies within,
But greet the people with a cheerfull face.
Let not our gown be splendid, nor yet base.
Let's not desire t'have plate with gold in-layd.
Yet let it not an argument be made
Of thrift, that wee both gold, and silver want.
We to our selves may this compliance grant
With common people, that our lives should be
Better then theirs, but yet not contrarie.
For otherwise we those shall from us scare
Whom wee'd allure: and since they do despaire
T' imitate us in all things, they'll refuse
To follow us in any. This accrews
As the first good reapt by Philosophie,
Publicke accord joynd with humanity:
The benefit whereof we needs must lose
If difference in manners interpose.
Let's see if't be not vaine, and odious,
Which wee so much desire should draw on us
Men's admiration. Sure 'tis our intent
To live according unto nature's bent.
But this is contrary, to macerate
Our bodies, and cheape cleanlinesse to hate:
To affect rudnesse, and on meats to feed
Not onely vile, but noysome, such as breed
A loathing. For, as it is luxurie
To covet curious dishes. So to flie
The usuall meats, and such as may be bought
At easy rates, is madnesse to be thought.
Philosophy requires frugalitie,
Not punishment: for neatnesse may comply
With thriftinesse. This mean gives mee content,
When life's 'tween good, and publike manners spent.
Let men admire our life, but know it too.
What then, must wee do that which others doe?
Must we from them in nothing differ? Yes,
In many things. Let him that carefull is
T' observe, and looke more nearely onus, kno
Wee differ from the people. They that goe
Into our houses, should find cause enough
To view us, rather than our houshold-stuffe.
He's noble, who can earthen vessels use
As they were silver: nor can we refuse
Him the like honour, who finds no more worth
In those of Silver; than in those of earth:
Not to be able riches to possesse
In the right way, shews the minds feeblenesse.
I'll now impart what I have learn'd this day
From Heraton, to throw our lusts away
Will remedie our feares. Do thou forbeare
To hope, (says he) and thou't desist from fear.
But thou wilt aske how these things can agree,
And stand together, that so different be?
'Tis so, Lucilius, though there seeme a maine.
Dissent, yet they are joynd. For as one chaine
Couples the prisoner and his keeper, so
These which are different together go:
Fear follows hope: nor do I thereat wonder:
Both lean upon suspension, both lie under
The care of future things. But the best reason
Of both, is, we do nothing in fit season,
Mind not the present, but our thoughts defer.
And therefore we heerein extreamely err,
Turning to ill, man's chiefe good, Providence:
Beasts flie the danger obvious to their sense,
And scaping are secure: man lookes upon
With troubled mind, not onely what is gon,
But even with what's to come himselfe torments.
Our best gifs hurt us, memory presents,
And providence anticipates the paine,
Which we from our continuall feare sustaine.
No man is wretched onely in the ill
That present is; doubt makes him wretched still.

EPIST. VI.

I Know it (my Lucilius) to be trew
That I'm not onely improv'd, but molded new:
Yet t'is not to be promisd, or expected
That I have nothing left to be corrected.
Rather how can it possibly be thought
But that I yet have many things which ought
To be amended? some I must augment,
And some diminish? t'is an argument
Our mind's reform'd, when we the faults discrie
Which formerly in us conceald did lie.
There is some hope in many sicknesses
To know w' are sicke. I therefore would expresse
To thee my sudden change, and reape this good
To have our friendship throughly understood.
A friendship which no hope, or feare can ever
Divide, nor thought of private profit sever.
That, both with which, and for which men do die;
Although there be too many that relie
More upon friends, than friendship: which fault springs
From want of equall will to honest things.
For all things should be common by the tie
Of friendship, but chiefly adversitie.
Thou canst not thinke what profit every day
I gather to my selfe. But thou wilt say,
Send me those things which so important be?
I willingly would powre them into thee.
For I rejoyce to learne that I may teach.
And there is naught can fall within the reach
Of my desires, that I would know alone:
If wisdome were on this condition
To be bestowed on me, that I should make it
Known to no other, truly I would not take it.
Without a partner there is no content
In any thing, though ne're so excellent.
Therefore the Bookes themselves to thee Il'e send
And that thou mayst not too much labour spend
To reape that benefit thou dost desire,
I'le note those things I phansie, and admire,
That thou mayst sooner find them. But yet know,
More good will from discourse, than reading grow.
Thou therefore must upon the place appeare,
Both because men trust more the eye, than eare:
And that the way by precepts is about,
But by examples short, and of lesse doubt.
Cleanthes, had he onely Zeno heard,
And not familiarly with him confer'd,
Whereby he might his course of life observe,
And see he did not from his owne rules swerve,
Had not so well resembl'ed him. Nor yet
Could Plato, Aristotle, and all the great
Authours of various Sects have so exprest
Grave Socrates from words, as from the test
Of his knowne manners. The societie
Of Epicurus did more magnifie
Poliaenus, Metrodorus, Hermacus,
Than did his School. 'Tis therefore fit for us
T'instruct as well as learne, that we may grow
Mutually helpfull. Mean time, 'cause I owe
To thee a dayly cent, accept a boone
That I receiv'd to day from Hecater.
Dost thou inquire what I have gain'd? said he,
I've learn'd a friend to my own selfe to be.
For he improves, and cannot bee alone,
A friend t' himselfe, is so to ev'ry one.

EPIST. VII.

DOst thou inquire what thou shouldst chiefly shun?
The multitude. Thou mightst a hazard run,
If thou shouldst venture on it yet. For I
Must needs acknowledge this infirmitie,
The manners which I carry with me thither
I bring back seldome. For I finde that either
Some thing's disturb'd which setled was before:
Or part of that returns I had giv'n-o're.
As some Diseases so our strength impaire,
That though we mend, yet brought into the aire,
We presently relapse: so happens it
To us, whose mindes after a tedious fit
Are comforted: for publick entercourse
Renews our malady, and makes it worse.
In a great multitude there is scarce one,
But by discourse, or conversation.
Or by a dangerous example will
When we least think on't, tempt us to some ill.
By how much greater the Assembly is,
So much the danger's greater. And know this,
That nothing does good manners more oppose,
Then to be present at our publick showes,
For Vices there in to us eas'lier steal
By that delight. And that I may reveale
My meaning plainly: I returne from thence
More covetous, more proud, and more propense
To Luxury. Nay further, I grow then
More inhumane, because I was with men.
Falling by chance upon a mid-day sight,
I look'd for sport, and wit, and that which might
Afford some mild refreshment to mens eyes,
Which in the morning with strange cruelties
Inhumanly were fed. But loe I found
The contrary. For ev'ry former wound
Was mercy. Now all sport b'ing laid aside,
These are meer murthers: no man does provide
Any defence: their bodies being quite
Uncover'd, not one stroke in vaine does light.
Yet many thither goe, and like it far
'Bove common sword-fights, or those shews that are
Demanded by the people. Would you know
The cause? here are no arms to save a blow.
What needs a Helmet, or a Fencers skill?
Those delay death, and make men slowly kill.
Men in the morning are to beasts expos'd:
And if they scape, they are at noon inclos'd
With fierce beholders, who in sport ordaine
Victors to be o're-come, and slayers slaine.
The end is sword, fire, death: and this is don
But while there is an intermssiion
Of other Spectacles: and is excusd;
B'ing men condemn'd, they ought to be so usd.
This deserves death for stealing, that for killing:
But wretch what do'st thou merit to be willing
To behold this? to heare the people cry
Strike, burn, and kill: who, pleasd with cruelty,
Are not ashamed to aske, why this so fears
To rush upon the sword; why that forbeares
To kill with daring confidence: and why
A third shewes such unwillingnesse to die.
Stroakes provoke wounds, and every mutuall blow
Lights on their naked brests; and though the show
Be intermitted, rather than sit still,
And nothing see, men must each other kill.
On then, and find ill presidents sharp rods
To them that make them: thank th' immortall gods,
That you with so much industry have sought
To make him cruell, who cannot be taught.
A tender wit, and not accustom'd much
To constant wayes, must be withdrawn from such
Publick assemblies. For what many doe
T'will be soone and easily brought unto.
In frequent meetings where are various
And different minds, Cato, and Laelius,
And Socrates himselfe might have bin shaken.
And therefore none of us, though we have taken
Strong resolutions, can withstand the lewd
Temptations of a vicious multitude.
For one example either of avarice,
Or prodigality will much intice.
One curious guest will make us by degrees
Effeminate and wanton. He that sees
His neighbour rich, grows covetous: and none
Can entertaine a lewd companion,
But he though honest will bee quickly tainted.
What therefore will they be who are acquainted
With multitudes? or what secure defence
Can there be made gainst publick violence?
Thou must perforce or imitate or shun.
But neither of them both ought to be don:
Lest thou grow like the bad, because th'are many:
Or many oppose, because th'art not like any.
Into thy selfe, in what thou mayst, retire:
Keepe company with those that do desire
To make thee better: and those men admit,
Whom thou maist mend, and to thy manners fit.
These things are mutually perform'd, and men
Learn while they each. There is no reason then,
That thou, to shew thy knowledge shouldst dispute,
Or publickely repeat. That well might sute
If thou wert like the people: but ther's none
Will understand thee; if perchance some one
Or other there be found desires to learne,
Him thou must forme thy meaning to discerne.
But thou wilt say, for whom, or to what use
Learnd I those things? there needs not an excuse
Of labour lost, the fruit of all thy paines
In what th' hast learnd, to thine owne use remaines.
Yet lest that I should seem t' have learnd to day
But to my selfe, I will before thee lay
Three worthy sentences, all which commeare
Our present purpose: one whereof shall cleare
The debt this letter owes thee: th'other two
Shall likewise pay a debt before 'tis due.
That of Democritus shall first be shown.
One is as all to me, and all as one.
He also whosoe're he was, said well,
For who the Authour was we cannot tell;
This question being ask'd him, to what end
Those Sciences, which few could apprehend,
He studi'd with such industry. To mee
Few are enough, or one, or none, said he.
The third is noble. Epicurus writ
To one of the companions of his wit,
And us'd these words; I send these things to thee,
Not unto many: for t' each other we
Are a full Theatre. I thee advise
To hoord (Lucilius) these: thou't then dispise
The pleasures that are most approv'd. What though
Many commend thee, thou art bound to owe
Thy prayses to thy selfe? If thou be'st one
Whom many like, thy inward goods make known.

EPIST. VIII.

THou bid'st me flie the rout, saist thou, and thence
Departing, rest with mine owne conscience.
Where are those Precepts then which recommend
A life to us, that must in action end▪
What? think'st thou I the mean while idle sit?
That I to others may bring benefit,
I both with-draw, and shut my doors: no day
From me in idleness does pass away.
I also spend a good part of the night
In studie: and I seldome sleep invite,
But stay untill it seize on me: and when
My weari'd eies begin to close, I then
Continue them in action. My recess
Is not from men alone, but businesses,
And chiefly from mine owne, for I prepare
The worke of future ages, and declare
What will to them bring pr [...]fit. I present
In writing admonitions, which are meant
As safe, and wholesome medicines, which I
Have oft found usefull in extremity.
And though my wounds are not therby quite cur'd:
Yet being now more easily endur'd,
The'are kept at least from festring. The right way,
From which with weariness I long did stray,
Having now found, I t'others shew: and crie
All that is pleasing to the vulgar, flie.
Shun all that fortune offers: look upon
All worldly goods with a suspicion.
Wild Beasts and Fishes are deceiv'd with baits.
Counts thou those Fortunes gifts? they are deceits.
A happy life by none can be enjoy'd,
Unless he strive those bird-lime gifts t'avoid:
By which we also are made wretched, thus,
We think that we have them, but they have us.
They lead us to a precipice and all
That rise too high, are lifted up to fall.
Nor is it possible to disobey,
VVhen riches drive us out of the right way.
Flie then, or stand upright: them who do so
Fortune may sift or shake, but not o'rethrow.
Remember also this safe course t'observe,
T'allow thy body what may onely serve
To maintaine health. And sometimes it must find
Harsh usage lest it disobey thy mind.
Let meat thy hunger swage, drink thy thirst slake,
Let cloth's keep thee from cold, and do thou make
Thy house thy bodie's shelter. Take no thought
Whether't be built of Turfe, or Marble, brought
From other Countries: men may be as well
Cover'd with Thatch as Gold. Those things which swell
With too much cost and pride, thou must neglect,
And nothing in thee but thy minde respect;
To which b'ing great, no other thing seems great.
If this both to my selfe I doe repeat,
And to posteritie, wilt not appear,
That I more usefull am, than if I were
A surety, or a witness to a will,
Or to a friend my promise did fulfill
In the assistance of my hand, or vote
To his preferment? this for truth I'le note,
Some seeming to doe nothing, great things doe:
Such as belong to earth, and heaven too.
But that I may conclude, and as a debter,
Pay what I use to doe in ev'ry letter,
Which shall not issue out of mine own purse,
But Epicurus shall the same disburse:
This sentence I in him did read to day,
If thou true freedome woulds enjoy, obay
Phylosophy, subjection to her
Doth liberty without delay conferr,
And quickly gives the Manu­mission. turn: for that alone
Is freedome. But perhaps this question
Will in the meane time be propounded, why
I thus quote Epicurus, and passe by
Our Country-men? But wherfore shouldst not thou,
Such words, as publicke sentences allow?
Doe not the Poets many things declare,
Which by the best Philosophers or are,
Or should be spoken? I'll not mention make
Of our Dramatick Poems, they pertake
Of som austeritie, and are a meane
Betwene the Tragick and the Comick Scene.
Among the Mimikes what brave words are found?
And how doe Publius his works abound,
With what does not the socke alone befit,
But what the tragicke busk in might admit?
One of whose verses that Philosophie
Concernes, and sirs our present purpose, I
Will heer remember, wherin he denies
That we have share in casualities:
What s'ever comes by wishing, is not ours.
I also call to minde a verse of yours,
Much better, and more neer to our designe:
That is not thine, which fortune hath made thine.
Marke what is better yet, I've heard thee say,
What may be given, may be tane away.
I doe not recken this a payment, none
Can think to pay a debt with what's thine one.

EPIST. IX.

TThou do'st desire to know, if Epicure
In one of his Epistls, upon sure
And iust grounds censures them, who doe maintaine,
That a wiseman does with himselfe remaine
Contented, and in that respect needs not a friend.
Hee about this with Stilpo does contend
And others, who the chiefe good have confind
Unto a mere impassivenesse of mind.
But it may be ambiguous, if wee
Think to expresse the Greeke word Apathie,
In this one word of ours, impatience.
For that may carry a far diffrent sence
From what is meant by us. We intend one
Who throws from him the apprehension
Of evills: wheras that word may implie
An absolute impassibilitie.
See if it be not better thus exprest,
A man that with no evill is oprest,
Than sensible of none. We disagree
In this, our wiseman, though the Victorie
Over all evills hee obtaines, yet still
Hee feels them too, but theirs ev'n feels no ill.
We to each other have thus far consented,
That a wiseman is with himselfe contented.
Though he can satisfie himself alone,
Hee'll have a neighbor, friend, companion.
Mark how he this contentment does divide,
For he both with himselfe is satisfi'd,
And with apart therof: as when a foe,
Or sicknesse by som humor, or som blow
Deprives him of a hand: or when an eye
Is put out by some casualitie,
He is content with what to him is left,
And is as chearfull when he's so bereft
As when he was intire. Though he would faine
Have kept them, yet he seekes them not againe
Being once lost. So does a wiseman rest
Contented with himselfe; not that 'tis best
To live without a friend, but that he may:
And by that word I would more plainly say,
He a friends losse bears with a constant minde,
For him without a freind, we nere shall find.
Tis in his power that damage to supplie:
If Phidias lose a statue, presently
He'll make another. This that can create
Friendships, when he's depriv'd of one, can straight
Restore that losse. But thou wilt ask me how?
I'le tell thee, on condition thou't allow
Of this agreement, that therby the debt
Which this Epistle owes thee be out set.
Shall I, sayes Hecaton, on thee bestow
A philter, which it's vertue shall notow
To herbes and charmes, but shall it selfe approve
If thou desir'st to be beloved, love.
For we are not more pleasd in the full act
Of friendship, than while we the same contract.
And looke what difference we may suppose
To be 'tween him that reaps, and him that sowes.
The same 's 'tweene him that hath already knit
Friendship, and him that is preparing it.
It pleases more sayd Attalus that grave
Philosopher, to make freinds than to have.
Paynters to paynt much more deligted are,
Than to haue painted: for their studious care
In working gives them very great content:
But having finished, and their phansies spent,
The fruit indeed of th' art is then injoyd,
But th' art it selfe is, while the hands imployd.
Our childrens youth more usefull is, but yet
Their infancie does more delight beget.
But to return to what we first propounded.
Although a wise man can be wholly bounded
Within himselfe, yet he desires a friend:
If for no other, yet for this sole end
That he may practise amitie, and not
Let such a speciall vertue be forgot.
Not for the reasons Epicurus gave
In that Epistle, that he one may have
T'assist him when he's fal'n into decay;
Or is restraind, or sick: but that he may
Have one whom he in sicknesse may relieve,
Or from a deadly enemie reprieve.
Who minds himselfe, and for that cause embraces
A mutuall friendship, he the same disgraces.
As he began so will he end. He chose
A friend in whom his trust he might repose
In his restraint. No sooner shall the chaine
Rattle, but he is gone. This is the vaine
Frindship, which people temporie call.
So long he will be welcome as he shall
Be profitable. And therefore friends flock round
'Bout them who with prosperity abound:
But leave them who grow poore to sit alone:
Such friends when trial comes are quickly gone.
Of this we find examples ev'ry day:
Some their friends leave for fear, and some betray.
The end with the beginning must agree.
If any have begun a friend to bee,
Because 'tis needfull: or if he suppose
That if any fit reward of friendship growes
But in it selfe alone, 'twill not be ha [...]d
To make him against friendship take reward.
Why do I seek a friend? because that I
May then have one with whom I'de wish to die:
Or else accompany to banishment:
Or with mine owne I may his death prevent.
What thou describ'st not friendship is, but trade.
He that mindes profit, will himselfe perswade,
To look no further. Between amity
And Lovers passions there's some sympathy:
Which we may call mad friendship. Yet ther's none
Will love for gain, or for ambition.
Love of it selfe, all other things neglecting,
Allures the minde of men to the affecting
Of such a seeming beauty, hoping withall
That this affection will be mutuall.
What then? can lewd effects of lust agree
With a good cause? But here thou't answer mee,
The question is not whether friendship ought
For it owne selfe or something else be sought.
If for it selfe in ought to be desir'd,
He may injoy it that can live retir'd
Contented with himselfe. But how may he
Enjoy it? as a thing of excellency:
And must approach it with a minde unshaken,
With change of Fortune, or with lucre taken.
He deprives friendship of her Majesty,
That seeks her onely for prosperity.
A wise man's with himselfe content. But this
By some, Lucilius, perverted is.
They a wise man too much restrain, and think
That he into his skin should alwaies shrink.
We must distinguish, and this sense allow:
A wise man's with himselfe content; but how?
To live in happiness, but not, to live.
For many things must him assistance give
In this, whereas to that is requisite
Only a minde that keeps it selfe upright,
And contemns fortune. The distinction
Crysippus makes, must here be look't upon.
A wise man needs not any thing, although
He stands in need of many. But we know
On th'other side a fool does nothing want,
And yet wants all, by reason he hath scant
The use of any thing. A wise man needs
Hands, eyes, and ev'ry other thing that feeds
The being of this life. A wise man's state
Needs nothing. For to need does intimate
Necessitie: and this we must denie,
That any wise man's in necessity.
Though with himselfe he then be satisfi'd,
Yet he needs friends and many would provide.
Not that he may get happiness thereby,
For he without friends can live happily;
The chief good to no outward help pretends,
But rests at home, and on it selfe depends.
If of it selfe but any part be sought
Out of it selfe, 'tis ready to be brought
To obay Fortune. What condition then
Of life, will that be of a wise man, when
Committed to some prison, he's berest
Of friends: or else in some strange Countrey left?
Or held in a long Voyage: or giv'n o're
By all, is thrown upon some barbarous shore;
Like that of Jove at the Worlds dissolution,
When Heav'n and Earth, and gods are in confusion:
Whole Nature ceasing for a time. He rests
Wholly within himselfe, and there invests
His cogitations: some such thing as this
A wise man does. He with him still is,
And therein wrapt. As long as he's permitted
To rule his own affaires, he's well acquitted
With only himselfe. When he thinks fit he marries,
Brings up his children, yet he lives, and tarries
Still with himselfe: though he'll not live if he
Shall alwayes be debard of company.
No profit of his owne does him invite
To friendship, but a naturall appetite.
And as of other things ther's an innate
Sweetnesse, so of friendship: as we hate
A solitary life, so we delight
In company: as nature does incite
Man, to love man, so by a secret kind
Of longing, we to friendship are inclind.
And though he be most fervent in his love,
Rankes his friends with himselfe, oft-times above,
Yet in himselfe he seates his good, and sayes
As Stilpo 'gainst whom Epicure inveighs
In that fore-nam'd Epistle: for when he
His countrey, wife, and children, found to be
Distroy'd, and lost, he went forth all alone,
Yet happy still from that destruction.
And meeting with Demetrius, whose Sir-name
From the destruction of Cities came,
And was cal'd Poliorcetes: who to bost
His cruelty, askt if he ought had lost?
All my things are with me, said he, Behold
A stout and valiant man, who thus controld
The victory of his foe. I have, sayd he,
Lost nothing. He compeld his enemie
To question his owne conquest. I beare hence
All that is mine, as Justice, Temperance,
Prudence, and ev'n the vertue which does make us
Count nothing good that ever can forsake us.
We wonder at some creatures which through fire
Doe passe unhurt: we may that man admire
Much more, whose constant vertue him affords
A safe, and secure passage both through swords,
Ruine, and flames. Dost thou not plainely see
How much 'tis easier to get victory
Ore a whole nation, than one man alone?
Such words no lesse than he the Stoiks own.
Their unhurt goods they carry with the same
Courage, through cities when th' are in a flame.
They are contented with themselves, and bound
Their whole felicitie within that ground.
But lest thou shouldst conceave, that onely we
Scatter abroad such glorious speeches. He,
Which so reproves this Stilpo, Epicure
Hath sent out such, to which I would procure
Thy approbation: though already I
Have finished my present diarie:
Who thinkes not his own goods most large, and stable,
Though he possesse the world, is miserable.
Or if thou't rather have it thus declard,
(For we must now not words but sence regard)
Who judges not himselfe to be most blest
Would wretched be, though he the world possest.
And that from natures ground, such words appeare
To be in use the Comicke Poet heare:
He is not blest is who not understood
So by himselfe. What though thy state be good,
If thou conceav'st it ill? Or wilt thou say,
Though he that's basely covetous, perhaps may
Say he is happy, or he thats Lord of store
Of servants, but a servant unto more,
That his report shall therefore make him so?
Not what he sayes, but what he thinkes, we know,
Is to be waigh'd: nor what he thinkes to day,
But at all times. Then do not thou give way
To the least thought, that such a rare thing can
Be ere enjoyd by an unworthy man.
A wise man onely with himself's content.
A foole to selfe dislike is alwayes bent.

EPIST. X.

IT is so, and I doe not change my mind,
Fly many, few, even one. I cannot find
With whom thou shoul'dst converse: my judgment must
Tell thee, that I thee with thy selfe dare trust.
Crates a man who did, they say, partake
Of Stilpo's documents, of whom I spake
In my precedent Letter, when he saw
A yong man secretly himselfe with draw,
Askt what he did alone? I speake, sayd he,
With mine owne selfe. Crates reply'd, then be
Carefull, that thou speakest not with an ill man.
We use to be as watchfull as we can
Of those, who are opprest with griefe and care,
Lest sollitude should bring them to despair.
Imprudent persons should not be alone:
For at that time their thoughts doe worke upon
Ill counsell given, and are plotting then
The ruine of themselves, or other men:
Their ill affections they to deeds dispose,
What feare, and shame kept secret, they disclose;
Their boldnesse then they whet, their lusts inflame:
Stir up their mallice, and the very aime,
And usuall benefit of solitude,
Not to trust any man, and to exclude
All feare of witnesse, is ta'en away,
And lost t'a foole, he does himselfe betray.
See therefore now what I may hope of thee,
What I may promise rather: for to me
Hope is a word of doubtfull good: ther's none
With whom I'de rather wish thee than alone.
I call to memory with what height of spirit
Thou spak'st those words so full of strength & merit:
Which I did then congratulate, and say,
Those speeches fell not hastily away
From th'outward lips, but did with sense abound:
His like is not among the people found:
He mindes the publicke weale. So speak, so live:
To base dejection no admittance give.
Though all thy former vowes thou should'st remit
Unto the Gods, yet now it will be fit
Tourge a new request: that thou mayst find
Sound reason, health of body, and of mind.
Yet wherefore should I doubt but thou dost use
Those prayers dayly? do not thou refuse
To aske God boldly, for thou canst not want
The thing, that is not in his power to grant.
But that I may, as I am wont to doe,
With an Epistle, send a present too,
'Tis true which in Anthenadore we read,
From all thy lusts thou't find thy selfe then freed,
When in thy prayrs to God, th'art thus far brought,
To seeke, but what may publickely be sought.
For what a madnesse in most men appeares?
To whisper shamefull vowes into Gods eares?
If any harken, then away they goe,
They'l tel God what th' are loth a man should know.
Marke whether this might not be made a Law:
That we so live with men as if God saw;
And that we speake to God, as without shame
We might believe that men did heare the same.

EPIST. XI.

I Have conferr'd with thy ingenious friend,
And by his first discourse did apprehend
His mind, his wit, and how allready he
Improves: he gave a tast what he will be.
For being surprisd, his speech was unprepard,
And after recollection, found it hard
To shake off bashfulnesse (a signe of grace
In yong men) blushes so possest his face.
Whereof (as I suppose) he will partake
Ev'en then, when he all vices shall forsake,
And be confirm'd in wisdome: which we find
Cures not the naturall weaknesses of mind
Or body: for although wisdome may
Correct, it cannot take them quite away.
That which is fixt within, and is innate,
Art may amend, but not eradicate.
Many though very stout, in publicke sweat,
Like those whom labour puts into a heat.
In some, when th' are to speake, most parts so alter,
Their knees will tremble, & their tongus will falter,
Their teeth will grate, and their lips cling together:
Nor can these things be quite removed, either
By use, or rule. Nature will execute
Her power: and men that are most resolute
Convince of fraylties: among which I name
Blushing, which seases with a kind of shame
Upon the gravest. Though it most appeare
In younger men, who have more heate, and beare
A weaker forehead: yet it oft layes hold
On men of yeares, yea such as are grown old.
Some men are never to be feared more,
Than when they blush: as opening then a dore
To cast out modesty. For Sylla, when
Bloud seas'd his face, was cruellest to men.
There could be nothing milder than th' aspect
Of Pompey: for he could not but detect
His modesty, as oft as he did make
Open adresses, and in publicke spake.
When Fabianus was a witnesse brought
Into the Senate, modesty so wrought
Upon him, that, I can remember well,
He suddenly into a blushing fell,
Which wonderously became him. This does spring
More often from the newnesse of the thing,
Than shame. Nor yet does it so much astonish
Such as are unaccustom'd, as admonish
Them, in whom that infirmity does grow.
For as some have their bloud more temperate, so
Others more quick, moving from place to place,
And thereby apt to fly up to the face.
These (as I sayd) no wisdome can withstand:
For if it could all frailties countermand,
It certainely would be the Soveraigne
Of nature's selfe. We cannot quite restrain
What the conditions of our birth involve,
And bodie's mixture, though we long resolve.
These things can be no more remov'd, than brought.
Comedians, who by their art are taught
To represent affections, and t'expresse
Trouble, and feare, and the minds heavinesse,
Doe bashfulnesse in this sort imitate:
Their lookes like men in a dejected state,
Are downward cast: their voyce is low, their eyes
Fixt on the ground: but they cannot devise
How to command a blush, that neither can
Be hindrd, nor procurd, by any man.
Heer wisdome will nor promise, nor assist,
'Tis it's owne law, comes and goes when it list.
But this discourse requires a sentence now:
Take it, 'tis wholesome, and I wish that thou
Wouldst fix it in thy minde. We must some wise
And honest man propound, and for our eyes
So place him, that we live as if be saw us,
And doe, as if his sight did alwayes awe us.
This admonition Epicurus gave,
(Lucillius) appointing us to have
A keeper, and a tutor: and ther's cause:
For if a witnesse present be, it draws
Offenders from their vices. Let's apply
Our thoughts to one, by whose authority
Our very secrets may be made more holy.
O happy he! who can prevent our folly,
Not onely when he's seen, but thought upon.
O happie hee! who can so reverence one,
That by remembrance of him he amends.
He that an other can so feare, intends
To be soon feard himselfe. Therefore propose
Cato, or if he be too rigid, choose
One of a milder temper, Lelius.
Choose one whose speech, and life's ingenuous:
Whose countenance to thee declares his thought;
Let such a one into thy mind be brought
As an example, or a guardian.
For, as I say, 'tis needfull t'have a man,
After whose manners we our own may square,
Without a rule, faults uncorrected are.

EPIST. XII.

WHer 'ere I goe, signes of my age appeare.
I com into my countrey house, and there
Complaine of the expence which the decayes
Are like to put me to: my Bayliefe says
The fault is not in him, he to uphold
The thing does what he can, but th'house is old.
This house I built, what fate doe I lie under
When walls of mine own age thus fall in sunder?
The next occasion I take to chide;
I frowning say, it cannot be denied,
These plane-trees are neglected, for they beare
No leaves, their drie bowes shrivell ev'ry where.
How full of mosse their bodies are? no doubt,
This could not be, had they been dig'd about,
And water'd. Straight way, by my Gemins, he
Protests and swears, there wants no industrie
To make them thrive. But to prevent my rage,
Tells me the cause of fading is their age.
These trees I planted, and first saw them grow,
What difference then tweene us? to th' gate I goe.
Aske whos' this so decreped, and decayd?
And at the dore, as dead men are, is layd,
(For he the potter was) whence came he? why?
Do'st thou take care of strangers corps? say I.
But he replies, sir, doe not you me know?
I'm he, on whom you used to bestow
So many fairings: I Felicius am
Phylositus the Bayliefs son, the same
That made you sport. This dotard sure mistakes,
Say I, turnes child, and childish pastime makes.
And it is very likely, his teeth too
Fall from his gums, as childrens use to doe.
I owe this to my country house, that I
My old age whereso'ere I looke descry.
Let's then embrace and love it, for 'tis fraught
With pleasure, if we use it as we ought.
Apples are best when they are almost gon;
And childhood is most comely when 'tis don:
Wine-drinkers in the last carouse delight,
That drowne their cares, inebriat's them out-right.
All pleasure reserves that which is most sweet
Untill the last: and we our age may greet
With no small joy, at least if that age be
Declining, not decrepid: though I see
Even such as stand upon the utmost brink
Of life, their pleasures have: or we may think
To need no pleasure, serves in stead of pleasure.
Do ubtlesse to banish lusts, hath no small measure
Of sweetness. But thou't say, it irksome is
T' have death before our eyes. I answer, this
Ought ever to be lookt upon, as well
By yong men, as by old. Death does not tell
The yeers of men, nor summon by a role.
None is so old, but he without controle,
May hope to live a day, and yet a day
Is a degree of life: our whole age may
Be found by observation to consist
Of parts, which many orbes together twist.
One whereof all begirts, which we may call
Our birth day reaching to our funerall.
Another the full space of youth unfolds
And one our childhood in it's circle holds.
Ther's then a yeare in which all times inclos'd
Whereof, b'ing multiply'd, our lives composd.
A month hath a lesse orbe, a day the least,
Yet this begins, and ends from East, to West.
And therefore Heracletus, whose known marke,
Was from darke sayings to be called darke,
Was wont to say, one daye's the same withall.
This hath by sundry men had severall
Interpretations: he sayd it was
The same in houres, and that for truth must passe.
Because if from a day the time proceeds
Of four and twenty houres, all dayes must needs
Be equall in themselves, for the night hath
That which the day hath lost. Another saith
One day is equall in similitude
To all. The longest time cannot include
More then one day, light, darkenesse, and
Th'alternate course, by which the world does stand
Longer or shorter makes no difference,
For there is still the same circumference.
We therefore all our dayes must so dispose,
As if we finisht and compleated life, like those
Who use in armies to bring up the reare.
Pacuvius, who by abiding there,
Made Syri'a his owne countrey, when with wine,
And funerall Feasts he usd t'inshrine,
From supper to his chamber borne with rites,
And lewd applause of his stale catamites,
Causd this to be with aery musick sung,
He' hath liv'd, he' hath livd, and thus his whole house rung.
What he with an ill conscience did, we may
Do with a good, and blith and jocond say,
As oft as we our selves to sleepe present,
I' have liv'd, and past the time that nature lent.
If God be pleasd to ad another day,
We should receive it thank efully, and may
A count him very happy, and a man
Fixt in th' injoyment of himselfe, that can
Expect the morrow without anxious care.
Whosoere says I have lived, does prepare
To rise next day to profit? tis fit now
I finish my Epistle. But, sayst thou,
Shall it to me without advantage come?
Feare not, it shall bring some. Why said I some?
Much. For what words more excellentcan be,
Than these which I give him to send to thee?
To live in need is ill, but 'tis agreed
Ther's no necessity to live in need.
Why should I not say none? since ev'ry where
The way to liberty is short and cleare.
Thankes be to God no man is forc't to live:
We to necessity it selfe may give
The law. But thou wilt say, this came
From Epicurus, why do'st thou lay claime
To what's anothers? what is true, is mine.
His sayings I'll inculcate with designe
T' have such as so ingage to men, that they
Value their persons, more then what they say,
In the assurance of this truth to rest,
Those things belong to all which are the best.

EPIST. XIII.

I Know thou hast much courage; for I find,
That even before I seasoned thy mind
With precepts which are wholsome, & prevaile
Against adversity, thou didst not faile
To satisfie thy selfe' gainst fortune's power.
And much more then when she began to lower,
And made thee come to handy blows, whereby
Thou hadst occasion thy strength to try.
For as we never can be confident,
Till threatning dangers sundry feares present,
And sometimes set upon us. So the stout
And constant mind resolving to cast out
All base subjection to anothers will,
Is trie'd by danger, that's the touch-stone still.
He is not like the combate to make good
That hath no scars. He who hath oft lost bloud
And in the fight grated his teeth, and though
Repulsd, hath rush'd againe upon his foe.
He, who though often falling, letting not
His courage fall, as often up hath got,
Will enter with more confidence the list,
Then let me in this similie persist.
Fortune hath oft lay'n heavy on thee, yet
Thou didst not yield, but alwayes from her get,
Returning with more courage: vertue thrive's
By provocation, and by wounds revives.
Yet if thou thinkst it meet, from me accept
Some aide, by which thou't be in safety kept
There are, Lucillus, may things which scare
Rather then hurt: most of our dangers are
More in conceit then truth: to thee I speake
Not the strong words of Stoicks, but more weake.
For we say, all those things which do wring forth
Howlings and groanes, are slight and little worth.
Lets passe by these great words, though, good Gods, true!
I wish that thou wouldest onely this pursue,
Not to anticipate thy ill, or make
That iminent, which nere perhaps will take
Effect, at least is not already come.
Some things more trouble us than they ought & som
Before they ought: some other things perplex us
Extreamely, which ought not at all to vex us.
We griefe augment, or faine, or else forestall.
As for that other which 'tweene us does fall
In question, we'll defer it: what I deem
To be but light, thou heavy wilt esteeme.
For some, I know, under the whip will smile,
And others at one buffet groanes the while.
But whether these things from their owne strength flow,
Or from our weakeness wee'l herafter show.
Mean time do thou but this: when any shall
Seeke to perswade thee thou art wretched, call
Thy reason to thee, and consider well
What thou dost feele, and not what others tell.
Say to thy selfe with patience, who knowest best
Thine owne condition, why have these exprest
Such griefe for me? why do they tremble so,
And feare to touch, or to come neare? as though
Calamities infection did containe:
Does any hurt, in what they feare, remaine?
Is not the thing reputed to be ill,
Rather then so indeed? be therefore still
Ready t' interrogate thy selfe, and say
Whether do I without a cause give way
To trouble, and vexation? doe I make
That ill, which is not? what course shall I take,
Sayst thou, to know if what disturbes my rest
Be true or false? to try that here's a test.
We troubled are either at present things,
Or future, or at both. Sence easily brings
A judgement of things present: if unbound
Thy body be and in thy power, and sound,
And if no injury procures thy woe;
What future is thou afterward shalt know:
That is not this dayes worke. But 'tis expected.
How art thou sure the ill will be effected?
For we with jealousies much troubled are;
And that which oftentimes procures a warr
Report, will much more worke on each of us.
'Tis very true my deare Lucilius,
We quickly to opinions do adhere,
And question not the thing that causes feare:
Nor doe we shake it off, but thereat tremble:
And turning so our backes we much resemble
Those, whom the dust made by a flocke of sheepe
Drives from their tents, or that are struck with deep
Astonishment, at some strange fable bred
Among the vulgar, without author spred.
False things, I know not how, do more molest,
Whereas the true within their measure rest.
Whatse'ver an uncertaine rumor sends,
Is subject to conjectures, and depends
On the construction of a fearefull mind.
And therefore Panick above other kind
Of feares, is carry'd on with violence,
Those without reason are, this without sense.
Then let's make further search. Some future ill
Is like t'ensue, we are not sure it will.
How many 'unexpected things fall out?
How many 'expected are nere brought about.
But say they should heereafter chance. Yet why
Shouldest thou make hast to meet thy misery?
When ill does come thou soone enough wilt grieve.
In the meane time do thou the best believe.
What shall I gaine by thy credulity?
Time. Many things may intervene, whereby
Th'approaching danger may be stopt, or past:
Or else upon an others head be cast.
A raging fire hath opt away to flight.
And some have from a ruin'd house fal'n light.
Some from the stroake of death have been repriv'd
And have the executioner furviv'd.
For even il-fortune hath it's levity,
It may, or may not come. And therefore I
Advile thee while 'tis not, to thinke the best.
Oft-times when no true fignes do manifest
Ensuing ill, the mind vaine things pretends:
And either doubtfull wordes misapprehends,
Or when another is with us offended,
Conceives far more, than is perhaps intended:
Not waighing how much anger hee does show,
But to what height an angry man may goe,
If feare be what it may, there will be found
No cause of life, of misery no bound.
Let wisdome here assist: by strength of mind
Let's now reject the feare, whereof we find
Apparent cause: at least let errour chase
Errour away, and let hope feare displace.
Of those things which are feard ther's none so sure,
But it is surer, that what does procure
Both feare and hope, deceaves us. Let us then
Take care t'examine feare, and hope, and when
All things are found uncertaine, let us doe
For our owne ease what w'have most mind unto.
And though there be more arguments of feare,
yet let us this course follow, and forbeare
To toyle and vex our selves, and keepe this still
Fixt in our minds, thus most men, though no ill
They feele, nor certaine are they ever shall,
Do ner'thelesse into distempers fall.
For no man makes resistance when he finds
Feare once begin to trouble him, or minds
How to finde out the truth. No man resorts
To reason, when his eares meet sad reports.
Or sayes the author's vaine, and being vaine
Does either vainely credit them or faine.
We yield up our beleife to what we heare:
And doubtfull things, as they were certaine, feare.
We keepe no moderation in our errour,
A scruple soone converts into a terror.
I am asham'd such language to devise,
And cherish thee with such slight remedies.
Let others say perhaps this will not be:
But thou, what if it happen? we shall see
Whether it will or not. 'Twill come perchance
For my behoofe, death will my life advance.
Poyson made Socrates more great. If wee
The sword, th'assertor of his libertie,
Wrest out of Cato's hand, we then detract
Much, from the glory of so brave an act.
But too much time is in advising spent,
T'incourage thee is more expedient.
I doe not lead thee to those wayes which thwart
Thy nature, thou for these things framed art.
Then let not thy endeavours be forborne,
Thy innate gifts to cherish and adorne.
But I shall end my Letter now, if I
Set to the seale, that is, if I applie
Some gallant phrase that to our use relates.
Follie 'mong other ills, appropriates
This also, that it still begins to live.
If to the meaning of these words thou't give
( Lucillius the best of men) good heed,
Thou'lt understand what sordid things proceed
From the vaine thoughts of men, who dayly mind
New wayes of life, and when even death they find
Approaching, they vaine hopes of life pursue.
Looke round about, and thou shalt often view
Old men that are prepar'd to venter on
Long journeys, businesse, and ambition.
Yet nothing can be found of greater scorne,
Than an old man beginning to be borne.
I should not add an author to this speach,
But that it is more hidden from the reach
Of vulgar eares, and is not found among
Those sayings that by Epicure are flung
Abroad, and into common use are grown,
Which I have both approv'd, and made mine own.

EPIST. XIV.

I Yield there is in us an in-bred care
Of our owne bodies: I confesse they are
To be preserv'd. But though I not denie
Indulgence due to them, yet slaverie
I doe denie. For who the body serves,
Who out of feare for that, from reason swerves
Too much, whose sole regard to that is ti'd,
He surely will serve many things beside.
We must dispose our actions, not as though
We for the body ought to live, but so
As we without the body cannot live:
The too much care whereof doe's often give
Tormenting feares, load's us with sorrows, flings
Contempt upon us, and reproaches brings.
Whos'ever his own body too much prizes,
All other things that honest are, dispises.
Let a strickt care thereof be had, yet so,
That when the duties we to reason owe,
To honour, and fidelity require,
Lets not refuse to cast it into fire.
Yet let us shun, as much as in us lies,
Not onely harmes but incommodities.
Let us our safety mind, and not forbeare
A dayly care t'avoid the things we feare.
Whereof there are three kinds, as I suppose,
Want, sicknesses, and all the ill that growes
From an offended power, of which none beates
So fiercely on us, as what power threats.
That rayses tumults, and a noise does make;
As for those other which from nature take
Their ground, want, sicknesse filently appeare,
And with no terrour strike the eye or eare:
This comes with dreadfull pomp, fire, sword, and chains,
And savage beasts sent in with horr'id pain's
To humane brests: heer may we also looke
Upon a prison, gibber, racke, or hooke:
Stakes through the mouth forc't frō the fundament,
And members by driv'n horses piece-meale rent:
The coat with combustible matter noynted,
And what else cruell-tyrants have appointed.
'Tis then no wonder if the feare of this
Be greatest, whose varieties great is,
And preparation terrible. For as
A Torturer the sooner brings to passe
His purpose, when with sundry instruments
Of various torments he himselfe presents.
(For they who else with patience would hold out
By that dire pomp to yield are brought about)
So of such things as tame and quell the thought
They prevaile most that with most shew are brought.
Those plagues are no lesse grievous, hunger, thirst,
Impostumes bred, and in the intrailes burst:
Feavers that scald the bowells: but yet they
Are hid from view, have nothing to display.
These like great armies by their equipage,
And dreadfull sight orecome ere they engage.
Then let us strive offences to forbeare.
Sometimes it is the people we must feare,
And sometimes, if a Senate rule the state,
With the chiefe men we must ingratiate:
Sometimes we must of all those stand in awe
Who of, and to the people give the law.
Thave all these friends, is hard: it may suffice
At least, to have them not our enemies.
A wiseman therefore will not undergoe
The anger of great men, but shun it so
As marriners doe stormes, which thou might'st see
When thou didst crosse the Sea to Sicilie.
Rash pilots value not the South-wind's threats,
Which the Sicilian Sea with fury beats,
And forces in to whirle-pooles. They forbeare
The left hand-shore, and to the other stere
Nearer Carib des where the waters roare:
But the more warie, they inquire before
Of men that know the place, of tide and wether,
And shun the place where whirl-winds meet toge­ther.
Heer's the condition of a wiseman, hee
Avoyds the place that dangerous may be;
But with this caution, not to have it thought
He does avoyd it. Safety much is wrought
By seeming not to seeke it purposely,
For we accuse the power that we doe flie;
Wherefore we must our thoughts to this inure,
How from the people we may be secure.
To doe which, first lets shun whats'ever stirs
Great emulation 'mong competitors.
Next, let us not be Lords of any thing
That to the spoyler may great profit bring.
How smal's the bodie's spoyle? none will pursue
Man's bloud for that meer cause, or very few.
Gain more then hatred moves. A thiefe lets goe
An empty traveller. A poore man though
He be beset is safe. From three things then,
According to the rules of ancient men,
We must take speciall care our lives t'exempt;
From hatred, and from envy, and contempt.
How this may, be wisdome alone will show,
For ther's a middle way, though hard to know,
Whereby into contempt wee may not run,
While we the feare of envy seeke to shun.
Nor while we would avoyd suspition,
To make our selves fit to be trod upon.
Some, 'cause they may be fear'd, to feare have cause;
We must be circumspect, for either draws
An equall danger. Let us therefore flie
For our own safeguard to Philosophy.
This not with good men onely, but with such
As are not wholly bad, will grace us much.
For Oratorie, and what else invites
The peoples favour, have their opposites.
This which is peacefull, and its own worke minds
Can nere be scornd: but from all science finds
A due regard, even from the worst that are,
For wickednesse can never run so far,
Nor ever against vertue so conspire,
But that Philosophie will keepe intire
It's name and honour: alwayes with this tie,
That it be handled calmly and modestly.
But what? did Cato then phlosophise
Calmely and modestly, when his advise
Oppos'd a civill war? when he between
Two potent princes arm'd with rage, and spleen,
Did intercede: and who, when some contended
With Caesar, some with Pompey, both offended.
It is a question whether it were fit
For a wiseman then at the helme to fit.
What meanst thou Marcus Cato? the contest
Is not for liberty, that was supprest
Long since: the strife is whether now
We shall to Caesar or to Pompey bow.
What's this to thee? thou hast therein no share:
We must receive a Prince, what need'st thou care
Which shall be he? the better cannot gaine
The conquest, he that shall at length be faine
To yield, may be the worse: he cannot be
The better, that obtaines the victorie.
I heere on Catoes latter yeares do touch.
But truely neither were his former such,
That a wise man might be admitted to
That rapine, which was like the state t'undoe.
What else did Cato then, but cry aloud,
Throwing forth empty wordes, when in the crowd
Of people, he was spit on, and abus'd?
And when he to be carry'd forth refus'd,
They drag'd him from the Senate house at last,
And after all him into prison cast.
We'll shew in time whether a wiseman may
Suffer his labour to be cast away.
In the meane while I bid thee looke upon
Those, who from publicke businesses have gon
To order their own lives: and without a we
Of power, to bring mankind to reasons law.
A wise man publicke manners never flies,
Nor drawes the people after novelties.
What then, will he who lives thus be secure?
This verily I can no more assure
Than health in temp'rat men, and yet we know
That health from temperance does chiefly grow.
A ship is sometimes in the Haven lost:
What thinkst thou' of that which in the sea is tost?
He that unsafe is in a quite life,
What hazard will he run by publicke strife?
The innocent do sometimes perish: trew,
But oftener the nocent. He may rew
The art that he professes, who is hit,
And wounded through the ornaments of it.
A wiseman therefore will his thoughts apply
To reason, not events. Beginnings lie
In our own power: fortune directs the end,
Unto whose sentence I'll not condiscend.
But it may bring some trouble, some distresse!
A thiefe is not condemnd to death, unlesse
He kill. But now I know thy dayly pay
Is lookt for: I gold in thy hand will lay.
And since of gold I have made mention, take
What will the use thereof more gratefull make.
He enjoys riches most, who needs them least.
Tell me sayst thou, the author. 'Tis profest,
(That thou mayst know what freedome we intend)
That what belongs to others wee'll commend.
The words to Epicurus appertaine,
Or Metrodore, or other of that traine.
What matter is't who spake them, they were spo­ken
To all. To stand in need of riches is a token
We are in feare for them: and I suppose
No man enjoyes the thing he feares to lose:
Or that to which his care is how to add.
For where much thought of the encrease is had
Th' injoyment is forgot. His businesse is
To make up recknings: and he'll seldome misse
The market: and as oft as he can spare
Time from those things, he turnes the Calendar,
And notes when use is to be called for;
So from a Lord he turnes sollicitor.

EPIST. XV.

IN elder times it hath a custome bin,
And to my age continu'd, to begin
Epistles, If thou bee'st in health 'tis well.
And let us likewise say, if thou canst tell
How to Philosophise 'tis well, for this
Is health indeed, the mind that wants it is
But sicke: the body too though it be strong,
Hath onely what to mad men does belong.
Seeke therfore this health first, then that which will
Not cost thee much, if thou't be healthfull still.
The exercise that does the armes extend,
Dilates the brest and sides, I not commend
To studious men (Lucilius): for although
Thou shouldst so cram thy panch, that thou shouldst grow
T'have brawny limbs, a fat oxe yet at length
Will far exceed thee both in weight and strength.
Wherefore as much as in thee lies, restraine
Thy body: to thy minde let loose the raine:
For many inconveniences attend
Them, that much paines about the body spend.
As first all exercise that's violent
Hurts those, who are to contemplation bent.
And next, strong meates debilitate the wit,
And render it for study more unfit.
Besides, we must conceave of what strange parts
They be, who are the masters of these arts:
Men wholly conversant in wine and oyle,
Who thinke the day well spent, if with much toyle
They sweat enough, and what they sweat out then
Next morning fasting they restore agen
With other liquor: but much drinke and sweat
Will the cardiacall disease beget.
There are some exercises which are short
And easie, which the bodies health support,
And fixe, in little time, whereof much care
Is to be had, of which kind chiefly are
Running, and swinging of the armes with weight,
Capring upright; and sometimes to leap straight
Forward along the ground, and not refuse
Sometimes to shake the feet as Fullers use.
Thoul't any of these by practise easie find:
But yet be sure to looke backe to the mind,
And to imploy it day and night, for that
Is fed with labour which is moderate:
This kind of exercise nor heat, nor cold
Can hinder, no not though we be grown old.
Pursue that good which better grows by age;
Nor would I have thee still thy mind engage
In studie, and in writing, but t'allow
Som respit, lest thou breake what thou wouldst bow.
The motion of a chaire, or coach will jog,
And stir the body, yet the minde not clog.
Or thou mayst walke abroad, and not forbeare
To read the while, to dictate, speake or heare.
Nor is't amisse sometimes thy voyce to straine;
But from Musitians notes, and tunes refraine.
But if the garb of walking thoud'st be taught,
Get one of those who are by hunger brought
To these new artes, he will direct thy pace,
And teach thee how to eat with a good grace:
And will proceed as far in impudence,
As thou wilt suffer him with patience.
But what? shall then thy voyce begin with
It is more naturall to let it rise
By some degrees: as pleaders at the first
Softly begin, then into clamours burst:
For none will in the entrance of his speech
Implore a pardon, and the Iudge beseech.
But howsoere thy fervour thee perswade,
Thou vices sometimes strongly must invade,
And sometimes mildly, and thereof make choice
According to thy strength of sides, and voyce.
But when thy voyce thou higher shalt extend,
And then bring lower, let it not descend
At once, but by degrees: and be thou sure
To let it keepe the masters temprature:
And that it be not sufferd to ingage
Into an ignorant and clownish rage.
For t'is not our intent by doing thus
To exercise our voyce, but that to us
Our voyce should be an exercise. But loe
I've sav'd thee no small trouble: I'll bestow
A gratefull gift beside that benefit,
Behold a precept that hath worth in it;
A fooles' life is unpleasant, and does wast
In feare, be'ing wholly on the future cast.
Thou't aske perhaps, who spake these words? the same
Which spake before. But what is this we name
A fooles life? Is it thinkst thou that
Of Baba, and Ixion so laught at?
No, it is ours: whose blind defires do flie
Headlong on things which never fatisfie,
But often hurt us: whom if any thing
Could have suffis'd, it had: who do not bring
Our thoughts to ponder what a sweetnesse lies
In seeking nothing: and how high we rise
When we b'ing full doe not for more contend,
Nor yet on fortune any way depend.
Wherefore (Lucilius) often call to mind
How much th'hast: how many are behind
More than before. And if thou't shun a strife
Ungratefull to the Gods, and thine own life,
Never forget how many th'hast out-gon.
But what need'st thou mind others? looke upon
Thy selfe, whom th'hast outstript. Propound an end
Which thou mayst not be able to transcend,
Although thou wouldst. These riches which deceive us,
Better whē sought, thā had, wil one day leave us.
If any solidnesse therein were found,
They'd fill at last the place where they abound:
But now the drinkers thirst they more excite,
And alwayes with an outward pomp invite.
Why should I beg of fortune to bestow
Upon me that, which she sets out for show
To catch me with, rather than put this taske
Upon my selfe, not to be brought to aske?
But wherefore should I so forget the fraile
Estate of man; that fortune should prevaile
To make me aske? I shall be sure to heape
Up store of wealth: what thereby shall I reape?
Labour for labour. Behold time makes hast,
Or this is my last day, or near my last.

EPIST. XVI.

I Know (Lucilius) thou art well assurd
A blessed life can never be procurd,
No not in any reasonable sort,
Unlesse to wisdomes precepts we resort:
And also that such blessednesse is stable
When wisdome is compleat, and tollerable
When it is but begun. Yet thou must make
This thy assurance better roote to take,
And gather strength by constant meditation.
It is a worke of far more commendation,
And where in greater difficultie's found,
To performe honest things, than to propound.
We then should never cease, untill we find
Our fleeting will, turn'd to a constant mind.
Wherfore there needs not many words t'advance
My thoughts of thee, nor so much circumstance.
I find thou hast much profited, and know
The things thou writ'st are not set out for show,
But reall and unfaind. Yet i'll declare
My mind: my hopes of thee already are
Enough confirmd, not my assurance yet.
And I in thee would the like thoughts beget.
Thou shouldst not trust thy selfe too soone: but trie,
And often search what crannies in thee lie.
But above all, trie whether thou hast learnd
Philosophie, or the life therein concernd.
Philosophie's no vulgar worke, nor brings
Vaine ostentation; but consists in things,
And not in words: nor is't to be imployd
'Gainst idlenesse, or sports where with we are cloyd
It builds, and forms our mindes, our lives disposes,
Governs our actions, and to us discloses
What's to be don, what shund: it is our guide,
And sets us right when doubts our thoughts divide:
No man's secure without this. Ev'ry day
Innumerable accidents themselves display,
In which sound reason must direct our sen [...]:
And that must evermore be fetcht from hence.
But some will say what needs Philosophy,
If there be an ore-ruling destiny?
And how can that avail if God command?
Or how, if no man fortune can withstand?
Things certaine are immutable, and I
Cannot provide against uncertainty.
If God dispose my counsels, and decree
What I shall doe, what then is left to me?
Though some or all of these, Lucilius,
Be so indeed, yet it is fit for us
T'mbrace Philosophy: for whether fate
To fixt decrees do us necessitate;
Or whether God the universall guide
Doe preordaine what ever shall betide:
Or whether chance doe crosse what we intend,
Yet still Philosophy must us defend.
This will perswade us willingly t'obey
God: but resist with courage fortun's sway:
This teaches to depend on providence,
And to beare miseries with patience.
But heere we'll not dispute, how it may be
That any of our actions can be free,
If providence ore-rule; or if a chaine
Of causes bind to what the fates ordaine:
Or else if new and sudden accidents
Have power to crosse and frustrate our intents,
I now returne t'advise there not to let
Thy mind grow cold, and what it learn'd, sorget;
But to confine it to a taske, that so
A passion may into a habit grow.
But all this while, thou, if I know thee right,
Expect's some gift from what I now indite.
Search, and thou't find: nor thinke it strange at all,
That still of others goods i'm liberall:
Why sayd I others? what's well, sayd I, take
For mine, as this that Epicurus spake.
Thou't nere be poore if thou keep'st natures law,
Nor ere be rich if thee opinion awe.
For nature with a little is content,
Opinion to immensitie is bent.
Heape thou to thine owne selfe as vast a treasure
As some possesse: let fortune beyond measure
Raise thee to wealth: let gold enough be had
To load thee with: be thou with purple clad:
Let riches, and delights so much abound
That thou with marbles coverest the ground.
Let silver be not for thy use alone,
But at thy pleasure to be trod upon.
Add statues, pictures, for an ornament,
And whatsoere Luxurious artes invent;
All these will but incite thee to contend
For more. Our naturaii desires have end:
Such as from false opinion take their gro und
Can never cease, for falshood knows no bound.
He at the length comes home that keeps his way:
But he that roves will into deserts stray.
Then leave all vanity: and if thou'dst find
Whether when thou seekst any thing, thy mind
Be led to seeke it rather by a just,
And naturall desire, than by blind lust;
Consider if it can somewhere abide.
Having gon far, if thou shalt still provide
To go yet farther, know then thou do'st fall
Upon a thing that is not naturall.

EPIST. XVII.

IF thou be'st wise all these things cast away,
Nay, that thou maist be wise, with speed assay,
And with full force to get a perfect mind.
If any thing with-hold thee, thou maist find
How to remove, or cut it from thee quite.
But thou wilt say domesticke cares of right
REquire my thoughts, which I'll not lay aside
Untill sufficient meanes I shall provide
To live at ease: lest poverty become
To me a burthen, or my selfe to some.
If thus thou sayst, thou dost not apprehend
The force of that, to which thou dost pretend:
But looking on the outside of that good
Wisedome procures, thou hast not understood
The inner parts thereof, whereby to know
What prosit from Philosophie will grow:
How that to us the greatest things commends,
And, as we learne from Cicero descends
Even to the least. Believe me if thou't take
That for thy guide, it will not let thee make
Count-casting thy delight. But thou would'st flie
By these delays the fear of poverty.
Yet what if that should not be feard but sought,
For many men by riches haue been brought
To neglect knowledge? poverty is found
To be secure and free: when trumpets sound
That knows it selfe not sought for: when the crie
Of fire is heard, that seekes but how to flie,
Not what to carry forth. If there be cause
To goe to sea, that no disturbance drawes
Within the haven, or about the shore;
Where one alone is followd wich such store
Of servants, and attendants, that ther's need
Of other countrie's plenty them to feed.
Where there are few, and they well governed,
If they but seek to have their bellies fed,
'Tis don with ease: for hunger is appeasd
With little, gluttony is never pleasd.
There is no more desird by poverty,
But onely pressing want to satisfie.
Why shouldst thou this companion then refuse,
Whose manners rich men that are temprate use?
If thou desir'st to be from trouble free,
Or poore, or like a poore man thou must be:
No usefull studie can be undertaken
Unlesse our diligence we oft awaken
With frugalnesse, and frugalnesse we see
Is nothing else, but willing povertie.
Hence then with these excuses: I want yet
What is sufficient: if I once can get
The Sum that I propound, in the next place
I wholly will Philosophy embrace.
But that which is to thee a second thought,
And is defer'd, should first of all be sought.
I will provide, sayst thou, wherewith to live;
Thou must learne also an account to give
Of thy provision. Although something may
Hinder thy living well, nothing can stay
Thy dying well. There is no reason why
We should be hindred from Philosophy
By poverty, or more then that, by need:
Nay yet, a little further to proceed,
We must for this to hunger us inure,
Which men in beseig'd Cities doe endure.
And what reward, do they obtaine for all
Their patience, but onely not to fall
Within the victors power? how much more great
Is this, that makes our freedome so compleat
And permanent, that we nor men need feare,
Nor gods? and truly we should not forbeare
To come to this, although we hungry be.
Armies we know have sufferd penurie,
And sed on rootes of grasse, and things that shame,
And modestie permit me not to name.
And all this for a kingdome, and to make
The wonder more, anothers right to take.
To suffer poverty can any doubt
That from his mind he may throw madnesse out?
We should not therefore first our meanes inlarge:
Philosophy receaves us without charge.
But so it is, when all things else are gaind,
Men are content that wisedome be obtaind.
This they will have to be the last provision
Of life, or to speake plaine, addition.
But whether thou hast any thing, doe thou
Forthwith embrace Philosophy: for how
Appeares it else, that th' hast not now too much;
Or whether thy condition be such
That thou hast nothing, yet resolve to make
That the first thing whereof thou wilt partake.
But I shall want what necessarie is?
What necessarie is thou canst not misse.
For nature with the least things will comply,
And a wise man on nature will relie.
But if extreame necessities insist,
He can the world relinquish when he list;
And by that meanes no longer need become
A burthen to himselfe, or troublesome.
And if he have a little to sustaine
Life, is content: and being not in paine
For things beyond necessitie, bestows
On backe, and belly what to them he owes.
And being sate, derides the rich man's wayes,
And laughing at his course of getting, sayes,
Why do'st thou so defer? why dost thou wait
For use of mony put out at a rate?
Or expect profit from a growing trade?
Or why that blest old man do'st thou perswade
To write thee down his heire, since thou mayst pitch
Upon a nearer way to make thee rich?
Wisedome exhibits wealth: which on all them
It does bestow, who riches doe contemn.
But this belongs to others: thou hast more
Than needfull is: looke on the age before,
And thou art in excesse. All times present
To evry man what is sufficient.
I might heere end my Letter, but that I
Have bred thee ill. The Parthian Kings deny
Admittance without presents, ther's no shift
But at my fare-well I must bring some gift.
And this to me shall Epicurus lend,
Many by getting wealth have found no end
Of miseries, but onely an exchange.
Nor should this any way to thee seeme strange:
Since in the mind alone the fault does lie,
Not in the thing: that which made poverty
A burthen, riches also ircksome made.
For as a sickman whether he be layd
Upon a bed of wood, or gold, no ease
Does find, but carry's with him his disease.
So fares it with a mind that sicke is, whether
It be in wealth or poverty, in either
It is unsatisfi'd, and its own ill
Where ere it be remov'd does carry still.

EPIST. XVIII.

DEcember is a month wherein all sorts
Of people in the City melt in sports.
Where luxurie such priviledge obtaines,
And not gets so publickely the raines,
As if some ods there should appeare to all
'Tween dayes of worke, and Saturne's festivall.
Whereas there is so little difference made,
That we may verifie what one hath sayd;
In former times 'twas evident and cleare
December was a month, but now a yeare.
Wert thou with me, we would confer together,
What course therein were to be taken; whether
We should not change at all our former use,
Or not severely seeming to refuse
The peoples custome, merrily sit downe
At supper with them, and throw off our gown.
But though at festivalls w'have not refus'd
To change our cloths, a thing but onely usd
In times of tumuit, and of publicke woe;
Yet thou at least if I thee rightly know,
Who take upon me to discerne, do'st neither
Desire that we should become altogether
Like the cap-wearing multitude, nor yet
Unlike: unlesse perhaps we ought to get
Such powr ore our minds, as not to follow
Pleasures, even then when all in pleasures wallow:
It is a certaine signe of a fixt thought,
When that nor goes to ill, nor can be brought.
This shews we are more resolute and stout,
To come forth sober from a drunken rout.
But this more temprate, not to be exempted,
Nor yet with their ill manners to be tempted.
It is permitted to us that we may
Doe the same things, although another way.
For we may keepe a feast without excesse.
I find in me so great a willingnesse
To prove the firmenesse of thy mind, that I
By the advise of wisemen will applie
To thee this counsell: Let some time be had
Wherein-thou faring coursely, and being clad
As meanely, mayst thus say: Behold the thing
That is so terrible, my mind I'll bring
While I am in prosperity t'abide
Hardship, and will, while fortune smiles, provide
Against her frownes. Soldiers in time of peace
Doe exercise their arms, and never cease
To keep their guards, and to make works, although
They apprehend no danger of a foe.
They in unnecessary paines proceed,
To be thereby prepard in times of need.
That which thou wouldst not feare when it does come,
Practise before. This course is us'd by some,
Who ev'ry month doe practise povertie,
And bring themselves even to necessity:
That they who dayly are therein concernd,
May never feare what they have often learn'd.
I would not have thee thinke that I intend
By this my admonition, to commend
To thee a custome practis'd now a dayes,
To sup alone, and in a cottage, wayes
That luxurie devises, to avoid
The superfluitie wherewith i'ts cloyd.
But I would have thee lodge, be clad, and feed
As coursely, as thou truely wert in need.
Three or foure dayes together thus employd,
And sometimes more, the thing will be enjoyd
By thee at length as an experiment,
Which was before but a meere complement.
Then will thy joy (Lucilius) be great,
When fed but with two farthings-worth of meat,
Thou't find no need of fortun to suffice thee,
Things needfull she though angrie not denies thee.
Nor is there cause for thee to thinke therefore
That thou do'st much, for thou shalt do no more,
Than many thousand slaves and poore men doe,
Save onely that thou art not forc't thereto.
Nor wilt thou find more difficulty when
'Tis alwayes done, than when but now and then.
Let's exercise though but against a stake:
And that heereafter Fortune may not take
Us unprovided, let our constant care
Bee, to make povertie familiar:
We more securely riches shall possesse,
When poverty we know brings no distresse:
The great voluptuous master Epicure
Had certaine times, when hunger he would cure
Dispitefully, to see if his full pleasure
Did yet want any thing, and in what measure.
And whether it were worthy to be sought
With carefulnesse, and with great labour bought.
For so he saies in certaine Letters sent
To Poliaenus, when the government
Was in Charines: where he does much boast
His dinner did not a full farthing cost:
But Metrodor's a whole one, who had not
So far in that proficiency yet got.
Then wherefore should this diet not suffise
Thy appetite? when pleasure therein lies:
Yea pleasure that will constantly abide,
And will not often need to be suppli'd
For although water and course batter fry'd,
Or crusts of barley-bread be things deny'd
To be delightfull, yet it is the height
Of pleasure, that we can therein delight:
And bring our selves to that which fortune can
Though wicked, not deny to any man.
The food allowd to prisners is more large,
And men condemnd are not by them whose charge
It is to execute, so stricktly fed.
Then what great courage in that mind is bred,
Which of its one accord to that descends,
Which they feele not whom th'utmost woe attends?
This is t'anticipate the stroakes of fortune.
Wherefore (Lucilius) let me tree importune
Now to begin these men to imitate:
And to designe some dayes thine owne estate
So to neglect, that thou maist suff [...]r want:
With povertie learn to be conversant.
My friend, take courage riches to despise,
And worthily to God-like honour rise.
For no man can resemble God, but he
Who contemnes riches. I forbid not thee
To possesse wealth: but I would have thee beare
It so, as to possesse it without feare.
Which thou wilt doe, if thou canst be assurd
That happinesse without wealth is procurd:
If thou on riches shalt so cast thine eye,
As if they were to depart presently.
But I must now to a conclusion grow;
But first thou't bid me pay thee what I owe.
I'll thee assigne to Epicurus, he
Shall reckon, and thy paymaster shall be.
From extreame anger, madnesse does ensue.
Thou needs must understand this to be true,
Since thou findst thy condition to be so,
That thou hast both a servant and a foe.
This passion workes on all men, and does move
Not only from malignity, but love:
Not onely from things serious, but from small,
And things of sport. Nor is't materiall
From how great cause it comes, but in what mind
It falls. For as no difference we find
In what proportion fire is thrown, but where:
For we may cast the greatest without feare
On wet or sollid places, where as drie
And combustible matter suddenly
Will feede a sparke into a ruine: So,
My deare Lucilius, anger that does goe
On in a violence, will soone engage
It selfe, into a mad, and franticke rage.
We then as well for health's sake this must shun,
As not into intemperance to run.

EPIST. XIX.

AS often as I read thy letters, I
Rejoyce: & am with good hope fild thereby.
For they in thy behalfe not onely make
A promise to me, but doe undertake.
On then, I thee entreat, finish thy taske.
For there is nothing I can better aske
Of any friend, then for him make request;
Steale if thou canst from cares, if not. th' hast best
Snatch thy selfe off; vve time enough have spent
In vanities: Let's be in age content
To pack up our commodities. Then how
Are we to blame? w'have livd at sea, let's now
Die in the port. Yet thou shouldst not protense
To get a publicke name by thy recesse:
Which thou must neither glory in, nor hide.
For I'll not seeke to draw thee so aside,
As our of hatefull sulsinesse to keepe
No company, but in some hole to creepe.
Let thy retirement then appeare to us,
But let it not become notorious.
Such as have yet no course of life begun,
May live obscure, and all acquaintance shun.
But thou canst not: the vigour of thy wit,
And learned eloquence adorning it,
Thy noble correspondencies have shown
Thee to the open world: th' art so well known,
That though thou shouldst resolve to lie conceald,
Thy worth by former things will be reveald.
Thou canst not live in darknesse, wonted light
Will find thee out where ere thou takst thy flight.
Without distate of any, without blame
From thine owne selfe, thou quietness maist claime.
For what shalt thou forsake that thou canst say
Is with ill will forsaken? Clients? they
Doe not seek thee, but something from thee. Friends?
Friendship was value'd once: it now contends
For prey. Will th'old-man whom thou dost forsake
Alter his will? the Client him betake
T' an other gate? no great thing can be bought
At a cheape price. Take this into thy thought,
Whether thou find'st they have relinquish'd thee,
Or some of those things which thy evills be.
I could have wish'd thou hadst remaind within
The bounds of thine own birth, and hadst not bin
Raisd to that height! a quick prosperity
Far from a happy life hath placed thee:
Commands, and governments, and what depends
Thereon: and yet more honour thee attends,
Place after place; what wilt thou have at last?
On what designe will thy vast hopes be cast,
Ere thou first still? thy full desire thou't gaine?
That cannot be, for as there is a chaine
Of causes whereto fate, they say, is knit,
So is there of desire, and like to it:
One takes beginning from an others end.
To such a kind of life thou do'st descend,
As of it selfe can never come to checke
Thy grievances. Wherefore withdraw thy necke
Worne with the yoake, which to cut off is lesse
Offensive than to let it still oppresse.
If thou t'a private life shalt have recourse
All things will be much lesse, yet will have force
To fill abundantly: whereas the most
Now fetcht with charge from many a distant coast
Will not suffice. To which hast thou most mind,
In want t' abound, or be in plenty pind?
Felicity both greedy is, and must
Be still exposd to others greedy lust.
As long as thou shalt unsuffys'd abide,
Others with thee will not be satisfy'd.
But how (sayst thou) shall I get off? lay hold
On any meanes. Think with thy selfe how bold,
And rash for money thou hast often bin:
How diligent that thou might'st honour win.
Somthing must be attempted then for rest:
Or else thy dayly paines to manifest
Thy care of this mans businesse, now and then
To performe civill offices to men,
Will force thee to grow old in toyle, and dwell
In miseries, to which thou canst not tell
Which way with modesty an end to give.
For what avails it that thy selfe wouldst live
In peace? thy fortun will not: which even yet
If sufferd to grow greater, will beget
As much new feare as profit. I will now
Mecaenas quote, who did the truth avow
Even from the racke where favour him had layd:
For height it selfe is with great height dismayd.
If thou inquirst where this is to be read,
'Tis in his booke which is intituled
Prometheus. By which saying this is meant,
That greatnesse hath the greatest discontent.
How then can any power be so much worth,
That thou such words of surfet shouldst bring forth?
He was a man of wit, and like from thence
To have produc'd to Roman eloquence
A great example, had not happinesse
By weakning, nay by guelding made him lesse.
Lo this will be the end, if thou before
Shalt not take in thy sayles, and make to shore,
As he too late intended. I could let
This sentence of Mecaenas passe for debt:
But thou, if I mistake thee not, wilt hold
It fitter to be payd in coyn that's old.
And therfore Epicurus heer shall lend
The money, which for payment I intend.
We ought, says hee, with seriousnes to think
Rather with whom, than what we eat and drink.
For they who at flesh meales a friend refuse,
Lead but the life that Wolves and Lions use.
This will not thy condition be, unlesse
Thou dost retire: thou't else, I must confesse,
Have guests, but those thy Nomenclator shall
In order from a heard of clients call.
Who hires a servant at the door, or makes
Friendship with any at a feast, mistakes.
A publick person, one that is beset
With his own happiness, hath never met
With greater ill, than when he thinks h'hath got
Those men his friends t'whom he himselfe is not:
Or else beleeves that his large courtesies
Bestowd on men will be sufficient ties:
Since some the more th'are ti'd, the more they hate:
A small debt will a debter alienate,
A great one bring him to turn fo. What then?
Are benefits no pledges among men?
Yes, if we chuse receivers; if no wast
Be made, but that they be with judgement plac't.
Then since to be thy selfe thou do'st begin,
Let this sage counsell on thy reason win,
To think it much concernible to know,
Not what, but upon whom thou dost bestow.

EPIST. XX.

IF thou be'st well, and thinkst that thou art grown
So worthy, as at length to be thine own,
I'm glad. For 'twill my glory be, if I
Free thee from storms thou hadst no hope to fly.
But this I crave, Lucilius, and intreat,
That thou wouldst give Philosophy a seat
Within thy breast, and let some proof bee shown
Of what th'hast gaynd, not by bare words alone,
And writing, but by constancy of mind,
And by thy lusts abatement: Let words find
Credit by actions. They who doe declame,
And seek by eloquence to get a name,
Have their designs; and they who catch the ears
Of idle youth with vain disputes, have theirs.
Philosophy instructs to do, and not to say:
And requires this of all, her rules t'obay:
That our whole life should with our words agree,
And not by different actions changed bee.
Wisdomes chief work, and office hereto tend,
That words and deeds drive only at one end.
But who will this perform? Few, yet some will.
'Tis difficult: a wise man must not still.
Goe the same pace, but ever the same way.
Upon this observation therfore stay:
Does thy apparell and thy house dissent?
Art thou to thine own self munificent,
But sordid to thy servants? Do'st thou feed
With frugalness, in building yet exceed?
Lay hold upon one certain way to live,
And therby to thy selfe directions give.
Some bear it low at home, abroad live high.
There is a fault in this diversity,
And shew's the mind is weak, and cannot guide
It selfe, but suffers it to start aside.
And I will now declare to thee whence springs
This levity, this diffrence both of things,
And counsels. No man to himself propounds
What he would have, or goes upon firm grounds;
Or if he doe, he will not persevere,
But suddainly another course will stere.
Nor does he only change, but back ward look,
Resuming what with hatred he forsook.
And therfore that I may the course decline,
Which th'Ancients used wisdome to define,
And briefly comprehend our lifes whose frame;
Wisedome what is't? To will and nill the same.
Yea though we adde not this distinction,
That it be alwayes right we goe upon.
For there is nothing that can alwayes please
Unlesse't be right. Most men have this disease,
They know not but at th'instant while their will
Is strongly bent, what will their mind fullfil.
Nay very few doe fully know what they
Would, or would not. Mens judgments always stray,
And turn to th' contrary. The greater sort
Doe for the most part make their life a sport.
Therefore where thou begin'st presse on: perchance
Thou either to the highest shalt advance,
Or know alone ther's not a highest yet.
But how thoul't say, shall all my followers get
A livelihood? if thou shalt not proceed
To feed that troope, it then it selfe will feed:
Or what thy bounty would not let thee know,
Thou shalt be sure thy poverty will show.
This will discover true and faithfull friends:
Whosoever shall depart had other ends
Than onely thee to serve; for this alone
Should poverty be like'd, it makes it known
Of whom we are belov'd. When shalt thou see
That day, wherein thy honour will not be
Dissembled with? let then thy thoughts retire
All hither, thy whole care, and thy desier.
All other wishes to the Gods release,
That with thy selfe thou mayst remaine in peace:
And with the fruits thence growing be content:
For what felicity can represent
God more? reduce thy selfe to things though small,
Yet such as thou from them canst never fall.
And that this may be don with willingnesse,
The tax that on this Letter I assesse,
Shall furder it, which I from Epicure
Will borrow, though thy envy I endure.
Thy words, believe it, will have more renown,
When utterd from a homely couch and gown.
For they will not be spoken then alone,
But be for truth by demonstration known.
And how indeed can I thinke otherwise
Of our Demetrius sayings, when he lies
Naked, and little better then in straw?
We then from him not onely precepts draw
Of truth, but testimony. What? therefore
May not a man contemne wealth having store?
Why not? that man enjoyes a noble mind,
Who though he takes the wealth that he does find
Is heapt upon him, yet does often sit
To recollect himselfe, and laugh at it:
And rather heares he's rich than feeles. 'Tis much
In riches company to have no touch
Of the infection. He's more great that's poore
In midst of wealth, but he that wants is more
Secure. But thou wilt say, I cannot tell
How this would bear't, if into want he fell;
Nor doe I know says Epicure how hee
That's poore would riches beare, if they should be
Upon him cast. Therefore we must in either
Respect the mind, and must consider whether
This can indulgent be to povertie,
Or that to wealth use no indulgencie.
For otherwise a homely bed and gown
Are but slight arguments, unless't be known
Whether he of his own accord does chuse them,
Or through necessity be forc'd to use them.
But the minds greatnesse then is manifest,
When we make hast to these things as the best,
And thinke them easy too: for sure they are
Easy: and if, Lucilius, thoul't prepare
Them with premeditated thoughts to greet,
Believe it thou wilt also find them sweet:
For therein that especially does lie,
Without which nothing's sweet, security.
Wherefore I judge it necessary now,
And great men, as I say, have don't, t'allow
Some certaine dayes, our plentifull estate
To lay as't were aside, and imitate
True, by imaginary poverty.
And this so much the rather we should trie,
Because we drenched are in dayly pleasure,
And all attempts as difficult doe measure.
We must be rousd from sleepe with a sharpe touch,
And shewd that nature stands us not in much:
For no man is borne rich, whosoere is sent
Into the world is bid to be content
With milke and clouts: from these beginnings we
With Kingdomes hardly can sufficed be.
The order is intermitted in the two following Epistles.

EPIST. XXVI.

I Told thee lately old-age did appeare
To be before me: now, I rather feare,
Tis left behind me. Therefore some new terme
Must fit these yeares, this body so infirme.
Because indeed old age is chiefly meant
Of age that's weary, not of age that's spent.
Put me among decrepit men, and such
As ready are the brinke of life to touch.
Yet I rejoyce with thee that I do find
Times injury in body, not in mind.
For vices onely, and what serv'd t'uphold
And minister to vices, are grown old.
My mind is lively and is joyfull too
That with the body't has not much to doe.
A great part of the burthen that opprest
The soul, is off. She ships, and does contest
With me 'bout age. She says it is her youth.
And we may well believe it to be truth:
Shee then improves. I joy to thinke what I
Owe in this time of rest and modesty
To wisdome, what to age: and stricktly search
What things I cannot, what I would not reach.
And whether I can any thing effect,
Which I would rather utterly reject.
For if I cannot doe a thing that's bad,
Then that I cannot doe it, I am glad.
What dammage therefore can a man pretend,
When he finds that which ought to end, to end?
It is the greatest damage thou wiltsay,
To wast, to pine, or rather melt away.
For we are not with sudden violence
Layd prostrate, but are gently carry'd hence.
Each day draws somthing from our strength. What death
Can then be better than to puffe out breath
When nature's spent? not that ther's any ill
In wounds, or other accidents which kill.
But because this is a more easie way
To be with-drawn after a soft decay.
For my part, as if tryall were at hand,
And that day, to whose sentence I must stand
For all my times expence, I'm thus prepard
To say: whats'ever I have yet declard
By deeds or words is nothing: those I find
To be deceitfull pledges of my mind:
And were wrapt up in many an outward show;
I must trust death if I the truth would know.
I do not therefore fearefully expect
That day, wherein I plainly shall detect,
Whether when arts and fallaces depart,
I speake great things, or have them in my heart.
Whether I wore a vizard to disguise
When I with boldnesse fortun did despise.
Remove men's estimation which is still
Uncertaine, and mistakes both good and ill.
Remove thy studies, thy whole life's chiefe care,
And death of thee true judgement will declare.
This I would say: disputes and learnd discourse,
And all that observation can enforce
From precepts of wise men, with readinesse
Of language, cannot the minds strength expresse.
For many very timerous, and weake
In resolution, often boldly speake.
It plainly will appeare what thou hast don
When thy toule is departing. I'll not shun
The judgement: but will cheerfully assent
To the condition. This to me is meant.
Yet thou must also thinke that I impart
My mind to thee. Tis true thou yonger art?
What's that? Yeares are not numberd. Tis a doubt
In what place death will come to find thee out.
And therefore be thou ready to embrace
And meet him willingly in any place.
But I would end this Letter, and my hand
Is neare the close. Yet rites, I understand,
Must be performd, and portage must be payd.
I need not tell on whom the charge is layd.
Thou knowst whose chest I use. Doe thou but stay
A while, and I my selfe these debts will pay.
In the meane time disbursement I'll procure
Of this intended sum from Epicure,
Who thus hath said. Think whether 't be more fit
That death should come to us, or we to it.
The meaning of these words does open lie.
It is a noble worke to learne to die.
Tis needlesse, thou perhaps wilt say, to learne
What we can use but once? we may discerne
The reason of the needfulnesse from thence.
For when we cannot have experience
That we have learn'd: we are oblig'd therby
To practise such a thing continually.
Contemplate death, He bids us, who says so,
Contemplate freedome. Who to die does know,
Knows not to serve: he ore all power prevailes,
At least is out of it. What then are Jailes
To him; or hideous dungeons which do more
Afflict? he alwayes findes an open dore.
There is one chaine that binds us fast. The love
Of life: which though we should not quite remove,
Yet we should loosen so, that, when ther's cause,
Nothing should hinder us, or make us pause
With courage, and alacrity to run
And do that quickly which must once be don.

EPIST. XLI.

THou seekst a safe and profitable thing,
If thou endeavour'st, as thou writ'st, to bring
Thy mind to become good. It is but vaine
To wish, what from thy selfe thou maist obtaine.
We need not lift our hands to Heaven, nor crave
The Sexton's leave that we accesse may have
To th'eares of th'image, as if then we were
More eas'ly heard. For God to us is neare:
Is with us, nay within us. This I say,
There is a sacred spirit that does stay
And rest in us: and is our guardian too,
Observing all the good and ill we doe:
And us, as we use it, it alwayes uses.
No man is good till God the good infuses.
Who can without him above fortune rise?
In great designes with him we must advise.
In all good men (although we cannot tell,
What God) a God undoubtedly does dwell.
If thou to som thick wood should'st come by chance,
Whose ancient trees their lofty heads advance
'Bove comon height: whose arms are spred between
Each other so, no sun-shine can be seen.
The trees so tall: the place so still: the shade
So strange, that wonder does thy thoughts invade:
And this in midst of a large champion set,
Will instantly religious thoughts beget.
And if we find a cave in rocks much worne,
By which a hanging mountaine is upborne:
Not made by hands, but by meere nature brought
To such a hollownesse: it strikes a thought
Of some Divinity to be implord.
The heads of mighty rivers are ador'd:
The deep eruptions of vast floods do claime
Their Altars, and we consecrate a name
To sourses of warme waters, and some lakes
A siradinesse, or deepnesse sacred makes.
When we behold a man not scar'd with danger,
Untoucht with lusts, to vaine delights a stranger
Happy in adverse fortun, quiet, when
Tempestuous stormes rage most: transcending men,
And equalling the gods: will not our sence
Tell us we ought this man to reverence?
Will we not say this doubtlesse is some Being
Greater and higher far, than is agreeing
To reason, to believe that it can be
Like to the little body which we see?
Some heavenly vertue thither sure descends.
A mind that's fixt, and for true worth contends:
That slights, as quite beneath it all things heere,
And laughs at what we either wish or feare,
Must needs b'inspird: a thing that so ore-tops
The rest, subsists not but by heavenly props.
And therefore the chiefe part of such a mind
Descends not hither, but remaines behind.
As the sun-beames do seeme to touch the earth,
Bu [...] remaine there from whence they were sent forth,
Eve [...] so a great and holy mind, although
(Tha [...] we Divine things may more nearly know)
It does converse with us, yet never leaves
It's place but to it's first beginning cleaves.
There it depends, and thither strives: and is
That part of us which is our onely blisse.
But what is that? a mind that's understood
To leane on nothing but its proper good
For how can greater foolishnesse be shown,
Than to prayse men for what is not their owne?
Or with great admiration to be struck
At that, which from thee other men may pluck?
A golden bridle betters not a horse.
A Lyon with a guilded maine, by force
And want of [...], that out of feare
With a submissive readinesse will beare
Whats'ever is imposd, is lookt upon
In a much different condition
From him that is un-awd, and is intire
In courage. This, (as nature does require)
Fierce in assaults, in dreadfull fury, gay:
And terrible in countenance (which may
Be cald his beauty) far transcends that cold
And stupid Lyon, though adorn'd with gold.
We prayse a vine if it with grapes abound:
If with the weight of fruit it touch the ground,
Who will preferr before this, as a vine,
That which with golden grapes, & leaves do shine?
A vines true worth by fruitfullnesse is known,
And man commended is for what's his own.
He hath a gallant family: is possest
Of a faire house: he lends at interest:
Plants and sowes much. All these things are not [...]
But are about him. That alone can win
And merit a just prayse, which never can
Be given, or be taken from a man,
Which is his property. But wouldst thou find
What is that property? it is the mind.
And in the mind right reason. For by nature
A man is found a rationable creature.
To finish then his good he ought to doe
Compleatly that which he is borne unto.
But what is that right reason does direct
A man to doe? what he hath power t'effect:
In all things his own nature to consult,
But common madnesse makes this difficult.
We thrust each other into vice. How then
Can any be reduc'd to goodnesse, when
No man to hinder wickednesse will strive,
But into viciousnesse the people drive?
FINIS.

Reader, the Author being out of Town, hath occasioned divers faults to be committed in the Printing of the foregoing Epistles; for which the Printer in­treats thee to make a favourable interpretation: some wherof are heer set down.

Page 16 line 1. read know. p. 21. l. 16. 1. It will. p. 22. l. 10. r. teach. p. 33 l 25. r. he is not blest who is. p. 35. l. 1. r. witnesses. p. 38. l. 14 r. 'fore our eyes. p. 39. l. 21. r. Genius. p. 40. l. 16. r. drown's. p. 41. l. last, r. he usd himselfe. p. 42. l. 3. r. aery musick. p. 46. l. 13. r. by this. p. 47. l. 14. r. that most men. p. 50. l. 12. r. variety. p. 58 l. 10. r. th'ast got. p. 66. l. 3. r. this to me. ibid. l. 21. r. riot gets. p. 71. l. 22. after Snatch thy selfe off: insert, wee time enough have spent in vanities.

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