ECCLESIASTES xi. 9.

Rejoice, O young man, and let thy heart chear thee,

How

but know,

1.

c.

flux,* how alterable is the date

Of transitory things!

How hurry'd on the clippingt wings

Of Time, and driv'n upon the wheels of Fate !

How one condition brings

The leading prologue to another state!

No transitory things can last

:

Change waits on Time, and Time is wing'd with haste; Time present's but the ruin of Time past.

2.

Behold how change hath inch'd away thy span;

And how thy light doth burn

Nearer and nearer to thine urn!

For this dear waste, what satisfaction can

Injurious Time return

Thy shortened days, but this the style of man?
And what's a man? A cask of care,

New tunn'd and working: he's a middle stair
'Twixt birth and death; a blast of full-ag'd air.

3.

His breast is tinder apt to entertain

The sparks of Cupid's fire,

Whose new-blown flames must now inquire
A wanton julep out, which may restrain
The rage of his desire,

Whose painful pleasure is but pleasing pain:

* Flur; i. e. fitting.

+ Clipping; i. e.

swift-flying.

S

His

His life's a sickness, that doth rise From a hot liver, whilst his passion lies Expecting cordials from his mistress' eyes.

4.

His stage is strew'd with thorns, and deck'd with flow'rsi His year sometimes appears

A minute; and his minutes, years:

His doubtful weather's sunshine mix'd with show'rs ;
His trafick, hopes and fears;

His life's a medly, made of sweets and sours;
His pains reward his smiles and pouts ;
His diet is fair language mix'd with flouts;
He is nothing, all compos'd of doubts.

5.

Do, waste thine inch, proud span of living earth,
Consume thy golden days

In slavish freedom; let thy ways
Take best advantage of thy frolick mirth;
Thy stock of time decays,

;

And lavish plenty still fore-runs a dearth :
The bird that's flown may turn at last
And painful labor may repair a waste,
But pains nor price can call my minutes past.

SEN

SEN.

Expect great joy when thou shalt lay down the mind fa child, and deserve the style of a wise man; for at hose years childhood is past, but oftentimes childishness emaineth; and, what is worse, thou hast the authority of man, but the voice of a child.

EPIG. 11.

To the declining man.

Why stand'st thou discontented? Is not he
As equal-distant from the top as thee?

What then may cause thy discontented frown?
He's mounting up the hill; thou plodding down.

DEUT.

DEUTERONOMY Xxxiii. 25.

As thy days, so shall thy strength be,

The post

Of swift-foot time
Hath now at length begun

The kalends of our middle stage:

The number'd steps that we have gone, do show
The number of those steps we are to go:
The buds and blossoms of our age
Are blown, decay'd, and gone,
And all our prime

Is lost :

And what we boast too much, we have least cause to boast.

Ah me!

There is no rest:
Our time is always fleeing,

What rein can curb our headstrong hours?
They post away they pass we know not how:
Our Now is gone, before we can say now:
Time past and future's none of ours:
That hath as yet no being;

And this hath ceas'd

To be;

What is, is only ours: how short a time have we

!

And

And now
Apollo's ear

Expects harmonious strains,
New minted from the Thracian lyre;
For now the virtue of the twi-fork'd hill
Inspires the ravish'd fancy, and doth fill
The veins with Pegasean fire:
And now those steril brains,
That cannot show
Nor bear

Some fruits, shall never wear Apollo's sacred bow.

Excess

And surfeit uses

To wait upon these days;
Full feed and flowing cups of wine
Conjure the fancy, forcing up a sp'rit
By the base magic of debauch'd delight;
Ah! pity, twice-born Bacchus' vine
Should starve Apollo's bays,
And drown those muses
That bless

And calm the peaceful soul, when storms of care

Strong light,

Boast not those beams

That can but only rise
And blaze awhile and then away :
There is no solstice in thy day;
Thy midnight glory lies

Betwixt th' extremes

Of night,

oppress.

A glory soil'd* with shame, and fool'd with false delight.

*Soil'd; i. e. sullied.

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