cares of life, till it be half spent, and still increase them, as that decreases.

What is there among the actions of beasts so illogical and repugnant to reason? When they do any thing, which seems to proceed from that which we call reason, we disdain to allow them that perfection, and attribute it only to a natural instinct: and are not we fools, too, by the same kind of instinct? If we could but learn to "number our days" (as we are taught to pray that we might), we should adjust much better our other accounts; but, whilst we never consider an end of them, it is no wonder if our cares for them be without end too. Horace advises very wisely, and in excellent good words,

Spatio brevi

Spem longam reseces

From a short life cut off all hopes that grow too long. They must be pruned away like suckers, that choke the mother plant, and hinder it from bearing fruit. And in another place, to the same sense,

Vitæ summa brevis spem nos vetat inchoare

longam† ;

which Seneca does not mend, when he says, "Oh! quanta dementia est spes longas inchoantium!" But

he gives an example there of an acquaintance of his, named Senecio, who, from a very mean beginning, by great industry in turning about of money through all ways of gain, had attained to extraordinary riches, but died on a sudden, after having supped merrily," in ipso actu benè cedentium rerum, in ipso procurrentis fortunæ impetu," in the full course of his good fortune, when she had a high tide, and a stiff gale, and all her sails on; upon which occasion he cries, out of Virgil,.

"Insere nunc, Melibae, pyros; pone ordine vites!”

Go, Melibœus, now,

Go graff thy orchards, and thy vineyards plant;
Behold the fruit!

For this Senecio I have no compassion, because he was taken, as we say, in ipso facto, still labouring in the work of avarice; but the poor rich man in St. Luke (whose case was not like this) I could pity, methinks, if the Scripture would permit me; for he seems to have been satisfied at last, he confesses he had enough for many years, he bids his soul take its ease; and yet for all that, God says to him, "Thou fool, this night thy soul shall be required of thee; and the things thou hast laid up, who shall they belong to†?" Where shall we find the causes

*Buc. i. 74.

+ Luke xii. 20,

of this bitter reproach and terrible judgment? We may find, I think, two; and God, perhaps, saw more. First, that he did not intend true rest to his soul, but only to change the employments of it from avarice to luxury; his design is, to eat, and to drink, and to be merry. Secondly, that he went on too long before he thought of resting; the fullness of his old barns had not sufficed him, he would stay till he was forced to build new ones and God meted out to him in the same measure; since he would have more riches than his life could contain, God destroyed his life, and gave the fruits of it to another.

Thus God takes away sometimes the man from his riches, and no less frequently riches from the man: what hope can there be of such a marriage, where both parties are so fickle and uncertain? by what bonds can such a couple be kept long together?

Why dost thou heap up wealth, which thou must quit, Or, what is worse, be left by it?

Why dost thou load thyself, when thou 'rt to fly, Oh man, ordain'd to die?

Why dost thou build up stately rooms on high,
Thou who art under ground to lie?

Thou sow'st and plantest, but no fruit must see,
For death, alas! is sowing thee.

Suppose, thou fortune couldst to tameness bring,
And clip or pinion her wing;

Suppose, thou couldst on fate so far prevail,
As not to cut off thy entail;

Yet death at all that subtilty will laugh;
Death will that foolish gardener mock,
Who does a slight and annual plant engraff
Upon a lasting stock.

Thou dost thyself wise, and industrious deem ;
A mighty husband thou wouldst seem;
Fond man! like a bought slave, thou all the while
Dost but for others sweat and toil.

Officious fool! that needs must meddling be
In business, that concerns not thee!
For when to future years thou' extend'st thy cares,
Thou deal'st in other men's affairs.

Ev'n aged men, as if they truly were
Children again, for age prepare;
Provisions for long travel they design,

In the last point of their short line.

Wisely the ant against poor winter hoards
The stock, which summer's wealth affords
In grashoppers, that must at autumn die,
How vain were such an industry!

Of power and honour the deceitful light

Might half excuse our cheated sight,
If it of life the whole small time would stay,
And be our sunshine all the day;

Like lightning, that, begot but in a cloud (Though shining bright, and speaking loud), Whilst it begins, concludes its violent race,

And where it gilds, it wounds the place.

Oh scene of fortune, which dost fair appear
Only to men that stand not near!
Proud poverty, that tinsel bravery wears !
And, like a rainbow, painted tears!

Be prudent, and the shore in prospect keep;
In a weak boat trust not the deep;
Plac'd beneath envy, above envying rise;
Pity great men, great things despise.

The wise example of the heavenly lark,
Thy fellow-poet, Cowley, mark;

Above the clouds let thy proud musick sound,
Thy humble nest build on the ground.

VOL. III.