The workes of Lucius Annæus Seneca, both morrall and naturall Containing, 1. His bookes of benefites. 2. His epistles. 3. His booke of prouidence. 4. Three bookes of anger. 5. Two bookes of clemencie. 6. His booke of a blessed life. 7. His booke of the tranquilitie of the minde. 8. His booke of the constancie of a wiseman. 9. His booke of the shortnesse of life. 10. Two bookes of consolation to Martia. 11. Three bookes of consolation to Heluia. 12. His booke of consolation to Polibius. 13. His seuen bookes of naturall questions. Translated by Tho. Lodge, D. in Physicke.

CHAP. IX.

CAn any mortall man, be he neuer so wise and politicke, tell vs how we may more throughly intend our selues then yet we doe? or prescribe vs how to liue hereafter more our owne then yet wee are? Nay, themselues with losse of life are long occupied in tel∣ling how themselues will liue, and (God wot) long they be about their owne conceits; and indeede the greatest losse of our life is delay, which weares away the first day, bereauing vs of present time whilst it promiseth vs thing•• future. Nor is there any greater impediment why wee liue not out of hand then expectation, which hangeth alwayes on to morrow: so thou loosest this day and determinest what shall become of that which fortune is wholly Ladie of, while it passeth and slippeth from thee that thou art Lord of. What hopest thou, what gapest thou for? All that is to come is vncertaine, and there∣fore liue out of hand: for the greatest Poet that euer was•• as it were by inspira∣tion, giues thee wholsome councell,

Our happiest dayes doe passe from vs poore mortall men First, and before the rest.

And therefore why delayest thou? Why stayest thou? Life flieth if thou lay not handes vpon it; and if thou doe lay handes vpon it, yet neuerthelesse it fly∣eth; and therefore striue thou alwayes with the swiftnesse of time, and be as swift in vsage and turning it to profite, as thou wouldest be quicke to draw wa∣ter out of a Riuer that thou knewest would n••t continue in his running. And in this, well saith the Poet, he calleth them not happy yeares, but happy daies, thereby hitting vs in the teeth with our inf••nite conceit of time to come. Why doest thou in security and in such dispatch of time so leisurely dreame of mo∣neths and yeares, yea, and draw thy yeares also (to please thy fancie withall) so long in such a number? He talketh with thee of dayes, and of dayes also now fleeting. Nor is it doubt, but as he saith, each most happie day leaues vs first

mortall men, who are dayly more and more busied each day then other, whom age breakes in vpon, not hauing yet put off our childish affections, to the which wee come vnready and vnarmed for it, for we haue nought ready for it, but it lights vpon vs vnawares, before wee dreamt of it, nor did we feele it comming day by day as wee should, but it fares with vs like those men whome a tale or some pleasant matter read, or other meditation deceiueth in their iourney, so that they know & see they are come to their iorneyes end, before they thought that halfe their way was spent thitherward, euen so this daily quicke race of our life, which as well wee passe on sleepe, as we doe awake, it shewes not it selfe to vs, whiles wee bee occupied, but in the end when it is gone.