Seneca's morals abstracted in three parts : I. of benefits, II. of a happy life, anger, and clemency, III. a miscellany of epistles / by Roger L'Estrange.

EPIST. IX. The Blessings of a Vigorous Mind, in a Decay'd Body; with some Perti∣nent Reflections of Seneca upon his Own Age. (Book 9)

WHen I call Claranus my School∣fellow, I need not say any thing more of his Age; having told you, that He, and I, were Cotemporaries. You would not Imagine, how Green, and Vigorous his Mind is; and the perpe∣tual Conflict that it has with his Body. They were Naturally Ill-match'd; un∣less to shew, that a Generous Spirit may •…•…e lodg'd under any shape. He has Sur∣mounted all Difficulties; and, from the Contempt of Himself, is advanc'd to the Contempt of All things else. When I consider him well, methinks his Body appears to me as fair as his Mind. If Nature could have brought the Soul Naked into the World, perhaps she would have done it: But yet she does a greater thing, in Exalting that Soul

above all Impediments of the Flesh. It is a great Happiness, to preserve the Force of the Mind, in the Decay of the Body; and to see the Loss of Appetite More than Requited, with the Love of Virtue. But, whether I Owe This Com∣fort to my Age, or to Wisdome, is the Question. And whether, if I Could any longer, I Would not still, do the same things over again, which I Ought not to do. If Age had no other Pleasure than This, that it neither Cares for any thing, nor stands in need of any thing; it were a Great one to me, to have left all my painful, and troublesome Lusts Behind me. But, 'Tis uneasie, you'll say, to be alwayes in Fear of Death. As if That Apprehension did not Concern a Young Man as well as an Old; Or that Death only call'd us, according to our Years. I am however beholden to my Old Age, that has now confin'd me to my Bed; and put me out of Condition of doing those things any longer, which I should not do. The Less my Mind has to do with my Body, the Better: And if Age puts an end to my Desires, and does the Business of Virtue, there can be

no Cause of Complaint; nor can there be any Gentler End, than to melt away in a kind of Dissolution. Where Fire meets with Opposition, and Matter to work upon, it is Furious, and Rages; but where it finds no Fewel, as in Old Age, it goes out quietly, for want of Nourishment. Nor is the Body the Set∣led Habitation of the Mind; but a Tem∣porary Lodging, which we are to leave whensoever the Master of the House pleases. Neither does the Soul, when it has left the Body, any more Care what becomes of the Carkass, and the several parts of it, than a Man does for the shavings of his Beard under the hand of the Barber. There is not any thing that Exposes a Man to more Vexa∣tion, and Reproach, than the over∣much Love of the Body: For Sence nei∣ther looks Forward, nor Backward, but only upon the Present: Nor does it judge of Good, or Evil; or Foresee Con∣sequences which give a Connexion to the Order, and Series of Things, and to the Unity of Life. Not but that every Man has Naturally a Love for his Own Carkass, as Poor People Love even their

Own Beggerly Cottages; they are Old Acquaintances, and Loth to Part: And I am not against the Indulging of it neither; provided that I make not my Self a Slave to it; for he that serves it, has Many Masters. Beside that, we are in Continual Disorder; One while with Gripes, Pains in the Head, Tooth-Ach, Gout, Stone, Defluxions; some time with too Much Blood, other while with too Little: And yet this Frail, and Pu∣trid Carkass of Ours values it self as if it were Immortal. We put no Bounds to our Hopes, our Avarice, our Ambition. The same Man is Vatinius to Day, and Cato to Morrow: This hour as Luxuri∣ous as Apicius, and the next as Tempe∣rate as Tubero: Now, for a Mistriss; by and by, for a Wise: Imperious This hour; Servile, the Next; Thrifty, and Prodigal, Laborious, and Voluptuous, by turns. But still the Goods, or Ills of the Body, do but Concern the Body, (which is Peevish, Sour, and Anxious) without any effect upon a Well-Compos'd Mind. I was the Other day at my Villa; And, Complaining of my Charge of Repairs; My Bayliff told me, 'Twas none of his

Fault; for the House was Old, and he had much adoe to keep it from falling upon his Head. Well (thought I) and what am I my Self then, that saw the laying of the First Stone? In the Gardens, I found the Trees as much out of Order; the Boughs Knotted, and Wither'd, and their Bodies over-run with Moss. This would not have been, said I, if you had Trench'd them, and Water'd them, as you should have done? By my Soul, Master, sayes the poor Fellow, I have done what I could: But al ass! they are all Dotards, and Spent. What am I then, (thought I to my self) that planted all these Trees with my own Hands. And then I come to bethink my Self, that Age it self is not yet without its Pleasures, if we did but know how to use them; and that the Best Morsel is reserv'd for the Last: Or at worst, it is Equivalent to the Enjoying of Plea∣sures, not to stand in need of any. It is but yesterday, methinks, that I went to School. But Time goes faster with an Old Man, than with a Young: Perhaps, because he reckons more upon it. There is hardly any Man so Old, but he may hope for One day more yet: and the

Longest Life is but a Multiplication of Dayes, nay, of Hours, nay of Moments. Our Fate is Set; and the First Breath we draw, is but the First Step towards our Last. One Cause depends upon another; and the Course of All things, Publick, and Private, is only a Long Connexi∣on of Providential Appointments. There is great Variety in our Lives; but all Tends to the same Issue Nature may use her own Bodies as she Pleases; but a Good Man has this Consolation, that nothing Perishes that he can call his Own. What Must be, Shall be; and that which is a Necessity to him that Struggles, is little more than Choice to him that is Willing. 'Tis Bitter, to be Forc'd to any thing; but things are Easy, when they are Comply'd with.