L.A. Seneca the philosopher, his booke of consolation to Marcia. Translated into an English poem
About this Item
- Title
- L.A. Seneca the philosopher, his booke of consolation to Marcia. Translated into an English poem
- Author
- Seneca, Lucius Annaeus, ca. 4 B.C.-65 A.D.
- Publication
- London :: Printed by E[lizabeth] P[urslowe] for Henry Seile, and are to be sold at the Tygres head in St. Pauls Church-yard,
- 1635.
- Rights/Permissions
-
To the extent possible under law, the Text Creation Partnership has waived all copyright and related or neighboring rights to this keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above, according to the terms of the CC0 1.0 Public Domain Dedication (http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/zero/1.0/). This waiver does not extend to any page images or other supplementary files associated with this work, which may be protected by copyright or other license restrictions. Please go to http://www.textcreationpartnership.org/ for more information.
- Subject terms
- Consolation -- Early works to 1800.
- Link to this Item
-
http://name.umdl.umich.edu/B15755.0001.001
- Cite this Item
-
"L.A. Seneca the philosopher, his booke of consolation to Marcia. Translated into an English poem." In the digital collection Early English Books Online 2. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/B15755.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed June 15, 2024.
Pages
Page 33
Doth drive away, or whether she do end
The irksome troubles that old age attend,
Or that the same the flowre of youth doth crop,
In the chiefe prime of his expected hope,
Or whether tender childhood she recall,
Ere that into a worse condition fall:
Shee is the end of all, the help of many,
The wish of some, not meriting from any
More then from these, to whom without request
She with the soonest hath her selfe addrest.
Shee free's the slave in spight of his sterne lord,
Shakes off his chaines, and of her owne accord
Releaseth prisoners that committed stand,
By cruell tyrants under strickt command.
Shee teacheth them that are in banishment
(Whose thoughts and eies are on their country bent)
Not to be troubled, how, when they are dead
Or in what place they shall be buried.
She when blind fortune hath divided ill
Her gifts, 'tweene those that had by natures will
An equall right, doth them againe restore
To that equality they had before.
Shee it is that could never yet obey,
That takes all sence of poverty away,
She it is Marcia whom thy father sought,
That makes it not a punishment be thought
To have beene borne, but helps us in despight
Of fortunes threats, to keepe our minds upright.
Death is our refuge, though we tortur'd bee
In severall kinds, she us at length shall free:
Some their heads downe ward are to gibbets ty'd,
And some with stretcht out armes are crucify'd,
Page 34
Where every member sundry engines rent,
And some have stak's thrust through their fundament,
Yet death's their cure: here enemies invade,
There friends insult, yet death at length brings aid,
It is not hard to serve, when at one step
We weary growne may into freedome leape:
Against the injury of life we have
A sure and common benefit, a grave.
Thinke but what good a timely death hath brought,
And how much ill a longer life hath wrought.
Had Pompey this great Empire's strength and pride,
At Naples of his burning-feaver dy'd,
He then the Prince of Rome had sure beene stil'd,
Whereas his glorious hopes were all beguil'd
By the addition of a little time,
And he throwne swifter downe, then he could climbe.
He saw his legions lie before him dead,
Whose vanguard by grave Senators was led,
That did escape, to testifie to all
The too long life of him their Generall:
His sacred body he did then submit
To base Aegyptians that betrayed it,
Though had he liv'd, it would have beene a griefe,
To thinke how he was forc't to seeke reliefe,
That Pompey through the world surnam'd the great,
Of any King should life or aid intreat.
Had Tully dy'd when he escap't the slaughter
Design'd by Catiline, or with his daughter
Had left the world, he had great honor wonne,
And had not seene so many mischiefes done,
Swords sheath'd in mutuall bowells, and their goods
By murd'rers shar'd, who therfore sought their bloods:
Page 35
Nor beene so much unhappy to behold
The Consulary spoyles at out-cries fold,
When as our state no insolence debar'd,
But unto theeves and traitors gave reward,
Encouraging all sorts of lewd designes,
The Senate having many Catilines.
If Cato, when from Cyprus he did bring
To Rome the wealth of that deceased King.
Had with the same, intended for the pay
Of a dire civill warre, beene cast away,
This honour had accompanied his end,
That none in Cato's presence durst offend,
Whereas a little tract of time compel'd
Him, that Romes freedome with his owne upheld,
To fly from Caesar and to Pompey cleave,
And at the length himselfe of life bereave.
An early death no dammage then hath sent
Upon thy sonne, but rather did prevent
The cares that to a longer life belong,
And therefore do not thinke de dy'd too yong.
For if the life of the most aged man
Considered be, what is it but a span?
As in an Inne he lodgeth in the world,
And in a moment out againe is hurl'd;
So swiftly posts our life, and if the story
Thou dost but read of cities that most glory
In their antiquity, it will appeare,
That nothing can be old accounted here.
All humane things are fraile, and haue no right
To any part of that vast infinite.
We say the earth, men, cities, rivers, seas,
Whose larger circuit comprehends all these,
Page 36
Are but a point compar'd with all the rest,
Our life, of no part of a poynt's possest
Compar'd with time, the world exceeding farre,
Whose revolutions thereby measur'd are.
Why should our minds then on that thing be bent,
Which brought unto the uttermost extent
Is little more then nothing? therefore hee
Lives long enough that can contented be:
For though thy life a hundred yeeres should last,
Yet that compar'd with all the time that's past
And is to come, would in effect amount
No more then to the shortest in account.
He dyed not too soone that liv'd the time.
Appointed, though he dyed in his prime:
Men live not all alike nor beasts, for some
Grow weary, when to fourteene yeeres they come,
And that which is their last, is mans first age,
Wee all of us have our prefixed stage,
Which we by no endeavour can exceed,
Nor should we grudge at what is so decreed:
He had what was allotted him, no chance
His life could ere diminish, or advance,
Wee all are in this errour, to conceive
That we this world are never like to leave
But in old crooked age, when as we know
We may as well in youth or childhood goe.
Our birth is towards death the first degree,
And what we live beyond is given free:
Fate ply's her worke, and to delude our sense,
Makes death steale on us under lifes pretence,
For childhood doth our infancy surprise,
And youth or childhood, then age quickely hyes,
Page 37
And such as seeme increases, if well weigh'd,
Are dammages that secretly invade.