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

Cap. 21
BUt thou complainest Marcia that thy Sonne
Attained not the yeeres he might have done, 
Yet knowest not whether the same were fit,
Or whether that were not a benefit:
For no man is in such assur'd estate
But may in time become unfortunate,
So fraile are worldly things, and we may boast
Least of that part of life that pleaseth most:
And therefore death that bringeth certaine rest,
Is ever to be wish't for of the best,
Because we plainely see that in this vast
Confusion, nothing's sure but what is past.
Who could assure thee that the beauteous frame
Of thy sonnes body, though he kept the same
With modesty safe-guarded from the eyes,
Of a lewd city fild with luxuries,
Should likewise from diseases be secure,
And to old age unblemished endure?