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 14, 2024.
Pages
Page 7
So often put in mind of her dead Sonne,
Yet she when once the obsequies were done,
Him and her sorrow buried in one Grave,
And wept no more than decencie might crave,
Or then became great Caesars Majestie,
And therefore ceased not to magnifie
The Acts of Drusus, wheresoere she came,
And willingly to speake and heare his name.
Whereas none could make mention of the other,
But it begat new sorrow in the Mother.
Choose then by which Example thou'lt be led,
If by the first, esteeme thy selfe but dead;
All Children will avoid thee, and thy sight
As ominous, all Mothers will affright;
No solace will seeme fit, thou'lt hate the Sunne,
And curse thy yeeres that will no faster runne,
And which is worst, and most against thy mind,
Knowne in the better part, the world may find,
And by thy carriage plainly will descry,
Thou wouldst no longer live, yet canst not dye.
But if this famous Queene thou'lt imitate,
Thou shalt not dwell in woe, nor macerate
Thy selfe with cares, 'tis madnesse to increase
Our owne regret and hinder our owne peace;
That temper which in thee hath erst beene knowne,
Thou'lt keepe, for modesty in griefe is showne;
And even the Youth himselfe worthy of rest,
By glad remembrance thou wilt make more blest.