S. AMBROS.

Humility is a rare thing in a young man, therefore to be admired: when youth is vigorous, when strength is firm, when blood is hot, when cares are strangers, when mirth is free, then pride swelleth, and humility is despised.

EPIG. 10.

To the old man.

Thy years are newly grey, his newly green !
His youth may live to see what thine hath seen :
He is thy parallel: his present stage

And thine are the two tropics of man's age.

ECCLE

His Strength increasing, now, He burns to prove The pleasing Pains, and flattring Sweets of Love.

ECCLESIASTES xi. 9.

Rejoice, O young man, and let thy heart chear thee, but know,

1.

c..

OW flux,* how alterable is the date
Of transitory things!

HOW

How hurry'd on the clippingt wings

Of Time, and driv'n upon the wheels of Fate!

How one condition brings

The leading prologue to another state!

No transitory things can last:

Change waits on Time, and Time is wing'd with haste

Time present's but the ruin of Time past.

2.

Behold how change hath inch'd away thy span;

And how thy light doth burn

Nearer and nearer to thine urn!

For this dear waste, what satisfaction can
Injurious Time return

Thy shortened days, but this the style of man?
And what's a man? A cask of care,

New tunn'd and working: he's a middle stair
"Twixt birth and death; a blast of full-ag'd air.

3.

His breast is tinder apt to entertain

The sparks of Cupid's fire,

Whose new-blown flames must now inquire
A wanton julep out, which may restrain
The rage of his desire,

Whose painful pleasure is but pleasing pain:

*Flux; i. e. flitting.

+ Clipping; i. e, swift flying.

His

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His life's a sickness, that doth rise From a hot liver, whilst his passion lies Expecting cordials from his mistress' eyes.

4.

His stage is strew'd with thorns, and deck'd with flow'rs; His year sometimes appears

A minute; and his minutes, years :

His doubtful weather's sunshine mix'd with show'rs ;
His trafick, hopes and fears;

His life's a medly, made of sweets and sours ;
His pains reward his smiles and pouts ;
His diet is fair language mix'd with flouts ;
He is nothing, all compos'd of doubts.

5.

Do, waste thine inch, proud span of living earth,
Consume thy golden days

In slavish freedom; let thy ways
Take best advantage of thy frolick mirth;
Thy stock of time decays,

And lavish plenty still fore-runs a dearth :
The bird that's flown may turn at last ;
And painful labor may repair a waste,
But pains nor price can call my minutes past.

SEN.