Hast thou climbed up to the full age of thy few days? Look backwards, and thou shalt see the frailty of thy youth, the folly of thy childhood, and the waste of thy infancy look forwards, thou shalt see the cares of the world, the troubles of thy mind, the diseases of thy body.

EPIG. 12.

To the middle-aged.

Thou that art prancing on the lusty noon
Of thy full age, boast not thyself too soon:
Convert that breath to wail thy fickle state;
Take heed, thou'lt brag too soon, or boast too late.

JOHN

T

JOHN iii. 30.

He must increase, but I must decrease.

IME voids the table, dinner's done:
And now our day's declining sun
Hath hurry'd his diurnal load

To th' borders of the western road;
Fierce Phlegon, with his fellow-steeds,
Now puffs and pants, and blows and bleeds,
And froths and fumes, rememb'ring still
Their lashes up th' Olympic hill,
Which having conquer'd, now disdain
The whip, and champ the frothy rein,
And with a full career they bend
Their paces to their journey's end:
Our blazing taper now has lost
Her better half; nature hath crost
Her forenoon book, and clear'd that score,
But scarce gives trust for so much more :
And now the gen'rous sap forsakes

Her seir-grown twig: a breath ev'n shakes
The down-ripe fruit; fruit soon divorc'd
From her dear branch, untouch’d, unforc’d.
Now sanguine Venus doth begin

To draw her wanton colours in,
And flees neglected in disgrace,
Whilst Mars supplies her lukewarm place :
Bloods turns to choler: what this age
Loses in strength, it finds in rage:
That rich enamel, which, of old,

Damask'd the downy cheek, and told

*Voids; i. e. clears off.

A harm

A harmless guilt, unask'd, is now
Worn off from the audacious brow;
Luxurious dalliance, midnight revels,
Loose riot, and those venial evils
Which inconsiderate youth of late
Could plead, now want an advocate :
And what appear'd in former times
Whisp'ring as faults, now roar as crimes ;
And now all ye, whose lips were wont
To drench their coral in the font
Of fork'd Parnassus; you that be
The sons of Phoebus, and can flee
On wings of fancy, to display
The flag of high invention; stay,
Repose your quills; your veins grow sour,
Tempt not your salt beyond her pow'r ;
If your pall'd fancies but decline,
Censure will strike at ev'ry line,

And wound your names; the pop`lar ear
Weighs what you are, not what you were:
Thus, hackney-like, we tire our age,
Spur-gall'd with change from stage to stage.

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