:

S. CHRYS.

Grey hairs are honourable, when the behaviour suits with grey hairs: but when an ancient man hath childish manners, he becometh more ridiculous than a child.

SEN.

Thou art in vain attained to old years, that repeatest thy youthfulness.

EPIG. 14.

To the youth.

Seest thou this good old man? He represents
Thy future, thou his preterperfect tense :
Thou go'st to labours, he prepares to rest :

Thou break'st thy fast, he sups; now which is best ?

PSALM

Plumbeus in Terram.

The Sun new sets; all hopes of Life And to the Earth We sink like Weights of Lead. are fled

S

PSALM XC. 10.

The days of our years are threescore years and ten.

1.

O have I seen th' illustrious prince of light
Rising in glory from his crocean* bed,
And trampling down the horrid shades of night,
Advancing more and more his conqu’ring head;

Pause first, decline, at length begin to shroud
His fainting brows within a coal-black cloud.

2.

So have I seen a well-built castle stand
Upon the tip-toes of a lofty hill,

Whose active pow'r commands both sea and land,
And curbs the pride of the bleag'rers' will:

At length her ag'd foundation fails her trust,
And lays her tott'ring ruins in the dust.

3.

So have I seen the blazing taper shoot
Her golden head into the feeble air;

Whose shadow-gilding ray, spread round about,
Makes the foul face of black-brow'd darkness fair;
Till at the length her wasting glory fades,
And leaves the night to her invet'rate shades.

4.

Ev'n so this little world of living clay,
The pride of nature, glorifi'd by art,

Whom earth adores, and all her hosts obey,

Alli'd to heav'n by his diviner part,

Triumphs a while, then droops, and then decays;
And, worn by age, death cancels all his days.

*Crocean; saffron-colour.

That

5.

That glorious sun, that whilom* shone so bright,
Is now ev'n ravish'd from our darken'd eyes :
That sturdy castle, mann'd with so much might,
Lies now a mon'ment of her own disguise :

That blazing taper, that disdain'd the puff
Of troubl'd air, scarce owns the name of snuff.

6.

Poor bedrid man! where is that glory now,
Thy youth so vaunted? where that majesty
Which sat enthron'd upon thy manly, brow?
Where, where that braving arm? that daring eye?
Those buxom tunes? those Bacchanalian tones?
Those swelling veins? those marrow-Aaming bones ?

7.

Thy drooping glory's blurr'd, and prostrate lies,
Grov'ling in dust and frightful horror, now,
Sharpens the glances of thy gashful eyes;
Whilst fear perplexes thy distracted brow :

Thy panting breast vents all her breath by groans,
And death enerves† thy marrow-wasted bones.

8.

Thus man that's born of woman can remain
But a short time: his days are full of sorrow;
His life's a penance and his death's a pain;
Springs like a flow'r to-day, and fades to-morrow :
His breath's a bubble, and his day's a span;
'Tis glorious mis'ry to be born a man !

Whilom. i. e. heretofore.

Enerves; i. e. enervates.