Yet wiser Ennius gave command to all
His friends not to bewail his funeral.
Your tears for such a death in vain you spend, 85 Which straight in immortality shall end.
In death if there be any sense of pain,
But a short space to Age it will remain?
On which, without my fears, my wishes wait,
But tim❜rous youth on this should meditate.
Who for light pleasure this advice rejects,
Finds little when his thoughts he recollects.
Our death (tho' not its certain date) we know,
Nor whether it may be this night or no.
How then can they contented live who fear 95
A danger certain, and none knows how near?
They err who for the fear of death dispute,
Our gallant actions this mistake confute.
Thee, Brutus! Rome's first martyr I must name;
The Curtii bravely div'd the gulf of flame;
Attilius sacrific'd himself, to save
That faith which to his barb'rous foes he gave:
With the two Scipios did thy uncle fall,
Rather than fly from conqu'ring Hannibal:
The great Marcellus (who restored Rome)
His greatest foes with honour did intomb.
Their lives how many of our legions threw
Into the breach? whence no return they knew.
Must then the wise, the old, the learned, fear
What not the rude, the young, th' unlearn'd forbear?
Satiety from all things else doth come,
Then life must to itself grow wearisome.
Those trifles wherein children take delight
Grow nauseous to the young man's appetite;
And from those gaieties our youth requires
To exercise their minds, our Age retires;
And when the last delights of Age shall die,
Life in itself will find satiety.
Now you, my friends, my sense of death shall hear,
Which I can well describe, for he stands near. 120
Your father, Lælius! and yours, Scipio!
My friends, and men of honour, I did know:
As certainly as we must die, they live
That life which justly may that name receive:
Till from these prisons of our flesh releas'd, 125
Qur souls with heavy burdens lie oppress'd:
Which part of man from heaven falling down,
Earth, in her low abyss, doth hide aud drown,
A place so dark to the celestial light
And pure eternal fire's quite opposite.
The gods thro' human bodies did disperse
An heav'nly soul to guide this universe,
That man, when he of heav'nly bodies saw
The order, might from thence a pattern draw:
Nor this to me did my own dictates show,
But to the old philosophers I owe.
I heard Pythagoras, and those who came
With him, and from our country took their name, Who never doubted but the beams divine,
Deriv'd from gods, in mortal breasts did shine. 140 Nor from my knowledge did the Ancients hide What Socrates declar'd the hour he dy'd;
He th' immortality of souls proclaim'd,
(Whom th' oracle of men the wisest nam'd.) Why should we doubt of that whereof our sense Finds demonstration from experience?
Our minds are here, and there, below, above;
Nothing that's mortal can so swiftly move.
Our thoughts to future things their flight direct,
And in an instant all that's past collect.
Reason, remembrance, wit, inventive art,
No nature but immortal can impart.
Man's soul in a perpetual motion flows,
And to no outward cause that motion owes;
And therefore that no end can overtake,
Because our minds cannot themselves forsake:
And since the matter of our soul is pure
And simple, which no mixture can endure
Of parts which not among themselves agree,
Therefore it never can divided be;
And Nature shows (without philosophy)
What cannot be divided cannot die.
We ev'n in early infancy discern
Knowledge is born with babes before they learn;
Ere they can speak they find so many ways 165
To serve their turn, and see more arts than days:
Before their thoughts they plainly can express;
The words and things they know are numberless,
Which Nature only and no art could find,
But what she taught before she call'd to mind. 170
These to his sons (as Xenophon records)
Of the great Cyrus were the dying words;
"Fear not when I depart ; (nor therefore mourn) "I shall be now here, or to nothing turn:
'That soul which gave me life was seen by none, Yet by the actions it design'd was known; 176 And tho' its flight no mortal eye shall see, "Yet know, for ever it the same shall be. That soul which can immortal glory give, To her own virtues must for ever live. . Can you believe that man's all-knowing mind · Can to a mortal body be confin'd?
Tho' a foul foolish prison her immure
'On earth, she (when escap'd) is wise and pure.
Man's body, when dissolv'd, is but the same 185
With beasts,and must return from whence it camej
"But whence into our bodies reason flows,
"None sees it when it comes, or where it goes.
• Nothing resembles death so much as sleep, 189
Yet then our minds themselves from slumber keep.
When from their fleshly bondage they are free,
Then what divine and future things they see!
♦ Which makes it most apparent whence they are,
And what they shall hereafter be declare.'
This noble speech the dying Cyrus made,
Me, Scipio! shall no argument persuade,
Thy grandsire, and his brother, to whom Fame
Gave, from two conquer'd parts o' th' world their
Nor thy great grandsire, nor thy father Paul, [name,
Who fell at Cannæ against Hannibal:
Nor I (for 'tis permitted to the ag'd
To boast their actions) had so oft engag'd
In battles, and in pleadings, had we thought
That only Fame our virtuous actions bought :
'Twere better in soft pleasure and repose
Ingloriously our peaceful eyes to close:
Some high assurance hath possess'd my mind,
After my death an happier life to find;
Unless our souls from the immortals came,
What end have we to seek immortal fame? 210
All virtuous spirits some such hope attends,
Therefore the wise his days with pleasure ends.
The foolish and short-sighted die with fear
That they go no where, or they know not where.
The wise and virtuous soul, with clearer eyes, 215
Before she parts, some happy port descries.
My friends! your fathers I shall surely see;
Nor only those I lov'd, or who lov'd me;
But such as before ours did end their days,
Of whom we hear, and read, and write their
This I believe; for were I on my way,
None should persuade me to return or stay.
Should some god tell me that I should be born
And cry again, his offer I would scorn;
Asham'd, when I have ended well my race, 225 To be led back to my first starting-place.
And since with life we are more griev'd than 'joy'd,
We should be either satisfy'd or cloy'd.
Yet will I not my length of days deplore,
As many wise and learn'd have done before; 230
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