Lo now! four other acts upon
the stage,
Childhood, and Youth, the
Manly, and Old-age.
The first: son unto Phlegm,
grand-child to water,
Unstable, supple, moist, and
cold’s his Nature.
The second: frolic claims his
pedigree;
From blood and air, for hot
and moist is he.
The third of fire and choler
is compos’d,
Vindicative, and quarrelsome
dispos’d.
The last, of earth and heavy
melancholy,
Solid, hating all lightness,
and all folly.
Childhood was cloth’d in
white, and given to show,
His spring was intermixed with
some snow.
Upon his head a Garland Nature
set:
Of Daisy, Primrose, and the
Violet.
Such cold mean flowers (as
these) blossom betime,
Before the Sun hath throughly
warm’d the clime.
His hobby striding, did not
ride, but run,
And in his hand an hour-glass
new begun,
In dangers every moment of a
fall,
And when ‘tis broke, then ends
his life and all.
But if he held till it have
run its last,
Then may he live till
threescore years or past.
Next, youth came up in
gorgeous attire
(As that fond age, doth most
of all desire),
His Suit of Crimson, and his
Scarf of Green.
In’s countenance, his pride
quickly was seen.
Garland of Roses, Pinks, and
Gillyflowers
Seemed to grow on’s head
(bedew’d with showers).
His face as fresh, as is
Aurora fair,
When blushing first, she ‘gins
to red the Air.
No wooden horse, but one of
metal try’d:
He seems to fly, or swim, and
not to ride.
Then prancing on the Stage,
about he wheels;
But as he went, death waited
at his heels.
The next came up, in a more
graver sort,
As one that cared for a good
report.
His Sword by’s side, and
choler in his eyes,
But neither us’d (as yet) for
he was wise,
Of Autumn fruits a basket on
his arm,
His golden rod in’s purse,
which was his charm.
And last of all, to act upon
this Stage,
Leaning upon his staff, comes
up old age.
Under his arm a Sheaf of wheat
he bore,
A Harvest of the best: what
needs he more?
In’s other hand a glass, ev’n
almost run,
This writ about: This out,
then I am done.
His hoary hairs and grave
aspect made way,
And all gave ear to what he
had to say.
These being met, each in his
equipage
Intend to speak, according to
their age,
But wise Old-age did with all
gravity
To childish childhood give
precedency,
And to the rest, his reason
mildly told:
That he was young, before he
grew so old.
To do as he, the rest full
soon assents,
Their method was that of the
Elements,
That each should tell what of
himself he knew,
Both good and bad, but yet no
more then’s true.
With heed now stood, three
ages of frail man,
To hear the child, who crying,
thus began.
Childhood
Ah me! conceiv’d in sin, and
born in sorrow,
A nothing, here to day, but
gone to morrow,
Whose mean beginning, blushing
can’t reveal,
But night and darkness must
with shame conceal.
My mother’s breeding sickness,
I will spare,
Her nine months’ weary burden
not declare.
To shew her bearing pangs, I
should do wrong,
To tell that pain, which can’t
be told by tongue.
With tears into this world I
did arrive;
My mother still did waste, as
I did thrive,
Who yet with love and all
alacity,
Spending was willing to be
spent for me.
With wayward cries, I did
disturb her rest,
Who sought still to appease me
with her breast;
With weary arms, she danc’d,
and By, By, sung,
When wretched I (ungrate) had
done the wrong.
When Infancy was past, my
Childishness
Did act all folly that it
could express.
My silliness did only take
delight,
In that which riper age did
scorn and slight,
In Rattles, Bables, and such
toyish stuff.
My then ambitious thoughts
were low enough.
My high-born soul so straitly
was confin’d
That its own worth it did not
know nor mind.
This little house of flesh did
spacious count,
Through ignorance, all
troubles did surmount,
Yet this advantage had mine
ignorance,
Freedom from Envy and from
Arrogance.
How to be rich, or great, I
did not cark,
A Baron or a Duke ne’r made my
mark,
Nor studious was, Kings
favours how to buy,
With costly presents, or base
flattery;
No office coveted, wherein I
might
Make strong my self and turn
aside weak right.
No malice bare to this or that
great Peer,
Nor unto buzzing whisperers
gave ear.
I gave no hand, nor vote, for
death, of life.
I’d nought to do, ‘twixt
Prince, and peoples’ strife.
No Statist I: nor Marti’list
i’ th’ field.
Where e’re I went, mine
innocence was shield.
My quarrels, not for Diadems,
did rise,
But for an Apple, Plumb, or
some such prize.
My strokes did cause no death,
nor wounds, nor scars.
My little wrath did cease soon
as my wars.
My duel was no challenge, nor
did seek.
My foe should weltering, with
his bowels reek.
I had no Suits at law,
neighbours to vex,
Nor evidence for land did me
perplex.
I fear’d no storms, nor all
the winds that blows.
I had no ships at Sea, no
fraughts to loose.
I fear’d no drought, nor wet;
I had no crop,
Nor yet on future things did
place my hope.
This was mine innocence, but
oh the seeds
Lay raked up of all the cursed
weeds,
Which sprouted forth in my
insuing age,
As he can tell, that next
comes on the stage.
But yet me let me relate,
before I go,
The sins and dangers I am
subject to:
From birth stained, with
Adam’s sinful fact,
From thence I ‘gan to sin, as
soon as act;
A perverse will, a love to
what’s forbid;
A serpent’s sting in pleasing
face lay hid;
A lying tongue as soon as it
could speak
And fifth Commandment do daily
break;
Oft stubborn, peevish, sullen,
pout, and cry;
Then nought can please, and
yet I know not why.
As many was my sins, so
dangers too,
For sin brings sorrow,
sickness, death, and woe,
And though I miss the tossings
of the mind,
Yet griefs in my frail flesh I
still do find.
What gripes of wind, mine
infancy did pain?
What tortures I, in breeding
teeth sustain?
What crudities my cold stomach
hath bred?
Whence vomits, worms, and flux
have issued?
What breaches, knocks, and
falls I daily have?
And some perhaps, I carry to
my grave.
Sometimes in fire, sometimes
in water fall:
Strangely preserv’d, yet mind
it not at all.
At home, abroad, my danger’s
manifold
That wonder ‘tis, my glass
till now doth hold.
I’ve done: unto my elders I
give way,
For ‘tis but little that a
child can say.
Youth
My goodly clothing and
beauteous skin
Declare some greater riches
are within,
But what is best I‘ll first
present to view,
And then the worst, in a more
ugly hue,
For thus to do we on this
Stage assemble,
Then let not him, which hath
most craft dissemble.
Mine education, and my
learning‘s such,
As might my self, and others,
profit much:
With nurture trained up in
virtue‘s Schools;
Of Science, Arts, and Tongues,
I know the rules;
The manners of the Court, I
likewise know,
Nor ignorant what they in
Country do.
The brave attempts of valiant
Knights I prize
That dare climb Battlements,
rear‘d to the skies.
The snorting Horse, the
Trumpet, Drum I like,
The glist‘ring Sword, and well
advanced Pike.
I cannot lie in trench before
a Town,
Nor wait til good advice our
hopes do crown.
I scorn the heavy Corslet,
Musket-proof;
I fly to catch the Bullet
that‘s aloof.
Though thus in field, at home,
to all most kind,
So affable that I do suit each
mind,
I can insinuate into the
breast
And by my mirth can raise the
heart deprest.
Sweet Music rapteth my
harmonious Soul,
And elevates my thoughts above
the Pole.
My wit, my bounty, and my
courtesy
Makes all to place their
future hopes on me.
This is my best, but youth (is
known) alas,
To be as wild as is the
snuffing Ass,
As vain as froth, as vanity
can be,
That who would see vain man
may look on me:
My gifts abus‘d, my education
lost,
My woful Parents‘ longing
hopes all crost;
My wit evaporates in
merriment;
My valour in some beastly
quarrel‘s spent;
Martial deeds I love not,
‘cause they’re virtuous,
But doing so, might seem
magnanimous.
My Lust doth hurry me to all
that’s ill,
I know no Law, nor reason, but
my will;
Sometimes lay wait to take a
wealthy purse
Or stab the man in’s own
defence, that’s worse.
Sometimes I cheat (unkind) a
female Heir
Of all at once, who not so
wise, as fair,
Trusteth my loving looks and
glozing tongue
Until her friends, treasure,
and honour’s gone.
Sometimes I sit carousing
others’ health
Until mine own be gone, my
wit, and wealth.
From pipe to pot, from pot to
words and blows,
For he that loveth Wine
wanteth no woes.
Days, nights, with Ruffins,
Roarers, Fiddlers spend,
To all obscenity my ears I
bend,
All counsel hate which tends
to make me wise,
And dearest friends count for
mine enemies.
If any care I take, ‘tis to be
fine,
For sure my suit more than my
virtues shine.
If any time from company I
spare,
‘Tis spent in curling,
frisling up my hair,
Some young Adonais I
do strive to be.
Sardana Pallas now
survives in me.
Cards, Dice, and Oaths,
concomitant, I love;
To Masques, to Plays, to
Taverns still I move;
And in a word, if what I am
you’d hear,
Seek out a British, bruitish
Cavalier.
Such wretch, such monster am
I; but yet more
I want a heart all this for to
deplore.
Thus, thus alas! I have
mispent my time,
My youth, my best, my
strength, my bud, and prime,
Remembring not the dreadful
day of Doom,
Nor yet the heavy reckoning
for to come,
Though dangers do attend me
every hour
And ghastly death oft threats
me with her power:
Sometimes by wounds in idle
combats taken,
Sometimes by Agues all my body
shaken;
Sometimes by Fevers, all my
moisture drinking,
My heart lies frying, and my
eyes are sinking.
Sometimes the Cough, Stitch,
painful Pleurisy,
With sad affrights of death,
do menace me.
Sometimes the loathsome Pox my
face be-mars
With ugly marks of his eternal
scars.
Sometimes the Frenzy strangely
mads my Brain
That oft for it in
Bedlam I remain.
Too many’s my Diseases to
recite,
That wonder ‘tis I yet behold
the light,
That yet my bed in darkness is
not made,
And I in black oblivion’s den
long laid.
Of Marrow full my bones, of
Milk my breasts,
Ceas’d by the gripes of
Serjeant Death's Arrests:
Thus I have said, and what
I’ve said you see,
Childhood and youth is vain,
yea vanity.
Middle Age
Childhood and youth forgot,
sometimes I’ve seen,
And now am grown more staid
that have been green,
What they have done, the same
was done by me:
As was their praise, or shame,
so mine must be.
Now age is more, more good ye
do expect;
But more my age, the more is
my defect.
But what’s of worth, your eyes
shall first behold,
And then a world of dross
among my gold.
When my Wild Oats were sown,
and ripe, and mown,
I then receiv’d a harvest of
mine own.
My reason, then bad judge, how
little hope
Such empty seed should yield a
better crop.
I then with both hands graspt
the world together,
Thus out of one extreme into
another,
But yet laid hold on virtue
seemingly:
Who climbs without hold,
climbs dangerously.
Be my condition mean, I then
take pains
My family to keep, but not for
gains.
If rich, I’m urged then to
gather more
To bear me out i’ th’ world
and feed the poor;
If a father, then for children
must provide,
But if none, then for kindred
near ally’d;
If Noble, then mine honour to
maintain;
If not, yet wealth, Nobility
can gain.
For time, for place, likewise
for each relation,
I wanted not my ready
allegation.
Yet all my powers for
self-ends are not spent,
For hundreds bless me for my
bounty sent,
Whose loins I’ve cloth’d, and
bellies I have fed,
With mine own fleece, and with
my household bread.
Yea, justice I have done, was
I in place,
To cheer the good and wicked
to deface.
The proud I crush’d,
th’oppressed I set free,
The liars curb’d but nourisht
verity.
Was I a pastor, I my flock did
feed
And gently lead the lambs, as
they had need.
A Captain I, with skill I
train’d my band
And shew’d them how in face of
foes to stand.
If a Soldier, with speed I did
obey
As readily as could my Leader
say.
Was I a laborer, I wrought all
day
As cheerfully as ere I took my
pay.
Thus hath mine age (in all)
sometimes done well;
Sometimes mine age (in all)
been worse than hell.
In meanness, greatness,
riches, poverty
Did toil, did broil;
oppress’d, did steal and lie.
Was I as poor as poverty could
be,
Then baseness was companion
unto me.
Such scum as Hedges and
High-ways do yield,
As neither sow, nor reap, nor
plant, nor build.
If to Agriculture I was
ordain’d,
Great labours, sorrows,
crosses I sustain’d.
The early Cock did summon, but
in vain,
My wakeful thoughts up to my
painful gain.
For restless day and night,
I’m robb’d of sleep
By cankered care, who sentinel
doth keep.
My weary breast rest from his
toil can find,
But if I rest, the more
distrest my mind.
If happiness my sordidness
hath found,
‘Twas in the crop of my
manured ground:
My fatted Ox, and my exuberous
Cow,
My fleeced Ewe, and ever
farrowing Sow.
To greater things I never did
aspire,
My dunghill thoughts or hopes
could reach no higher.
If to be rich, or great, it
was my fate.
How was I broil’d with envy,
and with hate?
Greater than was the great’st
was my desire,
And greater still, did set my
heart on fire.
If honour was the point to
which I steer’d,
To run my hull upon disgrace I
fear’d,
But by ambitious sails I was
so carried
That over flats, and sands,
and rocks I hurried,
Opprest, and sunk, and sack’d,
all in my way
That did oppose me to my
longed bay.
My thirst was higher than
Nobility
And oft long’d sore to taste
on Royalty,
Whence poison, Pistols, and
dread instruments
Have been curst furtherers of
mine intents.
Nor Brothers, Nephews, Sons,
nor Sires I’ve spar’d.
When to a Monarchy my way they
barr'’d,
There set, I rid my self
straight out of hand
Of such as might my son, or
his withstand,
Then heapt up gold and riches
as the clay,
Which others scatter like the
dew in May.
Sometimes vain-glory is the
only bait
Whereby my empty school is
lur’d and caught.
Be I of worth, of learning, or
of parts,
I judge I should have room in
all men’s hearts;
And envy gnaws if any do
surmount.
I hate for to be had in small
account.
If Bias like, I’m
stript unto my skin;
I glory in my wealth I have
within.
Thus good, and bad, and what I
am, you see,
Now in a word, what my
diseases be:
The vexing Stone, in bladder
and in reins,
Torments me with intolerable
pains;
The windy cholic oft my bowels
rend,
To break the darksome prison,
where it’s penn’d;
The knotty Gout doth sadly
torture me,
And the restraining lame
Sciatica;
The Quinsy and the Fevers
often distaste me,
And the Consumption to the
bones doth waste me,
Subject to all Diseases,
that’s the truth,
Though some more incident to
age, or youth;
And to conclude, I may not
tedious be,
Man at his best estate is
vanity.
Old Age
What you have been, ev’n such
have I before,
And all you say, say I, and
something more.
Babe's innocence, Youth’s
wildness I have seen,
And in perplexed Middle-age
have been,
Sickness, dangers, and
anxieties have past,
And on this Stage am come to
act my last.
I have been young, and strong,
and wise as you
But now, Bis pueri
senes is too true.
In every Age I’ve found much
vanity.
An end of all perfection now I
see.
It’s not my valour, honour,
nor my gold,
My ruin’d house, now falling
can uphold;
It’s not my Learning,
Rhetoric, wit so large,
Now hath the power, Death’s
Warfare, to discharge.
It’s not my goodly house, nor
bed of down,
That can refresh, or ease, if
Conscience frown;
Nor from alliance now can I
have hope,
But what I have done well,
that is my prop.
He that in youth is godly,
wise, and sage
Provides a staff for to
support his age.
Great mutations, some joyful,
and some sad,
In this short Pilgrimage I oft
have had.
Sometimes the Heavens with
plenty smil’d on me,
Sometimes, again, rain’d all
adversity;
Sometimes in honour, sometimes
in disgrace,
Sometime an abject, then again
in place:
Such private changes oft mine
eyes have seen.
In various times of state I’ve
also been.
I’ve seen a Kingdom flourish
like a tree
When it was rul’d by that
Celestial she,
And like a Cedar others so
surmount
That but for shrubs they did
themselves account.
Then saw I France,
and Holland sav’d, Calais won,
And Philip and
Albertus half undone.
I saw all peace at home,
terror to foes,
But ah, I saw at last those
eyes to close,
And then, me thought, the
world at noon grew dark
When it had lost that radiant
Sun-like spark.
In midst of griefs, I saw some
hopes revive
(For ‘twas our hopes then kept
our hearts alive);
I saw hopes dash’t, our
forwardness was shent,
And silenc’d we, by Act of
Parliament.
I’ve seen from Rome,
an execrable thing,
A plot to blow up Nobles and
their King.
I’ve seen designs at
Ree and Cades cross’t,
And poor Palatinate
for every lost.
I’ve seen a Prince to live on
others’ lands,
A Royal one, by alms from
Subjects’ hands.
I’ve seen base men, advanc’d
to great degree,
And worthy ones, put to
extremity,
But not their Prince’s love,
nor state so high,
Could once reverse, their
shameful destiny.
I’ve seen one stabb’d, another
lose his head,
And others fly their Country
through their dread.
I’ve seen, and so have ye, for
‘tis but late,
The desolation of a goodly
State.
Plotted and acted so that none
can tell
Who gave the counsell, but the
Prince of hell.
I’ve seen a land unmoulded
with great pain,
But yet may live to see’t made
up again.
I’ve seen it shaken, rent, and
soak’d in blood,
But out of troubles ye may see
much good.
These are no old wives’ tales,
but this is truth.
We old men love to tell,
what’s done in youth.
But I return from whence I
stept awry;
My memory is short and brain
is dry.
My Almond-tree (gray hairs)
doth flourish now,
And back, once straight,
begins apace to bow.
My grinders now are few, my
sight doth fail,
My skin is wrinkled, and my
cheeks are pale.
No more rejoice, at music’s
pleasant noise,
But do awake at the cock’s
clanging voice.
I cannot scent savours of
pleasant meat,
Nor sapors find in what I
drink or eat.
My hands and arms, once
strong, have lost their might.
I cannot labour, nor I cannot
fight:
My comely legs, as nimble as
the Roe,
Now stiff and numb, can hardly
creep or go.
My heart sometimes as fierce,
as Lion bold,
Now trembling, and fearful,
sad, and cold.
My golden Bowl and silver
Cord, e’re long,
Shall both be broke, by
wracking death so strong.
I then shall go whence I shall
come no more.
Sons, Nephews, leave, my death
for to deplore.
In pleasures, and in labours,
I have found
That earth can give no
consolation sound
To great, to rich, to poor, to
young, or old,
To mean, to noble, fearful, or
to bold.
From King to beggar, all
degrees shall find
But vanity, vexation of the
mind.
Yea, knowing much, the
pleasant’st life of all
Hath yet amongst that sweet,
some bitter gall.
Though reading others’ Works
doth much refresh,
Yet studying much brings
weariness to th’ flesh.
My studies, labours, readings
all are done,
And my last period can e’en
elmost run.
Corruption, my Father, I do
call,
Mother, and sisters both; the
worms that crawl
In my dark house, such kindred
I have store.
There I shall rest till
heavens shall be no more;
And when this flesh shall rot
and be consum’d,
This body, by this soul, shall
be assum’d;
And I shall see with these
same very eyes
My strong Redeemer coming in
the skies.
Triumph I shall, o’re Sin,
o’re Death, o’re Hell,
And in that hope, I bid you
all farewell.
