IX. THE SHORTNESS OF LIFE, AND UNCER TAINTY OF RICHES. IF you should see a man, who were to cross from Dover to Calais, run about very busy and solicitous, and trouble himself many weeks before in making provisions for his voyage, would you commend him for a cautious and discreet person, or laugh at him for a timorous and impertinent coxcomb? A man, who is excessive in his pains and diligence, and who consumes the greatest part of his time in furnishing the remainder with all conveniences and even superfluities, is to angels and wise men no less ridiculous; he does as little consider the shortness of his passage, that he might proportion his cares accordingly. It is, alas, so narrow a streight betwixt the womb and the grave, that it might be called the Pas de Vie, as well as that the Pas de Calais. We are all puego, (as Pindar calls us,) creatures of a day, and therefore our Saviour bounds our desires to that little space; as if it were very probable that every day should be our last, we are taught to demand even bread for no longer a time. The sun ought not to set upon our covetousness, no more than upon our anger; but, as to God Almighty a thousand years are as one day, so, in direct opposition, one day to the covetous man is as a thousand years; "tam brevi fortis jaculatur ævo multa," so far he shoots beyond his butt one would think, he were of the opinion of the Millenaries, and hoped for so long a reign upon earth. The patriarchs before the flood, who enjoyed almost such a life, made, we are sure, less stores for the maintaining of it; they, who lived nine hundred years, scarcely provided for a few days; we, who live but a few days, provide at least for nine hundred years. What a strange alteration is this of human life and manners! and yet we see an imitation of it in every man's particular experience; for we begin not the cares of life, till it be half spent, and still increase them, as that decreases. : What is there among the actions of beasts so illogical and repugnant to reason? When they do any thing, which seems to proceed from that which we call reason, we disdain to allow them that perfection, and attribute it only to a natural instinct and are not we fools, too, by the same kind of instinct? If we could but learn to number our days (as we are taught to pray that we might), we should adjust much better our other accounts; but, whilst we never consider an end of them, it is no wonder if our cares for them be without end, too. Horace advises very wisely, and in excellent good words, -Spatio brevi Spem longam reseces from a short life cut off all hopes that grow too long. They must be pruned away, like suckers, that choak the mother-plant, and hinder it from bearing fruit. And in another place, to the same sense, Vitæ summa brevis spem nos vetat inchoare longam ; which Seneca does not mend when he says, "Oh ! quanta dementia est spes longas inchoantium !" but he gives an example there of an acquaintance of his, named Senecio, who, from a very mean beginning, by great industry in turning about of money through all ways of gain, had attained to extraordinary riches, but died on a sudden after having supped merrily, "In ipso actu benè cedentium rerum, in ipso procurrentis fortunæ impetu," in the full course of his good fortune, when she had a high tide, and a stiff gale, and all her sails on; upon which occasion he cries, out of Virgil, "Infere nunc, Melibae, pyros; pone ordine vites!" -Go, Melibæus, now, Go graff thy orchards, and thy vineyards plant; Behold the fruit! For this Senecio I have no compassion, because he was taken, as we say, in ipso facto, still labouring in the work of avarice; but the poor rich man in St. Luke (whose case was not like this) I could pity, methinks, if the Scripture would permit me; for he seems to have been satisfied at last, he confesses he had enough for many years, he bids his soul take its ease; and yet, for all that, God says to him, Thou fool, this night thy soul shall be required of thee; and the things thou hast laid up, who shall they belong to? Where shall we find the causes of this bitter reproach and terrible judgment? We may find, I think, two; and God, perhaps, saw more. First, that he did not intend true rest to his soul, but only to change the employments of it from avarice to luxury; his design is, to eat and to drink, and to be merry. Secondly, that he went on too long before he thought of resting: the fulness of his old barns had not sufficed him, he would stay till he was forced to build new ones; and God meted out to him in the same measure; since he would have more riches than his life could contain, God destroyed his life, and gave the fruits of it to another. Thus God takes away sometimes the man from his riches, and no less frequently riches from the man: what hope can there be of such a marriage, where both parties are so fickle and uncertain? by what bonds can such a couple be kept long together? 1. Why dost thou heap up wealth, which thou must quit, Why dost thou load thyself, when thou'rt to fly, 2. Why dost thou build up stately rooms on high, Thou sow'st and plantest, but no fruit must see, 3. Suppose, thou fortune could'st to tameness bring, Suppose, thou could'st on fate so far prevail, 4. Yet death at all that subtilty will laugh, Death will that foolish gard'ner mock, Who does a slight and annual plant engraff, Upon a lasting stock. 5. Thou dost thyself wise and industrious deem; |