284 CONSOLATIONS OF SOLITUDE
Tormented by his lusts, and torn By passions of the Furies born.
I see the old man but wise in name, Crabbed and sour and disappointed,
Cowardly, covetous ; his frame
Crazy and cracked and all disjointed.
His wits unsound, his love unprized.
Despising youth, by youth despised ;
And, if extended to fourscore
Upon life's rack, a lengthening train
Of bodily ills ! What wouldst thou more ? Chill rheumatism's dull chronic pain.
Gravel, and cramps, and twinging gout.
Rack the dry bag of bones about.
Then life goes back to its first tears ;
The dotard starves himself, in dread Lest starve he may, forsooth, and fears
There's none will bury him when dead. Nor dreams his heirs may well be tasked With work they'll gladly do unasked.
Good God ! Beyond this living death
Wouldst thou have more .-* Thy search forbear ;
Even let me earlier yield my breath, Following the gentle and the fair.
Since such is life, 'twas wisely sung,
" He in whom Jove delights dies young."
Good alchemist, even hold thy hand ;
Yield death his due ; hard lot 'twould be, If life's vast lazar-house should stand
Uncleansed to all eternity ; And, if thou wouldst control man's fate, O shorten, not extend his date !
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