AGE.

Why shouldst thou try to hide thyself in youth?
Impartial Proserpine beholds the truth;
And laughing at so vain and fond a task,
Will strip thy hoary noddle of its mask.
ADDISON.

We'll mutually forget The warmth of youth and frowardness of age. ADDISON.

Young men soon give, and soon forget affronts; Old age is slow in both.

ADDISON: Cato.

Now wasting years my former strength confound, And added woes have bow'd me to the ground: Yet by the stubble you may guess the grain, And mark the ruins of no common man.

BROOME.

What is the worst of woes that wait on age?
What stamps the wrinkle deeper on the brow?
To view each loved one blotted from life's page,
And be alone on earth as I am now.
Before the Chastener humbly let me bow
O'er hearts divided, and o'er hopes destroy'd.
BYRON: Childe Harold.

'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, And coming events cast their shadows before. CAMPBELL: Lochiel's Warning.

Nor can the snow that age does shed
Upon thy rev'rend head,
Quench or allay the noble fire within;
But all that youth can be thou art.

COWLEY.

Now then the ills of age, its pains, its care,
The drooping spirit for its fate prepare;
And each affection failing, leaves the heart
Loosed from life's charm, and willing to depart.
CRABBE.

Our nature here is not unlike our wine;
Some sorts, when old, continue brisk and fine:
So age's gravity may seem severe,
But nothing harsh or bitter ought t' appear.
SIR J. DENHAM.

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.

SIR J. DENHAM. Age's chief arts, and arms, are to grow wise; Virtue to know, and known, to exercise.

SIR J. DENHAM.

The spring, like youth, fresh blossoms doth pro. duce,

But autumn makes them ripe, and fit for use:
So age a mature mellowness doth set
On the green promises of youthful heat.

SIR J. DENHAM. Age, like ripe apples, on earth's bosom drops; While force our youth, like fruits, untimely

crops.

SIR J. DENHAM. To elder years to be discreet and grave, Then to old age maturity she gave. SIR J. DENHAM. Who this observes, may in his body find Decrepit age, but never in his mind.

SIR J. DENHAM.

Of Age's avarice I cannot see
What colour, ground, or reason there can be;
Is it not folly, when the way we ride
Is short, for a long journey to provide ?

SIR J. DENHAM.

Not from grey hairs authority doth flow,
Nor from bald heads, nor from a wrinkled brow;
But our past life, when virtuously spent,
Must to our age those happy fruits present.
SIR J. DENHAM.

Age is froward, uneasy, scrutinous,
Hard to be pleased, and parsimonious.
SIR J. DENHAM.

Authority kept up, old age secures,

Whose dignity as long as life endures.
SIR J. DENHAM.

Old husbandmen I at Sabinum know,
Who for another year dig, plough, and sow;
For never any man was yet so old,
But hoped his life one winter more would hold.
SIR J. DENHAM.

Age by degrees invisibly doth creep,
Nor do we seem to die, but fall asleep.
SIR J. DENHAM.

Old age, with silent pace, comes creeping on,
Nauseates the praise which in her youth she won,
And hates the muse by which she was undone.
DRYDEN.

Thus daily changing, by degrees I'd waste, Still quitting ground by unperceived decay, And steal myself from life, and melt away.

DRYDEN.

Heap on my bended back.

DRYDEN.

green.

DRYDEN.

What, start at this! when sixty years have spread

Their grey experience o'er thy hoary head?
Is this the all observing age could gain?
Or hast thou known the world so long in vain?

DRYDEN.

So noiseless would I live, such death to find:
Like timely fruit, not shaken by the wind,
But ripely dropping from the sapless bough.

DRYDEN.

Time has made you dote, and vainly tell
Of arms imagined in your lonely cell :
Go! be the temple and the gods your care;
Permit to men the thought of peace and war.

DRYDEN.

Time seems not now beneath his years to stoop, Nor do his wings with sickly feathers droop.

DRYDEN.

And sin's black dye seems blanch'd by age to

DRYDEN.

Thus then my loved Euryalus appears; He looks the prop of my declining years.

DRYDEN.

Of no distemper, of no blast he died,
But fell like autumn fruit that mellow'd long;
Even wonder'd at, because he dropt no sooner.
Fate seem'd to wind him up for fourscore years;
Yet freshly ran he on ten winters more:
Till like a clock worn out with eating time,
The wheels of weary life at last stood still.
DRYDEN: Edipu..

These I wielded while my bloom was warm, Ere age unstrung my nerves, or time o'ersnow'd my head.

DRYDEN.

A look so pale no quartane ever gave;
My dwindled legs seem crawling to a grave.
DRYDEN: Juvenal.

These are the effects of doting age,
Vain doubts, and idle cares, and over caution.
DRYDEN: Sebastian.

Ripe age bade him surrender late
His life and long good fortune unto final fate.
FAIRFAX.

How blest is he who crowns, in shades like these,

A youth of labour with an age of ease!
GOLDSMITH: Deserted Village.

Alike all ages. Dames of ancient days
Have led their children through the mirthful

maze;

And the gay grandsire, skill'd in gestic lore,
Has frisk'd beneath the burden of threescore.
GOLDSMITH: Traveller.

An age that melts in unperceived decay,
And glides in modest innocence away.

DR. S. JOHNSON: Vanity of Human Wishes.

In life's last scene what prodigies surprise,
Fears of the brave, and follies of the wise!

flow, And Swift expires a driv'ler and a show.

DR. S. JOHNSON: Vanity of Human Wishes. Superfluous lags the veteran on the stage. DR. S. JOHNSON: Vanity of Human Wishes. The still returning tale, and lingering jest, Perplex the fawning niece, and pamper'd guest, While growing hopes scarce awe the gath'ring

sneer,

And scarce a legacy can bribe to hear.

DR. S. JOHNSON: Vanity of Human Wishes. Thou must outlive

Thy youth, thy strength, thy beauty, which will change

To wither'd, weak, and grey.

MILTON.

Better at home lie bed-rid, idle,
Inglorious, unemploy'd, with age outworn.
MILTON.

Till length of years,
And sedentary numbness, craze my limbs
To a contemptible old age obscure.

MILTON.

To what can I be useful, wherein serve,
But to sit idle on the household hearth
A burd'nous drone, to visitants a gaze?
MILTON.

My hasting days fly on with full career,
But my late spring no bud nor blossom sheweth.
MILTON.

your fill:

Walk sober off before a sprightlier age Comes tittering on, and shoves you from the stage:

Leave such to trifle with more grace and ease, Whom folly pleases, and whose follies please.

POPE.

So peaceful shalt thou end thy blissful days, And steal thyself from life by slow decays.

POPE.

Wasting years that wither human race, Exhaust thy spirits, and thy arms unbrace.

POPE.

He now, observant of the parting ray, Eyes the calm sunset of thy various day.

POPE.

Has life no sourness, drawn so near its end? POPE.

Why will you break the sabbath of my days, Now sick alike of envy and of praise?

POPE.

In years he seem'd, but not impair'd by years.

POPE.

The poor, the rich, the valiant, and the sage, And boasting youth, and narrative old age.

POPE.

But if you'll prosper, mark what I advise, Whom age and long experience render wise.

POPE.