Nothing, but the repute of being wise.

Folly bars both; our age is quite undone. 660

What folly can be ranker? Like our shadows,

Our wishes lengthen, as our sun declines. 662

No wish should loiter, then, this side the grave.

Our hearts should leave the world, before the knell

Calls for our carcases to mend the soil.

Enough to live in tempest, die in port;

Age should fly concourse, cover in retreat

Defects of judgment; and the will subdue;