CONSOLATION TO APOLLONIUS.

1. As soon, Apollonius, as I heard the news of the untimely death of your son, who was very dear to us all, I fell sick of the same grief with you, and shared your misfortune with all the tenderness of sympathy. For he was a sweet and modest young man, devout towards the Gods, obedient to his parents, and obliging to his friends; indeed doing all things that were just. But when the tears of his funeral were scarcely dry, I thought it a time very improper to call upon you and put you in mind that you should bear this accident like a man; for when this unexpected affliction made you languish both in body and mind, I considered then that compassion was more seasonable than advice. For the most skilful physicians do not put a sudden stop to a flux of humors, but give them time to settle, and then foment the swelling by softening and bringing it to a head with medicines outwardly applied.

2. So now that a competent time is past—time which brings all things to maturity—since the first surprise of your calamity, I believed I should do an acceptable piece of friendship, if I should now comfort you with those reasons which may lessen your grief and silence your complaints.

Soft words alleviate a wounded heart,
If you in time will mitigate the smart.136

Euripides hath said wisely to this purpose:—

Our applications should suited be
Unto the nature of the malady;
Of sorrow we should wipe the tender eyes,
But the immoderate weeper should chastise.

For of all the passions which move and afflict the mind of man, sorrow in its nature is the most grievous; in some they say it hath produced madness, others have contracted incurable diseases, and some out of the vehemence of it have laid violent hands upon themselves.

3. Therefore to be sad, even to an indisposition, for the death of a son proceeds from a principle of nature, and it is out of our power to prevent it. I dislike those who boast so much of hard and inflexible temper which they call apathy, it being a disposition which never happens and never could be of use to us; for it would extinguish that sociable love we ought to have for one another, and which it is so necessary above all things to preserve. But to mourn excessively and to accumulate grief I do affirm to be altogether unnatural, and to result from a depraved opinion we have of things; therefore we ought to shun it as destructive in itself, and unworthy of a virtuous man; but to be moderately affected by grief we cannot condemn. It were to be wished, saith Crantor the Academic, that we could not be sick at all; but when a distemper seizeth us, it is requisite we should have sense and feeling in case any of our members be plucked or cut off. For that talked-of apathy can never happen to a man without great detriment; for as now the body, so soon the very mind would be wild and savage.

4. Therefore in such accidents, it is but reasonable that they who are in their right senses should avoid both extremes, of being without any passion at all and of having too much; for as the one argues a mind that is obstinate and fierce, so the other doth one that is soft and effeminate. He therefore hath cast up his accounts the best, who, confining himself within due bounds, hath such ascendant over his temper, as to bear prosperous and adverse fortune with the same equality, whichsoever it is that happens to him in this life. He puts on those resolutions as if he were in a popular government where magistracy is decided by lot; if it luckily falls to his share, he obeys his fortune, but if it passeth him, he doth not repine at it. So we must submit to the dispensation of human affairs, without being uneasy and querulous. Those who cannot do this want prudence and steadiness of mind to bear more happy circumstances; for amongst other things which are prettily said, this is one remarkable precept of Euripides:—

If Fortune prove extravagantly kind,
Above its temper do not raise thy mind;
If she disclaims thee like a jilting dame,
Be not dejected, but be still the same,
Like gold unchanged amidst the hottest flame.

For it is the part of a wise and well-educated man, not to be transported beyond himself with any prosperous events, and so, when the scene of fortune changeth, to observe still the comeliness and decency of his morals. For it is the business of a man that lives by rule, either to prevent an evil that threatens him, or, when it is come, to qualify its malignity and make it as little as he can, or put on a masculine brave spirit and so resolve to endure it. For there are four ways that prudence concerns herself about any thing that is good; she is either industrious to acquire or careful to preserve, she either augments or useth it well. These are the measures of prudence, and consequently those of all other virtues, by which we ought to square ourselves in either fortune.

For no man lives who always happy is.137

And, by Jove, you should not hinder what ought to be done,—

Those things which in their nature ought to be.138

5. For, as amongst trees some are very thick with fruit, and some bear none at all; amongst living creatures some are very prolific, and some barren; and as in the sea there is alternate vicissitude of calms and tempests, so in human life there are many and various circumstances which distract a man into divers changes of fortune. One considering this matter hath not said much from the purpose:—

Think not thyself, O Atreus’ son, forlorn;
Thou always to be happy wast not born.
Even Agamemnon’s self must be a shade,
For thou of frail materials art made.
Sorrow and joy alternately succeed;
’Spite of thy teeth, the Gods have so decreed.139

These verses are Menander’s.

If thou, O Trophimus, of all mankind,
Uninterrupted happiness couldst find;
If when thy mother brought thee forth with pain,
Didst this condition of thy life obtain,
That only prosperous gales thy sails should fill,
And all things happen ’cording to thy will;
If any of the Gods did so engage,
Such usage justly might provoke thy rage,
Matter for smart resentment might afford,
For the false Deity did break his word.
But if thou unexcepted saw’st the light,
Without a promise of the least delight,
I say to thee (gravely in tragic style)
Thou ought to be more patient all the while.
In short,—and to say more there’s no one can,—
Which is a name of frailty, thou’rt a man;
A creature more rejoicing is not found,
None more dejected creeps upon the ground.
Though weak, yet he in politics refines,
Involves himself in intricate designs;
With nauseous business he himself doth cloy,
And so the pleasure of his life destroy.
In great pursuits thou never hast been cross’d
No disappointments have thy projects lost;
Nay, such hath been the mildness of thy fate,
Hast no misfortune had of any rate;
If Fortune is at any time severe,
Serene and undisturbed thou must appear.

But though this be the state of all sublunary things, yet such is the extravagant pride and folly of some men, that if they are raised above the common by the greatness of their riches or functions of magistracy, or if they arrive to any eminent charge in the commonwealth, they presently swell with the titles of their honor, and threaten and insult over their inferiors; never considering what a treacherous Goddess Fortune is, and how easy a revolution it is for things that are uppermost to be thrown down from their height and for humble things to be exalted, and that these changes of Fortune are performed quickly and in the swiftest moments of time. To seek for any certainty therefore in that which is uncertain is the part of those who judge not aright of things:—

Like to a wheel that constantly goes round,
One part is up whilst t’other’s on the ground.

6. But the most sovereign remedy against sorrow is our reason, and out of this arsenal we may arm ourselves with defence against all the casualties of life; for every one ought to lay down this as a maxim, that not only is he himself mortal in his nature, but life itself decays, and things are easily changed into quite the contrary to what they are; for our bodies are made up of perishing ingredients. Our fortunes and our passions too are subject to the same mortality; indeed all things in this world are in perpetual flux,—

Which no man can avoid with all his care.140

It is an expression of Pindar, that we are held to the dark bottom of hell by necessities as hard as iron. And Euripides says:—

No worldly wealth is firm and sure;
But for a day it doth endure.141

And also:—

From small beginnings our misfortunes grow,
And little rubs our feet do overthrow;
A single day is able down to cast
Some things from height, and others raise as fast.142

Demetrius Phalereus affirms that this was truly said, but that the poet had been more in the right if for a single day he had put only a moment of time.

For earthly fruits and mortal men’s estate
Turn round about in one and selfsame rate;
Some live, wax strong, and prosper day by day,
While others are cast down and fade away.143

And Pindar hath it in another place,

What are we, what are we not?
Man is but a shadow’s dream.144

He used an artificial and very perspicuous hyperbole to draw human life in its genuine colors; for what is weaker than a shadow? Or what words can be found out whereby to express a shadow’s dream? Crantor hath something consonant to this, when, condoling Hippocles upon the loss of his children, he speaks after this manner:—

“These are the things which all the old philosophers talk of and have instructed us in; which though we do not agree to in every particular, yet this hath too sharp a truth in it, that our life is painful and full of difficulties; and if it doth not labor with them in its own nature, yet we ourselves have infected it with that corruption. For the inconstancy of Fortune joined us at the beginning of our journey, and hath accompanied us ever since; so that it can produce nothing that is sound or comfortable unto us; and the bitter potion was mingled for us as soon as we were born. For the principles of our nature being mortal is the cause that our judgment is depraved, that diseases, cares, and all those fatal inconveniences afflict mankind.”

But what need of this digression? Only that we may be made sensible that it is no unusual thing if a man be unfortunate; but we are all subject to the same calamity. For as Theophrastus saith, Fortune surpriseth us unawares, robs us of those things we have got by the sweat of our industry, and spoils the gaudy appearance of a prosperous condition; and this she doth when she pleaseth, not being stinted to any periods of time. These and things of the like nature it is easy for a man to ponder with himself, and to hearken to the sayings of ancient and wise men; among whom divine Homer is the chief, who sung after this manner:—

Of all that breathes or grovelling creeps on earth,
Most man is vain! calamitous by birth:
To-day, with power elate, in strength he blooms;
The haughty creature on that power presumes:
Anon from Heaven a sad reverse he feels;
Untaught to bear, ’gainst Heaven the wretch rebels.
For man is changeful, as his bliss or woe;
Too high when prosperous, when distress’d too low.145

And in another place:—

What or from whence I am, or who my sire
(Replied the chief), can Tydeus’ son enquire?
Like leaves on trees the race of man is found,
Now green in youth, now withering on the ground;
Another race the following spring supplies;
They fall successive, and successive rise.
So generations in their course decay;
So flourish these, when those are past away.146

How prettily he managed this image of human life appears from what he hath said in another place:—

For what is man? Calamitous by birth,
They owe their life and nourishment to earth;
Like yearly leaves, that now with beauty crown’d,
Smile on the sun, now wither on the ground.147

When Pausanias the king of Sparta was frequently bragging of his performances, and bidding Simonides the lyric poet in raillery to give him some wise precept, he, knowing the vain-glory of him that spoke, admonished him to remember that he was a man. Philip the king of Macedon, when he had received three despatches of good news at the same time, of which the first was that his chariots had won the victory in the Olympic games, the second, that his general Parmenio had overcome the Dardanians in fight, and the third, that his wife Olympias had brought him forth an heir,—lifting up his eyes to heaven, he passionately cried out, Propitious Daemon! let the affliction be moderate by which thou intendest to be even with me for this complicated happiness. Theramenes, one of the thirty tyrants of Athens, when he alone was preserved from the ruins of a house that fell upon the rest of his friends as they were sitting at supper, and all came about him to congratulate him on his escape,—broke out in an emphatical accent, Fortune! for what calamity dost thou reserve me? And not long after, by the command of his fellow-tyrants, he was tormented to death.

7. But Homer seems to indicate a particular praise to himself, when he brings in Achilles speaking thus to Priam, who was come forth to ransom the body of Hector:—

Rise then; let reason mitigate our care:
To mourn avails not: man is born to bear.
Such is, alas! the Gods’ severe decree:
They, only they, are blest, and only free.
Two urns by Jove’s high throne have ever stood,
The source of evil one, and one of good;
From thence the cup of mortal man he fills,
Blessings to these, to these distributes ills;
To most he mingles both; the wretch decreed
To taste the bad unmix’d is cursed indeed;
Pursued by wrongs, by meagre famine driven,
He wanders, outcast both of earth and heaven.148

Hesiod, who was the next to Homer both in respect of time and reputation, and who professed to be a disciple of the Muses, fancied that all evils were shut up in a box, and that Pandora opening it scattered all sorts of mischiefs through both the earth and seas:—

The cover of the box she did remove,
And to fly out the crowding mischief strove;
But slender hope upon the brims did stay,
Ready to vanish into air away;
She with retrieve the haggard in did put,
And on the prisoner close the box did shut;
But plagues innumerable abroad did fly,
Infecting all the earth, the seas, and sky.
Diseases now with silent feet do creep,
Torment us waking, and afflict our sleep.
These midnight evils steal without a noise,
For Jupiter deprived them of their voice.149

8. After these the comedian, talking of those who bear afflictions uneasily, speaks consonantly to this purpose:—

If we in wet complaints could quench our grief,
At any rate we’d purchase our relief;
With proffered gold would bribe off all our fears,
And make our eyes distil in precious tears.
But the Gods mind not mortals here below,
Nor the least thought on our affairs bestow;
But with an unregarding air pass by,
Whether our cheeks be moist, or whether dry.
Unhappiness is always sorrow’s root,
And tears do hang from them like crystal fruit.

And Dictys comforts Danae, who was bitterly taking on, after this manner:—

Dost think that thy repinings move the grave,
Or from its jaws thy dying son can save?
If thou would’st lessen it, thy grief compare;—
Consider how unhappy others are;
How many bonds of slavery do hold;
How many of their children robbed grow old;
How sudden Fate throws off th’ usurped crown,
And in the dirt doth tread the tyrant down.
Let this with deep impression in thee sink,
And on these revolutions often think.150

He bids her consider the condition of those who have suffered equal or greater afflictions, and by such a parallel to comfort up her own distempered mind.

9. And here that opinion of Socrates comes in very pertinently, who thought that if all our misfortunes were laid in one common heap, whence every one must take an equal portion, most people would be contented to take their own and depart. After this manner Antimachus the poet allayed his grief when he lost his wife Lyde, whom he tenderly loved; for he writ an elegy upon her, which he called by her own name, and in it he numbered up all the calamities which have befallen great men; and so by the remembrance of other men’s sorrows he assuaged his own. By this it may appear, that he who comforts another who is macerating himself with grief, and demonstrates to him, by reckoning up their several misfortunes, that he suffers nothing but what is common to him with other men, takes the surest way to lessen the opinion he had of his condition, and brings him to believe that it is not altogether so bad as he took it to be.

10. Aeschylus also doth justly reprimand those who think death to be an evil, declaring after this manner:—

Some as a thing injurious death do fly;
But of all mischiefs ’tis the remedy.

And he who spoke thus very nicely imitated him:—

Come, with impatience I expect thee, Death;
And stop with thy obliging hand my breath:
To thee as a physician all resort,
And we through tempests sail into thy port.

And it is great to speak this sentence with courage:—

Where is the slave who never fears to die?151

Or this:—

And shadows never scare me, thanks to hell.

But what is it at length in death, that is so grievous and troublesome? For I know not how it comes to pass that, when it is so familiar and as it were related to us, it should seem so terrible. How can it be rational to wonder, if that cleaves asunder which is divisible, if that melts whose nature is liquefaction, if that burns which is combustible, and so, by a parity of reason, if that perisheth which by nature is perishable? For when is it that death is not in us? For, as Heraclitus saith, it is the same thing to be dead and alive, asleep and awake, a young man and decrepit; for these alternately are changed one into another. For as a potter can form the shape of an animal out of his clay and then as easily deface it, and can repeat this backwards and forwards as often as he pleaseth, so Nature too out of the same materials fashioned first our grandfathers, next our fathers, then us, and in process of time will engender others, and again others upon these. For as the flood of our generation glides on without any intermission and will never stop, so in the other direction the stream of our corruption flows eternally on, whether it be called Acheron or Cocytus by the poets. So that the same cause which first showed us the light of the sun carries us down to infernal darkness. And in my mind, the air which encompasseth us seems to be a lively image of the thing; for it brings on the vicissitudes of night and day, life and death, sleeping and waking. For this cause it is that life is called a fatal debt, which our fathers contracted and we are bound to pay; which is to be done calmly and without any complaint, when the creditor demands it; and by this means we shall show ourselves men of sedate passions.

11. And I believe Nature, knowing the confusion and shortness of our life, hath industriously concealed the end of it from us, this making for our advantage. For if we were sensible of it beforehand, some would pine away with untimely sorrow, and would die before their death came. For she saw the woes of this life, and with what a torrent of cares it is overflowed,—which if thou didst undertake to number, thou wouldst grow angry with it, and confirm that opinion which hath a vogue amongst some, that death is more desirable than life. Simonides hath glossed upon it after this manner:—

Our time is of a short and tender length,
Cares we have many, and but little strength;
Labors in crowds push one another on,
And cruel destiny we cannot shun.
The casting of these lots is very just,
For good and bad lie in one common dust.

Pindar hath it so:—

The Gods unequal have us mortals vexed,
For to one good, two evils are annexed:
They pay a single joy with double care,
And fools such dispensations cannot bear.152

Sophocles so:—

Why at a mortal’s death dost thou complain?
Thou know’st not what may be his future gain.

And Euripides so:—

Dost thou not know the state of human things?
A faithful monitor thy instruction brings.
Inevitable death hangs o’er our head,
And threatens falling by a doubtful thread.
There’s no man can be certain over night,
If he shall live to see to-morrow’s light.
Life without any interruption flows,
And the results of fate there’s no man knows.153

If then the condition of human life is such as they speak of, why do we not rather applaud their good fortunes who are freed from the drudgery of it, than pity and deplore them, as some men’s folly prompts them to do?

12. Socrates said that death was like either to a very deep sleep, or to a journey taken a great way and for a long time, or else to the utter extinction of soul and body; and if we examine each of these comparisons, he said, we shall find that death is not an evil upon any account. For if death is sleep, and no hurt happens to those who are in that innocent condition, it is manifest that neither are the dead ill dealt with. To what purpose should I talk of that which is so tritely known amongst all, that the most profound sleep is always the sweetest? Homer154 particularly attests it:—

His senses all becalmed, he drew his breath,
His sleep was sound, and quiet like to death.

And in many places he saith thus,—

She met Death’s brother, Sleep.—

And again,—

Twin brothers, Sleep and Death,—

thereby representing the similitude (as it were) to the sight, for twins especially indicate similarity. And in another place he saith, Death is brazen sleep, thereby intimating to us that it is insensible. Neither hath he spoken much amiss who calls sleep the lesser mysteries of death; for sleep is really the first initiation into the mysteries of death.

Diogenes the Cynic, when a little before his death he fell into a slumber, and his physician rousing him out of it asked him whether any thing ailed him, wisely answered, Nothing, sir, only one brother anticipates another,—Sleep before Death.

13. If death be like a journey, neither upon this account is it an evil, but rather the contrary; for certainly it is the emphasis of happiness to be freed from the incumbrances of the flesh and all those troublesome passions which attend it, which serve only to darken the understanding, and over-spread it with all the folly that is incident to human nature.

“The very body,” saith Plato, “procures us infinite disquiet only to supply its daily necessities with food; but if any diseases are coincident, they hinder our contemplations, and stop us in our researches after truth. Besides, it distracts us with irregular desires, fears, and vain amours, setting before us so many fantastic images of things, that the common saying is here most true, that on account of the body we can never become wise. For wars, popular seditions, and shedding of blood by the sword are owing to no other original than this care of the body and gratifying its licentious appetites; for we fight only to get riches, and these we acquire only to please the body; so that those who are thus employed have not leisure to be philosophers. And after all, when we have retrieved an interval of time to seek after truth, the body officiously interrupts us, is so troublesome and importune, that we can by no means discern its nature. Therefore it is evident that, if we will clearly know any thing, we must divest ourselves of the body, and behold things as they are in themselves with the mind itself, that at last we may attain what we so much desire, and what we do profess ourselves the most partial admirers of, which is wisdom. And this we cannot consummately enjoy till after death, as reason teacheth us. For if so be that we can understand nothing clearly as long as we are clogged with flesh, one of these things must needs be, either that we shall never arrive at that knowledge at all, or only when we die; for then the soul will exist by itself, separate from the body; and whilst we are in this life, we shall make the nearest advances towards it, if we have no more to do with the body than what decency and necessity require, if we break off all commerce with it, and keep ourselves pure from its contagion, till God shall give us a final release, and then being pure and freed from all its follies, we shall converse (it is likely) with intelligences as pure as ourselves, with our unaided vision beholding perfect purity,—and this is truth itself. For it is not fit that what is pure should be apprehended by what is impure.”155

Therefore, if death only transports us to another place, it is not to be looked upon as an evil, but rather as an exceeding good, as Plato hath demonstrated. The words of Socrates to his judges seem to me to be spoken even with inspiration: “To fear death, gentlemen, is nothing else than to counterfeit the being wise, when we are not so. For he that fears death pretends to know what he is ignorant of; for no man is certain whether death be not the greatest good that can befall a man, but they positively dread it as if they were sure it was the greatest of evils.” Agreeably to this said one after this manner:—

Let no man fear what doth his labors end;—

and death sets us free even from the greatest evils.

14. The Gods themselves bear witness to the truth of this, for many have obtained death as a gratuity from them. The less famous instances I will pass by, that I may not be prolix, and only mention those who are the most celebrated and in all men’s mouths. And in the first place, I will relate what befell Biton and Cleobis, two young men of Argos. They report that their mother being the priestess of Juno, and the time being come that she was to go up to the temple to perform the rites of the Goddess, and those whose office it was to draw her chariot tarrying longer than usual, these two young men harnessed themselves and took it up, and so carried their mother to the temple. She, being extremely taken with the piety of her sons, petitioned the Goddess that she would bestow upon them the best present that could be given to men; accordingly she cast them into that deep sleep out of which they never awoke, taking this way to recompense their filial zeal with death. Pindar writes of Agamedes and Trophonius, that after they had built a temple at Delphi, they requested of Apollo a reward for their work. It was answered them that they should have it within seven days, but in the mean while they were commanded to live freely and indulge their genius; accordingly they obeyed the dictate, and the seventh night they died in their beds. It is said also of Pindar, that when the deputies of the Boeotians were sent to consult the oracle, he desired them to enquire of it which was the best thing amongst men, and that the Priestess of the tripod gave them this answer,—that he could not be ignorant of it, if he was the author of those writings concerning Agamedes and Trophonius; but if he desired personally to know, it should in a little time be made manifest to him; and that Pindar hearing this prepared himself for the stroke of Fate, and died in a short time after. Of Euthynous the Italian there is this memorable story, that he died suddenly, without anybody’s knowing the cause of his death. His father was Elysius the Terinean, who was a man of the first condition for his estate and virtue, being rich and honorable, and this being his only son and heir to all his fortune, which was very great, he had a strong jealousy upon him that he was poisoned, and not knowing how he should come to the information of it, he went into the vault where they invoke the dead, and after having offered sacrifice, as it is enjoined by the law, he slept in the place; when all things were in a midnight silence, he had this vision. His father appeared to him, to whom after having related his lamentable misfortune, he earnestly desired the ghost that he would assist him in finding out the cause. He answered that he was come on purpose to do it. But first, saith he, receive from this one what he hath brought thee, and thereby thou wilt understand the reason of all thy sorrow. The person that the father meant was very like to Euthynous both for years and stature; and the question being put to him who he was, he answered, I am the genius of thy son; and at the same time he reached out a book to him, which he opened and found these verses written therein:—

’Tis ignorance makes wretched men to err;
Fate did to happiness thy son prefer.
By destined death Euthynous seized we see;
So ’twas the better both for him and thee.

These are the stories which the ancients tell us.

15. But lastly, if death be the entire dissipation of soul and body (which was the third part of Socrates’s comparison), even then it cannot be an evil. For this would produce a privation of sense, and consequently a complete freedom from all solicitude and care; and if no good, so no evil would befall us. For good and evil alike must by nature inhere in that which has existence and essence; but to that which is nothing, and wholly abolished out of the nature of things, neither of the two can belong. Therefore, when men die, they return to the same condition they were in before they were born. For as, before we came into the world, we were neither sensible of good nor afflicted with evil, so it will be when we leave it; and as those things which preceded our birth did not concern us, so neither will those things which are subsequent to our death:—

The dead secure from sorrow safe do lie,
’Tis the same thing not to be born and die.156

For it is the same state of existence after death as it was before we were born. Unless perhaps you will make a difference between having no being at all and the utter extinction of it, after the same manner that you make a distinction between an house and a garment after they are ruined and worn out, and at the time before the one was built and the other made. And if in this case there is no difference, it is plain that there is none between the state before we were born and that after we are dead. It is elegantly said by Arcesilaus, that death, which is called an evil, hath this peculiarly distinct from all that are thought so, that when it is present it gives us no disturbance, but when remote and in expectation only, it is then that it afflicts us. And indeed many out of the poorness of their spirit, having entertained most injurious opinions of it, have died even to prevent death. Epicharmus hath said excellently to this purpose: “It was united, it is now dissolved; it returns back whence it came,—earth to earth, the spirit to regions above. What in all this is grievous? Nothing at all.” But that which Cresphontes in Euripides saith of Hercules,—

For if he dwells below, beneath the earth,
With those whose life is gone, his strength is nought,

I would have changed into these words,—

For if he dwells below, beneath the earth,
With those whose life is gone, his woes are o’er.

This Laconic too is very noble:—

Others before and after us will be,
Whose age we’re not permitted e’er to see.

And again:—

These neither did live handsomely nor die,
Though both should have been done with decency.

But Euripides hath spoken incomparably well of those who labor under daily indispositions:—

I hate the man who studies to defeat
The power of death with artificial meat,
To baffle and prevent his fate does think,
And lengthens out his life with magic drink.
Whereas, when he a burden doth become,
Then he should die, because he’s troublesome.
Old age in modesty should then give place,
And so make way unto a brisker race.157

But Merope moved the passion of the theatre with these masculine expressions:—

My sons by death are ravished from my side,
And I’m a widow, who was once a bride.
I am not thus selected to be crossed,
Others their sons and husbands too have lost.158

And we may not incongruously add these:—