Classic Poem

Why shou'd Old Age, to most, so dreadful be?
Which, there are none but wish, and pray to see;
What we, by that, lose in our Apetites,
It, in our Sense and Temperance, requites;
Age, with our Body's Imbecility,
But best our Sense, and Soul, does fortifie;
Weak'ning the Body, strengthens more the Mind,
Which, as more Weak the Body grows, (we find)
Is, to resist strong Passions, more inclin'd;
Age, makes Man his mad Passion's Fury sway,
His Lawless Senses, juster Sense obey,
When Youth his Sense, wou'd to his Lusts betray;
Age makes us Visage Death, that Bug-bear, who
Makes Life more tedious, by Man's Living, grow;
For daily Fear of it, which, more he will
Yet suffer, as he does live longer still;
Tho' Death's afar off Grim, 'tis Tame, when near,
So keeps our Huffing Youth but most in fear;
Whilst Age has least Cause for Anxiety,
They, who can least live, least shou'd fear to die,
To whom, Life is but Pain, Shame, Misery;
Yet, Want, Shame, Pain, Age best can undergo,
Fortune's, and Love's worst Disappointments too,
Since Lusts benum'd too, with our Members grow;
Then Death to Men, sated with Life, is Ease,
Rest to the Tir'd, to th' Bed-rid a Release;
To the Long-liv'd, the sole Variety,
Who have done all they cou'd before, but Die,
And Repetition is worst Drudgery;
The best of Life, is but the same thing still,
The Feast is loath'd, when we have had our Fill;
So Death, like Sleep, its Younger Brother, then
(Since Life gives Pain, Fear, Labour, to most Men,)
Shou'd our Desire of our Aversion grow,
Our Comfort be, but of our Terror too,
Exalts the Soul, laying the Body low;
And puts an End to Trouble, Pain, Fear, Grief,
So shou'd not be Life's Dread, of its Relief;
Nor shou'd Age for a State of Dotage go,
By which alone, we can know that we know;
Since all True Knowledge, but Experience is,
Without which, none can Skilful prove, or Wise;
True, Just, Exemplary, Brave, Virtuous be,
Which all Men are much more still, as (we see)
Their Wills and Inclinations, but more free;
From Passions of Love, Av'rice, Pride, or Rage,
Which are most weak, as Men are most in Age;
Thus Age, what Virtue ne'er cou'd compass, does,
Makes the Soul, in the Jail the Body, loose;
And them does best for Dissolution fit,
Which find it hard, each other else to quit;
Age, weak'ning Bodies, strengthens thus our Souls,
Till Sense, our Senses (which sway Youth) controuls;
And the Mind, by the Body's Weakness, grows,
To curb strong Passions, but more vigorous;
Age, for this Life and t'other all does fit,
Supplies Decays of Sense, and Loss of Wit,
By Men's Experience, only gain'd from it;
Lust's Wild-Fire, in Old Age too, must expire,
For Want of Fuel, to keep in the Fire,
When Life's its sole immoderate Desire;
Weak Age, can more than Strength of Reason do,
Cures Life of the Desire of Living too;
Tho' most Old Men their rotten Carcasses
Love, as the Poor, their crazy Cottages,
More, as of them they've had a longer Lease;
And, with their Old, Weak Inconvenience, will
Dispense more, for their Old Acquaintance still;
Nay ne'er will leave them, till by Force they must,
And headlong are, by Fate, out of 'em thrust;
Yet since we must Die, by Necessity,
'Twere Weakness, not to do it willingly;
When the Soul's Shame, the worn-out Carcafe grows,
Of it we shou'd more freely then dispose,
And to part with it, shou'd the sooner chuse;
As we still are more generous, or free,
Of all our worn-out Old Cloaths, as we see,
They of less Use, more Shame will to us be;
Our worn-out Life so we shou'd cast away,
Rather than suffer Scorn for its Decay,
For more Pain here, Ease, Rest elsewhere delay;
When Life grows tedious, and our Living Pain,
From Death's sound Sleep, 'tis Madness to refrain,
Since when Fate has decreed it, 'tis in vain;
For Mortals to resist Death's Blow, of Grace,
Which puts the Poor, Old, Worn-out Man at Ease;
Since Life, when Pleasure ceases, is but Pain,
To the Despis'd, Old, Weak, and Sensless Man;
Yet Age is not without its Pleasures too,
Did Weak Old Dotards how to use 'em know,
He's happy'st, who has less of it to go;
Thus Old Age is the Happiest Age, since that
Can only make Man not fear Death, or Fate,
But to desire to change his Mortal State;
Age then shou'd not Contemptible be thought,
By which, to Scorn of Life, Death are we brought;
Can be from other's Scorn but more exempt,
As we for Life, from Age, have most Contempt;
So Death shou'd rather give us Joy, than Grief,
Since less our Punishment, than our Relief;
Then Old Age may for Honourable go,
By which our Wants, Cares, Fears, and Troubles too,
But more supportable still to us grow;
And we less fond of Tedious Life are made,
As of approaching Death but less afraid;
For since Death ends our Fear, Pain, Shame, and Grief,
And Life prolongs our Fear, Pain, Shame, and Grief,
So Dreadful nought to Living is, as Life;
For which, we suffer our Mortality,
Who, but by Death, can live immortally;
So, to live longer, we shou'd sooner die.