A Jacobean View of Old Age *

Since old age is not only a congregation of diseases, but even a disease of itself, and that incurable save by death, the best thing next to a remedy is an abatement of the malady. When infirmities are grown habitual and remediless, all we can do is to give them some respite and a little alleviation that we may be less sensible of the smart and sting they smite us with. The cold Corelian cannot change his clime; but yet with furs and fires he can preserve himself and stove out winter armed with ice and wind. And what thing is there in the fathom of industrious man that can so qualify him against the breaches and decays that age makes in him, as Knowledge, as study and meditation? With this, he can feast at home alone, and in his closet put himself into whatever company that best shall please him, with youth's vigour, age's gravity, beauties' pleasantness, with peace or war, as he likes. It abates the tediousness of decrepit age, and by the divine raptures of contemplation it beguiles the weariness of the pillow and chair. It makes him not unpleasing to the young, reverenced by age, and beloved of all. A grey head with a wise mind enriched by learning is a treasury of grave precepts, experience, and wisdom. He that can read and meditate need not think the evening long or life tedious. It is at all times employment fit for a man. I doubt not but it was this that in the main produced from Gorgias that memorable answer. Being a hundred and seven years of age, one asked him, "Why he lived so long?" He replied, "Because he yet found nothing in old age to complain of." Certainly, if anything hath power, it is virtue and knowledge that can ransom us from the infirmities and reproaches of age. Without this, an old man is but the lame shadow of that which once he was. They honour him too far that say he is twice a child. There is something in children that carries a becoming prettiness, which is pleasant and of grateful relish, but ignorant old age is the worst picture that Time can draw of man. 'Tis a barren vine in autumn, a leaky vessel ready to drop in pieces at every remove, a map of mental and corporeal weakness, not pleasing to others but a burden to himself. His ignorance and imbecility condemn him to idleness; which to the active soul is more irksome than any employment. What can he do when strength of limbs shall fail and the gust of pleasure which helped him to misspend his youth, through time and languid age shall be blunted and dull? Abroad he cannot stir to partake the variation of the world; nor will others be fond of coming to him when they shall find nothing but a cadaverous man composed of diseases and complaints that for want of knowledge hath not discourse to keep reason company. Like the cuckoo, he may be left to his own moulting in some hollow cell; but since the voice of his spring is gone (which yet was all the note he had to take us with) he is now not listened after: so the bloodless tortoise, in his melancholy hole, lazeth life away. Doubtless, were it for