This wholesome precept from the wise I learn,[p. 321] That me without defence they may not find; And though in ambuscade the mischief lies, Kill me it may, but shall not me surprise.1 But those who are of a degenerate and thoughtless spirit never apply their mind to any thing that is either useful or becoming; but they grow exorbitant in their sorrows, and afflict the innocent body, making it sick for company, as Achaeus expresseth it.
To think of misery without concern.
My meditating thoughts are always spent
Either on death or else on banishment.
Foresight of evils doth employ my mind,
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1 See the Latin version in Cicero, Tusc III. 14, 29.
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