He licenseth not his weakness to wear fate, but knowing reason
to be no idle gift of nature, he is the steersman of his own destiny.
Truth is the goddess, and he takes pains to get her, not to look like
her. He knows the condition of the world, that he must act one thing
like another, and then another. To these he carries his desires, and not
his desires him, and sticks not fast by the way (for that contentment is
repentance), but knowing the circle of all courses, of all intents, of
all things, to have but one centre or period, without all distraction,
he hasteth thither and ends there, as his true and natural element. He
doth not contemn Fortune, but not confess her. He is no gamester of the
world (which only complain and praise her), but being only sensible of
the honesty of actions, contemns a particular profit as the excrement of
scum. Unto the society of men he is a sun, whose clearness directs their
steps in a regular motion. When he is more particular, he is the wise
man's friend, the example of the indifferent, the medicine of the
vicious. Thus time goeth not from him, but with him; and he feels age
more by the strength of his soul than the weakness of his body. Thus
feels he no pain, but esteems all such things as friends that desire to
file off his fetters, and help him out of prison.
AN OLD MAN
Is a thing that hath been a man in his days. Old men are to be known
blindfolded, for their talk is as terrible as their resemblance. They
praise their own times as vehemently as if they would sell them.
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