hath in this life and breath (whether it run smoothly and gently,
or whether harshly and rudely), no interest at all, but is
altogether indifferent: and whatsoever else thou hast heard
and assented unto concerning either pain or pleasure? But the care
of thine honour and reputation will perchance distract thee?
How can that be, if thou dost look back, and consider both how
quickly all things that are, are forgotten, and what an immense
chaos of eternity was before, and will follow after all things:
and the vanity of praise, and the inconstancy and variableness
of human judgments and opinions, and the narrowness of the place,
wherein it is limited and circumscribed? For the whole earth
is but as one point; and of it, this inhabited part of it,
is but a very little part; and of this part, how many in number,
and what manner of men are they, that will commend thee?
What remains then, but that thou often put in practice this
kind of retiring of thyself, to this little part of thyself;
and above all things, keep thyself from distraction, and intend
not anything vehemently, but be free and consider all things,
as a man whose proper object is Virtue, as a man whose true nature
is to be kind and sociable, as a citizen, as a mortal creature.
Among other things, which to consider, and look into thou must
use to withdraw thyself, let those two be among the most obvious
and at hand. One, that the things or objects themselves
reach not unto the soul, but stand without still and quiet,
and that it is from the opinion only which is within,
that all the tumult and all the trouble doth proceed.
The next, that all these things, which now thou seest,
shall within a very little while be changed, and be no more:
and ever call to mind, how many changes and alterations in the world
thou thyself hast already been an eyewitness of in thy time.