which all agree to give you."

"Praise," said the sage with a sigh, "is to an old man an empty
sound. I have neither mother to be delighted with the reputation
of her son, nor wife to partake the honours of her husband. I have
outlived my friends and my rivals. Nothing is now of much
importance; for I cannot extend my interest beyond myself. Youth
is delighted with applause, because it is considered as the earnest
of some future good, and because the prospect of life is far
extended; but to me, who am now declining to decrepitude, there is
little to be feared from the malevolence of men, and yet less to be
hoped from their affection or esteem. Something they may yet take
away, but they can give me nothing. Riches would now be useless,
and high employment would be pain. My retrospect of life recalls
to my view many opportunities of good neglected, much time
squandered upon trifles, and more lost in idleness and vacancy. I
leave many great designs unattempted, and many great attempts
unfinished. My mind is burdened with no heavy crime, and therefore
I compose myself to tranquillity; endeavour to abstract my thoughts
from hopes and cares which, though reason knows them to be vain,
still try to keep their old possession of the heart; expect, with
serene humility, that hour which nature cannot long delay, and hope
to possess in a better state that happiness which here I could not
find, and that virtue which here I have not attained."

He arose and went away, leaving his audience not much elated with
the hope of long life. The Prince consoled himself with remarking
that it was not reasonable to be disappointed by this account; for
age had never been considered as the season of felicity, and if it
was possible to be easy in decline and weakness, it was likely that