For it is the part of a wise and well-educated man, not to be transported beyond himself with any prosperous events, and so, when the scene of fortune changeth, to observe still the comeliness and decency of his morals. For it is the business of a man that lives by rule, either to prevent an evil that threatens him, or, when it is come, to qualify its malignity and make it as little as he can, or put on a masculine brave spirit and so resolve to endure it. For there are four ways that prudence concerns herself about any thing that is good; she is either industrious to acquire or careful to preserve, she either augments or useth it well. These are the measures of prudence, and consequently those of all other virtues, by which we ought to square ourselves in either fortune. For no man lives who always happy is.[137] And, by Jove, you should not hinder what ought to be done,— Those things which in their nature ought to be.[138] 5. For, as amongst trees some are very thick with fruit, and some bear none at all; amongst living creatures some are very prolific, and some barren; and as in the sea there is alternate vicissitude of calms and tempests, so in human life there are many and various circumstances which distract a man into divers changes of fortune. One considering this matter hath not said much from the purpose:— Think not thyself, O Atreus’ son, forlorn; Thou always to be happy wast not born. Even Agamemnon’s self must be a shade, For thou of frail materials art made. Sorrow and joy alternately succeed; ’Spite of thy teeth, the Gods have so decreed.[139] These verses are Menander’s. If thou, O Trophimus, of all mankind, Uninterrupted happiness couldst find; If when thy mother brought thee forth with pain, Didst this condition of thy life obtain, That only prosperous gales thy sails should fill, And all things happen ’cording to thy will; If any of the Gods did so engage, Such usage justly might provoke thy rage, Matter for smart resentment might afford, For the false Deity did break his word. But if thou unexcepted saw’st the light, Without a promise of the least delight, I say to thee (gravely in tragic style) Thou ought to be more patient all the while. In short,—and to say more there’s no one can,— Which is a name of frailty, thou’rt a man; A creature more rejoicing is not found, None more dejected creeps upon the ground. Though weak, yet he in politics refines, Involves himself in intricate designs; With nauseous business he himself doth cloy, And so the pleasure of his life destroy. In great pursuits thou never hast been cross’d No disappointments have thy projects lost; Nay, such hath been the mildness of thy fate, Hast no misfortune had of any rate; If Fortune is at any time severe, Serene and undisturbed thou must appear.