[Sidenote: 789] Let us remonstrate with an old man when he rises from a long privacy, as from a bed of sickness, and bestirs himself to obtain a command or an official post. But suppose a man has lived a life of public action and thoroughly played the part. To prevent him from going on till ‘finis and the torch’, to call him back and bid him change the road he has long followed, is utterly unfeeling, and bears no resemblance to the case just given. If an old man has his wreath on and is scenting himself in readiness to marry, there is nothing unreasonable in trying to dissuade him by quoting the lines addressed to Philoctetes: _But, pray, where is the bride, where the young maid, Would welcome thee? Rare bridegroom thou, poor soul!_ Nay, they are fond of making jests of the kind at their own [Sidenote: B] expense: _I’m marrying old, and for the neighbours’ good: I know it._ But when a man has been long married, and has lived with his wife for years without a fault to find, to tell him that he should divorce her because he is old, and that he should live by himself or get a wretched concubine in place of his lawful spouse, is the very extreme of absurdity. In the same way when an aged man seeks to enter politics—Chlidon the farmer, Lampon the ship’s captain, or some philosopher from the Garden[35]—there is some reason in admonishing him, and keeping him to the state of inactivity to which he has been used. But it is urging a public man to act [Sidenote: C] with injustice and ingratitude, when we take hold of a Phocion, a Cato, or a Pericles, and say, ‘Sir Athenian—or Sir Roman— _Thine age is wither’d and thy head o’erfrosted_; therefore sue for a divorce from statesmanship, have done with the worrying business of the platform and the Board of War, and make haste into the country, to live with farming “for a waiting-maid” or to occupy the rest of your days with thrift and the keeping of accounts.’ Well, but (it may be asked) what of the soldier in the comedy with his _Discharged! No pay! because of my white hair?_ Quite true, my friend. The War-God’s servants must be in the prime of manly vigour. Their business is with _War and war’s baleful work_, in which, though an old man’s grey hair may be hidden by his [Sidenote: D] helmet, _Yet in secret his thews are aweary_, and, though the spirit be willing, the strength can no longer respond.