'And since I speak of wedlock, let me say (As, thank my stars, in modest truth I may), My limbs are active, still I'm sound at heart, And a new vigour springs in every part. 130 Think not my virtue lost, though time has shed These reverend honours on my hoary head: Thus trees are crown'd with blossoms white as snow, The vital sap then rising from below. Old as I am, my lusty limbs appear Like winter greens, that flourish all the year. Now, sirs, you know to what I stand inclined, Let every friend with freedom speak his mind.' He said; the rest in different parts divide; The knotty point was urged on either side: 140 Marriage, the theme on which they all declaim'd, Some praised with wit, and some with reason blamed. Till, what with proofs, objections, and replies, Each wondrous positive and wondrous wise, There fell between his brothers a debate: Placebo this was call'd, and Justin that. First to the knight Placebo thus begun, (Mild were his looks, and pleasing was his tone): 'Such prudence, sir, in all your words appears, As plainly proves experience dwells with years! 150 Yet you pursue sage Solomon's advice, To work by counsel when affairs are nice: But, with the wise man's leave, I must protest, So may my soul arrive at ease and rest, As still I hold your own advice the best. 'Sir, I have lived a courtier all my days, And studied men, their manners, and their ways; And have observed this useful maxim still. To let my betters always have their will. Nay, if my lord affirm'd that black was white, 160 My word was this, "Your honour's in the right." Th' assuming wit, who deems himself so wise As his mistaken patron to advise, Let him not dare to vent his dangerous thought; A noble fool was never in a fault. This, sir, affects not you, whose every word Is weigh'd with judgment, and befits a lord: Your will is mine: and is (I will maintain) Pleasing to God, and should be so to man; At least your courage all the world must praise, 170 Who dare to wed in your declining days. Indulge the vigour of your mounting blood, And let gray fools be indolently good, Who, past all pleasure, damn the joys of sense, With reverend dulness and grave impotence.' Justin, who silent sate, and heard the man, Thus with a philosophic frown began: