The Four Ages of Man - Anne Bradstreet poem reading | Jordan Harling Reads

Introduction Lo now, four other acts upon this stage. Childhood and youth, the manly and old age. The first, sun unto phlegm, grandchild to water, Unstable, supple, moist, and colds his nature. The second, frolic claims his pedigree, From blood and air, for hot and moist is he. The third, of fire and choler is composed, Vindictive, and quarrelsome disposed. The last, of earth and heavy melancholy, Solid, hating all likeness, and all folly. Childhood was clothed in white, and given to show, His spring was into mix with some snow. Upon his head, a garland nature set, Of daisy, primrose, and the violets. Such cold mean flowers, as these, blossom betime, Before the sun hath thoroughly waned the clime. His hobby striding, did not ride, but run. And in this hand an hourglass new begun, Endangers every moment of a fall, And whent is broke, then ends his life and all. But if he held till it have run its last, Then may he live till threescore years are past. Next, youth came up in gorgeous attire, As that fond age does most of all desire. His suit of crimson, and his scarf of green, In's countenance, his pride quickly was seen. Garland of roses, pinks, and ghillie flowers, Seem to grow on's head, betewed with showers. His face is fresh, as is Aurora fair, When blushing first, she gins to red the air. No wooden horse, but one of metal tried, He seems to fly, or swim, and not to ride. Then prancing on the stage, about he wheels, But as he went, death waited at his heels. The next came up, in a more graver sort, As one that cared for a good report. His sword by side, and collar in his eyes, But neither uzz'd, as yet, for he was wise. Of autumn fruits, a basket on his arm, His golden rod in his purse, which was his charm. And last of all, to act upon this stage, Leaning upon his staff, comes up old age. Under his arm, a sheaf of wheat he bore, A harvest of the best, what needs he more? In's other hand, a glass, even almost run, This writ about, this out, then I am done. His hoary hairs and grave aspect made way, And all gave ear to what he had to say. These being met, each in his equipage, Intended to speak, according to their age. But wise old age did withal gravity, To childish childhood give precedency, And to the rest, his reason mildly told, That he was young, before he grew so old. To do as he, the rest soon in a sense, That method was that of the elements, That each should tell of what of himself he knew, Both good and bad, but yet no more than's true. With he'd now stood, three ages of frail man, To hear the child, who crying thus began, Childhood. Ah me, conceived in sin, and born in sorrow, And nothing, here today, but gone to-morrow, Whose mean beginning, blushing can't reveal, But night and darkness, must with shame conceal. My mother's breeding sickness, I will spare, Her nine months' weary burden not declare, To shew her bearing pangs, I should do wrong, To tell that pain, which can't be told by tongue, With tears into this world I did arrive. My mother still did waste, as I did thrive, Who yet with love and all alacity, Spending was willing to be spent for me. With wayward cries, I did disturb her rest, Who sought still to appease me with her rest, With weary eyes, she danced, and by, by sung. When wretched I, ungreat, had done the wrong, When infancy was past, my childishness Did act all folly that it could express, My silliness did only take delight In that which riper age did scorn and slight. In rattles, baubles, and such toyish stuff, My then ambitious thoughts were low enough, My high-born soul so straightly was confined, That its own worth did not know nor mind. This little house of flesh did spacious count, Through ignorance all troubles did surmount, Yet this advantage had mine ignorance, Freedom from envy and from arrogance. How to be rich or great, I did not cark, A baron or a duke, ne'er made my mark, Nor studious was, kings favour how to buy, With costly presents or base flattery, No office coveted, wherein I might Make strong myself and turn aside weak right. No malice bare to this or that great peer, Nor unto buzzing whispers gave ear, I gave no hand, nor vote, for death of life. I'd naught to do, twixt prince, and people strife, No statist I, nor martyrist in the field, Where'er I went, mine innocent was shield. My quarrels, not for diadems, did rise, But for an apple, plum, or some such prize. My strokes did cause no death, nor wounds, Nor scars, my little wrath did cease soon as my wars, My duel was no challenge, nor did seek, My foes are beltering, with his bowels reek. I had no suited law, neighbours to vex, Nor evidence for land did me perplex, I feared no storms, nor all the winds that blows, I had no ships at sea, no frost to lose, I feared no drought, nor wet, I had no crop, nor yet on future things did place my hope, This was mine innocence, but oh the seeds, Lay raked up of all the cursed weeds, Which sprouted forth in my ensuing age, As can tell, that next comes on the stage. But yet me let me relate, before I go, The sins and dangers I am subject to, From birth stained, with Adam's sinful fact, From thence I gan to sin, as soon as act, A perverse will, a love to what's forbid, A serpent's sting, in pleasing face lay hid, A lying tone, as soon as it could speak, And fifth commandment, to daily break, Off stubborn, peevish, sullen, pout and cry, Then naught can please, and yet I know not why, As many was my sins, so dangers too, For sin brings sorrow, sickness, death and woe, And though I miss the tossings of the mind, Yet griefs in my frail flesh I still do find, What gripes the wind, mine infancy did pain, What tortures I, in breeding teeth sustain, What crudities my cold stomach hath bred, Whence vomits, worms and flux have issued, What breaches, knocks and falls I daily have, And some perhaps, I carry to my grave, Sometimes in fire, sometimes in waterfall, Strangely preserved, yet mind it not at all, At home, abroad, my dangers manifold, That wonder tis, my glass till now doth hold, I've done, unto my elders I give way, For tis but little that a child can say. Youth My goodly clothing and beauteous skin, Declare some greater riches are within, But what is best, I'll first present of you, And then the worst, in a more ugly hue, For thus to do we on this stage assemble, Then let not him, which hath more craft assemble, Mine education and my learning such, As might myself and others profit much, With nurture trained up in virtue's schools, Of science, arts and tongues, I know the rules, The manners of the court, I likewise know, Nor ignorant, what they in country do, The brave attempts of valiant knights I prize, That dare climb battlements, reared to the skies, The snorting horse, the trumpet, drum I like, The glittering sword and well-advanced pike, I cannot lie in trench before a town, Nor wait till good advice our hopes do crown, I scorn the heavy corslet, musket-proof, I fly to catch the bullet that's aloof, Though thus in field, at home, to all most kind, So affable that I do suit each mind, I can insinuate into breast, And by my mirth can raise a heart depressed, Sweet music rapteth my harmonious soul, And elevates my thoughts above the pole, My wit, my bounty, and my courtesy, Makes all to place their future hopes on me, This is my best, but youth is known, alas, To be as wild as his snuffing ass, As vain as throth, as vanity can be, That who would see vain man may look on me, My gifts abused, my education lost, My woeful parents' longing hopes all crossed, My wit evaporates in merriment, My valour in some beastly quarrel spent, Martial deeds I love not, cause they're virtuous, But doing so might seem magnanimous, My lust does hurry me to all that's ill, I know no law, nor reason, but my will, Sometimes lay wait to take a wealthy purse, Or stab the man in his own defence, that's worse, Sometimes I cheat, unkind, a female heir, Of all at once, who not so wise as fair, Trusteth my loving looks and glosing tongue, Until her friends, treasure, and honours gone, Sometimes I sit carousing others' hell, Until mine own be gone, my wit and wealth, From pipe to pot, from pot to words and blows, For he that loveth wine wanteth no woes, Days, nights, with ruffians, roars, fiddlers spend, To all obscenity my ears I bend, All counsel hate which tends to make me wise, And dearest friends count for mine enemies, If any I take, tis to be fine, For sure my suit more than my virtue shine, If any time from company I spare, Tis spent in curling, frizzling up my hair, Some young Adonis I do strive to be, Sadder than a palace now survives in me, Cards, dice, and oaths, concomitant I love, To masks, to plays, to taverns still I move, And in a word, if what I am you'd hear, Seek out a British, brutish cavalier, Such wretch, such monster I am, But yet more I want to heart all this For to deplore, Thus, thus alas, I have misspent my time, My youth, my best, my strength, my bud and prime, Remembering not the dreadful day of doom, Nor yet the heavy reckoning for to come, Though dangers do attend me every hour, And ghastly death off-threats me with her power, Sometimes by wounds in idle combats taken, Sometimes by argues all my body shaken, Sometimes by fevers, all my moisture drinking, My heart lies frying, and my eyes are sinking, Sometimes a cough, stitch, playful pleurisy, With sadder frights of death do menace me, Sometimes a loathsome pox from my face bemares, With ugly marks of his eternal scars, Sometimes a frenzy strangely mads my brain, That oft for it in bedlam I remain, Too many's my diseases to recite, That wonder tis I yet behold the lights, That yet my bed in darkness is not made, And I in black oblivion's den long laid, Of marrow full of bones, of milk my breasts, Ceased by the gripes of sergeant death's arrests, Thus I have said, and what I said you see, Childhood and youth is vain, here vanity, Middle age, childhood and youth forgot, Sometimes I've seen, and now am grown, More stayed than have been green, What they have done, the same was done by me, And in their praise or shame, So mine must be, now age is more, The more good ye do expect, But more my age, the more is my defect, But what's of worth, your eyes shall first behold, And then a word of dross among my gold, When my wild oats were sown, and ripe, and mown, I then received a harvest of mine own, My reason, then by judge, how little hope, Such empty seed should yield a better crop, I then with both hands grasp the world together, Thus out of one extreme into another, But yet laid hold on virtue seemingly, Who climbs without hold, climbs dangerously, Be my condition mean, I then take pains My family to keep, but not for gains, If rich, I'm urged then to gather more, To bear me out in the world, to feed the poor, If a father, then for children must provide, But if none, then for kindred near allied, If noble, then mine honour to maintain, If not, yet wealth, nobility can gain, For time, for place, likewise for each relation, I wanted not my ready allegation, Yet all my powers for self ends are not spent, For hundreds bless me for my bounty sent, Whose loins I've clothed, and bellies I've fed, With mine own fleece, and with my household bread, Yeah, justice I have done, was I in place, To cheer the good and wicked to deface, The proud I crushed, the oppressed I set free, The liars curbed, but nourished verity, Was I a pastor, aye my flock did feed, And gently lead the lambs, as they had need, And captain aye, with skill I trained my band, And shewed them how to facing foes to stand, If a soldier, with speed I did obey, As readily as could my leader say, Was I a labourer, I wrought all day, As cheerfully as e'er I took my pay, Thus hath mine age, in all, sometimes done well, Sometimes mine age, in all, been worse than hell, In meanness, greatness, riches, poverty, did toil, Did broil, oppressed, did steal, and lie, Was I as poor as poverty could be, Then batheness was companion unto me, Such scum as hedges, and highways do yield, As neither sow, nor reap, nor plant, nor build, If to agriculture I was ordained, Great labours, sorrows, crosses I sustained, The early cock did summon, but in vain, My wakeful thoughts up to my painful gain, For restless day and night, I'm robbed as sleep, By cankered care, whose sentinel doth keep, My weary breast rest from his toil confined, But if I rest, the more distress my mind, If happiness my sordidness hath found, T'was in the crop of my manured ground, My fatted ox, and my exuberous cow, My fleeced ewe, and ever farrowing sow, To greater things I never did aspire, My dunghill thoughts, or hopes, could reach no higher, If to be rich, or great, it was my fate, How was I brawled with envy, and with hate, Greater than was the greatest, was my desire, And greater still, did set my heart on fire, If honour was the point to which I'd steered, To run my whole upon a disgrace I feared, But by ambitious sails I was so carried, That over flats, and sands, and rocks I hurried, Oppressed, and sunk, and sacked, All in my way, that did oppose me to the longed bay, My thirst was higher than nobility, And oft thought sure to taste on royalty, Whence poison, pistols, and dread instruments, Have been cursed furtherers, and mine intents, Nor brothers, nephews, sons, nor sires I spared, When to a monarchy my way they barred, Their sets, I rid myself straight out of hand, Of such as might my son, or his withstand, They heaped up gold, and riches as the clay, Which others scatter like the dew in May, Sometimes, vainglory is the only bait, Whereby my empty school is lured and caught, Be I of worth, of learning, or of part, I judge I should have room in all men's hearts, And envy gnaws if any do surmount, I hate for to be had in small account, If bias-like, I am stripped unto my skin, I glory in my wealth I have within, Thus good, and bad, and what I am, you see, Now in a word, what my diseases be, The vexing stone, in bladder and in reins, Torments me with intolerable pains, The windy colic, oft my bowels rend, To break the darks and prison, where it's penned, The naughty gout doth sadly torture me, And the restraining lame sciatica, The quinzee and the fevers often distaste me, And the consumption to the bones doth waste me, Subject to all diseases, that's the truth, Though some more incident to age or youth, And to conclude, I may not tedious be, Man at his best estate is vanity, Old age, what have you been? Even such I have before, And all you say, say I, and something more, Babe's innocence, youth's wildness I have seen, And in perplexed middle age I've been, Sickness, dangers, and anxieties have passed, And on this stage am come to act my last, I have been young, and strong, and wise as you, But now, this purious sentence is too true, In every age I've found much vanity, An end of all perfection now I see, It's not my valour, honour, nor my gold, My ruined house, now falling can uphold, It's not my learning, rhetoric, wit so large, Now half the power, death's warfare to discharge, It's not my goodly house, nor bed of dawn, That can refresh, or ease, if conscience frown, Not from alliance now can I have hope, But what I've done well, that is my prop, He in that youth is godly, wise, and sage, Provides a staff for to support his age, Great mutations, some joyful, and some sad, In this short pilgrimage I oft have had, Sometimes the heavens with plenty smiled on me, Sometimes, again, rained all adversity, Sometimes in honour, sometimes in disgrace, Sometimes in abject, then again in place, Such private changes oft mine eyes have seen, In various times the state I've also been, I've seen a kingdom flourish like a tree, When it was ruled by that celestial she, And like a Caesar, others so surmount, That but for shrubs they did find themselves a count, Then saw I France, and Holland saved, Calais won, And Philip, and Albertus half undone, I saw all peace at home, terror to foes, But ah, I saw at last those eyes were to close, And then, methought, the world at noon grew dark, When it had lost that radiant sunlight spark, In midst of griefs I saw some hopes revive, For t'was our hopes then kept our hearts alive, I saw hopes dashed, our forwardness was shent, And silenced we by act of Parliament, I've seen from Rome an excruable thing, A plot to blow up nobles and their king, I've seen designs a tree and caters cross, And poor palatinate for every lust, I've seen a prince to live on others' lands, A royal one, by alms from subjects' hands, I've seen base men, advanced a great degree, And worthy ones, put to extremity, But not their prince's love, nor state so high, Could once reverse their shameful destiny, I've seen one stabbed, another loses head, And others fly their country through the dread, I've seen, and so have thee, for tis but late, The desolation of a goodly state, Plotted and act so none can tell, Who gave the council, but the prince of hell, I've seen a land unmoulded with great pain, But yet may live to see it made up again, I've seen it shaken, rent, and soaked in blood, But out the troubles ye may see much good, These are no old wives' tales, but this is truth, We old men love to tell what's done in youth, But I return from whence I swept awry, My memory is short, and brain is dry, My almond tree, grey hairs, doth flourish now, And back, once straight, begins a pace to bow, My grinder's now a few, my sight doth fail, My skin is wrinkled, and my cheeks are pale, No more rejoice at music's pleasant noise, But do awake at the cock's clanging voice, I cannot sense savours in pleasant meat, Nor savours find in what I drink or eat, My hands and arms, once strong, have lost their might, I cannot labour, nor I cannot fight, My comely legs, as nimble as the roe, Now stiff and numb, can hardly creep or go, My heart sometimes as fierce, as lion-bald, Now trembling, and fearful, sad, and cold, My golden ball, and silver cord, ere long, Shall both be broke, by racking death so strong, I then shall go whence I shall come no more, Sons, nephews, leave, my death fought to deplore, In pleasures, and in labours, I have found that earth can give no consolation sound, To great, to rich, to poor, to young, or old, To mean, to noble, fearful, or to bold, From king to beggar, all degree shall find, But vanity, vexation of the mind, Yea, knowing much, the pleasant life of all, Hath yet amongst that sweet some bitter gall, Though reading of his works doth must refresh, Yet studying much brings weariness to the flesh, My studies, labours, readings all are done, And my last period can e'er an illness rub, Corruption, my father, I do call, Mother, and sisters both, The worms that crawl in my dark house, Such kindred I have store, There I shall rest till heaven shall be no more, And when this flesh shall rot and be consumed, This body, by the soul, shall be assumed, And I shall see with these same very eyes, My strong redeemer coming in disguise, Triumph I shall, or sin, or death, or hell, And in that hope I bid you all farewell.