lightsome? What then is it in children that makes us so kiss, hug, and
play with them, and that the bloodiest enemy can scarce have the heart
to hurt them; but their ingredients of innocence and Folly, of which
nature out of providence did purposely compound and blend their tender
infancy, that by a frank return of pleasure they might make some sort
of amends for their parents' trouble, and give in caution as it were for
the discharge of a future education; the next advance from childhood is
youth, and how favourably is this dealt with; how kind, courteous, and
respectful are all to it? and how ready to become serviceable upon all
occasions? And whence reaps it this happiness? Whence indeed, but from
me only, by whose procurement it is furnished with little of wisdom, and
so with the less of disquiet? And when once lads begin to grow up,
and attempt to write man, their prettiness does then soon decay, their
briskness flags, their humours stagnate, their jollity ceases, and their
blood grows cold; and the farther they proceed in years, the more they
grow backward in the enjoyment of themselves, till waspish old age
comes on, a burden to itself as well as others, and that so heavy and
oppressive, as none would bear the weight of, unless out of pity to
their sufferings. I again intervene, and lend a helping-hand, assisting
them at a dead lift, in the same method the poets feign their gods to
succour dying men, by transforming them into new creatures, which I do
by bringing them back, after they have one foot in the grave, to their
infancy again; so as there is a great deal of truth couched in that old
proverb, _Once an old man, and twice a child_. Now if any one be curious
to understand what course I take to effect this alteration, my method is
this: I bring them to my well of forgetfulness, (the fountain whereof is
in the Fortunate Islands, and the river Lethe in hell but a small stream
of it), and when they have there filled their bellies full, and washed
down care, by the virtue and operation whereof they become young again.

Ay, but (say you) they merely dote, and play the fool: why yes, this is
what I mean by growing young again: for what else is it to be a child
than to be a fool and an idiot? It is the being such that makes that age
so acceptable: for who does not esteem it somewhat ominous to see a boy
endowed with the discretion of a man, and therefore for the curbing
of too forward parts we have a disparaging prove