ne are those herbs,
mine those charms, that not only lure back swift time, when past and
gone, but what is more to be admired, clip its wings, and prevent all
farther flight. So then, if you will all agree to my verdict, that
nothing is more desirable than the being young, nor any thing more
loathed than contemptible old age, you must needs acknowledge it as
an unrequitable obligation from me, for fencing off the one, and
perpetuating the other.

But why should I confine my discourse to the narrow subject of mankind
only? View the whole heaven itself, and then tell me what one of that
divine tribe would not be mean and despicable, if my name did not lend
him some respect and authority. Why is Bacchus always painted as a young
man, but only because he is freakish, drunk, and mad; and spending his
time in toping, dancing, masking, and revelling, seems to have nothing
in the least to do with wisdom? Nay, so far is he from the affectation
of being accounted wise, that he is content, all the rights of devotion
which are paid unto him should consist of apishness and drollery.
Farther, what scoffs and jeers did not the old comedians throw upon him?
_O swinish punch-gut god_, say they, _that smells rank of the sty he was
sowed up in_, and so on. But prithee, who in this case, always merry,
youthful, soaked in wine, and drowned in pleasure, who, I say, in such
a case, would change conditions, either with the lofty menace-looking
Jove, the grave, yet timorous Pan, the stately Pallas, or indeed any
one other of heaven's landlords? Why is Cupid feigned as a boy, but only
because he is an under-witted whipster, that neither acts nor thinks any
thing with discretion? Why is Venus adored for the mirror of beauty, but
only because she and I claim kindred, she being of the same complexion
with my father Plutus, and therefore called by Homer the Golden Goddess?
Beside, she imitates me in being always a laughing, if either we believe
the poets, or their near kinsmen the painters, the first mentioning, the
other drawing her constantly in that posture. Add farther, to what deity
did the Romans pay a more ceremonial respect than to Flora, that bawd of
obscenity? And if any one search the poets for an historical account
of the gods, he shall find them all famous for lewd pranks and
debaucheries. It is needless to insist upon the miscarriages of others,
when the lecherous intrigues of Jove himself are so notorious, and
when the pretendedly cha