The Extent of Human Life is but a Point; Matter is in a perpetual Flux : The Faculties of Sence, and Perception, are Weak, and Unpenetrating : The Body slenderly put together, and but a Remove from Putrefaction : The Soul a rambling sort of a Thing. Fortune and Futurity, are not to be guess'd at; And Fame does not always stand upon Desert, and Judgment. In a Word; That which belongs to the Body streams off like a River; And what the Soul has is but Dream and Bubble: Life, to take it rightly, is no other than a Campaign, or Course of Travels; and Posthumous Fame has little more in't than Silence, and Obscurity. ⁵ What is it then that will stick by a Man and prove significant? Why, Nothing but Wisdom, and Philosophy. Now the Functions of this Quality consist in keeping the Mind from Injury and Disgrace; superior to Pleasure and Pain, free from Starts and Rambling, without any Varnish of Dissembling, and Knavery, and as to Happiness, Independent of the Motions of another. Farther, Philosophy brings the Mind to take things as they fall, and acquiesce in the Distibutions of Providence; In as much as all Events proceed from the same Cause with it self; and above all to have an easy Prospect of Death, as being nothing more than dissolving the Composition, and taking the Elements to Pieces. Now if the Elements themselves are never the worse for running off into one another; What if they should all Unclasp, and change their Figure? Why should any Man be concern'd at the Consequence? All this is but Nature's Method; now Nature never does any Mischief.

Written at Carnuntum ⁶a Town of Pannonia, or Hungary.