["When he has clearly said Apollo! he moves his lips, fearful to be heard; he murmurs:  O fair Laverna, grant me the talent to deceive; grant me to appear holy and just; shroud my sins with night, and cast a cloud over my frauds.”—­Horace, Ep., i. 16, 59.—­(Laverna was the goddess of thieves.)]

The gods severely punished the wicked prayers of OEdipus in granting them:  he had prayed that his children might amongst themselves determine the succession to his throne by arms, and was so miserable as to see himself taken at his word.  We are not to pray that all things may go as we would have them, but as most concurrent with prudence.

We seem, in truth, to make use of our prayers as of a kind of jargon, and as those do who employ holy words about sorceries and magical operations; and as if we reckoned the benefit we are to reap from them as depending upon the contexture, sound, and jingle of words, or upon the grave composing of the countenance.  For having the soul contaminated with concupiscence, not touched with repentance, or comforted by any late reconciliation with God, we go to present Him such words as the memory suggests to the tongue, and hope from thence to obtain the remission of our sins.  There is nothing so easy, so sweet, and so favourable, as the divine law:  it calls and invites us to her, guilty and abominable as we are; extends her arms and receives us into her bosom, foul and polluted as we at present are, and are for the future to be.  But then, in return, we are to look upon her with a respectful eye; we are to receive this pardon with all gratitude and submission, and for that instant at least, wherein we address ourselves to her, to have the soul sensible of the ills we have committed, and at enmity with those passions that seduced us to offend her; neither the gods nor good men (says Plato) will accept the present of a wicked man: 

                   “Immunis aram si terigit manus,
                    Non sumptuosa blandior hostia
                    Mollivit aversos Penates
                    Farre pio et saliente mica.”

["If a pure hand has touched the altar, the pious offering of a small cake and a few grains of salt will appease the offended gods more effectually than costly sacrifices.”  —­Horace, Od., iii. 23, 17.]

CHAPTER LVII

OF AGE

I cannot allow of the way in which we settle for ourselves the duration of our life.  I see that the sages contract it very much in comparison of the common opinion:  “what,” said the younger Cato to those who would stay his hand from killing himself, “am I now of an age to be reproached that I go out of the world too soon?” And yet he was but eight-and-forty years old.  He thought that to be a mature and advanced age, considering how few arrive unto it.  And such as, soothing their thoughts with I know not what course of nature,