Fable XLII Age to Be Honoured
A pert and inconsiderate young Man happened to meet an old Man, whose age and infirmity had brought his body almost to the shape of a bent bow. Pray, father, says he, will you sell your bow? Save your money, you fool, says the other; for when you come to my years, you shall have such a bow for nothing.
Morals
There cannot be a greater folly and impertinence, than that of young men scoffing at the infirmities of age.
Though vig’rous health thy tide of life sustains,
And youthful manhood revels in thy veins:
With rev’rend awe regard the bending sage,
Nor thoughtless mock th’ infirmities of age.
Reflection
We are all born to die, and it is every jot as certain that we shall go out of the world, as that we are already come into it: we are helpless in infancy; ungovernable in youth; our strength and vigour scarce outlast a morning sun; our infirmities hasten upon us as our years advance, and we grow helpless in our old age as in our infancy. What, then, have the best of us to boast of? Even time and human frailty alone will bring us to our end without the help of any accidents or distempers; so that our decays are as much the works of nature, as the first principles of our being; and the young man’s conceit of the crooked bow is no better than an irreverent way of making sport with the course of Providence; besides shewing the folly of scoffing at that in another which he himself was sure to come to at last, or worse.