chapter  8
2 Pages

CHARLES BLOUNT, from a letter to Rochester 1680

My lord, I had the Honour Yesterday to receive from the Hands of an Humble Servant of your Lordship’s, your most incomparable Version of that Passage of Seneca’s, where he begins with, —Post mortem nihil est, ipsaque mors nihil,2 etc. — and must confess, with your Lordship’s Pardon, that I cannot but esteem the Translation to be, in some measure, a confutation of the Original; since what less than a divine and immortal Mind could have produced what you have there written? Indeed, the Hand that wrote it may become Lumber, but sure, the Spirit that dictated it, can never be so: No, my Lord, your mighty Genius is a most sufficient Argument of its own Immortality; and more prevalent with me, than all the Harangues of the Parsons, or Sophistry of the Schoolmen.1