THe opinion of Cicero was good, who, 1. Booke of Offices. that his sonne Marke might proue such a one in that kind of learning, which himselfe had made choise of, as he de­sired; iudged, that it sufficed to send him to a place of studie, so renowmed and famous in the world, as that of A­thens, and to giue him Cratippus for his schoolemaister, who was the greatest Philosopher of those daies, bringing him vp in a citie so populous, where, through the great concourse of people which thither assembled, he should of necessitie haue many examples and profitings of stran­gers, fit to teach him by experience those things which appertained to the knowledge that himselfe was to learne. But, notwithstanding all this diligence, and much more [Page 2] besides, which (as a good father) he vsed, prouiding him bookes, and writing some vnto him of his own head; the Historians report, that he prooued but a Cods-head, with little eloquence, and lesse philosophie, (a matter vsuall a­mongst men, that the sonne abies the much wisedome of the father.) Verely Cicero greatly beguiled himselfe, ima­gining that albeit his sonne were not issued out of natures hands, with that wit and habilitie which is requisit for elo­quence and philosophie, yet by means of the good indu­strie of such a teacher, and the many books, and examples of Athens, togither with the yoong mans continuall en­deuour, and processe of time, the defects of his vnderstan­ding would be amended: but we see, that finally he de­ceiued himselfe, neither do I maruell thereat, for he had many examples to this purpose, which encouraged him to beleeue, that the same might also befall in the person of his sonne.

For the same Cicero reports in his booke of Destinie, that Zenocrates had a wit very vntoward for the studie of Booke of Destinie. Naturall and Morall philosophie, of whome Plato sayd, That he had a scholer, who stood in need of a spurre; and yet notwithstanding, through the good industrie of such a maister, and the continuall trauell of Zenocrates himselfe, he became a very great Philosophèr. And he writes the like also of Cleantes, who was so doltish and void of vnder­standing, that no teacher would receiue him into his schoole; whereat the yoong man agreeued and ashamed, endured so great toile in studying, that he came after­wards to be called a second Hercules for wisedome. No lesse vntoward for matters of eloquēce, seemed the wit of Demosthenes, of whome it is sayd, that when he was now growne big, he could not yet speake plaine, but labouring and applying the art, by hearing of good teachers, he pro­ued [Page 3] the best Oratour of the world: and specially (as Ci­cero recounts) he could not pronounce the letter, R, for that he did somwhat stāmer, and yet by practise he grew to articulat it so well, as if he had neuer had that way any de­fect. Hence tooke that prouerbe his originall, which saith, That mans wit in matters of science, is like a plaier at dice, for if any one prooue vnluckie in throwing his chaunce, by artificiall practise he comes to amend his euill fortune. But none of these examples produced by Cicero, remains without a conuenient answer in my doctrine: for (as we will hereafter proue) there is in yongmen a certaine dul­nes, which argues a greater wit in another age, than if the same had bene sharpe from their childhood: nay it is a iudgement that they will prooue lowtish men, when they begin very soone to discourse and be quicke of conceipt. Wherefore, if Cicero had known the true tokens by which wits are in their first age to be discouered, he would haue held it a good signe, that Demosthenes was rude and slow of speech, and that Zenocrates had need of a spurre whilest he learned. I take not from a good instructor art, and industrie, their vertue and force, to manure wits, as well rude as pliant: but that which I will say, is, that if a yoong man haue not of himselfe an vnderstanding capa­ble of precepts and rules, which properly belong to the art he would learne, and to none other, that the diligence *Dialoge of knowledge. By the only vn­derstanding of Socrates, may this comparison be verefied, for he taught by de­maunds, and handled the mat­ter so, that the scholler himselfe attained to know­ledge, without his telling him the same. vsed by Cicero with his sonne, was as vaine as that which any other parent shal vse with his sonne, will be in the like. Those who haue read Plato shall easily know, that this do­ctrine is true, who reports that Socrates was the sonne (as he also reported himselfe) of a midwife, & that as his mo­ther (albeit she were much praised in the art) could not make a woman to be deliuered, that before her comming to her was not with child; so he (performing the like of­fice [Page 4] as his mother) could not make his scholers bring foorth any science, if of themselues they had not their vn­derstanding conceiued therwith. He was of opinion, that sciences were (as it were) naturall to those men only, who had their wits appliable therevnto; and that in such it be­fell, as we see by experience in those who haue forgotten somewhat which they first knew, who if we put them in mind but of one word, gather from that all the residue.

Maisters (for ought that I can gather) haue none other office with their schollers, than to bring learning to their remembrance, for if they haue a fruitfull wit, they make them with this only to bring forth woonderful conceipts, otherwise they do but afflict themselues, and those whom they instruct, nor euer obtaine their desires. And (at least if I were a teacher) before I receiued any scholer into my Mans Wise­dome, is not Remēbrance: wherefore we haue here a­boue spoken against Plato, for that he held this opi­nion. schoole, I would grow to many trials and experiments with him, vntill I might discouer the qualitie of his wit, and if I found it by nature directed to that science where­of I made profession, I would willingly receiue him, for it breeds a great contentment in the teacher, to instruct one of good to wardlinesse: and if not, I would counsaile him to studie that science, which were most agreeable with his wit. But if I saw, that he had no disposition or capacitie for any sort of learning, I would friendly and with gentle words tell him; Brother, you haue no means to proue a man of that profession which you haue vndertaken, take care not to loose your time and your labour, and prouide you some other trade of liuing, which requires not so great an habilitie as appertaineth to learning. Hereof is seene very plaine experience, for we behold a great num­ber of schollers enter the course of whatsoeuer science, and (be the teacher very good or very bad) finally euery day some prooue of great skill, some of meane, and some in [Page 5] their whole course, haue done nought else than leese their time, spend their goods, and beat their brains without any maner of profit.

I wot nere whence this effect may spring, they all hea­ring one selfe teacher, and with equall diligence and care, and perhaps the dull take more paine than the wittie, and this difficultie growes the greater, by seeing that those who are vntoward for one science, are very apt to another, and the toward in one sort of learning, passing to another sort, can vnderstand nothing. But my selfe am at least a good witnesse in this truth; for there were three compa­nions of vs, who entered together to studie the Latine toong, and one of vs learned the same with great facilitie, the rest could neuer make any commendable compositi­on; but all passing on to Logicke, one of those who could not learne Grammer, proued in that art a principall Aegle, and the other two, in the whole, neuer learned one ready point; then all three comming to heare Astrologie, it was a matter worthie of consideration, that he who could no skill of Latine or Logicke, in few daies knew more in A­strologie than his maister that taught them, and the rest could neuer learne it. I then maruelling hereat, began forth with to make discourses, and play the Philosopher hereon, and so I found that euery science required a speci­all and particular wit, which reaued from that, was little worth in other sorts of learning. And if this be true (as verely it is, and we will so proue it hereafter) he that at this day should enter into the schooles of our times, making proofe and assay of the scholers wits, how many would he change from one science to another, & how many would he send into the fields for dolts and vnable to learne? and how many would he call backe of those, who for want of abilitie are occupied in base exercises, and yet their wits [Page 6] were by nature created only for learning? but sithens this cannot be brought about nor remedied, it behooues to stay no longer hereon, but to passe forward.

It cannot be denied, but that (as I haue sayd) there are wits found capable of one science, which are vntoward for another: and therefore it behooues, before the child be set to studie, to discouer the manner of his wit, and to see what science agreeth with his capacitie, and then to prouide that he may applie the same. But it is necessarie also to consider, that this which hath bene sayd, sufficeth not to make a man prooue sufficiently learned, but we must haue regard of other conditions no lesse requisit than is this of towardlinesse. For Hippocrates sayth, that mans wit holds the like proportion with knowledge, as the earth doth with seed, which though of her selfe she be fruitfull and fat, yet it behooues to mannure her, and vse aduisement to what sort of seed her naturall disposition enclineth; for euery sort of earth cannot without distin­ction, produce euery sort of seed. Some better brings foorth Wheat than Barley, and some Barley better than Wheat; and of Wheats some bring a plentifull increase of good Lammas Wheat, and cannot away with the Ba­sest sort.

Neither doth the good husbandman content himselfe to make this only distinction, but after he hath manured the earth in due season, he lookes for conuenient time to sow it, for it cannot be done at all times of the yeare, and after that the graine is sprung vp, he clenseth and weedeth it, that it may encrease and grow, giuing the fruit which of the seed is expected. After this sort, it is necessarie that the science being knowne, which best fitteth with the person, he begin to studie from his first age, for this (sayth Ari­stotle) is the most pliant of all others to learning. Moreo­uer, [Page 7] mans life is very short, and the arts long and toilsome, for which it behooues that there be time sufficient to know them, and space to exercise them, and therewith to profit the common wealth. Childrens memorie (sayth A­ristotle) is a table without any picture, because it was but a little while since they were borne, and so they receiue any thing whatsoeuer with facilitie; and not as the me­morie of old men, which full of those many things they haue seene in the long course of their life, is not capable of more: and therefore Plato sayth, that in the presence of youth, we should recount honest tales and actions, which may incite them to vertuous doings, for what they learne In the second age called youth, a man makes an vnion of all the differences of wit, in such as they may be vni­ted, for that this age is more tem­perat than all the rest: wherfore it is vnfitting to let it passe with­out learning of knowledge, whereby a man may liue. in that age, abides still in their minds, and not (as Galen sayth) that then it behooues to learne the arts, when our nature hath accrued al the forces that she can haue; which point is void of reason if you admit no distinction. He that is to learne the Latine tongue or any other language, ought to do it in his childhood, for if he tarrie till the bo­die be hardened, and take the perfection that it ought to haue, he shall neuer reape auaileable profit. In his second age, namely boyes state, it is requisit that he trauaile in the art of Syllogismes, for then the vnderstanding begins to display his forces, which hath the same proportion with Logicke, as shackles haue with the feet of mules not yet trayned, who going some daies therewith, take afterward a certaine grace in their pace: so our vnderstanding shack­led with the rules & precepts of Logicke, takes afterwards a gracefull kind of discoursing and arguing in sciences and disputations. Then followes youth, in which all the scien­ces appertaining to the vnderstanding may be learned, for that hath a ripened knowledge.

True it is, that Aristotle excepteth naturall Philosophie, saying, a yoong man is not of fit disposition for this kind [Page 8] of doctrine, wherein it seemeth he hath reason, for that it is a science of deeper consideration and wisedome than a­ny other.

Now the age thus knowne, in which sciences are to be learned, it behooues to search out a commodious place for the same, where nothing else saue learning may be handled, and such are the Vniuersities: but the youth must forgo his fathers house, for the dandling of the mo­ther, brethren, kindred, and friends which are not of his profession, do greatly hinder his profiting. This is plainly seene in the scholers who are natiue of the cities and pla­ces where Vniuersities are seated, none of which (saue by great miracle) euer become learned. And this may easily be remedied, by changing of Vniuersities, and the na­tiue of one citie going to studie in another. This faring, that a man takes from his owne countrie to make himselfe of woorth and discretion, is of so great importaunce, that there is no maister in the world who can teach him more, and especially, when a man sees himselfe (sometimes) a­bandoned of the fauour and delights of his countrie. De­part out of thy land (sayd God to Abraham) and seuer thy selfe from amidst thy kindred and thy fathers house, and come to the place where I will shew thee, in which thou shalt make thy name great, & I will giue thee my blessing. The like sayes God to all men, who desire to prooue of value and wisedome: for albeit he can blesse them in their natiue countrie, yet he will, that men dispose themselues by this meane which he hath ordained, and that wisdome be not attained by them with idlenesse. All this is meant with a foregoing presupposall, that a man haue a good wit and be apt, for otherwise, He that goes a beast to Rome, returns a beast againe. Little auailes it, that a dullard go to learne in the famous places of studie, where there is no chaire of [Page 9] vnderstanding, nor wisedome, nor a man to teach it.

The third point of diligence is, to seeke out a mai­ster who hath a direction and method in teaching, whose doctrine is sound and firme, not sophisticall nor of vaine considerations: for all that the scholler doth, whilest he is a learning, is to credit all that which his maister propounds vnto him, for he hath no sound iudgement or discretion to discerne or separat falshood from truth, albeit this is a chauncefull case, and not placed in the choise of such as learne, that the scholers come in due time to studie, and that the Vniuersities haue good or vnfit instructers; as it befell certaine Phi­sitions, of whome Galen reports, that hauing conuinced them by many reasons and experiments, and shewed them, that the practise which they vsed was false and preiudiciall to mens health; the tears fell from their eyes, and in his presence they began to curse their hard hap, in lighting on such bad maisters as bare sway du­ring the time that they were learners. True it is, that there are found some schollers of so ripe wit, as they straightwaies looke into the condition of the teachers, and the learning which he teacheth, and if it be vitious, they know how to confute the same, and to giue allow­ance to such as deliuer soundly; these at the yeares end teach their maister much more than their maister taught them; for doubting & demaunding wittily, they make him to vnderstand and answer things so exquisit, as he himselfe neuer knew nor should haue knowne, if the scholler with the felicitie of his wit, had not brought them to his mind: but those who can do this, are one or two at the most, and the dullards are infinit, through which, it would do well (seeing this choise and Exami­nation of Wits for euery science is not had) that the [Page 10] Vniuersities alwaies made prouision of good teachers, endued with sound learning, and a cleere discerning wit, to the end they may not instruct the ignorant in er­rours and false propositions.

The fourth diligence requisit to be vsed, is to studie euerie science with order, beginning at his principles, and passing through the midst to the end, without ha­uing matter that may presuppose another thing before. For which cause, I haue alwaies held it an errour, to heare many lessons of diuers matters, and to carrie them all home fardled vp together. By this means there is made a masse of things in the vnderstanding, which af­terwards, when they come to practise, a man knowes not how to turne to vse the precepts of his art, nor to assigne them a place conuenient: and it is much better to bestow labour in euery matter by it selfe, and with that naturall order which it holds in his composition, for in the selfe manner as it is learned, so is it also preser­ued in the memorie. And more in particular, it is neces­sarie that they do this, who of their owne nature haue a confused wit: and this may easily be remedied by hea­ring one matter by it selfe, and that being ended, to en­ter into the next following, till the whole art be atchie­ued. Galen well vnderstanding of how great importance it was to studie matters with order and conceit, wrot a booke to teach the manner that was to be held in rea­ding his works, to the end that the Phisition might not be tangled in confusion. Others adde herevnto, that the scholler, whilest he learneth, haue but one booke which may plainly containe the points of his learning, and that he attend to studie that only and no more, least he grow into a garboile and confusion, and herein they are warranted by great reason.

[Page 11] The last thing which makes a man proue of rare lear­ning, is to consume much time at his booke, and to ex­pect, that knowledge haue his due digestion, and take deepe root; for as the bodie is not maintained by the much which we eat and drinke in one day, but by that which the stomacke digesteth and turneth: so our vn­derstanding is not filled by the much which we read in little time, but by that which by little and little it pro­ceeds to conceiue and chew vpon. Our wit day by day disposeth it selfe better and better, and comes (by pro­cesse of time) to light on things which before it could neither vnderstand nor conceiue. Vnderstanding hath his beginning, his increase, his standing, and his decli­ning, as hath a man, and other creatures and plants; it begins in boies age, hath his increase in youth, his stan­ding in middle or mans age, and in old age it begins to decline. Who so therefore would know at what time his vnderstanding enioieth all the forces which it may partake, let him weet, that it is frō the age of thirtie and three vntill fiftie, little more or lesse, within which com­passe we may best giue credit to graue authors, if in the discourse of their life, they haue held contrarie opini­ons; and he that will write bookes, let him do it about this age, and not before nor after, if he meane not to vn­say againe, or change opinion.

But mans age hath not in all people a like measure and reason; for in some, childhood ends in twelue yeares, in some at fourteene, some haue sixteene, and some eighteen; such liues very long, because their youth arriues to little lesse than fortie yeares, and their ripe or firme age to three-score, and they haue afterward twen­tie yeares of old age, wherethrough their life amounts to fourescore, and this is the terme of those who are ve­rie [Page 12] strong. The first sort, who finish their childhood at twelue yeares, are very short liued, and begin speedily to discourse, their beard soone sprowteth out, and their wit lasteth but a small time, these at thirtie fiue yeares begin to decline, and at fortie and eight, finish their life.

Of all the conditions aboue specified, there is not a­ny The principall of all these, is Na­ture, for if she be in them who ap­plie their mind to Art, they may pierce thorow all the other things aboue specified. So Baldus be­tooke himselfe to the studie of the Lawes, when he was wel-aged, wherethrough some sayd vnto him in a scoffe: Thou commest too late, O Bal­dus, and wilt prooue a good aduocate in the other world: but because he had a capacitie confor­mable for the lawes, he proued learned in a short season. one which is not very necessary, profitable, and help­full in practise for a yoong man to receiue notice of, but to haue a good and answerable nature to the science which he pretendeth to study, is the matter which most makes for the purpose: for with this, we haue seene, that diuers men haue begun to studie, after their youth was expired, and were instructed by bad teachers, with euill order, and in their owne birth-places, and yet for all that haue prooued great clearks. But if the wit faile (sayth Hippocrates) all other diligences are lost. But there is no man who hath better verefied this, than the good Mar­cus Cicero, who through greefe of seeing his sonne such a doo-nought, with whome none of the means could preuaile, that he had procured to breed him wisedome, sayd in the end after this sort: What else is it, after the man­ner of the Giants, to fight with the gods, than to resist against na­ture? as if he should haue sayd. What thing is there, which better resembles the battaile, which the giants vndertooke against the gods, than that a man who wan­teth capacitie, should set himselfe to studie? for as the giants neuer ouercame the gods, but were still vanqui­shed by them: so whatsoeuer scholler will labour to o­uercome his owne vntoward nature, shall rest vanqui­shed by her. For which cause, the same Cicero counsel­leth vs, that we should not vse force against our nature, nor endeuour to become Orators, if she assent not, for we shall vndergo labour in vaine.

IT is an opinion very common and Nature giues ha­bilitie, Art faci­litie, Vse suffici­encie. ordinarie amongst the antient Phi­losophers, to say, That Nature is she who makes a man of habilitie to learne, and that art with her precepts and rules giues a facilitie therevnto, but then vse and experience, which he reapes of particular things, makes him mightie in working. Yet none of them euer shewed in particular, what thing this nature was, nor in what ranke of causes it ought to be placed: only they affirmed, that this, wan­ting in him who learned, art, experience, teachers, bookes, and trauaile are of none auaile. The ignoraunt Aboue all things Nature is neces­sarie, for if she gainsay, al other drifts are attemp­ted in vaine. vulgar seeing a man of great wit and readinesse, straight­waies assigne God to be the author thereof, and looke no further, but hold euery other imagination that goes beyond this, for vanitie: but naturall Philosophers de­spise this manner of talking, for put case that the same be godly, and containe therein religion and truth, yet it groweth from not knowing the order and disposition which God placed amongst naturall things that day when they were created, and so couer their ignorance with a kind of warrantise, and in sort, that none may reprehend or gainsay the same, they affirme that all be­fals as God will, and that nothing succeeds, which springs not from his diuine pleasure. But though this be neuer so apparant a truth, yet are they worthie of re­proofe: [Page 14] because, as not euerie kind of demaund (sayth Aristotle) is to be made after one fashion, so not euerie aunswer (though true) is to be giuen.

Whilest a natural Philosopher reasoned with a Gram­marian, there came to them an inquisitiue Gardener, and asked what the cause might be, that he cherishing the earth so charilie, in deluing, turning, dunging, and watering it, yet the same neuer well brought foorth the herbage which he sowed therein; whereas the hearbes which she bred of her selfe, she caused to increase with great facilitie. The Grammarian aunswered, This grew from the diuine prouidence, and was so ordained tho­row the good gouernment of the world: at which an­swer, the naturall Philosopher laughed, seeing he redu­ced this to God, because he knew not the discourse of naturall causes, nor in what sort they proceeded to their effects. The Grammarian perceiuing the other laugh, asked whether he mocked him, or wherat else he laugh­ed? The Philosopher answered that he laughed not at him, but at the maister who taught him so ill, for the knowledge and solution of things which spring from the diuine prouidence (as are the workes supernaturall) appertaine to the Metaphisicks (whom we now tearme Diuines:) but this question propounded by the Gar­dener, In all Knowled­ges, we must vn­derstand how far their iuris­diction extēdeth, and what questi­ons apperteine vnto them. is naturall, and appertaineth to the iurisdiction of the naturall Philosophers, because there are certaine or­dered and manifest causes, from which this effect may spring. And thus the naturall Philosopher answered, say­ing, that the earth is conditioned like a stepmother, who very carefully brings vp her owne children which shee breeds her selfe, but takes away the sustenance from those which appertaine to her husband, and so we see that her owne children are fat and fresh, and her step­children [Page 15] weake and ill coloured. The hearbs which the earth brings foorth of her selfe, are borne of her proper bowels, and those which the Gardener makes to grow by force, are the daughters of another mother, where­through she takes from them the vertue and nourish­ment, by which they ought to increase, that she may giue it to the hearbs which are borne of her selfe.

Hippocrates likewise reports, that he going to visit the great Philosopher Democritus, he told him the follies which the vulgar speake of Phisicke, namely, that seeing themselues recouered from sicknesse, they would say, it was God who healed them, and that if his wil were not, little had the good diligence of the Phisition auailed. This is so antient a manner of talke, and the naturall Philosophers haue so often refuted it, that the seeking to take the same away, were superfluous, neither is it conuenient: for the vulgar, who know not the particu­lar causes of any effect, answereth better and with more truth, as touching the vniuersall cause, which is God, than to say some other vnfitting thing. But I haue often gone about to consider the reason & the cause whence it may grow, that the vulgar sort is so great a friend to impute all things to God, and to reaue them from na­ture, & do so abhor the naturall means: and I know not whether I haue bene able to find it out. The vulgar (at least) giues hereby to vnderstand, that forasmuch as they know not what effects they ought to attribute to God immediatly, and what to Nature, they speake after this maner. Besides that, men are for the most part impatient, and desirous to accomplish speedily what they couet. But because the natural means are of such prolixitie, and work with length of time, they possesse not the patience to stand marking thereof, and knowing that God is [Page 16] omnipotent, and in a moment of time performeth whatsoeuer him pleaseth (whereof they find many ex­amples) they would that he should giue thē health, as he did to the sicke of the palsie; and wisedome, as to Salo­mon; riches, as to Iob; and that he should deliuer them from their enimie, as he did Dauid.

The second cause is, for that men are arrogant, and vaine conceited, many of whom, desire secretly in their hearts, that God would bestow vpon them some parti­cular graces, which should not befall after the common vse (as is, that the sunne ariseth vpon the good and bad, and that the rainè fals vpon all in generall) for benefits are so much the more highly prized, as they are the more rare. And for this cause we haue seene many men to feigne miracles in houses and places of deuotion, for straightwaies, the people flockes vnto them, and holds them in great reuerence, as persons of whome God makes a speciall account: and if they be poore, they fa­uour them with large almes, and so some sinne vpon interest.

The third reason is, that men haue a liking to be well at their ease, whereas naturall causes are disposed with such order and conceit, that to obtaine their effects, it behooues to bestow labour. Wherefore they would haue God demeane himselfe towards them, after his omnipotencie, and that (without sweating) they might come to the well-head of their desires. I leaue aside the malice of those, who require miracles at Gods hand, thereby to tempt his almightinesse, and to prooue whe­ther he be able to do it: and othersome, who to be re­uenged after their hearts desire, cal for fire from heauen, and such other cruell chastisements.

The last cause is, for that many of the vulgar are reli­ligiously [Page 17] giuen, and hold deere, that God may be hono­red The Lord wor­king therewith­all, and confir­ming with his word followed by signs. and magnified, which is much sooner brought a­bout by way of miracles than by naturall effects, but the common sort of men know not, that workes aboue na­ture and woonderfull, are done by God, to shew those who know it not, that he is omnipotent, and that he serues himselfe of them, as an argument to prooue his doctrine, and that this necessitie once ceasing, he neuer doth it more. This may well be perceiued, considering that God dooth no longer those vnwoonted things of the new testament: and the reason is, for that on his be­halfe, he hath performed all necessarie diligence, that men might not pretend ignorance. And to thinke that he will begin anew to do the like miracles, and by them once againe to prooue his doctrine, in raising the dead, restoring sight to the blind, and healing the lame and sicke of the palsie, is an errour very great; for once God taught men what is behooffull, and prooued the same by miracles, but returnes not to do it any more. God speakes once (sayth Iob) and turnes not to a second re­pliall. Iob. 33.

The token whereon I ground my iudgement, when I would discouer whether a man haue a wit appropriat to Naturall Philosophie, is, to see whether he be addi­cted to reduce all matters to miracle, without distincti­on; and contrariwise, such as hold not themselues con­tented, vntill they know the particular cause of euerie effect, leaue no occasion to mistrust the goodnesse of their wit. These doe well know, that there are effects which must be reduced to God immediatly, (as mira­cles) and others to nature, (and such are those, which haue their ordinarie causes, frō whence they accustome to spring) but speaking both of the one manner and the [Page 18] other, we alwaies place God for author: for when A­ristotle sayd, that God and nature did nothing in vaine, he meant not, that nature was an vniuersall cause, en­dowed with a iurisdiction seuered from God, but that she was a name of the order and concent, which God hath bestowed in the frame of the world, to the end that the necessarie effects might follow, for the preser­uation thereof. For in the same manner, it is vsually sayd that the King, and Ciuile Reason, do no man wrong. In which kind of speech, no man conceiueth that this name Reason, signifieth a Prince which possesseth a se­uerall iurisdiction from that of the king; but a terme, which by his signification, embraceth al the roiall lawes, and constitutions ordained by the same king, for the preseruation of his common wealth in peace. And as the king hath his speciall cases reserued to himselfe, which cannot be decided by the law, for that they are vnusuall and waightie: in like manner God left miracu­lous effects reserued for himself, neither gaue allowance vnto naturall causes, that they might produce them. But here we must note, that he who should know them The ignorance of naturall Phi­losophie, is cause that miracles are imputed where they ought not. for such, and difference them from naturall workes, be­hooues to be a great naturall Philosopher, and to vn­derstand the ordinary causes that euery effect may hold, & yet all this sufficeth not, vnlesse the Catholike church ratifie them to be such. And as the Doctors labour and studie in reading this ciuile Reason, preseruing the whole in their memorie, that they may know and vn­derstand what the kings will was, in the determination of such a case: so we naturall Philosophers (as doctors in this facultie) bestow all our studie in knowing the discourse and order, which God placed that day when he created the world, so to contemplat and vnderstand [Page 19] in what sort, and vpon what cause, he would that things should succeed. And as it were a matter worthy laugh­ter, that a doctor should alleage in his writings (though approoued) that the king commaunds a case should be thus determined, without shewing the Law and Rea­son, through which it was so decided: so naturall Philo­sophers laugh at such as say, This is Gods doing; with­out assigning the order and discourse of the particular causes whēce they may spring. And as the king wil giue them no eare, when they require him to breake some iust law, or to rule some case besides the order of iustice, which he hath commaunded to be obserued: so God will not hearken when any man demaunds of him my­racles and workes besides naturall order, without cause why. For albeit the king euery day abrogates and esta­blisheth new lawes, and changeth iudiciall order (as wel through the variation of times, as for that it is the iudge­ment of a fraile man, and cannot at one only time, attain to perfect right and iustice) notwithstanding the natu­rall order of the vniuerse, which we call nature, from that day wherein God created the world, vnto this, hath had no need of adioining or reauing any one iot, because he framed the same with such prouidence and wisedome, that to require this order might not be obserued, were to say, that his workes were vnperfect.

To returne then to that sentence so often vsed by na­turall Philosophers, that Nature makes able; we must vn­derstand that there are Wits, and there are Abilities, which God bestoweth vpon men besides naturall or­der, as was the wisedome of the Apostles, who being simple and of base account, were miraculously enligh­tened and replenished with knowledge and learning. Of this sort of abilitie & wisdome, it cannot be verefied, [Page 20] that nature makes able; for this is a worke, which is to be imputed immediatly vnto God, & not vnto nature: The like is to be vnderstood of the wisedome of the prophets, and of all those to whome God graunted some grace infused. Another sort of abilitie is found in men, which springs of their being begotten, with that order and consent of causes which are established by God to this end: and of this sort it may be sayd with truth; Nature makes able. For (as we will proue in the last chapter of this worke) there is to be found such an order and consent in naturall things, that if the fathers in time of procreation, haue regard to obserue the same, all their children shall prooue wise, and none otherwise. But the whilest, this significatiō of nature is very vniuer­sall and confused, and the vnderstanding contents not it selfe, nor staieth, vntill it conceiue the particular dis­course, and the latest cause, and so it behooues to search out another signification of this name Nature, which may be more agreeable to our purpose.

Aristotle and other naturall Philosophers, discend in­to more particularities, and call Nature, whatsoeuer sub­stantiall forme, which giues the being to any thing, and is the originall of all the working thereof; in which sig­nification, our reasonable soule may reasonably be tear­med nature, for from her we receiue our formall being, which we haue of being men, and the selfe same is the beginning of whatsoeuer we doe and worke. But all soules being of equall perfection (as well that of the wi­ser, as that of the foolish) it cannot be affirmed, that na­ture in this signification, is that which makes a man able, for if this were true, all men should haue a like measure of wit and wisedome: and therefore the same Aristotle found out another signification of nature, which is the [Page 21] cause, that a man is able or vnable; saying, that the tem­perature of the foure first qualities, (hot, cold, moist, and drie) is to be called nature, for from this issue al the habi­lities of man, all his vertues and vices, and this great va­rietie of wits which we behold. And this is clearely pro­ued by considering the age of a man when he is wisest, who in his childhood is no more than a brute beast, and vseth none other powers than those of anger and con­cupiscence; but comming to youth, there begins to shoot out in him a maruellous wit, and we see that it la­steth till time certaine, and no longer, for old age grow­ing [...] goes euery day loosing his wit, vntill it come to be [...] decaied.

The varietie of wits, it is a matter certaine that it springs not from the reasonable soule, for that is one selfe in all ages, without hauing receiued in his forces and sub [...]unce any alteration: but man hath in euery age a diuers temperature, and a contrarie disposition, by Hippocrates vsed vnproper terms, when he sayd, the soule of man is produced vntil his death. means whereof, the soule doth other workes in child­hood, other in youth, and other in old age. Whence we draw an euident argument, that one selfe soule, doing contrarie workes in one selfe bodie, for that it partakes in euery age a contrarie temperature, when of young men, the one is able, and the other vnapt, this growes for that the one of them enioi [...] [...] temperature from the other. And this (for that it is the beginning of all the workes of the reasonable soule) was by the Phisi­tions and the Philosophers, termed Nature; of which signification, this sentence is properly verefied, that Na­ture makes able.

For confirmation of this doctrine, Galen writ a booke, wherein he prooueth, That the maners of the soule, fol­low the temperature of the body, in which it keepes re­sidence, [Page 22] and that by reason of the heat, the coldnesse, the moisture, and the drouth, of the territorie where men inhabit, of the meats which they feed on, of the waters which they drinke, and of the aire which they breath: some are blockish, and some wise: some of woorth, and some base: some cruel, and some merciful: many straight brested, and many large: part lyers, and part true spea­kers: sundrie traitors, and sundrie faythfull: somewhere vnquiet, and somewhere stayed: there double, here sin­gle: one pinching, another liberall: this man shamefast, that shamelesse: such hard, and such light of beleefe. And to prooue this, he cites many places of Hippocra­tes, Plato, and Aristotle, who affirme, that the difference of nations, as well in composition of the body, as in con­ditions of the soule, springeth from the varietie of this temperature: and experience it selfe euidently sheweth this, how far are different Greeks from Tartarians: French­men from Spaniards: Indians from Dutch: and Aethiopians from English. And this may be seene, not only in coun­tries so far distant, but if we consider the prouinces that enuiron all Spaine, we may depart the vertues and vices which we haue recounted, amongst the inhabitants, gi­uing ech one his peculiar vice and vertue; and if we consider the wit and manners of the Catalonians, Valenti­ans, Mercians, Granatines, Andaluzians, Estremenians, Portu­gals, Gallesians, Asturians, Montagneses, Biscanes, Nauarrists, Arragonois, and of the kingdome of Castile, who sees not and knowes not, how far these are different amongst themselues, not only in shape of countenaunce, and in feature of body, but euen in the vertues and vices of the soule? Which all growes, for that euery of these pro­uinces hath his particular and different temperature. And this varietie of manners is knowne, not onely in [Page 23] countries so farre off, but in places also that are not more than a little league in distance, it cannot be credited what ods there is found in the wits of the inhabitants. Finally, all that which Galen writeth in this his booke, is the groundplot of this my Treatise, albeit he declares not in particular, the differences of the habilities which are in men, neither as touching the sciences which eue­rie one requires in particular. Notwithstanding, he vn­derstood In euery citie the wisest and eldest persons should looke into and iudge of the na­turall quicknesse of children, and so giue notice, that ech one might learne an art agreeable to his nature. that it was necessarie to depart the sciences a­mongst yoong men, and to giue ech one that which to his naturall habilitie was requisit, in as much as he sayd, That well ordered common wealths, ought to haue men of great wisedome and knowledge, who might in their tender age, discouer ech ones wit and natu­rall sharpnesse, to the end they might be set to learne that art which was agreeable, and not leaue it to their owne election.

MAns body hath so many varieties of parts and powers (applied ech to his end) that it shal not stray from our purpose, but rather growes a matter of necessitie, to know first, what member was ordained by nature for the principall instru­ment, to the end man might be­come wise and aduised. For it is a thing apparant, that we discourse not with our foot, nor walke on our head, [Page 24] nor see with our nostrils, nor heare with our eies, but that euery of these parts hath his vse and particular dis­position, for the worke which it is to accomplish.

Before Hippocrates and Plato came into the world, it held for a generall conceit amongst the naturall Philo­sophers, that the heart was the principall part where the reasonable facultie made his residence, and the instru­ment wherewith the soule wrought the workes of wise­dome, of diligence, of memorie, and of vnderstanding. And therefore the heart and the things seated therabouts haue great feeling, but for all that are not partakers of knowledge: but of all these things the braine is causer. For which cause, the diuine scripture (applying it selfe to the ordinary speech of those times) in many places, cals the heart the soueraigne part of a man. But these two graue Philosophers comming into the world, gaue eui­dence that this opinion was false, and prooued by many reasons and experiments, that the braine is the princi­pall seat of the reasonable soule, and so they all gaue hands to this opinion, saue only Aristotle, who (with a purpose of crossing Plato in all points) turned to reuiue the former opinion, and with topicall places to make it probable: with which of these opinions the truth swai­eth, time serueth not now to discusse. For there is none of these Philosophers that doubteth, but that the braine is the instrument ordained by nature, to the end that man might become wise and skilfull, it sufficeth only to declare with what conditions this part ought to be en­dewed, so as we may affirme, that it is duly instrumen­talized, and that a yong man in this behalfe may possesse a good wit and habilitie.

Foure conditions the braine ought to enjoy, to the end the reasonable soule may therewith commodiously performe the workes which appertaine to vnderstan­ding and wisdome. The first, good composition; the se­cond, that his parts be well vnited; the third, that the [Page 25] heat exceed not the cold, nor the moist the drie; the fourth, that his substance be made of parts subtile and verie delicate.

In the good composition, are contained other foure things: the first is, good figure: the second, quantitie sufficient: the third, that in the braine the foure ven­tricles be distinct and seuered, each duly bestowed in his seat and place; the fourth, that the capablenesse of these be neither greater nor lesse than is conuenient for their workings.

Galen collects the good figure of the braine, by an outward consideration, namely the forme and dispositi­on of the head, which he sayth, ought to be such, as it should be, if taking a perfect round ball of wax, and pres­sing it together somewhat on the sides, there will re­maine (after that manner) the forehead and the nape with a little bunchinesse. Hence it followes that the man who hath his forehead very plaine, and his nodocke flat, hath not his braine so figured, as is requisit for wit and habilitie. The quantitie of the braine, which the soule needeth to discourse & consider, is a matter that breeds feare, for amongst all the brute beasts, there is none found to haue so much braine as a man, in sort, as if we ioine those of two the greatest oxen together, they will not equall that of one onely man, be he neuer so little. And that whereto behooues more consideration, is, that amongst brute beasts, those who approch neerest to mans wisedome and discretion (as the ape, the fox, and the dog,) haue a greater quantitie of braine than the o­ther, though bigger bodied than they. For which cause, Galen said, that a little head in any man is euer faultie, be­cause that it wanteth braine; notwithstanding, I auouch that if his hauing a great head, proceedeth from abun­dance [Page 26] of matter, and ill tempered, at such time as the same was shaped by nature, it is an euill token, for the same consists all of bones and flesh, and containes a smal quantitie of braine, as it befals in very big orenges, which opened, are found scarce of iuice, and hard of rinde. Nothing offends the reasonable soule so much, There are two sorts of fat men, the one full of flesh, bones, and blood: the other replenished with fat, and these are very wittie. as to make his abode in a body surcharged with bones, fat, and flesh. For which cause Plato sayd, that wise mens heads are ordinarily weake, and vpon any occasion are easily annoied, and the reason is, for that nature made them of an emptie skull, with intention not to offend the wit, by compassing it with much matter. And this doctrine of Plato is so true, that albeit the stomacke a­bides so far distant from the braine, yet the same workes it offence, when it is replenished with fat and flesh. For confirmation hereof, Galen alleageth a prouerbe which sayth, A grosse bellie makes a grosse vnderstanding, and that this proceeds from nothing else, than that the brain and the stomacke are vnited and chained together with cer­taine sinewes, by way of which they interchangeably communicat their dammages. And contrariwise, when the stomacke is drie and shrunke, it affoords great aid to the wit, as we see in the hungerstarued, and such as are driuen to their shifts, on which doctrine (it may be) Per­sius founded himself, when he said, That the belly is that which quickens vp the wit. But the thing most pertinent to be noted for this purpose, is, that if the other parts of the body be fat and fleshie, and therethrough a man growes ouer grosse, Aristotle sayes, It makes him to leese his wit. For which cause, I am of opinion, that if a man haue a great head, albeit the same proceed for that he is endued with a very able nature, and that he is furnished with a quantitie of well tempered matter, yet he shall [Page 27] not be owner of so good a wit, as if the same held a mea­ner size.

Aristotle is of a contrary opinion, whilest he enquires for what cause a man is the wisest of all liuing creatures; to which doubt he answers, That you shall find no crea­ture which hath so little a head as man, respecting with­all the greatnesse of his bodie: but herein he swarued from reason, for if he had opened some mans head, and viewed the quantitie of his braine, he should haue found, that two horses together had not so much braine as that one man. That which I haue gathered by expe­rience is, that in little men it is best that the head incline somewhat to greatnesse; and in those who are big bo­died, it prooues best that they be little: and the reason is, for that after this sort, there is found a measurable quantitie, with which the reasonable soule may wel per­forme his working.

Besides this, there are needfull the foure ventricles in the brain, to the end the reasonable soule may discourse and Philosophize: one must be placed on the right side of the braine, the second on the left, the third in the middle of these, and the fourth in the part behind the braine. Whervnto these ventricles serue, and their large or narrow capablenesse for the reasonable soule, all shall be told by vs a little hereafter, when we shall intreat of the diuersities of mens wits.

But it sufficeth not, that the braine possesse good fi­gure, sufficient quantitie, and the number of ventricles, by vs forementioned, with their capablenesse, great or little, but it behooues also that his parts holds a certaine kind of continuednesse, and that they be not diuided. For which cause, we haue seene in hurts of the head, that some men haue lost their memorie, some their vnder­standing, [Page 28] and others their imagination: and put case, that after they haue recouered their health, the braine re-vnited it selfe againe, yet this notwithstanding, the naturall vnion was not made, which the braine before possessed.

The third condition of the fourth principall, was, that the braine should be tempered with measurable heat, and without excesse of the other qualities, which disposition, we sayd heretofore that it is called good na­ture; for it is that which principally makes a man able, and the contrarie vnable.

But the fourth, (namely that the braine haue his sub­stance or composition of subtle and delicate parts) Galen sayth, is the most important of all the rest. For when he would giue a token of the good disposition of the brain, he affirmeth, that a subtile wit, sheweth that the braine is framed of subtile and very delicat parts, and if the vnder­standing be dull, it giues euidence of a grosse substance, but he makes no mention of the temperature. These conditions the braine ought to be endewed withall, to the end the reasonable soule may therethrough shape his reasons and syllogismes. But here encounters vs a difficultie very great, and this is, that if we open the head of any beast, we shall find his braine composed with the same forme and manner, as a mans, without that any of the fore-reported conditions will be failing. Whence we gather that the brute beasts haue also the vse of Pru­dence and reason, by means of the composition of their braine, or else that our reasonable soule serues not it selfe of this member, for the vse of his operations; which may not be auouched. To this doubt, Galen answereth in this manner: Amongst the kinds of beasts, it is doub­ted, whether that which is termed vnreasonable, be alto­gether [Page 29] void of reason, or not. For albeit the same want that which consists in voice (which is named speech) yet that which is conceiued in the soule, and termed dis­course, of this it may be, that all sorts of beasts are parta­kers, albeit the same is bestowed more sparingly vpon some, and more largely on other some. But verely, how far man in the way of reason outgoeth all the rest, there is none who maketh question. By these words, Galen giues vs to vnderstand (albeit with some fearfulnesse) that brute beasts do partake reason, one more, and ano­ther lesse, and in their mind do frame some syllogisines and discourses, though they cannot vtter them by way of speech. And then the difference betweene them and man consisteth in being more reasonable, and in vsing Prudence with greater perfection.

The same Galen prooues also by many reasons and experiments, that Asses (being of all brute beasts the bluntest) do ariue with their wit to the most curious and nice points, which were deuised by Plato and Ari­stotle, and there on he collects saying. I am therefore so far from praysing the antient Philosophers, in that they haue found out some ample matter and of rare inuenti­on, (as when they say, We must hold that there is selfe, and diuers: one, and not one: not only in number, but also in kind:) as I dare boldly affirme, that euen the ve­ry Asses (who notwithstanding seeme most blockish of all beasts) haue this from nature.

This selfe same meant Aristotle, when he enquired the cause, Why man amongst all liuing creatures is wi­sest: and in another place he turnes to doubt, For what cause man is the most vniust of all liuing creatures: in which he giues vs to vnderstand the selfe same which Galen sayd, That the difference which is found between [Page 30] man and brute beast, is the selfe same which is found be­tweene a foole and a wise man; which is nought else than in respect of the more and the lesse. This (truly) is not to be doubted, that brute beasts enioy memorie and imagination, and another power which resembles vn­derstanding, as the Ape is very like a man, and that his soule takes vse of the composition of the braine, it is a matter apparant: which being good, and such as is be­hooffull, performes his workes very wel, and with much prudence, and if the braine be ill instrumentalized, it ex­ecutes the same vntowardly. For which cause we see that there be asses, which in their knowledge are pro­perly such: and others againe are found so quicke con­ceipted and malicious, that they passe the propertie of their kind. And amongst horses are found many iadish­nesses, and good qualities, and some there are more trainable than the rest: all which growes from hauing their braine well or ill instrumentalized. The reason and solution of this doubt, shall be placed in the chapter which followeth, for there we returne to reason anew of this matter.

There are in the body some other parts, from whose temperature, as well the wit as the braine depend; of which we will reason in the last chapter of this worke. But besides these and the braine, there is found in the body another substance, whose seruice the reasonable soule vseth in his operations, and so requireth the three last qualities which we haue assigned to the braine, that is, quantitie sufficient, delicate substance, and good tem­perature. These are the vitall spirits, and arteriall blood, which go wandring through the whole body, and re­maine euermore vnited to the imagination, following his contemplation. The office of this spirituall substance [Page 31] is, to stir vp the powers of man, and to giue them force and vigour that they may be able to worke. This shall euidently be knowne to be their manner, if we take con­sideration of the motions, of the imaginations, and of that which after succeeds in working. For if a man begin to imagine vpon any iniurie that hath bene profered him, the blood of the arteries runs sodainly to the heart, and stirs vp the wrathfull part, and giues the same heat and forces for reuenge.

If a man stand contemplating any faire woman, or stay in giuing & receiuing by that imaginatiō touching the venerious act, these vitall spirits run foorthwith to the genitall members, and raise them to the perfor­mance. The like befals when we remember any delicat and sauourie meat, which once called to mind, they straight abandon the rest of the body, and flie to the sto­macke and replenish the mouth with water. And this their motion is so swift, that if a woman with child long for any meat whatsoeuer, and still retaine the same in her imagination, we see by experience, that she looseth her burthen if speedily it be not yeelded vnto her. The naturall reason of this, is, because these vitall spirits, be­fore the woman conceiued this longing, made abode in the bellie, helping her there to retaine the creature, and through this new imagination of eating, they hie to the stomacke to raise the appetite, and in this space, if the belly haue no strong retentiue, it cannot sustaine the same, and so by this means she leeseth her burthen.

Galen vnderstanding this condition of the vitall spi­rits, counsaileth Phisitions that they giue not sicke folke to eat, when their humors are raw and vpon digestion, for when they first feele the meat in the stomacke, they straightwaies abandon the worke about which before [Page 32] they were occupied, and come thervnto to helpe it. The like benefit and ayd, the braine receiues of these vitall spirits, when the reasonable soule is about to contem­plat, vnderstand, imagine, or performe actions of me­morie, without which it cannot worke. And like as the grosse substance of the braine and his euill temperature brings the wit to confusion: so the vitall spirits, and the arteriall blood (not being delicat and of good tempera­ture) hinder in a man his discourse and vse of reason. Wherefore Plato sayd, That the supplenesse and good temperature of the heart, makes the wit sharpe and quicke-sighted. Hauing prooued before that the braine and not the heart, is the principall seat of the reasonable soule. And the reason is, because these vitall spirits are engendred in the heart, and partake of that substance and that temperature, which rested in that which for­med them. Of this arteriall blood, Aristotle meant when he sayd, That those men are well compounded who haue their blood hot, delicat, and pure; for they are also of good bodily forces, and of a wit well dispo­sed. These vitall spirits are by the Phisitions termed Na­ture, for they are the principall instrument with which the reasonable soule performeth his workes, and of these also may that sentence be verefied, Nature makes able.

[Page 33] THe temperature of the four first qua­lities) which we heretofore termed Nature) hath so great force, to cause that (of plants, brute beasts, and man) each one set himselfe to per­forme those workes which are pro­perto his kind, that they ariue to that vtmost bound of perfection which may be attained, so­dainly & without any others teaching them; the plants know how to forme roots vnder ground, and by way of them to draw nourishment to retaine it, to digest it, and to driue foorth the excrements: and the brute beasts likewise so soone as they are borne, know that which is agreeable to their nature, and flie the things which are naughtie and noisome. And that which makes them most to maruell who are not seene in naturall Philoso­phie, is, that a man hauing his braine well tempered, and of that disposition which is requisit for this or that sci­ence, sodainly and without hauing euer learned it of a­ny, he speaketh and vttereth such exquisit matters, as could hardly win credit. Vulgar Philosophers, seeing the maruellous works which brute beasts performe, affirme it holds no cause of maruell, because they do it by natu­rall instinct, in as much as nature sheweth and teacheth each in his kind what he is to do. And in this they say very well, for we haue alreadie alleaged and prooued, that nature is nothing else than this temperature of the foure first qualities, and that this is the schoolemaister who teacheth the soules in what sort they are to worke: but they tearme instinct of nature a certaine masse of things, which rise from the noddocke vpward, neyther could they euer expound or giue vs to vnderstand, what [Page 34] it is. The graue Philosophers (as Hippocrates, Plato and A­ristotle) attribute all these maruellous workes to heat, cold, moisture, and drouth, and this they affirme of the first principle, and passe no farther. And if you aske who hath taught the brute beasts to doe these works, (which breed vs such maruell) and men to discourse with rea­son; Hippocrates answereth, It is the natures of them all without any teacher: as if he should say, The faculties or the temperature of which they consist, are al giuen them without being taught by any other. Which is cleerely discerned, if they passe on to consider the workes of the soule vegetatiue, and of all the rest which gouerne man, who if it haue a quantitie of mans seed, wel digested and seasoned with good temperature, makes a body so seem­ly and duly instrumentalized, that all the caruers in the world cannot shape the like.

For which cause Galen woondring to see a frame so maruellous, the number of his seuerall parts, the seating, the figure, and the vse of each one by it selfe, grew to conclude, it was not possible that the vegetatiue soule, nor the temperature, could fashion a workmanship so singular, but that the author thereof was God, or some other most wise vnderstanding. But this maner of speech is alreadie by vs heretofore refuted: for it beseemes not naturall Philosophers to reduce the effects imme­diatly to God, and so to slip ouer the assigning of the se­cond reasons, and especially in this case, where we see by experience, that if mans seed consist of an euill sub­stance, and enioy not a temperature conuenient, the ve­getatiue soule runs into a thousand disorders: for if the same be cold and moist more than is requisit, Hippocra­tes sayth, that the men prooue Eunuches, or Hermofro­dites; and if it be very hote and drie, Aristotle sayth, that [Page 35] it makes them curle-pated, crooke-legged, and flat nosed as are the Aethiopians, and if it be moist, the same Galen sayth, that they grow long and lithie: and if it be drie, low of stature. All this is a great defect in mankind, and for such works we find little cause to giue nature any commendation, or to hold her for aduised; and if God were the author hereof, none of these qualities could di­uert him. Only the first men which the world possessed, Plato affirms were made by God, but the rest were borne answerable to the discourse of the second causes, which if they be well ordered, the vegetatiue soule dooth well performe his operations: and if they concur not in sort conuenient, it produceth a thousand dammageable effects.

What the good order of nature for this effect must be, is, that the vegetatiue soule haue an endowment of a good temperature, or else, let Galen and all the Philoso­phers in the world answer me, what the cause is that the vegetatiue soule possesseth such skill and power in the first age of man to shape his body, and to increase and nourish the same, and when old age groweth on, can yeeld the same no longer. For if an old man leese but a tooth, he is past remedie of recouering another, but if a child cast them all, we see that natures return to renew them againe. Is it then possible that a soule which hath done nought else in all the course of life, than to receiue food, retaine the same, digest it, and expell the excre­ments, new begetting the parts which faile, should to­words the end of life forget this, and want abilitie to do the same any longer? Galen (for certaine) will answer, that this skill and habilitie of the vegetatiue soule in youth, springs from his possessing much naturall heat and moisture, and that in age the same wants skill and [Page 36] power to performe it, by means of the coldnesse and drinesse, to which a bodie of those yeares is subiect. The knowledge of the sensitiue soule, takes his dependance also from the temperature of the braine, for if the same be such as his operations require that it should be, it can perform with due perfection; otherwise, the same must also erre no lesse than the soule vegetatiue. The manner which Galen held to behold and discerne by eysight the wisedome of the sensitiue soule, was to take a yoong kid, but newly kidded, which set on the ground, begins to go (as if it had bene told and taught that his legs were made to that purpose) and after that, he shakes from his backe the superfluous moisture which he brought with him from his mothers belly, and lifting vp the one foot, scrapes behind his eare; and setting before him sundrie platters with wine, water, vinegre, oile, and milke, after he hath smelt them all, he fed onely on that of milke. Which being beheld by diuers Philosophers there pre­sent, they all with one voice cried out, That Hippocrates had great reason to say, that soules were skilfull without the instruction of any teacher. But Galen held not him­selfe contented with this one proofe, for two months after he caused the same kid, being very hungrie, to be brought into the field, where smelling at many hearbs, he did eat only those, whereon goats accustomably feed.

But if Galen, as he set himselfe to contemplat the de­meanure of this kid, had done the like with three or foure together, he should haue seene some gone better than other some, shrug themselues better, scratch better, and performe better al the other actions which we haue recounted. And if Galen had reared two colts, bred of one horse and mare, he should haue seene the one to [Page 37] pace with more grace than the other, and to gallop and stop better, and shew more fidelitie. And if he had taken an ayrie of Faulcons, and manned them, he should haue found the first good of wing, the second good of prey, and the third rauening and ill conditioned. The like shall we find in hounds, who being whelpes of the same litter, the one for perfection of hunting, will seeme to want but speech, and the other haue no more inclinati­on therevnto, than if he had bene engendered by a heardmans bandog.

All this cannot be reduced to those vaine instincts of nature; which the Philosophers faine. For if you aske for what cause one dog hath more instinct than another, both comming of one kind, and whelpes of one sire, I cannot coniecture what they may answer, saue to flie backe to their old leaning post, saying, That God hath taught the one better than the other, and giuen him a more naturall instinct. And if we demaund the reason, why this good hound, being yet but a whelpe, is a per­fect hunter, and growing in age, hath no such sufficien­cie: and contrariwise, another being yoong cannot hunt at all, and waxing old, is wylie and readie; I know not what they can yeeld in replie. My selfe atleast would say, that the towardly hunting of one dog more than an other, growes from the better temperature of his brain: and againe, that his well hunting whilest he is yoong, and his decay in age, is occasioned by means that in one age he partakes the temperature which is requisit to the qualities of hunting, and in the other not. Whence we infer, that sithens the temperature of the foure first qua­lities is the reason and cause, for which one brute beast better performs the works of his kind than another, that this temperature is the schoolemaister which teacheth [Page 38] the sensitiue soule what it is to do.

And if Galen had considered the demeanure and voi­ages of the Ant, and noted his prudence, his mercie, his Go to the Ant, O sluggard, and consider his way and learne wise­dome: who ha­uing no guide nor maister, pro­uides himselfe the summer of food, and in the time of haruest furnisheth him­selfe of meat. iustice, and his gouernment, he would haue taken asto­nishment to see a beast so little endewed with so great sagenesse, without the helpe of any maister or teacher to instruct him. But the temperature which the ant hath in his braine, being knowne, and how aptly it is appropri­ated to wisedome, (as hereafter shall be showne) this woonderment will cease, and we shall conceiue, that brute beasts with the temperature of their braine, and the fantasmes which enter thereinto by the fiue sences, make such discourses, and partake those abilities, which A Faulconer af­firmed to me with an oath, that he had a re­dye Faulcon for hawking, which grew bussardly, for remedy wher­of, he gaue hir a botton di fuoto in the head, and she amended. we do so note in them. And amongst beasts of one kind, he which is most schooleable and skilfull, is such, be­cause he hath his braine better tempered, and if through any occasion or infirmitie, the temperature of his braine incur alteration, he will sodainly leese his skill and abili­tie, as men also do.

But now we are to treat of a difficultie touching the reasonable soule, which is, in what sort he hath this na­turall instinct for the operations of his kind, (namely Sapience, and Prudence) and how on the sodaine, by means of his good temperature, a man can be skilled in the sciences, without the instruction of any other: see­ing experience telleth vs, that if they be not gotten by learning, no man is at his birth endewed with them.

Betweene Plato and Aristotle, there is a waightie que­stion, as touching the verefieng the reason or cause from whence the wisedome of man may spring. One sayth, That the reasonable soule is more antient than the bo­die, for that before such time as Nature endowed the same with these instruments, it made abode in heauen, [Page 39] in the company of God, whence it issued full of science and sapience: but when it entered to forme this mat­ter, through the euill temperature which it found there­in, it forewent the whole, vntill by processe of time, this ill temperature grew to amendment, and there succee­ded another in steed thereof, with which (as more ap­pliable to the sciences it had lost) it grew by little and little to call that to remembrance which before it had forgotten. This opinion is false, and I much maruel that Plato being so great a Philosopher, could not render the Plato tooke out of the holie Scripture the best sentences which are to be found in his workes, in respect whereof he was called Diuine. reason of mans wisedome, considering that brute beasts haue their prudencies and naturall habilities, without that their soule departs from their bodie, or sties vp to heauen to learne them. In which regard he cannot go blamelesse, especially hauing red in Genesis (whereto he gaue so great credit) that God instrumentalized the bo­dy of Adam, before he created his soule. The selfe-same befals also now, saue that it is nature who begets the bo­dy, and in the last disposing thereof, God createth the soule in the same body, without that it be sundred there­from any time or moment.

Aristotle tooke another course, affirming that euerie doctrine, and euery discipline, comes from a foregoing knowledge, as if he would say, all that which men know and learne, springs from that they haue heard the same, seene it, smelt it, tasted it, or felt it. For there can grow no notice in the vnderstanding, which hath not first taken passage by some of the fiue sences. For which cause he sayd, that these powers issue out of the hands of nature, as a plaine table in which is no maner of painting, which opinion is also false as well as that of Plato. But that we may the better prooue and make the same apparant, it behooues first to agree with the vulgar Philosophers, [Page 38] [...] [Page 39] [...] [Page 40] that in mans body there rests but one soule, and that the same is reasonable, which is the originall of whatsoeuer we do or effect: albeit there are opinions, and there want not, who against this defend, that in company of the reasonable soule, there are associated some two or three more. Plato attributes three soules vnto man.

This then standing thus in the workes which the rea­sonable soule performes, as it is vegetatiue, we haue al­readie proued that the same knowes how to shape man, and to giue him the figure which he is to keepe, and knowes likewise how to receiue nourishment, to re­taine it, to digest it, and to expell the excrements, and if any part of the body do faile, she knowes how to supplie the same a new, and yeeld it that composition a­greeable to the vse which it is to hold. And in the works of the sensitiue and motiue, the child so soone as it is borne, knowes to sucke, and fashion his lips to draw foorth the milke, and this so redily, as not the wisest man can do the like. And herewithall, it assures the qualities which are incident to the preseruation of his nature, shuns that which is noisome and dammageable there­vnto, knowes to weepe and laugh, without being taught by any. And if this be not so, let the vulgar Philosophers tell me awhile, who hath taught the children to do these Hippocrates an­swered better, saying: That na­ture is learned, though she haue not learned to do well. things, or by what sence they haue learned it. Well I know they will answer, That God hath giuen them this naturall instinct as to the brute beasts, wherein they say not ill, if the naturall instinct be the selfe same with the temperature.

The proper operations of the reasonable soule, name­ly, to vnderstand, to imagine and to performe actions of memorie, a man cannot do them forthwith so soone as he is borne, for the temperature of infancie serueth very [Page 41] vnfitly therefore, and is meerely appropriat to the vege­tatiue and sensitiue, as that of old age is appropriat to the reasonable soule, and contrary to the vegetatiue and sensitiue. And if as the temperature which serues for prudence, is gotten in the brain by little and little, so the same could all be ioined together at one instant, man should on the sodaine haue better skill to discourse and play the Philosopher, than if he had attained the same in the schooles.

But because nature cannot performe this saue by pro­cesse of time, a man growes to gather wisedome by little and little, and that this is the reason and cause thereof, is manifestly prooued, if we consider, that a man after he hath bene very wise, growes by little and little into fol­ly, for that he daily goes (till his decrepit age) accrewing a contrary temperature. I for mine owne part am of o­pinion, The seed and menstruall blood which are two materiall prin­ciples of which we be formed, are hote & moist, through which temperature children are so vnskilled. that if nature, as she hath made man of seed hot and moist (and this is the temperature which directs the vegetatiue, and the sensitiue, what they are to effectuat) so she had made him of seed cold and drie, euen after his birth, he should straight-waies haue bene able to dis­course and reason, and not haue attended to sucke, in as much as this is the temperature agreeable to these ope­rations. But for that we find by experience, that if the braine haue the temperature requisit for naturall scien­ces, he hath no need of a maister to teach him, it fals out necessarie that we marke one thing, which is, that if a man fall into any disease, by which his braine vpon a sodaine changeth his temperature (as are madnesse, me­lancholy, & frenzie) it happens, that at one instant he leeseth, if he were wise, all his knowledge, and vtters a thousand follies; and if he were a foole, he accrues more wit and abilitie than he had before.

[Page 42] I can speake of a rude countrie fellow, who becom­ming frantike, made a very eloquent discourse in my presence, recommending his well dooing to the by­standers, When the braine is placed hot in the first degree, it makes a man eloquent, & fur­nisheth him with store of matter to deliuer, for which cause the silent are alwaies cold of braine, & great talkers hot and that they should take care of his wife and children (if it pleased God to call him away in that sick­nesse) with so many flowers of Rhethorike, and such apt choise of words, as if Cicero had spoken in the presence of the Senate: whereat the beholders maruelling, asked me whence so great eloquence and wisedome might grow, in a man who in his health time could scantly speake? and I remember I made answer, That the art of Oratorie was a science, which springs from a certaine point or degree of heat, and that this countrie fellow, be­fore sound, had by meanes of this infirmitie attayned therevnto.

I can also speake of another frantike person, who for the space of more than eight daies, neuer vttered word which I found not to carrie his iust quantitie, and most­ly he made couplements of verses very well composed, This frenzie was occasioned by a­bundāce of cho­lar which tooke hold in the sub­stance of the brain, which hu­mor hath great congruence with Poetrie, for which cause Ho­race sayd, That if summer did not make euacuation of choler, no Po­et should passe before him. whereat the by standers wondring to here a man speake in verse, who in his health had neuer so much skill; I sayd, It sildome fell out, that he who was a poet in his health time, should be so also in his sicknesse. For the temperature of the braine, by which when a man is whole, he becommeth a Poet, in sicknesse altereth and brings foorth contrarie operations. I remember that the wife of this frantike fellow, and a sister of his, named Margaret, reprooued him, because he spake ill of the saints, whereat the patient growing impatient sayd to his wife these words: I renounce God for the loue of you; and S. Marie for the loue of Margaret; and S. Peter for the loue of Iohn of Olmedo; and so he ran thorow a beadroll of many saints, whose names had consonance [Page 43] with the other by-standers there present.

But this is nothing, and a matter of small importance in respect of the notable speeches, vttered by a Page of one of the great ones of this real me, whilst he was mad, who in his health was reputed a youth of slender capa­citie, but falling into this infirmitie, he deliuered such rare conceits, resemblances, and answers, to such as as­ked him, and deuised so excellent manners of gouerning a kingdome (of which he imagined himselfe to be soue­raigne) that for great wonder people flocked to see him and heare him, and his very maister scarcely euer depar­ted from his beds head, praying God that he might ne­uer be cured. Which afterwards plainly appeared, for being recouered, his Phisition (who had healed him) came to take leaue of his lord, with a mind to receiue some good reward, if of nothing else, yet at least in good words; but he encountred this greeting: I promise you maister doctor, that I was neuer more aggreeued at any ill successe, than to see this my page recouered, for it was not behooffull that he should change so wise folly, for an vnderstanding so simple as is this, which in his health he enioieth. Me-thinks that of one, who to fore was wise and well aduised, you haue made him a foole againe, which is the greatest miserie that may light vpon any man. The poore Phisition seeing how little thankfully his cure was accepted, went to take leaue of the page, who amongst many other words that passed betweene them, told him this: Maister doctor, I kisse your hands for so great a benefit bestowed on me, in restoring mine vnderstanding, but I assure you on my faith, that in some sort, it displeaseth me to haue bene cured. For whilest I rested in my folly, I led my life in the deepest discourses of the world, and imagined my selfe to great a lord, as [Page 44] there raigned no king on the earth, who was not my vassall, and were this a ieast or a lie, what imported that, This page was not yet perfectly cured. whilest I conceiued thereof so great a contentment, as if it had bene true? I rest now in far woorse case, finding my selfe in troth to be but a poore page, and to morrow I must begin againe to serue one, who whilst I was in mine infirmitie, I would haue disdayned for my foot­man.

It skils not much, whether the Philosophers admit all this, and beleeue that it may be so or not; but what if I should prooue by verie true stories, that ignorant men strooken with this infirmitie, haue spoken Latine, which they neuer learned in their health; and that a franticke woman told all persons who came to visit her, their ver­tues and vices, and sometimes reported matters with that assurance, which they vse to giue who speake by coniectures and tokens: and for this cause, none almost durst come in to visite her, fearing to heare of those true tales which she would deliuer? and (which is more to be maruelled at) when a barber came to let her blood, Friend (quoth she) haue regard what you do, for you haue but few daies to liue, and your wife shall marrie such a man: and this, though spoken by chaunce, fell out so true, as it tooke effect before halfe a yeare came to an end.

Me thinks I heare them who flie natural Philosophy, to say that this is a foule leasing, & that (put case it were true) the diuell as he is wise and craftie by Gods suffe­rance, entred into this womans body, and into the rest of those frantike persons, whom I haue mentioned, and caused them to vtter those strange matters, and yet euen to confesse this, they are very loath; for the diuell fore­knoweth not what is to come, because he hath no pro­pheticall [Page 45] spirit. They hold it a very sufficient argument to auouch, This is false, because I cannot conceiue how He speakes to one asleepe who tea­cheth wisedome to a foole. it may be so: as if difficult & quaint matters were subiect to blunt wits, and came within the reach of their capa­cities. I pretend not hereby to take those to taske who haue defect of vnderstanding, for that were a bootlesse labour, but to make Aristotle himselfe confesse, that men endowed with the temperature requisit for such o­perations, may conceiue many things without hauing receiued thereof any particular perseuerance, or learned the same at the hands of any other Sundry also, because this heat is a neighbour to the seat of the mind, are wrapped in the infirmitie of sottishnesse, or are heated by some furious instinct, whence grew the Sibils and Bacchants, and all those, who men thinke are egged on by some diuine inspiration, whereas this takes his origi­nall, not from any disease, but from a naturall distempe­rature. Marcus a citizen of Siracusa, was excellentest poet after he lost his vnderstanding, and those in whom this abated heat approcheth least to mediocritie, are (verely) altogether melancholike, but thereby much the wiser. In these words Aristotle cleerely confesseth, that when the braine is excessiuely heated, many thereby attaine the knowledge of things to come, (as were the Sibils) which Aristotle sayth, growes not by reason of any dis­ease, The Sibils ad­mitted by the ca­tholike church, had this naturall disposition that Aristotle speakes of, and besides a propheticall spi­rit which God powred into thē, for naturall wit sufficed not for so high a point, werethe same ne­uer so perfect. but thorow the inequalitie of the naturall heat, and that this is the very reason and cause thereof, he proues apparantly by an example; alleaging that Mark a citizen of Siracuse, was a Poet in most excellencie at such time as through excessiue heat of the braine he fell besides himselfe, and when he returned to a more moderat tem­perature, he lost his versifying, but yet remayned more wise and aduised. In so much that Aristotle not only ad­mits [Page 46] the temperature of the braine, for the principall oc­casion of these extrauagant successes, but also reprooues them who hold the same for a diuine reuelation, and no naturall cause.

The first who tearmed these maruellous matters by the name of diuinesse, was Hippocrates, and that if any such point of diuinesse be found in the disease, that it When the disea­sed diuine thus, it is a token that the reasonable soule is now a­wearie of the bo­die, and so none such recouer. manifesteth also a prouidence. Vpon which sentence, he chargeth Phisitions that if the diseased vtter any such diuine matters, they may thereby know in what case she rests, and prognosticate what will become of him. But that which in this behalfe driues me to most woonder, is, that demaunding of Plato how it may come to passe, that of two sonnes begotten by one father, one hath the skill of versifying, without any other teaching, and the other, toiling in the art of poetrie, can neuer beget so much as one verse? he answereth, That he who was borne a Poet, is possessed, and the other not. In which behalfe, Aristotle had good cause to find fault with him, for that he might haue reduced this to the tempera­ture, as else where he did.

The frantike persons speaking of Latine, without that he euer learned the same in his health time, shewes the consonance which the Latin toong holds with the rea­sonable soule, and (as we will prooue hereafter) there is to be found a particular wit, appliable to the inuention of languages, and Latine words, & the phrases of speech in that toong are so fitting with the eare, that the reaso­nable soule possessing the necessarie temperature for the inuention of some delicat language, sodainly encoun­ters with this. And that two deuisers of languages may shape the like words (hauing the like wit and habilitie) it is very manifest, presupposing that when God created [Page 47] Adam, and set all things before him, to the end he might bestow on each his seuerall name, whereby it should be called, he had likewise at that instant molded another man with the same perfection and supernaturall grace; now I demaund, if God had placed the same things be­fore this other man, that he might also set them names whereby they should be called, of what manner those names should haue bene? for mine owne part, I make no doubt, but he would haue giuen these things, those very names which Adam did: and the reason is very ap­parant, for both carried one selfe eye to the nature of each thing, which of it selfe was no more but one. Af­ter this manner might the frantike person light vpon the Latine toong, and speake the same without euer hauing learned it in his health, for the naturall temperature of his braine, conceiuing alteration, through the infirmitie it might (for a space) become like his, who first inuented the Latine toong, and faine the like words, but yet not with that concert and continued finenesse, for this would giue tokē that the diuel moued that toong, as the church teacheth hir exorcists. This selfe (sayth Aristotle) befel some children, who at their birth-time spake some words very plainly, and afterward kept silence, and he finds fault with the vulgar Philosophers of his time, who for that they knew not the naturall cause of this ef­fect, imputed it to the diuell.

The cause why children speake so soone as they are borne, and after foorthwith turne to hold their peace, Aristotle could neuer find out though he went much a­bout it, but yet it could neuer sinke into his braine, that it was a deuise of the diuels, nor an effect aboue nature, as the vulgar Philosophers held opinion; who seeing themselues hedged in with the curious and nice points [Page 48] of naturall Philosophie, make them beleeue who know little, that God or the diuell are authors of the prodigi­ous and strange effects, of whose naturall cause they haue no knowledge and vnderstanding.

Children which are engendred of seed cold and drie, (as are those begotten in old age) some few dayes and moneths after their birth, begin to discourse and philo­sophise; for the temperature cold and drie, (as we will hereafter prooue) is most appropriat to the operations of the reasonable soule, and that which processe of time, and many dayes and months should bring about, is supplied by the present temperature of the brain, which for many causes anticipateth what it was to effect. Other children there are (sayth Aristotle) who as soone as they are borne, begin to speake, and afterwards hold their peace vntill they attaine the ordinarie and conuenient age of speaking: which effect floweth from the same o­riginall and cause that we recounted of the page, and of those furious and frantike persons, and of him who spake Latine on a sudden without hauing learned it in his health. And that children whilst they make abode in their mothers bellie, and so soone as they are borne, may vndergo these infirmities, is a matter past deniall. But whence that diuining of the franticke woman pro­ceeded, I can better make Cicero to conceiue, than these naturall Philosophers, for he describing the nature of man, sayd in this manner: The creature foresightfull, Those who haue bene crazed, and are called melā ­cholike, haue their mind en­dewed with a cer­tain spice of pro­phesying and di­uining. searchfull, apt for many matters, sharpe conceited, mind­full, replenished with reason and counsell, whome we call by the name of Man. And in particular he affirmeth that there is found a certain nature in some men, which in foreknowing things to come, exceedeth other mens, and his words are these: For there is found a certaine [Page 49] force and nature, which foretels things to come, the force and nature of which, is not by reason to be vnfol­ded. The error of the naturall Philosophers consisteth, in not considering (as Plato did) that man was made to the likenesse of God, and that he is a partaker of his di­uine prouidence, and that the power of discerning all the three differences of time, (memorie for the passed, conceiuing for the present, and imagination and vn­derstanding for those that are to come.) And as there are men superior to others in remembring things past, and others in knowing the present, so there are also ma­ny, who partake a more naturall habilitie for imagining of what shall come to passe. One of the greatest argu­ments which forced Cicero to thinke, that the reasonable soule is vncorruptible, was to see the certaintie with which the diseased tell things to come, and especially when they are neere their end. But the difference which rests betweene a propheticall spirit and this naturall wit, is, that that which God speaks by the mouth of his pro­phets, is infallible, for it is the expresse word of God: but that which man prognosticateth by the power of his i­magination holds no such certaintie.

Those who say, that the discouering of their vertues and vices by the frantike woman, to the persons who came to visit her, was a tricke of the diuels playing; let them know, that God bestowes on men a certaine su­pernaturall grace, to attaine and conceiue which are the workes of God, and which of the diuell: the which saint Paule placeth amongst the diuine gifts, and cals it, The imparting of spirits. Whereby we may discerne whether it be the diuell or some good angell that inter­medleth with vs. For many times the diuell sets to be­guile vs vnder the cloke of a good angell, and we haue [Page 50] need of this grace and supernaturall gift, to know him, and difference him from the good. From this gift they are farthest sundered, who haue not a wit capable of na­turall Philosophie: for this science, and that supernatu­rall infused by God, fall vnder one selfe abilitie, to weet, the vnderstanding atleast; if it be true, that God in be­stowing his graces, doe applie himselfe to the naturall good of euery one, as I haue afore rehearsed.

Iacob lying at the point of death, (at which time the reasonable soule is most at libertie, to see what is to come) all his twelue children entred to visit him, and he to each of them in particular, recited their vertues and vices, and prophesied what should befall, as touching them and their posteritie. Certaine it is, that he did all this inspired by God, but if the diuine scripture, and our fayth, had not ascertained vs hereof, how would these naturall Philosophers haue known this to be the worke of God: and that the vertues and vices which the fran­tike woman told to such as came to visit her, were disco­uered by the power of the diuell, whilst this case in part resembles that of Iacob?

They reckon that the nature of the reasonable soule, is far different from that of the diuell, and that the pow­ers thereof (vnderstanding, imagination, and memorie,) are of another very diuers kind, and herein they be de­ceiued. For if a reasonable soule informe a well instru­mentalized body (as was that of Adam) his knowledge comes little behind that of the subtillest diuell, and with­out the body he partakes as perfect qualities as the o­ther. And if the diuels foresee things to come, coniectu­ring and discoursing by certaine tokens, the same also may a reasonable man do when he is about to be freed from his body, or when he is endowed with that diffe­rence [Page 51] of temperature, which makes a man capable of this prouidence. For it is a matter as difficult for the vn­derstanding to conceiue how the diuell can know these hidden things, as to impute the same to the reasonable soule. It will not fall in these mens heads, that in natural things there may be found out certaine signs, by means of which they may attaine to the knowledge of matters to come. And I affirme, there are certaine tokens to be found, which bring vs to the notise of things passed and present, and to forecast what is to follow, yea & to con­iecture some secrets of the heauen, Therfore we see that his things inuisible are vnderstood by the creatures of the world, by means of the things which haue bene cre­ated. Whosoeuer shall haue power to accomplish this, shall attaine therevnto, and the other shall be such as Ho­mer spake of, The ignorant vnderstandeth the things pas­sed, but not the things to come. But the wise and discreet is the Ape of God, for he immitates him in many mat­ters, and albeit he cannot accomplish them with so great perfection, yet he carries some resemblance vnto him, by following him.

THe reasonable soule making abode in the body, it is impossible that the same can per­forme contrary and different operations, if for each of them it vse not a particular in­strument. This is plainly seen in the power of the soule, which performeth diuers operations in the [Page 52] outward sences, for euery one hath his particular com­position: the eyes haue one, the eares another, the smel­ling another, and the feeling another; and if it were not so, there should be no more but one sort of operations, and that should all be seeing, tasting, or feeling, for the instrument determines & rules the power for one acti­on, and for no more.

By this so plaine and manifest a matter, which passeth through the outward sences, we may gather what that is in the inward. With this selfe power of the soule, we vn­derstand, imagine, and remember. But if it be true, that euery worke requires a particular instrument, it behoo­ueth of necessitie, that within the braine there be one in­strument for the vnderstanding, one for the imaginati­on, and another different from them for the memorie: for if all the braine were instrumentalized after one selfe manner, either the whole should be memorie, or the whole vnderstanding, or the whole imagination. But we see that these are very different operations, and therfore it is of force that there be also a varietie in the instru­ments. But if we open by skill, and make an anotomie of the braine, we shall find the whole compounded af­ter one maner, of one kind of substance, and alike, with­out parts of other kinds, or a different sort; onely there appeare foure little hollownesses, who (if we well marke them) haue all one selfe composition and figure, with­out any thing comming betweene which may breed a difference.

What the vse and profit of these may be, and where­to they serue in the head, is not easily decideable: for Galen and the Anotomists, as well new as ancient, haue laboured to find out the truth, but none of them hath precisely nor in particular, expressed whereto the right [Page 53] ventricle serueth, nor the left, nor that which is placed in the middest of these two, nor the fourth, whose seat in the braine keepes the hinder part of the head. They af­firme, only (though with some doubt) that these foure concauities, are the shops where the vitall spirits are di­gested, and conuerted into animals, so to giue sence and motion to all the parts of the body. In which operation, Galen sayd once, that the middle ventricle was the prin­cipall, and in another place he vnsayes it againe, affir­ming that the hindermost is of greatest efficacie and valure.

But this doctrine is not true, nor founded on good naturall Philosophie, for in all mans body, there are not two so contrary operations, nor that so much hinder one another, as are discoursing, and digestion of nou­rishment: and the reason is, because contemplation re­quireth quiet, rest, and a cleerenesse in the animall spi­rits; and digestion is performed with great stirring and trauaile, & from this action rise vp many vapours, which trouble and darken the animall spirits, so as by means of them, the reasonable soule cannot discerne the figures. And nature was not so vnaduised, as in one selfe place to conioine two actions which are performed with so great repugnancie. But Plato highly commends the wis­dome and knowledge of him who shaped vs, for that he seuered the liuer from the braine by so great a distance, to the end, that by the rumbling there made, whilst the nourishments are mingled, and by the obscurenesse and darkenesse occasioned through the vapours in the ani­mall spirits, the reasonable soule might not be troubled in his discourses and considerations. But though Plato had not touched this point of Philosophie, we see hour­ly by experience, that because the liuer and the stomack [Page 54] are so far from the brain, presently vpon meat, and some space thereafter, there is no man that can giue himselfe to studie.

The truth of this matter is, that the fourth ventricle hath the office of digesting and altering the vitall spirits, and to conuert them into animal, for that end which we haue before remembred. And therefore nature hath se­uered the same by so great a distance from the other three, and made that braine sundred apart, and so far off (as appeareth) to the end, that by his operation, he hin­der not the contemplation of the rest. The three ven­tricles placed in the forepart, I doubt not, but that na­ture made them to none other end than to discourse and philosophise. Which is apparantly prooued, for that in great studyings and contemplations, alwaies that part of the head finds it self agreeued, which answereth these three concauities. The force of this argument is to be knowne, by consideration, that when the other powers are wearie of performing their workes, the instruments are alwaies agreeued, whose seruice they vsed; as in our much looking, the eyes are pained; and with much go­ing, the soules of the feet wax sore.

Now the difficultie consists, to know in which of these ventricles the vnderstanding is placed, in which the memorie, and in which the imagination, for they are so vnited and nere neighboured, that neither by the last argument, nor by any other notice, they can be distin­guished or discerned. Then considering that the vnder­standing cannot worke without the memorie be pre­sent, Aristotle in his third booke of the soule. representing vnto the same the figures and fantasies agreeable therevnto, it behooueth that the vnderstan­ding part busie it selfe in beholding the fantasmes, and that the memorie cannot do it, if the imagination do [Page 55] not accompany the same (as we haue already heretofore declared) we shall easily vnderstand, that all the powers are vnited in euery seuerall ventricle, and that the vnder­standing is not solely in the one, nor the memory solely in the other, nor the imagination in the third, as the vul­gar Philosophers haue imagined, but that this vnion of powers is accustomably made in mans body, in as much as the one cannot worke without the aid of the other, as appeareth in the foure naturall abilities, digestiue, reten­tiue, attractiue, and expulsiue, where, because each one stands in need of all the residue, nature disposed to vnite them in one selfe place, and made them not diuided or sundered.

But if this be true, then to what end made nature those three ventricles, and ioyned together the three reasona­ble powers in euery of them, seeing that one alone suffi­ced to vnderstand and to performe the actions of me­morie? To this may be answered, that there riseth a like difficultie, in skanning whence it commeth that nature made two eyes, and two eares, sithens in each of them is placed the whole power of sight and hearing, and we can see, hauing but one eye? Whereto may be sayd, that the powers ordayned for the perfection of a creature, how much the greater number they carrie, so much the better assured is that their perfection, for vpon some oc­casion, one or two may faile, and therefore it serues well to the purpose, that there remaine some others of the same kind, which may be applied to vse.

In an infirmitie which the Phisitions tearme Resolu­tion, or Palsie of the middle side, the operation is ordi­narily lost of that ventricle which is strooken on that side, & if the other two remained not sound, & without endammageance, a man should thereby become witles, [Page 56] and void of reason And yet for all this, by wanting that onely ventricle, there is a great abatement discerned in his operations, as well in those of the vnderstanding, as of the imaginatiue, and memorie, as they shal also find in the losse of one sight, who were woont to behold with two; whereby we cleerely comprize, that in euery ven­tricle are all the three powers, sithens by the annoiance of any one, all the three are weakened. Seeing then al the three ventricles are of one selfe composition, and that there rests not amongst them any varietie of parts, we may not leaue to take the first qualities for an instru­ment, and to make so many generall differences of wits, as they are in number. For to thinke that the reasonable soule being in the body, can worke without some bodi­ly instrument to assist her, is against all naturall Philoso­phie. But of the foure qualities, heat, cold, moisture, and drouth: all Phisitions leaue out cold, as vnprofitable to any operation of the reasonable soule, wherethrough it is seene by experience in the other habilities, that if the same mount aboue heat, all the powers of man do badly performe their operations, neither can the stomacke di­gest his meat, nor the cods yeeld fruitfull seed, nor the muscles mooue the body, nor the braine discourse. For which cause, Galen sayd, Coldnesse is apparantly noy­some to all the offices of the soule; as if he should say, Cold is the ruine of all the operations of the soule, on­ly it serues in the body to temper the naturall heat, and to procure that it burne not ouer-much: and yet Aristotle is of a contrary opinion, where he affirmeth, it is a mat­ter certaine, that that blood carrieth most forcible effica­cie, which is thickest and hottest, but the coldest & thin­nest hath a more accomplished force to perceiue and vnderstand; as if he would say, the thicke and hot blood [Page 57] makes great bodily forces, but the pure and cold is cause that man possesseth great vnderstanding. Whereby we plainly see, that from coldnesse springeth the greatest difference of wit that is in any man, namely in the vn­derstanding.

Aristotle moreouer mooues a doubt, and that is, why men who inhabit very hot countries (as Aegypt) are more wittie and aduised than those who are borne in cold regions. Which doubt he resolues in this manner: That the excessiue heat of the countrie fretteth and con­sumeth the naturall heat of the braine, and so leaues it cold, whereby man growes to be full of reasonablenesse. And that contrariwise, the much cold of the aire, fortifi­eth the much naturall heat of the braine, and yeelds it not place to resolue. For which cause (sayth he) such as are very hot brained, cannot discourse nor philosophise, but are giddie headed, and not setled in any one opini­on. To which opinion it seemes that Galen leaneth, say­ing that the cause why a man is vnstable, and changeth opinion at euery moment, is, for that he hath a hote braine: and contrariewise, his being stable and firme, springs from the coldnesse of his braine. But the truth is, that from this heat there groweth not any difference of wit, neither did Aristotle meane that the cold blood, by his predominance, did better the vnderstanding, but that which is lesse hote. True it is, that mans variable­nesse springs from his partaking of much heat, which lifts vp the figures that are in the braine, and makes them to boile, by which operation, there are represented to the soule many images of things, which inuite him to their contemplation, and the soule to possesse them all, leaues one and takes another. Contrariwise it befals in coldnesse, which for that it imprints inwardly these fi­gures, [Page 58] and suffers them not to rise, makes a man firme in one opinion, and it prooues so, because none other pre­sents it selfe to call the same away. Coldnesse hath this qualitie, that it not only hindereth the motions of bo­dily things, but also makes that the figures and shapes which the Philosophers call spirituall, be vnmooueable in the braine. And this firmnesse seemeth rather a neg­ligence, than a difference of habilitie. Alike true it is, that there is found another diuersity of firmnesse, which proceeds from possessing an vnderstanding well com­pacted together, & not from the coldnesse of the brain. So there remaine drouth, moisture, and heat for the ser­uice of the reasonable facultie. But no Philosopher as yet wist to giue to euery difference of wit determinatly that which was his. Heraclitus sayd, A drie brightnesse makes a most wise mind: by which sentence he giues vs to vnderstand, that drinesse is the cause why a man becoms very wise, but he declares not in what kinde of know­ledge.

The selfe same meant Plato, when he sayd, that the soule descended into the body endowed with great wis­dome, and through the much moisture which it there found, grew to become dull & vntoward. But this wea­ring away in the course of age, and purchasing drinesse, the soule grew to discouer the knowledge which he to­fore enioyed. Amongst brute beasts, sayth Aristotle, those are wisest whose temperature is most enclined to cold and drie, as are the ants and bees, who for wisedome, concurre with those men that partake most of reason. Moreouer, no brute beast is found of more moisture, or lesse wit than a hog, wherethrough the Poet Pindare, to Horace, to say that Vlisses be­came not a fool, figured him, that he was not tur­ned into a hog. gibe at the people of Beotia, and to handle them as fooles, sayd thus:

Moreouer, blood through his much moisture, sayth Galen, makes men simple. And for such, the same Galen recounts that the Commicks ieasted at Hippocrates chil­dren, saying of them, That they had much naturall heat, which is a substance moist and very vaporous. This is ordinarily incident to the children of wise men, & here­after I will make report of the cause whence it groweth. Amongst the foure humours which we enioy, there is none so cold and drie as that of melancholie, and what­soeuer notable men for learning, haue liued in the world (sayth Aristotle) they were all melancholike. Final­ly, all agree in this point, that drinesse makes a man very wise, but they expresse not to which of the reasonable powers it affoordeth greatest helpe; only Esay the Pro­phet cals it by his right name, where he sayth, That tra­uaile giues vnderstanding: for sadnesse and affliction not only diminisheth & cōsumeth the moisture of the brain, but also drieth vp the bones, with which qualitie, the vnderstanding groweth more sharpe & sightfull. Wher­of we may gather an example very manifest by taking into consideration many men, who cast into pouertie and affliction, haue therethrough vttered and written sentences woorth the maruelling at, and afterwards ri­sing to better fortune, to eat and drinke well, would ne­uer once open their mouths. For a delicious life, con­tentment, and good successe, and to see that all thinges fall out after our liking, looseneth and maketh the braine moist. And this is it which Hippocrates sayd, Mirth loose­neth the heart, as if he would haue sayd, That the same en­largeth and giueth it heat and grosenesse.

And the same may easily be prooued another way, [Page 60] for if sadnesse and affliction drie vp and consume the flesh, and for that reason, man gaineth more vnderstan­ding, it fals out a matter certain, that his contrary, name­ly The hart of wise men is where there is sadnesse, and the hart of fooles where there is mirth. mirth, will make the braine moist, and diminish the vnderstanding. Such as haue purchased this manner of wit, are suddenly enclined to pastimes, to musicke, and to pleasant conuersations, and flie the contrarie, which at other times gaue them a relish and contentment. Now by this, the vulgar sort may conceiue whence it growes, that a wise and vertuous man attaining to some great dignitie (whereas at first he was but poore & base) sodainly changeth his manners, and his fashion of speech: and the reason is, because he hath gotten a new temperature, moist and full of vapours, whence it fol­lowes that the figures are cancelled which tofore he had in his braine, and his vnderstanding dulled.

From moisture, it is hard to know what difference of wit may spring, sithens it is so far contrary to the reaso­nable facultie. At least (after Galens opinion) all the hu­mours of our body, which hold ouer-much moisture, make a man blockish and foolish, for which cause he sayd, The readinesse of mind and wisedome growes from the humour of choler: the humour of melancho­ly is author of firmnesse and constancie; blood, of sim­plicitie and dulnesse; the flegmaticke complexion auai­leth nothing to the polishing of mannes. In so much that blood with his moistures, and the flegme, cause an impairing of the reasonable facultie.

But this is vnderstood of the faculties or reasonable wits, which are discoursiue and actiue, and not of the passiue, as is the memorie, which depends as well on the moist, as the vnderstanding doth on the drie. And we call memorie a reasonable power, because without it, the [Page 61] vnderstanding and the imaginatiue are of no valure. It Wherethrough Cicero defining the nature of wit, placeth memorie in his definition: Docilitie & Me­morie, which as it were by one name are tear­med wit. ministreth matter and figures to them all, wherevpon they may syllogise conformably to that which Aristotle sayth, It behooues that the vnderstander go beholding the fantasmes; and the office of the memorie is, to pre­serue these fantasmes, to the end that the vnderstanding may contemplat them, and if this be lost, it is impossible that the powers can worke; and that the office of me­morie is none other, than to preserue the figures of things, without that it appertains therto to deuise them. Galen expresseth in these words, Memorie (verely) laies vp and preserueth in it selfe, the things knowne by the sence, and by the mind, & is therin as it were their store­house and receiuing place, and not their inuenter. And if this be the vse thereof, it fals out apparant, that the same dependeth on moisture; for this makes the braine pliant, and the figure is imprinted by way of strayning. To prooue this, we haue an euident argument in boyes age, in which any one shall better conne by hart, than in any other time of life, and then doth the braine partake greatest moisture. Whence Aristotle moueth this doubt, Why in old age we haue better wit, and in yoong age we learne more readily? as if he should say, What is the cause, that when we are old we haue much vnderstan­ding, and when we are yoong we learne with more to­wardlinesse? Whereto he answereth, That the memo­rie of old men is full of so many figures of things which they haue seene and heard in the long course of their life, that when they would bestow more therein, it is not capable thereof, for it hath no void place where to re­ceiue it. But the memorie of yoong folke, when they are newly borne, is full of plaits, and for this cause they re­ceiue readily whatsoeuer is told or taught them. And he [Page 62] makes this playner, by comparing the memorie of the morning with that of the euening, saying, That in the morning we learne best, because at that time our memo­rie is emptie, and at the euening illy, because then it is full of those thinges which we encountred during the day. To this Probleme Aristotle wist not how to an­swer, and the reason is very plaine, for if the spices and figures which are in the memorie, had a body and quan­titie to occupie the place: it would seeme that this were a fitting answer; but being vndeuided and spiritual, they cannot fill nor emptie any place where they abide; yea we see by experience, that by how much more the me­morie is exercised euery day receiuing new figures, so much the more capable it becommeth. The answere of this Probleme is very euident after my doctrine, and the same importeth, that old men partake much vnder­standing, because they haue great drinesse, and fayle of memorie, for that they haue little moisture, and by this means the substance of the braine hardneth, and so can­not receiue the impression of the figures, as hard wax with difficultie admitteth the figure of the seale, and the soft with easinesse. The contrary befals in children, who through the much moisture wherewith the braine is endowed, faile in vnderstanding, and through the great supplenesse of their braine, abound in memorie: where­in, by reason of the moisture, the shapes and figures that come from without, make a great, easie, deepe, and well formed impression.

That the memorie is better the morning than the euening, cannot be denied, but this springeth not from the occasion alleaged by Aristotle, but the sleepe of the night passed hath made the braine moist, and fortifyed the same, and by the waking of the whole day, it is dried [Page 63] and hardened. For which cause, Hippocrates affirmeth those who haue great thirst at night, shall doe well to drinke, for sleepe makes the flesh moist, and fortifieth all the powers which gouern man. And that sleepe so doth, Aristotle himselfe confesseth.

By this doctrine is perfectly seene that the vnderstan­ding and memorie, are powers opposit and contrary, in sort, that the man who hath a great memorie, shall find a defect in his vnderstanding, and he who hath a great vnderstanding cannot enjoy a good memorie: for it is impossible that the braine should of his owne nature, be at one selfe time drie and moist. On this maxime, Ari­stotle grounded himselfe, to prooue, that memorie is a power different from remembrance, and he frames his argument in this manner: Those who haue much re­membrance, are men of great vnderstanding, and those who possesse a great memorie, find want of vnderstan­ding; so then memorie and remembrance are contrary powers. The former proposition, after my doctrine is false; for those who haue much remembrance, are of little vnderstanding, and haue great imaginations, as soone hereafter I will prooue: but the second propositi­on is verie true, albet Aristotle knew not the cause, wher­on was founded the enmitie which the vnderstanding hath with the memorie.

From heat, which is the third qualitie, groweth the imaginatiue, for there is no other reasonable power in the braine, nor any other qualitie to which it may be as­signed besides that, the sciences which appertaine to the imaginatiue, are those, which such vtter as dote in their sicknesse, and not of those which appertaine to the vn­derstanding, or to the memorie. And frenzie, peeuish­nesse, and melancholy, being hot passions of the braine, [Page 64] it yeelds a great argument, to prooue that imagination consists in heat. One thing breeds me a difficultie here­in, and that is, that the imagination carrieth a contrarie­tie to the vnderstanding, as also to the memorie, and the reason hereof is not to be gotten by experience, for in the braine may very wel be vnited much heat and much drinesse; and so likewise, much heat and much moisture, to a large quantitie: and for this cause, a man may haue a great vnderstanding and a great imagination, & much memorie with much imagination: and verely, it is a mi­racle to find a man of great imagination, who hath a good vnderstanding, and a sound memorie. And the cause thereof behooues to be, for that the vnderstan­ding requires that the braine be made of parts very sub­tile and delicat, as we haue prooued heretofore out of Galen, and much heat frets and consumes what is deli­cat, and leaues behind the parts grosse and earthly. For the like reason, a good imagination cannot be vnited with much memorie; for excessiue heat resolueth the Any distempera­ture whatsoeuer, cannot any long time endure alone. moisture of the braine, and leaveth it hard and drie, by means whereof it cannot easily receiue the figures. In sort that in man there are no more but three generall differences of wits, for there are no more but three qua­lities whence they may grow. But vnder these three vni­versall differences, there are contained many other par­ticulars, by means of degrees of accesse which heat, moi­sture and drinesse may haue.

Notwithstanding there springs a difference in wits from euery degree of these three qualities, for the drie, the hot, and the moist, may exceed in so high a degree, that it may altogether disturbe the animal power, con­formable to that sentence of Galen, Euery excessiue di­stemperature resolues the forces; and so it is. For albeit [Page 65] drinesse giue helpe to the vnderstanding, yet it may be that the same shal consume his operations. Which Galen and the antient Philosophers would not admit, but af­firme, that if old mens brains grew not cold, they should neuer decay, though they became drie in the fourth de­gree. But they haue no reason for this, as we will prooue in the imaginatiue: for albeit his operations be perfor­med with heat, yet if it passe the third degree, foorthwith the same begins to resolue, and the like doth the memo­rie through ouer-much moisture.

How many differences of wits grow by means of the superabounding of each of these three qualities, cannot for this present be particularly recited, except tofore we recount all the operations and actions of the vnderstan­ding, the imagination, and the memorie. But the whilest we are to know that the principall works of the vnder­standing are three: the first, to discourse; the second, to distinguish; and the third, to chuse. Hence comes it that they place also three differences in the vnderstanding: into three other is the memorie deuided: one receiues with ease, and suddenly forgetteth; another is slow to receiue, but a long time retaineth; and the last receiueth with ease, and is very slow to forget.

The imagination containeth many more differen­ces, for he hath three, no lesse than the vnderstanding and memorie, and from each degree ariseth three other. Of these we will more distinctly discourse hereafter, when we shall assigne to each, the science which answe­reth it in particular.

But he that will consider three other differences of wit, shall find that there are habilities in those who stu­die, some which haue a disposition for the cleare and ea­sie contemplations of the art which they learne, but if [Page 66] you set them about matters obscure and very difficult, it will prooue a lost labour for the teacher to shape them a figure therof by fit examples, or that they frame them­selues the like by their owne imagination, for they want the capacitie.

In this degree are all the bad scholers of whatsoeuer facultie, who being demaunded touching the easie points of their art, answer to the purpose, but comming to matters of more curiousnesse, they will tell you a hun­dred follies. Other wits aduaunce themselues one de­gree higher, for they are pliant and easie in learning things, and they can imprint in themselues all the rules and considerations of art, plaine, obscure, easie, and diffi­cult; but as for doctrine, argument, doubting, answe­ring, and distinguishing, they are all matters, wherewith they may in no wise be combred. These need to learne sciences at the hands of good teachers, well skilled in knowledge, and to haue plentie of bookes, and to studie them hard, for so much the lesse shall their knowledge be, as they forbeare to reade and take paines. Of these may be verefied that so famous sentence of Aristotle, Our vnderstanding is like a plaine table, wherin nothing Of these differen­ces of wits, Ari­stotle said in this manner: He ve­rely is best, who vnderstandeth e­uery thing by himselfe: and he also is good, who obeith him that sayth well. is pourtraied. For whatsoeuer they are to know and at­taine, it behooues that first they heare the same of some other, and are barren of all inuention themselues. In the third degree, nature maketh some wits so perfect, that they stand not in need of teachers to instruct them, nor to direct in what sort they are to philosophise, for out of one consideration, endicted to them by their school­maister, they will gather a hundred, and without that ought be bestowed vnto them, they fill their wit with science and knowledge. Those wits beguiled Plato, and made him to say, That our knowledge is a certaine spice [Page 67] of remembrance, when he heard them speake and say that which neuer fell into consideration with other men.

To such, it is allowable that they write bookes, and The inuention of arts, and the ma­king of bookes (saith Galen) is performed with the vnderstāding and with the me­morie, or with the imaginatiue: but he thatwrites for that he hath many things in his mind, cannot ad any new in­uention. to others not: for the order and concert which is to be held, to the end that sciences may dayly receiue increase and greater perfection, is to ioine the new inuention of our selues, who liue now, with that which the auntients left written in their bookes. For dealing after this man­ner, each in his time, shall adde an increase to the arts, and men who are yet vnborne, shall enioy the inuention and trauaile of such as liued before. As for such who want inuention, the common wealth should not con­sent that they make bookes, nor suffer them to be prin­ted, because they do nought else saue heape vp matters alreadie deliuered, and sentences of graue authours, re­turning to repeat the selfe things, stealing one from hence, and taking another from thence; and there is no man, but after such a fashion may make a booke.

Wits full of inuention, are by the Tuscanes called goa­tish, This difference of wits is very dangerous for Diuinitie, where the vnderstāding ought to abide bound to that which the Ca­tholike church doth resolue. for the likenesse which they haue with a goate, in their demeanure and proceeding. These neuer take plea­sure in the plains, but euer delight to walke alone tho­row dangerous and high places, and to appproch neere steepe down-fals, for they will not follow any beaten path, nor go in companie. A propertie like this, is found in the reasonable soule when it possesseth a braine well instrumentalized and tempered, for it neuer resteth set­led in any contemplation, but fareth forth with vnquiet, seeking to know and vnderstand new matters. Of such a soule is verefied the saying of Hippocrates, The going of the soule is the thought of men. For there are some, who neuer passe out of one contemplation, and thinke [Page 68] not that the whole world can discouer another such. These haue the propertie of a beast, who neuer forsakes the beaten path, nor careth to walke through desert and vnhaunted places, but only in the high market way, and with a guide before him. Both these diuersities of wits, are ordinarie amongst professors of learning. Some o­thers there are of high searching capacities, and estran­ged from the common course of opinions, they iudge and entreat of matters with a particular fashion, they are franke in deliuering their opinion, and tie not them­selues to that of any other. Some sorts are close, moist, and very quiet, distrusting themselues, and relying vpon the iudgement of some graue man whom they follow, whose sayings and sentences, they repute as sciences and demonstrations, and al things contrarying the same they reckon vanitie and leasings.

These two differences of wits are very profitable if This difference of wits senteth very well for Di­uinitie, where it behooueth to en­sue the diuine authoritie, decla­red by the holy Councels and sa­cred Doctors. they be vnited; for as amongst a great droue of cattell, the heardsmen accustome to mingle some dozen of goats to lead them and make them trot apace, to enioy new pastures, that they may not suffer scarcitie; so also it behoueth, that in humane learning, there be some goat­like wits, who may discouer to the cattell like vnderstan­dings, thorow secrets of nature, and deliuer vnto them contemplations not heard of, wherein they may exer­cise themselues, for after this manner, arts take increase, and men dayly know more and more.

[Page 69] ONe of the causes for which the wis­dome of Socrates hath bene so fa­mous till this day, is, for that after he was adiudged by the oracle of Apollo, to be the wisest man of the world, he sayd thus: I know this only, that I know nothing at all: which sentence, al those that haue seene and read, passed it ouer as spoken by Socrates, for that he was a man of great humblenesse, a despiser of worldly things, and one to whome, in respect of diuine matters, all else seemed of no valure. But they verely are beguiled, for none of the antient Philosophers possessed the vertue of humilitie, nor knew what thing it was, vn­till God came into the world and taught the same.

The meaning of Socrates was, to giue to vnderstand how little certaintie is contained in humane sciences, and how vnsetled and fearfull the vnderstanding of a Philosopher is in that which he knoweth, seeing by ex­perience, that all is full of doubts and arguments, and that we can yeeld assent to nothing, without fearing that it may be contrary. For it was said, The thoughts of men are doubtfull, and our foreseeings vncertaine. And he who will attaine the true knowledge of things, it be­hooues that he rest setled and quiet without feare or doubt of being deceiued, and the Philosopher who is not thus wise grounded, may with much truth affirme that he knoweth nothing.

This same consideration had Galen, when he sayd, Science is a conuenient and firme notice, which neuer departeth from reason; therefore thou shalt not find it amongst the Philosophers, especially when they consi­der [Page 70] the nature of things: but verely much lesse in mat­ters of Phisicke, nay rather (to speake all in one word) it neuer makes his full arriuall where men are.

Hereby it seemeth that the true notice of things fails to come this way, and to man arriueth only a certaine o­pinion, which makes him to walke vncertaine, and with feare whether the matter which he affirmeth be so or no. But that which Galen noteth more particularly, touching this, is, that Philosophie and Phisicke, are the most vn­certaine of all those wherewith men are to deale. And if this be true, what shall we say touching the Philosophie wherof we now intreat, where with the vnderstanding, we make an anotomie of a matter so obscure and diffi­cult, as are the powers and faculties of the reasonable soule? In which point are offered so many doubts and arguments, that there remains no cleare doctrine vpon which we may relie.

One of which, and the principall, is, that we haue made the Vnderstanding an instrumentall power, as the Imagination, and the Memorie: and haue giuen dri­nesse to the braine, as an instrument with which it may worke; a thing far repugnant to the doctrine of Aristotle and all his followers, who placing the vnderstanding se­uered from the bodily instrument, prooue easily the im­mortalitie of the reasonable soule, and that the same is­suing out of the body, endureth for euer. Now the con­trarie opinion being disputable, the way hereby is stop­ped vp, so that this cannot be prooued. Moreouer, the reasons on which Aristotle groundeth himselfe, to proue that the vnderstanding is not an instrumentall power, carrie such efficacie, as other than that cannot be con­cluded. For to this power appertaineth the knowing and vnderstanding the nature and being of whatsoeuer ma­teriall [Page 71] things in the world, and if the same should be con­ioined with any bodily thing, that selfe would hinder the knowledge of the residue: as we see in the outward sences, that if the tast be bitter, all the things which the tongue toucheth, partake the same sauour; and if the christalline humour be greene or yellow, all that the eye seeth, it iudgeth to be of the same colour. The reason of this is, for that the thing within breeds an impediment to that without.

Aristotle sayth moreouer, That if the vnderstanding were mingled with any bodily instrument, it would re­taine some qualitie, for whatsoeuer vniteth it selfe with heat or cold, it is of force that it partake of the same qua­litie. But to say that the vnderstanding is hot, cold, moist, or drie, is to vtter a matter abhominable to the ears of all naturall Philosophers.

The second principall doubt is, that Aristotle and all the Peripateticks, bring in two other powers besides the Vnderstanding, the Imaginatiō, & the Memorie: name­ly, Remembrance, and Common sence, grounding vp­on that rule, That the powers are knowne by way of the actions. They sayd, That besides the operations of the Vnderstanding, the Imagination, & the Memorie, there are also two other different. So then the wit of man ta­keth his originall from fiue powers, and not from three only, as we did proue.

We sayd also in the last chapter, after the opinion of Galen, that the memorie doth none other worke in the braine, saue only to preserue the shapes and figures of things, in such sort as a chest preserueth and keepeth ap­parell and what so else is put thereinto. And if by such a comparison, we are to vnderstand the office of this po­wer, it is requisit also to prooue another reasonable fa­cultie, [Page 72] which may fetch out the figures from the memo­rie, and represent them to the vnderstanding, euen as it is necessarie that there be one to open the chest, and to take out what hath bene layd vp therein.

Besides this, we sayd that the vnderstanding and the memorie are contrarie powers, and that the one cha­ceth away the other, for the one loueth great drinesse, and the other much moisture, and a supplenesse of the braine. And if this be true, wherefore sayd Aristotle and Plato, That men who haue their flesh tender, enioy great vnderstanding, seeing this supplenes is an effect of moi­sture.

We sayd also, that for effecting that a memorie may be good, it was necessary the braine should be endowed with moisture, for the figures ought to be printed there­in by way of compression, and the same being hard, they cannot so easily make a signe therein. True it is, that to receiue figures with readinesse, it requireth that the braine be pliant, but to preserue the shapes some long time, all affirme that it is necessarie the same be hard and drie, as it appeareth in outward things, where the figure printed in a pliant substance, is easily cancelled, but in the drie and hard, it neuer perisheth. Wherethrough we see many men who con by heart with great readinesse, but forget againe very speedily. Of which, Galen rende­ring a reason, sayth that such through much moisture, haue the substance of their braine tender and not setled, for the figure is soone cancelled, as if it were sealed in water. And contrariwise, other learne by heart with dif­ficultie, but what they haue once learned, they neuer forget againe. Wherethrough it seemeth a matter im­possible, that there should be that difference of memo­rie which we speake of, which should learne with ease, [Page 73] and preserue a long time.

It is also hard to vnderstand how it is possible that so many figures being sealed together in the braine, the one should not cancell the other, for if in a peece of soft­ned wax, there be printed many seales of diuers figures, it fals out certaine, that some cancell other some, by the intermingling of these figures.

And that which breedeth no lesse difficultie, is, to know whence it proceedeth, that the memorie by exer­cising it selfe, becommeth the more easie to receiue fi­gures, it being certaine, that not only bodily exercise, but spirituall much more, drieth and soketh the flesh.

It is also hard to conceiue, in what sort the imaginati­on is contrary to the vnderstanding, if there be none o­ther more vrgent cause, than to say, That excessiue heat resolueth the subtile parts of the braine, leauing an earthly and grosse remnant, seeing that Melancholy, is one of the grossest and earthliest humours of our body. And Aristotle sayth, That the vnderstanding vseth the seruice of none so much, as of that. And this difficultie is encreased, considering that melancholie is a grosse hu­mor, cold and drie; and choler is of a delicat substance, and of temperature hot and drie, and yet for all this, me­lancholy is more appropriat to the vnderstanding than choler. Which seemeth repugnant to reason, for this humour aideth the vnderstanding with two qualities, and gainsetteth it selfe only with one, which is heat. But melancholie aydeth it with his drinesse, and with none other, and opposeth it selfe by his cold, and by his grosse substance, which is a thing that the vnderstanding most abhorreth. For which cause, Galen assigneth more wit and prudence to choler, than to melācholy, saying thus; Readinesse and Prudence, spring from the humour of [Page 74] choler, and the melancholicke humour is author of in­tegritie and constancie.

Lastly, the cause may be demaunded, whence it may grow, that toiling, and continuall contemplation of stu­die maketh many wise, in whome at the beginning, the good nature of these qualities, which we speake of, was wanting: and so by giuing and receiuing with the ima­gination, they come to make themselues capable of ma­ny verities, which tofore they knew not, nor had the temperature which thereto was requisit. For if they had possessed the same, so much labour should not haue ben needfull.

All these difficulties, and many other besides, are con­trarie to the doctrine of the last chapter. For natural Phi­losophie hath not so certaine principles as the Mathe­maticall sciences, wherein, the Phisition and the Philo­pher (if he be also a Mathematician) may alwaies make demonstration: but comming afterwards to the cure which is conformable to the art of Phisicke, he shall commit therein many errours, and yet not alwaies tho­row his own fault (sithens in the Mathematicks he al­waies followed a certaintie) but through the little assu­rance of the art, for which cause, Aristotle said, The Phi­sition though he alwaies cure not, is not therefore a bad one, prouided that he foreslow not to performe any of those points which appertaine to the art. But if he should commit any errour in the Mathematicks, he would be void of excuse. For performing in this science all the di­ligences which it requireth, it is impossible that the truth should not appeare. In sort, that albeit we yeeld not a manifest demonstration of this doctrine, yet the whole fault is not to be layd on our want of capacitie, neither may it straightwaies be recounted as false that [Page 75] we deliuer.

To the first principal doubt, we answer, that if the vn­derstanding were seuered frō the body, and had nought to do with heat, cold, moist, and drie, nor with the other bodily qualities, it would follow that al men should par­take equall vnderstanding, and that all should equally discourse. But we see by experience, that one man vn­derstandeth and discourseth better than another, then this groweth, for that the vnderstāding is an instrumen­tall power, and better disposed in one than in another, and not from any other occasion. For all reasonable soules and their vnderstandings (sundered from the bo­dy) are of equall perfection and knowledge. Those who follow Aristotles doctrine, seeing by experience, that some discourse better than othersome, haue found an excuse in apparence, saying; That the discoursing of one better than another, is not caused, for that the vn­derstanding is an instrumentall power, & that the braine is better disposed in some than in othersome: but for that the vnderstanding (whilst the reasonable soule re­maineth in the body) standeth in need of the fantasmes and figures which are in the imagination, and in the me­morie. Through default whereof, the vnderstanding fals to discourse illy, and not through his own fault, nor for that it is ioyned with a matter badly instrumentali­zed. But this answer is contrary to the doctrine of Ari­stotle himselfe, who proueth, that by how much the me­morie is the woorse, by so much the vnderstanding is the better; and by how much the memorie is bettered, by so much the vnderstanding is impaired; and the same we haue heretofore prooued as touching the ima­gination, in confirmation of that which Aristotle de­maundeth, What the cause is, that we waxing old, haue [Page 76] so bad a memorie, and so good an vnderstanding: and when we are yoong, it fals out contrarie, that we possesse a great memorie and small vnderstanding. Hereof, in one thing we see the experience, and Galen noteth it, that when in a disease, the temperature and good disposition of the braine is impaired, many times the operations of the vnderstanding are thereby lost, and yet those of the memorie and the imagination remaine sound, which could not come to passe, if the vnderstanding enioyed not a particular instrument for it selfe besides this which the other powers do partake.

To this I know not what may be yeelded in answer, vnlesse it be by some metaphysicall relation, compoun­ded of action and power, which neither themselues know what it meaneth, nor is there any other man that vnderstands it. Nothing more endammageth mans knowledge than to confound the sciences: and what be­longs to the Metaphysicks, to entreat thereof in natu­rall Philosophie; and matters of naturall Philosophie in the Metaphysicks.

The reasons wherevpon Aristotle grounded himselfe are of small moment, for the consequence followeth not, to say that the vnderstanding, because it must know materiall things, should not therefore enioy a bodily in­strument: for the bodily qualities which serue for the composition of the instrument, make no alteration of the power; nor from them do the fantasmes arise, euen as the sensible, placed aboue the sence, causeth not the selfe sence. This is plainly seene in touching, for not­withstanding that the same is compounded of four ma­teriall qualities: and that the same hath in it quantitie, and hardnesse or softnesse; for all this, the hand discer­neth whether a thing be hot or cold, hard or soft, great [Page 77] or little. And if you aske in what sort the naturall heat which is in the hand, hindereth not the touching that it may discerne the heat which is in the stoue; we answer, that the qualities which serue for the composition of the instrument, do not alter the instrument it selfe, neither from them do there issue any shapes whereby to know them. Euen as it appertaineth to the eye to know all fi­gures and qualities of things, and yet we see that the eye it selfe hath his proper figure and quantitie, and of the humours and skins which go to his composition, some haue colours, and some are diaphane and trasparant, all which hindereth not, but that we with our sight may discerne the figures and quantities of all the things which shall appeare before vs: and the reason is, for that the humours, the skins, the figure, and the quantitie, serue for the composition of the eye, and such thinges cannot alter the sightfull power, and therefore trouble not nor hinder the knowledge of the outward figures. The like we affirme of the vnderstanding, that his pro­per instrument (though the same be materiall and ioy­ned with it) cannot enlarge it, for from it issue no vnder­standable shapes, which haue force to alter it: and the reason is, For that the vnderstandable placed aboue the vnderstanding, causeth not the vnderstanding; & so it re­maineth at libertie to vnderstand all the outward mate­riall thinges, without that it encounter ought to hinder the same. The second reason wherein Aristotle grounded himselfe, is of lesse importance than the former, for nei­ther the vnderstanding, nor any other accident, can be qualiti-like, for of themselues, they cannot be the subiect of any qualitie. For which cause, it litle skilleth that the vnderstanding possesse the braine for an instrument to­gither with the temperature of the 4. first qualities, that [Page 78] therfore it may be called qualitie-like, inasmuch as the braine and not the braine and not the vnderstanding, is the subiect of the heat, the cold, the moyst, and the drie.

To the third difficulty which the Peripateticks alleage, saying, That by making the vnderstanding an instrumē ­tall power, we reaue one of those principles, which serue to prooue the immortality of the reasonable soule: we answere, That there are other argumentes of more soundnesse, whereby to prooue the same, whereof wee will treat in the chapter following.

To the second argument, we answere that not euery difference of operations argueth a diuersitie of powers: for (as we will prooue heereafter) the imaginatiue per­formeth matter so strange, that if this maxime were true in sort as the vulgar Philosophers had it, or admitting the interpretation which they giue it, there should be in the braine, ten or twelue powers more. But because all these operations, are to be marshalled vnder one gene­rall reason, they argue no more than one imaginatiue, which is afterwardes diuided into many particular dif­ferences, by the meanes of the sundry operations which it performeth: the composing of the shapes, in the pre­sence or the absence of the obiects, not onely argueth not a diuersitie of the generall powers (as are the com­mon sense, and the imaginatiue) but euen not of the ve­rie particulars.

To the third argument we answere, that the memory is nothing els but a tendernesse of the braine, disposed with a certaine kinde of moisture, to receiue and pre­serue that, which the imaginatiue apprehendeth: with the like proportion, that white or blew paper holdes with him who writeth: for as the writer, writeth in the paper the things which he would not forget, and [Page 79] after he hath written them, returnes to read them; euen so we ought to conceiue, that the imagination writeth in the memorie, the figures of the things knowen by the fiue senses, and by the vnderstanding, as also some o­thers of his own framing: and when it will remember ought (saith Arist.) it returneth to behold & contemplat them. With this maner of comparison Plato serued him­selfe, when he said that fearing the weake memorie of old age, he hastened to make another of paper (namely bookes) to the end his trauailes ought not to be lost, but that hee might haue that which might represent them vnto him, when he list to read them. This selfe doth the imaginatiue, of writing in the memorie, and returning to read it when it would remember the same. The first who vttered this point was Aristotle, and the second Ga­len who said thus, Forasmuch as that part of the soule, which imagineth, whatsoeuer the same be, seemeth to be the selfe that also remembreth. And so verily it see­meth to be, for the things which we imagine with long thinking, are well fixed in the memorie, and that which we handle with light consideration, also soone we for­get the same againe. And as the writer, when he writeth faire, the better assureth it to be read: so it befalles to the imaginatiue, that if it seale with force, the figure remai­neth well imprinted in the braine: otherwise it can skar­sly be discerned. The like also chanceth in old deedes, which being sound in part, and in part perished by time, cannot well be read, vnlesse we gather much by reason and coniecture. So doth the imaginatiue, when in the memorie, some figures remaine, and some are perished, where Aristotles errour had his originall, who for this cause conceiued that remembrance was a different power from the memorie. Moreouer, he affirmed, that [Page 80] those who haue great remembrance, are likewise of great vnderstanding, which is also false: for the imagi­natiue, which is that that makes the remembrance, is contrarie to the vnderstanding; in sort, that to gather memory of things, and to remember them after they are knowne is a worke of the imagination: as to write and returne to read it, is a worke of the Scriuener, and not of the paper. Whereby it falleth out that the memorie re­mayneth a power passiue, and not actiue: euen as the blew and the white of the paper, is none other than a commoditie whereby to write.

To the fourth doubt may be answered, That it ma­keth little to the purpose, as touching the wit, whether the flesh be hard or tender, if the braine partake not also the same qualitie, the which we see many times hath a distinct temperature from al the other parts of the body. But when they concur in one selfe tendernesse, it is an The smooth, white, and grosse persons, haue no melancholicke humour. euill token for the vnderstanding, and no lesse for the imagination. And if we consider the flesh of women and children, we shall find that in tendernesse it excee, deth that of men, and this notwithstanding, commonly men haue a better wit than women: and the naturall reason heereof is, For that the humours, which make the flesh tender, are fleagme and bloud, because they are both moist (as we haue aboue specified) and of them Galen said, That they make men simple & dullards: and Amongst brute beasts, there is none which ap­procheth neerer to mans wisdome than the Oliphāt, and there is none of a flesh so rough and hard. contrariwise, the humours which harden the flesh, are choler and melancholie: and hence grow the prudence and sapience which are found in man. In sort, that it is rather an ill token, to haue the flesh tender, than drie and hard. And so in men who haue an equall tempera­ture throughout their whole bodie, it is an easie matter to gather the qualitie of their wit by the tendernesse or [Page 81] hardnes of their flesh: For if it be hard & rough, it giueth token either of a good vnderstanding or a good imagi­nation; and if smooth and supple, of the contrary, name­ly of good memory, and small vnderstanding, and lesse imagination: and to vnderstand whether the brain haue correspondence, it behooueth to consider the haire, which being big, blacke, rough, and thicke, yeeldeth to­ken of a good imagination, or a good vnderstanding: and if soft and smooth, they are a signe of much memo­rie and nothing els. But who so will distinguish and know, whether the same be vnderstanding, or imagina­tion (when the haire is of this sort) it must be considered of what forme the childe is in the act of laughter: for this passion discouereth much, of what qualitie he is in the imagination.

What the reason and cause of laughter should be, many Philosophers haue laboured to conceiue, and none of them hath deliuered ought that may well be vnderstood, but all agree that the bloud is an humour, which prouoketh a man to laugh, albeit none expresse with what qualitie this humour is indewed more than the rest, why it should make a man addicted to laughter. The follies which are committed with laughing, are lesse dangerous: but those which are done with labour are more perillous: as if he should say, When the dis­eased become giddie and doting do laugh, they rest in more safetie, than if they were in toyle and anguish: for the former commeth of bloud, which is a most mild hu­mour, and the second of melancholie: but we groun­ding vpon the doctrine, whereof we intreat, shall easily vnderstand all that, which in this case may be desired to be knowen. The cause of laughter (in my iudgement) is nought els, but an approouing, which is made by the [Page 82] imagination, seeing or hearing somewhat done or said, which accordeth very well: and this power remaineth in the braine, when any of these things giue it content­ment, sodainly it mooueth the same, and after it all the muscles of the body, and so, manie times we do allow of wittie sayings, by bowing downe of the head. When then the imagination is verie good, it contents not it selfe with euery speech, but onely with those which please verie well: and if they haue some litle correspon­dence, and nothing els, the same receiueth thereby ra­ther paine than gladnesse: Hence it groweth that men of great imagination, laugh verie seldome, and the point most worthie of noting, is, that ieasters, and naturall counterfeiters neuer laugh at their own meriments, nor at that which they heare others to vtter: for they haue an imagination so delicat, that not euen their own plea­santeries, can yeeld that correspondence which they re­quire.

Heereto may be added, that merimentes (besides that they must haue a good proportion, and be vttered to the purpose) must be new, and not to fore heard or seene. And this is the propertie not onely of the imagi­nation, but also of all the other powers which gouerne man: for which cause we see, that the stomacke when it hath twise fed vpon one kinde of meate, straightwaies loatheth the same: so doth the sight one selfe shape and colour; the hearing one concordance, how good soe­uer; and the vnderstanding one selfe contemplation. Hence also it proceedeth, that the pleasant conceited man, laugheth not at the ieastes which himselfe vtte­reth: for before he send them forth from his lips, he knew what he would speake: Whence I conclude, that those who laugh much, are all defectiue in their imagi­nation, [Page 83] where-through whatsoeuer merriment & plea­santerie, (how cold soeuer) with them carrieth a verie good correspondencie: And because the bloud perta­keth much moisture (wherof we said before, that it bree­deth dammage to the imagination:) those who are very sanguine, are also great laughers. Moisture holdeth this propertie, that because the same is tender and gentle, it abateth the force of heate, and makes that it burne not ouermuch. For which cause, it partakes better agree­ment with drinesse, because it sharpneth his operations. Besides this, where there is much moisture, it is a signe that the heat is remisse, seeing it cannot resolue nor con­sume the same: and the imagination cannot performe his operations with a heate so weake. Hence we gather also, that men of great vnderstanding, are much giuen to laughter, for that they haue defect of imagination, as we read of that great Philosopher Democritus, and many others whom my selfe haue seene and noted. Then by meanes of this laughter we shall know, if that which men or boyes haue of flesh hard and tough, and of haire blacke, thicke, hard, and rough, betoken either the ima­gination, or the vnderstanding. In sort, that Aristotle in this doctrine, was somwhat out of the way.

To the fifth argument we answer, that there are two kindes of moisture in the braine, one which groweth of the aire (when this element predominateth in the mix­ture) and another of the water, with which the other elements are amassed. If the braine be tender by the first moisture, the memory shall be verie good: easie to re­ceiue, and mightie to reteine the figures for a long time. For the moisture of the aire, is verie supple and full of fatnesse, on which the shapes are tacked with sure hold­fast, as we see in pictures, which are lymned in oyle, [Page 84] who being set against the sunne and the water, receiue thereby no dammage at all: and if we cast oyle vpon any writing, it will neuer be wiped out, but marreth the same: and that which cannot be read, with oyle is made legible, by yeelding thereto a brightnesse and transpa­rence. But if the difference of the braine, spring from the second kinde of moisture, the argument frameth ve­rie well: For if it receiue with facilitie, with the same readinesse, it turneth again to cancell the figure, because the moisture of the water, hath no fatnesse, wherein the figures may fasten themselues. These two moistures are knowen by the haire. For that which springs from the aire maketh them to prooue vnctious and ful of oyle and fat: and the water maketh them moyst and verie supple.

To the sixth argument may be answered, that the fi­gures of things are not printed in the braine, as the fi­gure of the seale is in waxe, but they pearce thereinto to remaine there affixed, in sort as the sparrowes are attached to birdlime, or the flies sticke in honnie: For these figures are bodilesse, and cannot be mingled nor corrupt one the other.

To the seuenth difficultie we answer, that the figures amasse and mollifie the substance of the braine, in such sort, as waxe groweth soft by plying the same betweene our fingers: besides that the vitall spirites haue vertue to make tender and supple the hard and drie members, as the outward heate doth the yron. And that the vitall spirites ascend to the braine, when any thing is learned by heart, we haue prooued heeretofore, And euery bo­dily and spirituall exercise, doth not drie: yea the Phi­sitions affirme, that the moderate fatteneth.

To the eighth argument we answer, that there are [Page 85] two spices of melancholy: one naturall, which is the drosse of the blood, whose temperature is cold and drie, accompanied with a substance very grosse, this serues not of any value for the wit, but maketh men blockish, sluggards, and grynnars, because they want imaginati­on. There is another sort which is called choler ad-ust, or atra bile, of which Aristotle sayd, That it made men excee­ding wise: whose temperature is diuers, as that of vine­gre. Sometimes it performeth the effects of heat, light­ning the earth; and sometimes it cooleth, but alwaies it is drie and of a very delicat substance. Cicero confesseth that he was slow witted, because he was not melancho­like adust, and he sayd true, for if he had bene such, he should not haue possessed so rare a gift of eloquence. For the melancholicke adust want memorie, to which ap­pertaineth the speaking with great preparation. It hath another qualitie which much aideth the vnderstanding, namely, that it is cleere like the Agatstone, with which cleerenesse it giueth light within to the braine, and ma­keth the same to discerne well the figures. And of this o­pinion was Heraclitus when he sayd, A drie cleerenesse ma­keth a most wise mind, with which cleerenesse, naturall me­lancholy is not endowed, but his blacke is deadly: and that the reasonable soule there within the braine, stan­deth in need of light to discern the figures & the shapes, we will prooue hereafter.

To the ninth argument we answer, that the prudence and readinesse of the mind which Galen speaketh of, ap­pertaineth to the imagination, whereby we know that which is to come, whence Cicero sayd, Memorie is of things passed, and Prudence of those to come. The rea­dinesse of the mind is that, which commonly they call a sharpenesse in imagining, and by other names, craftines, [Page 86] subtiltie, cauelling, wilinesse: wherefore Cicero sayd, Pru­dence is a subtiltie which with a certaine reason, can make choise of good things and of euill. This sort of Prudence and readinesse, men of great vnderstanding do want, because they lack imagination. For which rea­son we see by experience in great scholers in this sort of learning, which appertaineth to the vnderstanding, that taking them from their bookes, they are not woorth a rush to yeeld or receiue in trafficke of worldly affaires. This spice of Prudence, Galen sayd very well, that it came of choler, for Hippocrates recounting to Damagetus his friend, in what case he found Democritus, when he went Note that men of great vnderstan­ding, take no care for attiring their bodie, but are ordinarily ill apparelled & slo­uenly, and hereof we yeeld the rea­son in the 8. cha. and 14. to visit him for curing him, writeth that he lay in the field, vnder a plane tree, bare legged, and without bree­ches, leaning against a stone with a booke in his hand, and compassed about with brute beasts, dead and dis­membred. Whereat Hippocrates maruailing, asked him whereto those beasts of that fashion serued, and he then answered, that he was about to search what humour it was, which made a man to be headlong, craftie, readie, double, and cauillous, & had found (by making an ano­tomie of those wild beasts) that choler was the cause of so discommendable a propertie: and that to reuenge himselfe of craftie persons, he would handle them as he had done the fox, the serpent and the ape. This manner of Prudence is not only odious to men, but also S. Paule sayth of it, The wisedome of the flesh is enemie to God. The cause is assigned by Plato, who affirmeth that know­ledge which is remooued from iustice, ought rather to be tearmed subtiltie than prudence, as if he should haue sayd: It is no reason that a knowledge which is seuered from iustice, should be called wisedome, but rather craft, or maliciousnesse. Of this, the diuell euermore serueth [Page 87] himselfe to do men dammage, and S. Iames said, that this wisedome came not from heauen, but is earthly, beastly, and diuelish.

There is found another spice of wisedome, conioy­ned with reason and simplicitie, and by this, men know the good and shun the euill: the which, Galen affirmeth doth appertaine to the vnderstanding, for this power is not capable of maliciousnesse, doublenesse, nor subtilty, nor hath the skill how to do naught, but is wholly vp­right, iust, gentle, and plaine. A man endowed with this sort of wit, is called vpright and simple, wherethrough when Demosthenes went about to creepe into the good liking of the iudges in an oration which he made against Eschines, he tearmed them vpright and simple, in respect of the simplicitie of their dutie: concerning which, Ci­cero sayth, Dutie is simple, and the only cause of all good things. For this sort of wisedome, the cold and drie of melancholie is a seruing instrument, but it behooueth that the same be composed of parts very subtile and de­licat.

To the last doubt may be answered, that when a man setteth himselfe to contemplat some truth, which he would faine know, and cannot by and by find it out, the same groweth for that the braine wanteth his conueni­ent temperature; but when a man standeth rauished in a contemplation, the naturall heat that is in the vitall spi­rits, and the arteriall blood, run foorthwith to the head, and the temperature of the braine enhaunceth it selfe, vntill the same arriue to the tearme behooffull. True it is, that much musing, to some dooth good, and to some harme: for if the brain want but a little to arriue to that point of conuenient heat, it is requisit that he make but small stay in the contemplation, and if it passe that point [Page 88] straightwaies the vnderstanding is driuen into a gar­boile, by the ouer plentifull presence of the vitall spirits, and so he cannot attaine to the notice of the trueth. For which cause, we see many men, who vpon the so­daine speake verie well: but with aduisement are no­thing worth. Others haue their vnderstanding so base, either through too much coldnes, or too much drouth, that it is requisite the naturall heate abide along time in the head, to the end the temperature may lift it selfe vp to the degrees which are wanting, where-through they speake better vpon deliberation then on the so­daine.

PLato held it for a matter verie cer­taine, that the reasonable soule is a substance bodilesse, and spirituall: not subiect to corruption or mor­talitie, as that of brute beasts: the which departing from the bodie, possesseth another better and more quiet life. But this is to be vnder­stood (saith Plato) if a man haue led his life conforma­ble to reason, for otherwise, it were better that the soule had remained still in the body, there to suffer the tor­mentes, with which God chastiseth the wicked. This conclusion is so notable and catholicke, that if he attai­ned [Page 89] the knowledge thereof by the happinesse of his wit, with a iust title he came to be called the diuine Plato. But albeit the same is such as we see, yet for all this, Galen could neuer bring within his conceit, that it was true, but held it alwaies doubtfull, seeing a wise man through the heat of his braine, to dote, and by ap­plying cold medicines vnto him, he commeth to his wits againe. In respect whereof, he sayd he could wish that Plato were now liuing, to the end he might aske him how it was possible that the reasonable soule should be immortall, seeing it altered so easily with heat, with cold, with moisture, & with drouth: & principally, considering that the same departs from the body through ouermuch heat, or when a man giueth ouer himselfe excessiuely to lasciuiousnesse, or is forced to drinke poison, and such other bodily alterations, which accustomably be­reaue the life. For if it were bodilesse and spirituall (as Plato affirmeth) heat, being a materiall qualitie, could not make the same to leese his powers, nor set his opera­tions in a garboile.

These reasons, brought Galen into a confusion, and Galen dying, went to hell, and saw by experiēce that materiall fire burned the soules, and could not consume thē: this Physition had knowledge of that Euange­licall doctrine, and could not receiue it. made him wish that some Platonist would resolue him these doubts, and I beleeue, that in his life time he met not with any, but after his death experience shewed him that which his vnderstanding could not con­ceiue. For it is a thing certaine, that the infallible certayntie of our immortall soule, is not gathered from humane reasons, or from arguments which prooue that it is corruptible, for to the one and the other, an answer may easily be shaped, it is only our fayth which maketh vs certaine and assured, that the same endureth for euer. But Galen had small reason, to intricate himselfe in arguments of so slight [Page 90] consequence, for the workes which seeme to be per­formed by meanes of some instrument, it cannot well be gathered in naturall Philosophie, that it proceedeth from a defect in the principal agent, if they take not per­fection. That painter who portraieth well when he hath a pensill requisit for his art, falleth not in blame, if with a bad pensill he draw ill fauoured shapes, and of bad deli­neation: and it is no good argument to say, that the wri­ter had an imperfection in his hand, when through de­fault of a well made penne, he is forced to write with a sticke. Galen considering the maruellous works which are in the vniuerse, and the wisedome and prouidence by which they were made and ordained, concluded thereof, that in the world there was a God, though we behold him not with our corporall eyes, of whome hee vttered these words; God was not made at any time, in as much as he is euerlastingly vnbegotten. And in ano­ther place he sayth, That the frame and composition of mans body was not made by the reasonable soule, nor by the naturall heat, but by God, or by some very wise vnderstanding.

Out of which there may be framed an argument a­gainst Galen, and his false consequence be ouerthrowne, and it is thus: Thou hast suspected that the reasonable soule is corruptible, because if the braine be well tempe­red, it fitteth well to discourse and philosophise, and if the same grow hot or cold beyond due, it doteth, and vttereth a thousand follies; the same may be inferred, considering the workes which thou speakest of, as tou­ching God: for if he make a man in places temperat (where the heat exceedeth not the cold, nor the moist the drie) he produceth him very wittie and discreet, and if the countrie be vntemperat, he breedeth thē all fooles [Page 91] and doltish. For the same Galen affirmeth that it is a mi­racle to find a wise man in Scythia, and in Athens they are all borne Philosophers. To suspect then that God is cor­ruptible, because with one qualitie he performeth these workes well, and with the contrary they proue ill, Galen himselfe would not confesse, for as much as he sayd be­fore, that God was euerlasting.

Plato held another way of more certainty, saying, That albeit God be euerlasting, almightie, and of infinite wis­dome: yet he proceedeth in his workes as a naturall a­gent, & makes himselfe subiect to the disposition of the foure first qualities: in sort, that to beget a man verie wise, and like to himselfe, it behooueth that he prouide a place the most temperate of the whole world, where the heate of the aire may not exceed the cold, nor the moyst the drie, and therefore he said, But God as desi­rous of warre, and of wisedome, hauing chosen a place which should produce men like vnto himselfe, would that the same should be first inhabited: And though God would shape a man of great wisedome in Scithia, or in any other intemperate countrey, and did not here­in imploy his omnipotencie, he should of necessitie yet prooue a foole, through the contrarietie of the first qua­lities. But Plato would not haue inferred (as Galen did) that God was alterable and corruptible: for that the heate and coldnesse would haue brought an impedi­ment to his worke. The same may be collected, when a reasonable soule, for that it is seated in a braine infla­med, cannotvse his discretion and wisdome, and not to thinke that in respect thereof, the same is subiect to mor­talitie and corruption. The departure out of the bodie, and the not being able to support the great heate, nor the other alterations which are woont to kil men, shew­eth [Page 92] plainly that the same is an act and substantiall form of mans bodie, and that to abide therein, it requireth certain materiall dispositions, fitted to the being, which it hath of the soule, and that the instruments with which it must worke, be wel composed, and well vnited, and of that temperature, which is requisite for his operations, all which failing, it behooueth of force, that it erre in them, and depart from the bodie.

The error of Galen consisted, in that he would verifie by the principles of naturall Philosophie, whether the reasonable soule, issuing out of the bodie, do forthwith die or not: this being a question, which appertaineth to another superiour science, and of more certaine princi­ples, in which we will prooue, that it is no good argu­ment nor concludeth well, that the soule of man is cor­ruptible, because the same dwelleth quietly in a bodie endowed with these qualities, and departeth when they do fayle. Neither is this difficult to be prooued: for o­ther spirituall substances, of greater perfection than the reasonable soule do make choice of place, altered with materiall qualities, in which it seemeth, they take abode with their content: and if there succeed any contrarie dispositions, forthwith they depart, because they can­not endure it: for it is a thing certaine, that there are to be found some dispositions in a mans bodie, which the diuell coueteth with so great egernesse, as to enioy thē, he entereth into the man where they rested, where­through he becommeth possessed: but the same being corrupted and chaunged by contrarie medicines, and an alteration being wrought in these blacke, filthy, and stincking humours, he naturally comes to depart. This is plainly discerned by experience: for if there be in a house, great, darke, foule, putrified, melancholicke, and [Page 93] void of dwellers to make abode therin, the diuels soone take it vp for their lodging: but if the same be clensed, the windowes opened, and the sunne-beames admitted to enter, by and by they get them packing, and specially if it be inhabited by much companie, and that there be meetings and pastimes, and playing on musicall instru­mentes: how greatly harmonie and good proportion offendeth the diuell, is apparantly seene by the authori­tie of the diuine scripture, where we finde recounted, that Dauid taking a Harpe, and playing thereupon, straightwaies made the diuels runne away, and depart out of Saul his body, And albeit this matter haue his spi­rituall vnderstanding: yet I conceiue thereby, that mu­sicke naturally molesteth the diuell, where-through he cannot in any sort endure it. The people of Israel knew before by experience, that the diuell was enemie to mu­sicke: and because they had notice heereof, Saules ser­uants spake these wordes: Behold, the euill spirit of the Lord tormenteth thee: let my Lord the king therefore command, that thy seruants, who wait in thy presence, search out a man who can play on the citherne, to the end, that when the euill spirite of the Lord taketh thee, he may play with his hand, and thou thereby mayst re­ceiue ease. In the selfe maner, as there are found out wordes and coniurations, which make the diuell to tremble; and not to heare them: he abandoneth the place which he chose for his habitation. So Ioseph re­counteth that Salomon left in writing, certaine maners of coniuration, by which he not onely chased away the diuell for the present, but he neuer had the hardi­nesse to returne againe to that body, from whence he was once so expelled, The same Salomon shewed al­so a roote of so abhominable sauour in the diuels nose, [Page 94] that if it were applied to the nosthrils of the possessed, he would forthwith shake his eares and runne away. The diuell is so slouinly, so malancholike, and so much an enemie to things neat, cheerefull, and cleere, that when Christ entered into the region of Genezaret, S. Ma­thew recounteth, how certaine diuels met him in dead carcases, which they had caught out of their graues, cry­ing, and saying, Iesu thou sonne of Dauid, what hast thou to do with vs, that thou art come before hand to tor­ment vs? we pray thee that if thou be to driue vs out of this place where we are, thou wilt yet let vs enter into that Heard of swine which is yonder. For which reason, the holy Scripture tearmeth them vncleane spirites: Whence we plainly discerne, that not onely the reaso­nable soule, requireth such dispositions in the body, that they may informe it, and be the beginning of all his o­perations, but also hath need to soiourne therein, as in a place befitting his nature.

The diuels then (being a substance of more perfecti­on) abhorre some bodily qualities, and in the contrarie take pleasure and contentment. In sort, that this of Galen is no good argument, The reasonable soule through ex­cesse of heate departs from the body, ergo it is corrupti­ble, inasmuch as the diuel doth the like (as we haue said) and yet for all this is not mortall.

But that which to this purpose deserueth most note, is, that the diuell not onely coueteth places alterable with bodily qualities, to soiourne there at his pleasure: but also when he will worke any thing, which much im­porteth him, he serues himselfe with such bodily quali­ties, as are aidable to that effect. For if I should demand now, wherein the diuell grounded himselfe, when min­ding to beguile Eue, he entered rather into a venemous [Page 95] serpent, than into a horse, a beare, a woolfe, or any other beast, which were not of so ghastly shape? I wot not what might be giuen in answere: well I know that Galen admitteth not the sentences of Moses, nor of Christ our redeemer, because (saith he) they both speake without making demonstration: but I haue alwaies de­sired to learne from some Catholike, the solution of this doubt, and none hath yet satisfied me.

This is certaine (as alreadie we haue prooued) that burnt and inflamed choler, is an humour which tea­cheth the reasonable soule in what sort to practise trea­sons and trecheries; and amongst brute beasts, there is But the serpent was the wiliest beast of the earth, amongst all those whome God hath made. none which so much partaketh of this humour as the serpent, wherethrough more than all the rest (sayth the scripture) he is crafty and guilefull. The reasonable soule although it be the meanest of all the intelligences, par­takes yet the same nature with the diuell and the angels. And in like manner: as there it takes the seruice of ve­nemous choler, to make a man wily and suttle: so the diuell (being entered into the body of this cruell beast) made himselfe the more cunning and deceitfull. This manner of Philosophising will not sticke much in the naturall Philosophers stomacks, because the same carri­eth some apparance that it may be so: but that which will breed them more astonishment, is, that when God would draw the world out of errour, and easily teach them the truth (a worke contrary to that which the di­uell went about) he came in the shape of a doue, and not of an eagle, nor a peacocke, nor of any other birds of fai­rer figure: and the cause knowne, is this, that the doue partaketh much of the humour which enclineth to vp­rightnesse, to plainnesse, to truth, and to simplicitie, and wanteth choler, the instrument of guile & maliciousnes.

[Page 96] None of these things are admitted by Galen, nor by the naturall Philosophers: for they cannot conceiue, how the reasonable soule, and the diuell (being spirituall substances) can be altered by materiall qualities, as are heat, coldnesse, moisture, and drouth. For if fire bring in heate to the wood, it is because they both possesse a bo­dy, & a quantitie, wherof they are the subiect: the which faileth in spirituall substances, and admit (as a thing yet impossible) that bodily qualities, might alter a spirituall substance, what eies hath the diuell, or the reasonable soule, wherwith to see the colours and shapes of things? or what smelling, to receiue sauours, or what hearing for musicke? or what feeling, to rest offended with much heat, seeing that for all these, bodily instruments are be­hooffull. And if the reasonable soule, being seuered from the bodie, remaine agreeued, and receiue anguish and sadnesse, it is not possible that his nature should rest free from alteration, or not come to corruption. These dif­ficulties and argumentes, perplexed Galen and the o­ther Philosophers of our times, but with me they con­clude nothing. For when Aristotle affirmed, that the chiefest propertie which substance had, was to be sub­iect to accidents: he restrained the same, neither to bo­dily nor to spirituall: for the propertie of the generall is equally partaked by the special, and so he said, that the accidentes of the bodie passe to the substance of the rea­sonable soule, and those of the soule, to the body: on which principle he grounded himselfe, to write all that which he vttered as touching Phisnomy, especially, that the accidents by which the powers receiue alteration, are all spirituall, without body, and without quantitie, or matter: and so they grow to multiplie in a moment, through their mean, and passe through a glasse window, [Page 97] without breaking the same, And two contrarie acci­dents, may be extended in one selfe subiect, asmuch as possibly they can be. In respect of which selfe qualitie, Galen tearmeth them vndiuidable, and the vulgar Phi­losophers intentionall: and the matter being in this sort, they may be verie well proportioned with the spirituall substance.

I cannot forgoe to thinke that the reasonable soule, seuered from the body, as also the diuell, hath a power sightfull, smelling, hearing, and feeling. The which (me seemeth) is easie to be prooued: For if it be true, that their powers be known by meanes of their actions, it is a thing certain, that the diuell had a smelling power, when he smelled that roote, which Salomon commaun­ded, should be applied to the nosthrils of the possessed, And likewise that he had a hearing power, seeing he heard the musicke which Dauid made to Saul. To say then, that the diuell receiued these qualities by his vn­derstanding, it is a matter not auouchable, in the do­ctrine of the vulgar Philosophers: For this power is spi­ritual, and the obiects of the fiue senses are material: and so it behooueth, to seeke out some other powers in the reasonable soule, and in the diuell, to which they may carrie proportion. And if not, put case that the soule of the rich Glutton, had obtained at the handes of Abra­ham, that the soule of Lazarus should returne to the world, to preach to his brethren, and persuade them that they should become honest men, to the end they might not passe to that place of torments, where him­selfe abode. I demand now, in what maner the soule of Lazarus should haue knowen to go to the citie, and to those mens houses, and if the same had met them by the way, in company with others, whether it could haue [Page 98] known them by sight, and been able to diuersifie them, from those who came with them? and if those brethren of the rich glutton, had inquired of the same who it was, and who had sent it: whether the same did partake anie power to heare their words? The same may be demāded of the diuel when he folowed after Christ our redeemer, hearing him to preach, & seeing the myracles which he did, and in that disputation which they had togither in the wildernesse, with what eares the diuell receiued the words, and the answeres which Christ gaue vnto him.

Verily, it betokens a want of vnderstanding, to think that the diuell, or the reasonable soule (sundered from the bodie) cannot know the obiects of the fiue senses, albeit they want the bodily instruments. For by the same reason, I will prooue vnto them, that the reasona­ble soule, seuered from the bodie, cannot vnderstand, imagine, nor performe the actions of memorie. For if whilest the same abideth in the body, it cannot see be­ing depriued of eies: neither can it discourse or remem­ber, if the braine be inflamed. To say then, that the rea­sonable soule, seuered from the body, cannot discourse, because it hath no braine, is a follie verie great, the which is proued by the selfe history of Abraham. Sonne remember, that thou hast enioyed good things in thy life time, and Lazarus likewise euill, but now he is com­forted, and thou art tormented. And besides all this, there is placed betwixt you and vs, a great Chaos, in sort that those who would passe from hence to you, cannot, nor from you to vs. And he said, I pray thee then O fa­ther, that thou wilt send to my fathers house, for I haue fiue brothers, that he may yeeld testimony vnto them, so as they come not also to this place of tormentes. [Page 99] Whence I conclude, that as these two soules discoursed betweene themselues, and the rich glutton remembred, that he had fiue brothers in his fathers house, and Abra­ham brought to his remembrance, the delicious life which he had liued in the world, togither with Lazarus penance, and this without vse of the braine: so also the soules can see without bodily eyes, heare without eares, taste without a tongue, smell without nosthrils, and touch without sinewes and without flesh, and that much better beyond comparison. The like may be vnder­stoode of the diuell, for he partaketh the same nature with the reasonable soule.

All these doubts, the soule of the rich glutton will ve­ry well resolue: of whom S. Luke recounteth, that being in hell, he lifted vp his eies, and beheld Lazarus, who was in Abrahams bosome, and with a loud voice sayd: Father Abraham, haue mercie on me, send Lazarus, that he may dip the point of his finger in water, and coole my tongue, for I am tormented in this flame. Out of the passed doctrine, and out of that which is there red, we gather, that the fire of hell burneth the soules, and is ma­teriall as this of ours, and that the same annoied the rich glutton and the other soules (by Gods ordinance) with his heat, and that if Lazarus had carried to him a pitcher of fresh water, he should haue taken great refreshment thereof: and the reason is verie plaine, for if that soule could not endure to abide in the bodie, through exces­siue heate of the Feuer, and when the same dranke fresh water, the soule felt refreshment, why may not we con­ceiue the like, when the soule is vnited with the flames of the fire infernall? The rich Gluttons lifting vp of his eies, his thirstie tongue, & Lazarus finger, are all names of the powers of the soule, that so the scriptures might [Page 100] expresse them. Those who walke not in this path, and ground not themselues on naturall philosophie, vtter a thousand follies: but yet hence it cannot be concluded, that if the reasonable soule partake griefe and sorrow (for that his nature is altered by contrarie qualities) therefore the same is corruptible or mortall: For ashes, though they be compounded of the foure elementes, and of action and power: yet there is no naturall agent in the world, which can corrupt thē, or take from them, the qualities that are agreeable to their nature. The naturall temperature of ashes, we all know to be cold and drie, but though we cast them neuer so much into the fire, they will not leese their radicall coldnesse which they enioy: and albeit they remaine 100000. yeeres in the water, it is impossible that (being taken thence) they hold any naturall moisture of their owne: and yet for all this, we cannot but grant that by fire they receiue heat, and by water moisture. But these two qualities are super­ficial in the ashes, and endure a small time in the subiect; for taken from the fire, forthwith they become cold, and from the water, they abide not moyst an houre.

But there is offered a doubt, in this discourse and reasoning of the rich Glutton with Abraham, and that is, How the soule of Abraham was indowed with better reason, than that of the rich man: it being alleaged be­fore, that all reasonable soules (issued out of the bodie) are of equall perfection and knowledge? whereto we may answere in one of these two manners. The first is, that the Science and knowledge, which the soule pur­chaseth, whilest it remaineth in the bodie, is not lost when a man dieth, but rather groweth more perfect, for he is freed from some errors. The soule of Abraham, de­parted out of this life, replenished with wisedome, and [Page 101] with many reuelations, and secrets which God com­municated vnto him, as his very friend: but that of the rich glutton, it behooued that of necessitie it should de­part away ignorant: first, by reason of his sinne, which createth ignorance in a man: and next, for that riches heerein worke a contrarie effect vnto pouertie: this gi­ueth a man wit, as heereafter we may well prooue, and prosperitie reaueth it away. There may also another answere be giuen after our doctrine, and it is this, that the matter of which these two soules disputed, was schoole diuinitie: For to know whether abiding in hell, there were place for mercie, and whether Lazarus might passe vnto hell, and whether it were conuenient to send a deceased person to the world, who should giue notice to the liuing, of the torments which the damned there indured; are all schoole-points, whose decision apper­taineth to the vnderstanding, as heereafter I will make proofe, and amongst the first qualities, there is none which so much garboileth this power, as excessiue heat, with which the rich Glutton was so tormented: But the soule of Abraham, made his abode in a place most temperate, where it inioyed great delight and refresh­ment: and therefore it bred no great woonder, that the same was better able to dispute. I concluding then that the reasonable soule, and the diuell, in their opera­tions, vse the seruice of materiall qualities, and that by some they rest agreeued, and by other some they receiue contentment. And for this reason, they couet to make abode in some places, and flie from some other, and yet notwithstanding are not corruptible.

ALl artes (saith Cicero) are placed vnder certaine vniuersall princi­ples, which being learned with studie and trauaile, finally we so grow to attaine vnto them: but the art of poesie is in this so speciall, as if God or nature make not a man a Poet: little auailes it, to deliuer him the precepts and rules of versifieng. For which cause he said thus, The studying and learning of other matters consisteth in precepts and in artes: but a Poet taketh the course of nature it selfe, and is stirred vp by the forces of the minde, and as it were inflamed by a certaine diuine spirit. But heerein Cicero swarued from reason: for veri­ly there is no Science or Art, deuised in the common­wealth, which if a man wanting capacitie for himselfe to apply, he shall reape anie profit thereof; albeit he toyle all the daies of his life in the precepts and rules of the same: But if he applie himselfe to that which is agreeable with his naturall abilitie, we see that he will learne in two daies. The like we say of Poesie without any diffe­rence, that if hee who hath anie answerable nature, giue himselfe to make verses, he performeth the same with great perfection, and if otherwise, he shall neuer be good Poet.

This being so, it seemeth now high time, to learne by [Page 103] way of Art what difference of Science, is answerable in particular, to what difference of wit: to the end, that eue­rie one may vnderstand with distinction (after he is ac­quainted with his owne nature) to what Art he hath a naturall disposition. The Arts and Sciences which are gotten by the memorie, are these following, Latine, Grammer, or of whatsoeuer other language, the Theo­ricke of the lawes, Diuinitie positiue, Cosmography, and Arithmeticke.

Those which appertaine to the vnderstanding, are Schoole diuinitie, the Theoricke of Phisicke, logicke, natural and morall Philosophy, and the practicke of the lawes, which we tearme pleading. From a good imagination, spring all the Arts and Sciences, which consist in figure, correspondence, harmonie, and proportion: such are Poetrie, Eloquence, Musicke, and the skill of prea­ching: the practise of Phisicke, the Mathematicals, A­strologie, and the gouerning of a Common-wealth, the art of Warfare, Paynting, drawing, writing, reading, to be a man gratious, pleasant, neat, wittie in managing, & & all the engins & deuises which artificers make: besides a certain speciall gift, whereat the vulgar maruelleth, and that is, to endite diuers matters, vnto foure, who write togither, and yet all to be penned in good sort. Of all this, we cannot make euident demonstration, nor proue euerie point by it selfe: For it were an infinite peece of worke, notwithstanding by making proofe thereof in three or foure Sciences, the same reason will after­wardes preuaile for the rest.

In the catalogue of Sciences, which we said apper­tained to the memorie, we placed the latine tongue, and such other, as all the nations in the world do speake: the which no wise man wil denie: for tongues were deuised [Page 104] by men, that they might communicate amongst them­selues, and expresse one to another their conceits, with­out that in them there lie hid any other mistery or natu­rall principles: for that the first deuisers agreed togither, and after their best liking, (as Aristotle saith) framed the words, and gaue to euerie ech his signification. From hence arose so great a number of wordes, and so manie maners of speech so farre besides rule and reason, that if a man had not a good memorie, it were impossible to learne them with any other power. How little the vn­derstanding and the imagination make for the purpose, to learne languages and manners of speech, is easily prooued by childhood, which being the age wherein man most wanteth these two powers, yet (saith Aristotle) children learne any language more readily than elder men, though these are endowed with a better discourse of reason. And without farther speech, experience plainly prooueth this, for so much as we see, that if a Bis­cane of 30. or 40. yeeres age, come to dwell in Castilia, he will neuer learn this language: but if he be but a boy, within two or three yeares you would thinke him born in Toledo. The same befalles in the latine tongue, and in those of all the rest of the world: for all languages hold one selfe consideration. Then if in the age when me­morie chiefly raigneth, and the vnderstanding and the imagination least, languages are better learned, than when there growes defect of memorie, & an encrease of vnderstanding, it falles out apparent that they are pur­chased by the memorie, and by none other power. Lan­guages (saith Aristotle) cannot be gathered out by rea­son, nor consist in discourse or disputations, for which cause, it is necessarie to heare the word from another, and the signification which it beareth, and to keepe the [Page 105] same in mind, and so he prooueth that if a man be borne deaffe, it followes of necessitie that he be also dumbe, for he cannot heare from another, the articulation of the names, nor the signification which was giuen them by the first deuiser.

That languages are at pleasure, and a conceit of mens brains, and nought else, is plainly prooued; for in them all, may the sciences be taught, and in each is to be sayd and expressed, that which by the other is inferred. Ther­fore none of the graue authors attended the learning of strange tongues, thereby to deliuer their conceits: but the Greekes wrot in Greeke, the Romans in Latine, the Hebrues in the Hebrue language, and the Moores in Arabique, and so do I in my Spanish, because I know this better than any other The Romans as lords of the world, finding it was necessarie to haue one common language, by which all nations might haue commerce together, and themselues be able to heare & vnderstand such as came to demaund iustice, and things appertay­ning to their gouernment, commanded that in all places of there empire their should schooles be kept, where the Latine tongue might be taught, and so this vsage hath endured euen to our time.

Schoole-diuinitie, it is a matter certaine that it apper­taineth to the vnderstanding, presupposing that the ope­rations of this power, are to distinguish, conclude, dis­course, iudge, & make choise; for nothing is done in this facultie, which is not to doubt for inconueniences, to answer with distinction, and against the answer to con­clude that, which is gathered in good consequence, and to returne to replication, vntill the vnderstanding find where to settle. But the greatest proofe which in this case may be made, is to giue to vnderstand with [Page 106] how great difficultie the latine tongue is ioyned with Schoole diuinitie, and how ordinarily it falleth not out, that one self man is a good latinist, and a profound scho­ler: at which effect some curious heads, who haue ligh­ted hereon, much maruelling procured to search out the cause from whence the same might spring, and by their conceit, found that Schoole diuinitie, being written in an easie and common language, and the great latinists, hauing accustomed their eare, to the well sounding and fine stile of Cicero: they cannot apply themselues to this other. But well should it fall out for the latinists, if this were the cause: For, forcing their hearing by vse, they should meet with a remedie for this infirmitie: but to speake trueth, it is rather an head-ach than an eare-sore. Such as are skilfull in the latine tongue, it is necessarie that they haue a great memorie: for otherwise, they can neuer become so perfect in a tōgue which is not theirs: and because a great and happie memorie is as it were cō ­trarie to a great and high raised vnderstanding, in one subiect, where the one is placed, the other is chased a­way.

Hence remaineth it, that he who hath not so deepe, and loftie an vnderstanding (a power whereto appertai­neth, to distinguish, conclude, discourse, iudge, and choose) cannot soone attaine the skil of Schoole diuinitie. Let him that will not allow this reason for currant pay­ment, read S. Thomas, Scot, Durand, and Caietane, who are the principall in this facultie, and in them he shall finde manie excellent points, endited and written, in a stile ve­ry easie and common. And this proceeded from none other cause, than that these graue authours, had from their childhood a feeble memorie, for profiting in the latine tongue. But comming to logicke, metaphisicke, and [Page 107] Schoole diuinitie, they reaped that great fruite, which we see, because they had great vnderstanding.

I can speake of a schoole diuine (and manie other can verifie the same, that knew and conuersed with him) who being a principall man in this facultie: not onely spake not finely, nor with well shaped sentences, in imi­tation of Cicero, but whilest he red in a chaire, his scho­lers noted in him, that he had lesse than a meane know­ledge in the latine tongue: Therefore they councelled him (as men ignorant of this doctrine) that he should se­cretly, steale some houre of the day from Schoole diuini­tie, and employ the same in reading of Cicero. Who knowing this coūsell to proceed from his good friends, not onely procured to remedie it priuilie, but also pub­lickly, after he had red the matter of the trinitie, & how the diuine word might take flesh, he meant to heare a lecture of the latine tongue, and it fell out a matter wor­thy consideration, that in the long time while he did so, he not onely learned nothing of new, but grew wel­neere, to leese that little latine which he had before, and so at last was driuen to read in the vulgar. Pius the fourth, enquiring what diuines were of most speciall note at the councell of Trent, he was told of a most sin­gular Spanish diuine, whose solutions, answeres, argu­mentes, and distinctions, were worthy of admiration: the Pope therefore, desirous to see and know so rare a man: sent word vnto him, that he should come to Rome, & render him accompt of what was done in the Coun­cell. He came, and the Pope did him many fauours, a­mongst the rest, commaunded him to be couered, and taking him by the hand, led him walking to Castle S. An­gelo, & speaking verie good latine, shewed him his de­uise, touching certain fortifications, which he was then [Page 108] about to make the Castle stronger, asking his opinion in some particulars: but he answered the Pope so intricat­ly, for that he could not speake latine, that the Spanish Embassadour, who at that time was Don Lewes de Reque­sens, great Commander of Castilia, was faine to step forth to grace him with his latine, and to turne the Popes dis­course into another matter. Finally, the Pope said to his Chamberlains, it was not possible that this man had so much skill in diuinitie, as they made report, seeing he had so little knowledge in the latine tongue. But if as he proued him in this toung, which is a work of memo­rie, and in platforming, and building, which belong to the imagination, so he had tried him in a matter apper­taining to the vnderstanding, he would haue vttered diuine considerations. In the Catalogue of Sciences, which appertaine to the imagination, we placed poetry amongst the first, and that not by chance nor for want of consideration, but thereby to giue notice, how farre off, those who haue a speciall gift in poetry, are from vn­derstanding. For we shall finde that the selfe difficultie, which the latine tongue holdeth in vniting with Schoole diuinitie, is also found (yea and beyond comparison farre greater) betweene this facultie, and the art of versifiyng: and the same is so contrary to the vnderstanding, that by the self reason, for which man is likely to proue singular therein, he may take his leaue of all the other sciences, which appertaine to this power, and also to the latine tongue through the contrarietie, which a good imagi­nation beareth to a great memorie.

For the first of these two, Aristotle found not the rea­son, but yet confirmed mine opinion by experience, saying: Marke, a Citizen of Siracusa, was best Poet, when he lost his vnderstanding, and the cause is, for that [Page 109] the difference of the imagination, to which Poetrie be­lōgeth, is that which requireth three degrees of heat, and this qualitie so extended (as wee haue before ex­pressed) breedes an vtter losse of the vnderstanding, the which was obserued by the same Aristotle. For he affir­meth, that this Marke the Siracusane, growing to more temperature, enioyed a better vnderstanding, but yet he attained not to versifie so well, through default of heat, with which, this difference of the imagination worketh. And this, Cicero wanted when going about to describe in verse, the heroicall actions of his consulship, and the happie birth of Rome, in that she was gouerned by him: he said thus, O fortunatam natam me consule Romam. For which cause, Iuuenall not conceiuing, that to a man en­dowed with so rare a wit, as Cicero, poetrie was a matter repugnant, did Satirically nip him, saying, If thou hadst rehearsed the Philippicks against Marck Antony, answera­ble to the tune of so bad a verse, it should not haue cost thy life.

But worse did Plato vnderstand the same, when hee said, that Poetrie was no humane Science, but a diuine reuelation. For if the Poets were not rauished besides themselues, or full of God, they could not make nor vt­ter any thing worthy regard. And he prooueth it by a reason, auouching, that whilest a man abideth in his sound iudgement, he cannot versifie. But Aristotle re­prooueth him, for affirming that the art of Poetrie is not an abilitie of man, but a reuelation of God: And he ad­mitteth, that a wise man, and who is free possessed of his iudgement, cannot be a poet: and the reason is, be­cause where there resteth much vnderstanding, it beho­ueth of force, that there befall want of the imagination, whereto appertaineth the Art of versifieng: which may [Page 110] the more apparently be prooued, knowing that Socrates after he had learned the art of Poetrie, for all his pre­cepts and rules, could not make so much as one verse: and yet notwithstanding, he was by the oracle of Apollo adiudged the wisest man of the world.

I hold it then for certaine, that the boy who will prooue of a notable vaine for versifieng, and to whom, vpon euerie sleight consideration, consonances offer themselues, shall ordinarily incurre hazard not to learn well the Latine tongue, Logicke, Philosophie, Phisicke, Schoole-diuinitie, and the other artes and sciences, which appertaine to the vnderstanding, and to the me­morie. For which cause, we see by experience, that if we charge such a boy, to forme a nominatiue without booke, he will not learne it in two or three daies: but if there be a leafe of paper written in verse, to be recited in any comedie, in two turnes, he fixeth them in his me­morie. These loose themselues by reading bookes of chiualrie: Orlando, Boccace, Diana of Monte maggior, and such other deuises: for all these are workes of the imagination. What shall we say then of the harmonie of the Organs, and of the singing men of the Chappell, whose wits are most vnprofitable for the latine tongue, and for all other Sciences, which appertaine to the vn­derstanding and to the memorie? the like reason serueth in playing on instruments, and all sorts of musicke. By these three examples, which we haue yeelded, of the Latine, of Schoole-diuinitie, and of Poetrie, we shall vn­derstand this doctrine to be true, and that we haue duely made this partition, albeit we make not the like mention in the other arts.

Writing also, discouereth the imagination, and so we see, that few men of good vnderstanding, doe write a [Page 111] faire hand, and to this purpose I haue noted many ex­amples: and specially I haue knowen a most learned Schoole-diuine, who shaming at himselfe to see how bad a hand he wrote, durst not write a letter to any man, nor to answere those which were sent to him: so as he determined with himselfe, to get a Scriuener secretly to his house, who should teach him to frame a reasonable letter that might passe, and hauing for many daies ta­ken paines heerein, it prooued lost labour, and he rea­ped no profit thereby. Wherefore, as tyred out, he forsooke the practise: & the teacher, who had taken him in hand, grew astonished, to see a man so learned in his profession, to be so vntoward for writing. But my selfe, who rest well assured that writing is a worke of the ima­gination, held the same for a naturall effect. And if anie man be desirous to see and note it, let him consider the Schollers, who get their liuings in the Vniuersities, by copying out of writings in good forme, and hee shall finde, that they can little skill of Grammer, Logicke, and Philosophy, and if they studie Phisick or Diuinitie, they fish nothing neere the bottome. The boy then, who with his pen can tricke a horse to the life, and a man in good shape, and can make a good paire of it serues little to employ him in anie sort of learning, but will do best, to set him to some painter, who by art may bring forward his nature.

To reade well and with readinesse, discouereth also a certaine spice of the imagination, and if the same be verie effectuall, it booteth little to spend much time at his booke, but shall do better, to set him to get his liuing by reading of processes. Heere a thing note-worthy, of­fereth it selfe, and that is, that the difference of the ima­gination, which maketh men eloquent and pleasant, is [Page 112] contrarie to that, which is behoofful for a man to reade with facilitie, where-through none, who is prompt­witted, can learne to reade without stumbling, and put­ting too somewhat of his owne head.

To play well at Primero, and to face and vie, and to hold and giue ouer when time serueth, and by conie­ctures to know his aduersaries game, and the skill of dis­carding, are all workes of the imagination. The like we say of playing at Cent, & at Triumph, though not so far-forth as the Primero of Almaigne, and the same, not on­ly maketh proofe & demonstration of the difference of the wit, but also discouereth al the vertues and vices in a man. For at euery moment, there are offered occasions in this play, by which a man shall discouer, what hee would do in matters of great importance, if oportunitie serued.

Chesse-play, is one of the things, which best discoue­reth the imagination: for he that makes ten or twelue faire draughts one after another on the Chesse-boord, giues an euill token of profiting in the Sciences which belong to the vnderstanding, and to the memorie, vn­lesse it fall out, that he make an vnion of two or three powers, as we haue already noted. And if a very learned Schoole-diuine (of mine acquaintance) had been skilled in this doctrine, he should haue got notice of a matter, which made him verie doubtfull. He vsed to play often with a seruant of his, and lighting mostly on the losse, told him, much mooued: Sirha, how comes it to passe, that thou who canst skill neither of Latine, nor Logicke, nor Diuinitie, though thou hast studied it, yet beatest me that am full of Scot and S. Thomas? Is it possible that thou shouldst haue a better wit than I? verily I cannot beleeue it, except the diuell reueale vnto thee what [Page 113] draughts thou shouldst make: and the misterie was, that he had great vnderstanding, with which he attained the delicacies of Scot and Thomas, but wanted that diffe­rence of imagination, which serueth for Chesse-play, whereas his seruant, had an ill vnderstanding, and a bad memorie, but a good imagination. The Schollers, who haue their bookes well righted, and their chamber well dressed, and cleane kept, euerie thing in his due place & order, haue a certaine difference of imagination, verie contrarie to the vnderstanding, and to the memorie.

Such a like wit, haue men who go neat, and hand­somly apparelled, who looke all about their cape for a mote, & take dislike at any one wry plait of their garmēt, this (assuredly) springeth from their imagination. For if a man, that had no skill in versifieng, nor towardlinesse thereunto, chance to fall in loue, sodainly (saith Plato) he becomes a Poet, and verie trim and handsome: for loue heateth and drieth his braine, and these are quali­ties which quicken the imagination: the like (as Iuuenal noteth) anger doth effect, which passion heateth also the braine:

Gracious talkers, and imitaters, and such as can hold at bay, haue a certaine difference of imagination, verie contrarie to the vnderstanding, and to the memorie. For which cause they neuer prooue learned in Grammer, Logicke, Schoole-diuinitie, Phisicke, or the lawes. If then they be wittie in managing, toward for euery mat­ter they take in hand, ready in speech, and answering to the purpose: these are fit to serue in Courts of iustice, for sollicitors, atturnies, merchants, and factors to buy and sell, bur not for learning. Heerein the vulgar is much deceiued seeing them so readie at all handes, and them [Page 114] seemeth, that if such gaue themselues to learning, they would prooue notable fellowes: but in substance there is no wit more repugnant to matters of learning, than these. Children that are slow of speech, haue a moistnes in their tongue and also in their braine, but that wea­ring away, in processe of time they become verie elo­quent, and great talkers, through the great memorie which they get when that moisture is tempered.

This we know by the things tofore rehearsed, befell that famous Orator Demosthenes, of whome we said, that Cicero maruelled how being so blunt of speech when he was a boy, growing greater he became so eloquēt. Chil­dren also, who haue a good voice, and warble in the throat, are most vntoward for all Sciences, and the rea­son is, for that they are cold and moist. The which two qualities, being vnited, we said before, that they breed a dammage in the reasonable part. Schollers, who learn their lesson in such maner as their maister deliuereth it, and so recite the same, it shewes a token of a good me­morie, but the vnderstanding shall abie the bargaine. There are offered in this doctrine, some problemes and doubts: the answere wherunto, will perhaps yeeld more light, to conceiue, that what we haue propounded, doth carie trueth. The first is, whence it groweth that great Latinists are more arrogant and presumptuous on their knowledge, than men very well skilled in that kind of learning which appertaineth to the vnderstanding? in sort, that the prouerbe, to let vs know what maner of fellow a Grammarian is, sayth; That a Grammarian is arrogancie it selfe. The second is, whence it commeth that the Latine tongue, is so repugnant to the Spanish capacities, and so naturall to the French, Italian, Dutch, English, and other northernly nations, as we see in their [Page 115] workes, which by their good Latine phrase, straight­waies proue the authour to haue been a stranger, and by the barbarousnesse and ill composition, we know the same for a Spaniards. The third is, for what reason the things that are spoken and written in the Latine tongue, sound better, carrie a more loftinesse, and haue greater delicacie, than anie other language how good soeuer? we hauing auouched before, that all languages, are nought els, but a conceit at pleasure, of those who first deuised them, without holding anie foundation in na­ture. The fourth doubt is, seeing all Sciences, which appertaine to the vnderstanding, are written in Latine, how it can frame, that such as want memorie, may read and studie them in those books, whilest the Latine is (by this reason) so repugnant vnto them.

To the first probleme we answere, that to know whe­ther a man haue defect of vnderstanding, there fals out no token more certaine, than to see him loftie, big looked, presumptuous, desirous of honour, standing on termes, and full of ceremonies: And the reason is, for that all these be workes, of a difference of the imagina­tion, which requireth no more but one degree of heat, wherwith the much moisture (which is requisite for the memorie) accordeth verie sitly: for it wanteth force to resolue the same. Contrariwise it is an infallible token, that if a man be naturallie lowly, despiser of himselfe, and his own matters, and that not only he vanteth not, nor praiseth himself, but feels displeasure at the commē ­dations giuen him by others, and takes shame of pla­ces and ceremonies pertaining to honour, such a one may well be pointed at for a man of great vnderstan­ding, but of small imagination and memorie. I said na­turally lowly: for if he be so by cūning, this is no certain [Page 116] signe. Hence it commeth, that as the Grammarians are men of great memorie, and make an vnion with this difference of the imagination: so it is of force, that they faile in vnderstanding, and be such as the prouerb paints them forth.

To the second probleme may be answered, that Galen enquiring out the wit of men by way of the tempera­rature of the region where they inhabit, saith, that those who make abode vnder the North, haue all of thē want of vnderstanding: but those who are seated between the North and the burned Zone, are of great wisedome, Which situation, answereth directly to our region. And verily so it is: for Spaine is not so cold as the places sub­iected to the Pole, nor so hot as the burned Zone. The same sentence doth Aristotle produce, demanding, for what cause, such as inhabit verie cold regions partake lesse vnderstanding than those who are born in the hot­ter, and in the answere he verie homely handles the Flemmish, Dutch, English, and French, saying that their wits are like those of drunkards: for which cause they cannot search out, nor vnderstand the nature of things, & this is occasioned by the much moisture, wherwith their brain is replenished, and the other parts of the bo­die: the which is knowen by the whitenesse of the face, and the golden colour of the haire, and by that it is a miracle, to find a Dutchman bald: and aboue this they are generally great, and of tall stature, through the much moisture, which breedeth encrease of flesh. But in the Spaniards, we discerne the quite contrarie: they are som­what browne, they haue blacke haire, of meane stature, and for the most part, we see them bald, Which disposi­tion (saith Galen) groweth, for that the braine is hot and drie. And if this be true, it behooueth of force, that they [Page 117] be endowed with a bad memorie, and a good vnder­standing, but the Dutchmen possesse a great memorie, & small vnderstanding. For which cause, the one can no skill of Latine, and the other easily learne the same. The reason which Aristotle alleaged, to proue the slender vn­derstanding of those who dwell vnder the North, is, that the much cold of the country calleth backe the naturall heate inward, by counterposition, and suffereth not the same to spread abroad: for which cause, it parta­keth much moysture, and much heate, and these vnite a great memorie for the languages, and a good imagina­tion; with which they make clocks, bring the water to Toledo, deuise engins, and workes of rare skill, which the Spaniards through defect of imagination cannot frame themselues vnto: But set them to Logicke, to Phi­losophie, to Schoole-diuinitie, to Phisicke, or to the Lawes, and beyond comparison a Spanish wit, with his barbarous termes, will deliuer more rare points than a stranger. For if you take from them this finenesse and quaint phrase of writing, there is nothing in them of rare inuention or exquisite choice.

For confirmation of this doctrine, Galen said that in Scithia, one onely man became a Philosopher: but in A­thens there were many such: as if he should say, that in Scithia, which is a Prouince vnder the North, it grew a myracle to see a Philosopher, but in Athens they were all borne wise and skilfull. But albeit Philosophie and the other Sciences rehearsed by vs, be repugnant to the Northren people; yet they profit well in the Mathema­ticals, and in Astrologie, because they haue a good ima­gination.

The answere of the third probleme dependeth vpon a question, much hammered between Plato & Aristotle: [Page 118] the one saith that there are proper names, which by their nature carrie signification of things, and that much wit is requisite to deuise them. And this opinion is fauou­red by the diuine scripture, which affirmeth that Adam gaue euerie of those things which God set before him, the proper name that best was fitting for them. But Ari­stotle wil not grant, that in any toung there can be found any name, or maner of speech, which can signifie ought of it own nature, for that all names are deuised and sha­ped after the conceit of men. Whence we see by expe­rience, that wine hath aboue 60. names, and bread as manie, in euerie language his, & of none we can auouch that the same is naturall and agreeable thereunto, for then all in the world would vse but that. But for all this, the sentence of Plato is truer: for put case that the first deuisers fained the words at their pleasure and will, yet was the same by a reasonable instinct, communicated with the eare, with the nature of the thing, & with the good grace and well sounding of the pronunciation, not making the wordes ouer short or long, nor enfor­cing an vnseemly framing of the mouth in time of vtte­rance, setling the accent in his conuenient place, and obseruing the other conditions, which a tongue should possesse, to be fine, and not barbarous.

Of this selfe opinion with Plato, was a Spanish gentle­man; who made it his pastime to write books of chiual­rie, because he had a certain kind of imagination, which entiseth men to faining and leasings. Of him it is repor­ted, that being to bring into his works a furious Gyant, he went manie daies deuising a name, which might in al points be answerable to his fiercenesse: neither could he light vpon any, vntill playing one day at cardes in his friends house, he heard the owner of the house say, Ho [Page 119] sirha, boy, traquitantos, the Gentleman so soone as he Traquitantos signifieth, Bring hither tokens, or counters. heard this name Traquitantos, sodainly he took the same for a word of ful sound in the eare, and without any lon­ger looking arose, saying; gentlemen I wil play no more, for many dayes are past sithence I haue gone seeking out a name, which might fit well with a furious Gyant, whom I bring into those volumes which I now am ma­king, and I could not find the same, vntill I came to this house, where euer I receiue all courtesie. The curiositie of this gentleman in calling the Gyant Traquitantos, had also those first men, who deuised the Latine tongue, in that they found out a language of so good sound to the eare. Therefore we need not maruell that the things which are spoken and written in Latine, doe sound so well, and in other tongues so ill: for their first inuenters were barbarous.

The last doubt I haue been forced to alleage, for satis­fieng of diuers who haue stūbled theron, though the so­lution be very easie: for those who haue great vnderstan­ding are not vtterly depriued of memorie, in asmuch as if they wanted the same, it would fall out impossible that the vnderstanding could discourse or frame reasons; for this power is that which keepeth in hand the matter and the fantasies, whereon it behooueth to vse speculation. But for that the same is weake of three degrees of perfe­ction, whereto men may attaine in the Latine tongue (namely, to vnderstand, to write, and to speake the same perfitly) it can hardly passe the first without fault and stumbling.

ONe of the graces by which the vulgar is best persuaded, and think­eth Cicero saith that the honour of man is to haue wit, and of wit to be applied to e­loquence. that a man hath much know­ledge and wisdome, is, to heare him speake with great eloquence, to haue a smooth tongue, plentie of sweet and pleasant words, and to alleage many examples fit for the purpose that is in hand: but this (verily) springeth from an vnion, which the memorie maketh with the imagi­nation, in a degree and measure of heat, that cannot re­solue the moisture of the brain, and serueth to lift vp the This is recoun­ted by Plato in his dialogue of knowledge, and in his banquet. figures, and cause them to boile, where-through are dis­couered many conceits and points to be vttered. In this vnion it is impossible that discourse may be found; for we haue alreadie said and prooued heeretofore, that this power greatly abhorreth heat, and moisture cannot sup­port it. Which doctrine, if the Athenians had knowen, they would not so much haue maruelled to see so wise a man as Socrates not to haue the gift of vtterance; of whom, those who vnderstood how great his know­ledge was, said, that his words & his sentences, were like a wodden chest knobby and nothing trimmed on the outside, but that in opening the same, within it held liniamentes and portraitures of rare admiration. In the same ignorance rest they, who attempting to ren­der a reason of Aristotles bad stile and obscurenes, sayd: [Page 121] That of set purpose, & because he would that his works should carrie authoritie, he wrot vnder riddles, & with so slender ornament of words, and simple manner of de­liuerance. And if we consider also the so harsh procee­ding Cicero praising the eloquence of Plato, sayd: That if Iupiter should haue spoken Greeke, he would haue spoken as Plato did. of Plato, and the breefnesse with which he writeth, the obscuritie of his reasons, and the ill placing of the parts of his tale, we shall find that nought else saue this, occasioned the same. For such also we find the works of Hippocrates, the thefts which he committeth of Nowns and Verbs, the ill disposition of his sentences, and the weake foundation of his reasons, to stuffe out the empty places of his doctrine. What will you more? vnlesse, that when he would yeeld a very particular reckoning to his friend Damagetus, how Artaxerxses king of Persia, had sent for him, promising him as much gold and sil­uer as he list himselfe, and to make him one of the great ones of his kingdome: hauing plenty of answers to so many demaunds, he writ only thus; The king of Persia hath sent for me, not knowing that with me the respect of wisedome is greater than that of gold, Farewell.

Which matter, if it had passed through the hands of any other man of good imagination and memorie, a whole leafe of paper would not haue sufficed to set it forth.

But who would haue bene so hardie to alleage for the purpose of this doctrine, the example of S. Paule, and to affirme, that he was a man of great vnderstanding and little memorie, and that with these his forces, he could not skill of toungs, nor deliuer his mind in them poli­shedly and with gracefulnesse, if himselfe had not so sayd; I reckon not my selfe to haue done lesse than the greatest Apostles, for though I be ignoraunt of speech, yet am I not so in vnderstanding: as if he should say; I confesse that I haue not the gift of vtterance, but for sci­ence [Page 122] and knowledge, none of the greatest Apostles go­eth beyond me. Which difference of wit was so appro­priat to the preaching of the Gospell, that choice could not be made of a better, for, that a preacher should be e­loquent, and haue great furniture of queint tearms, is not a matter conuenient: for the force of the Orators of those daies, appeared in making the hearers repute things false for true; and what the vulgar held for good and behooffull, they, vsing the precepts of their art, per­suaded the contrary, and maintained that it was better to be poore than rich, sicke than whole, fond than wise, and other points manifestly repugnant to the opinion of the vulgar. For which cause the Hebrues tearmed them Geragnin, that is to say, Deceiuers. Of the same opi­nion was Cato the more, and held the abode of these in Rome for very dangerous, in as much as the forces of the Romane empire, were grounded on arms: & they began then to persuade that the Romane youth should abandon those, and giue themselues to this kind of wise­dome; therefore (in breefe) he procured them to be ba­nished out of Rome, forbidding them euer to returne a­gaine. If God then had sought out an eloquent prea­cher, who should haue vsed ornament of speech, & that he had entered into Athens or Rome, auouching that in Hierusalem the Iewes had crucified a man, who was very God, and that he died of his owne accord to re­deeme sinners, and rose againe the third day, and ascen­ded into heauen, where he now sitteth; what would the hearers haue thought, saue that these things were some of those follies and vanities which the Orators were woont to persuade by the force of their art? For which cause, S. Paule said: For Christ sent me not to baptise, but to preach the gospel, and that not in wisdome of words, [Page 123] least the crosse of Christ might prooue in vaine. The wit of S. Paule was appropriat to this seruice, for he had a large discourse to proue in the synagogues and amongst the Gentils, That Iesus Christ was the Messias promi­sed in the law, and that it was bootlesse to looke for any other: and herewithall he was of slender memorie, and therefore he could not skil to speake with ornament and sweet and well relished tearms, and this was that which was behooffull for preaching of the gospell. I will not maintaine (for all this) that S. Paule had not the gift of toungs, but that he could speake all languages as he did his owne, neither am I of opinion, that to defend the name of Christ, the forces of his great vnderstanding sufficed, if there had not bene ioined therewithall the meane of grace, and a speciall ayd which God to that purpose bestowed vpon him: it sufficeth me only to say That supernaturall gifts worke better, when they light vpon an apt disposition, than if a man were of himselfe vntoward and blockish. Hereto alludeth that doctrine of S. Hierome, which is found in his proem vpon Esay and Hieremie; where asking what the cause is, that it be­ing one selfe holy-ghost which spake by the mouth of Hieremie and of Esay, one of them propounded the mat­ters which he wrot with so great elegancie, and Hieremie scarsely wist how to speake: to which doubt he answe­reth, that the holy-ghost applieth it selfe to the naturall manner of proceeding of each Prophet, without that his grace varrieth their nature, or teacheth thē the language wherein they are to publish their prophesie. Therefore we must vnderstand, that Esay was a noble gentleman brought vp in court, and in the citie of Hierusalem, and for this cause, had ornament & polishednesse of speech; But Ieremie was borne and reared in a village of Hierusa­lem, [Page 124] called Anathochites, blunt and rude in behauiour, as a country person, and of such a stile the holy ghost vsed the seruice in the prophecie which he commanded vn­to him. The same may be said of S. Pauls Epistles, that the holy Ghost dwelled in him, when he wrote them, to the end he might not erre, but the language and maner of speech was S. Pauls natural, applied to the doctrin which he wrote; for the truth of Shool-diuinitie abhorreth ma­nie words. But the practise of languages, and the orna­ment and polishment of speech may verie well be ioy­ned with positiue diuinitie: for this facultie appertay­neth to the memorie, and is nought els saue a masse of words and catholicke sentences, taken out of the holie doctors, and the diuine Scripture, and preserued in this power, as the Grammarian doth with the flowers of the Poets, Virgill, Horace, Terence, and other Latine authours whom he readeth: who meeting occasion to rehearse them, he comes out straightwaies with a shred of Cicero, or Quintilian, whereby he makes his hearers know what he is able to do.

Those that are endowed with this vnion of the ima­gination and of the memorie, and trauaile in gathering the fruit of whatsoeuer hath been said or written in their profession, and serue themselues therewith at conueni­ent occasions, with great ornament of words & gratious fashions of speech, for that so many things are alreadie found out in all the Sciences, it seemeth to them who know not this doctrin, that they are of great profound­nesse; whereas in trueth they hold much of the Asse: for if you grow to trie them in the foūdations of that which they alleage and affirme, they then discouer their wants. And the reason is, because so great a flowing of speech cannot be vnited with the vnderstanding, whereto ap­pertaineth [Page 125] to search out the bottome of the trueth. Of these the diuine scripture said, Where there is plentie of words, there raigneth great scarsitie: as if he had said, that a man of many words ordinarily wanteth vnderstan­ding and wisdome.

Those who are endowed with this vnion of the ima­gination and memorie, enter with great courage to in­terpret the diuine scripture, it seeming to them, that be­cause they vnderstand well the Hebrue, Greeke and La­tine tongues, they haue the way made smooth to gather out the verie spirit of the letter: but verily they ruinate themselues; first, because the words of the diuine text and his maners of speech, haue manie other significati­ons, besides those which Cicero vnderstood in Latine. And then because their vnderstāding is defectiue, which power verifieth whether a sense be Catholicke or depra­ued: and this is it which may make choice by the grace supernatural, of two or three senses, that are gathered out of the letter, which is most true and catholicke.

Beguilings (saith Plato) neuer befall in things vnlike and verie different, but when manie things meet which carrie neere resemblance, For if we set before a sharpe sight, a litle salt, sugar, meale, and lyme, all well pounded and beaten to powder; and ech one seuerally by it selfe: what should he doe who wanted tast, if with his eyes he should be set to discern euerie of these powders from other without erring? saying; this is salt, this sugar, this meale, and this lyme. For my part I beleeue he would be deceiued through the great resemblance, which these things haue betweene themselues. But if there were a heape of salt, one of sugar, one of corne, one of earth, and one of stones, it is certaine he would not be decei­ued in giuing ech of these heapes his name, though his [Page 126] sight were dimme, for ech is of a diuers figure. The same we see befalleth euerie day in the senses and spi­rits, which the diuines giue to the holie scripture, of which two or three being looked on, at first sight they all carrie a shew to be Catholicke, and to agree wel with the letter, but yet in trueth are not so, neither the holie Ghost so meant. To chuse the best of these senses, and to refuse the bad, it is a thing assured that the diuine emploieth not his memory not his imagination, but his vnderstanding. Wherefore I auouch that the positiue diuine ought to conferre with the Schoole-man, and to enquire at his hands, that of these senses he may chuse that which shal appeare to be soundest, vnlesse he wil be sent to the holie house. For this cause doe heretickes so much abhorre Schoole-diuinitie, and learne to banish it out of the world: for by distinguishing, inferring, fra­ming of reasons, and iudging, we attaine to vnderstand the trueth, and to discouer falshood.

IT is a probleme often demanded, not onely by folke learned & wise, but also the vulgar will put in their oare, and euerie day bring in que­stion, For what cause a diuine be­ing a great man in the Schooles, sharp in disputing, readie in answe­ring, and in writing and lecturing of rare learning; yet [Page 127] getting vp into the pulpit, cannot skill of preaching: and contrariwise if one prooue a gallant preacher, eloquent, gratious, and that drawes the people after him; it seemes a miracle if he be deeply seene in Schoole-diuinitie. Wherefore they admit not for a sound consequence: such a one is a great Schoole-diuine; therfore he will prooue a good preacher: and contrariwise they will not grant; he is a good preacher, therefore he hath skill in Schoole-diuinitie. For to reuerse the one and other of these consequences, there may be alleaged for ech, more instances than are haires on our head.

No man hitherto hath been able to answer this de­mand, saue after the ordinarie guise, vz. to attribute the whole to God, and to the distribution of his graces: and to my liking they doe very well, in asmuch as they know not any more particular occasion thereof. The answere of this doubt (in some sort) is giuen by vs in the forego­ing chapter, but not so particularly as is requisite; and it was, that School-diuinitie appertaineth to the vnderstā ­ding: but now we affirme and will prooue that preach­ing, and his practise, is a worke of the imagination. And as it falles out a difficult matter, to ioyne in one self brain a good vnderstanding and much imagination: so like­wise it will hardly fall that one selfe man, be a great Schoole-diuine, & a famous preacher: and that School­diuinitie is a worke of the vnderstanding, hath tofore been prooued when we proued the repugnancie which it carried to the Latine tongue. For which cause it shall not now be necessarie to prooue the same anew, onely it shall suffice to giue to vnderstand, that the grace and delightfulnesse which good preachers haue, whereby they draw their audience vnto them, and hold them well pleased, is altogither a worke of the imagination, [Page 128] and part thereof of a good memorie, and to the end I may better expound my selfe, and cause it as it were to be felt with the hand, it behooueth first to presuppose that man is a liuing creature, capable of reason, of cōpa­nie, and of ciuilitie, and to the end that his nature might be the more abled by art, the ancient Philosophers de­uised Logicke to teach him how he might frame his rea­sons with those precepts and rules, how he should de­fine the nature of things, distinguish, deuide, conclude, argue, iudge, and choose, without which works it grows impossible, that the Artist can go forward: and that he might be companiable and ciuill; it behooued him to speake, & to giue other men to weet the conceits which he framed in his mind. And for that he should not deli­uer them without disposition and without order: they deuised another art which they termed Rhethoricke, which by his preceptes and rules might beautifie the speech with polished words, with fine phrases, and with stirring affections and gratious colours. But as Logicke teacheth not a man to discourse and to argue in one sci­ence alone; but without difference in all alike: so also Rhethoricke instructeth how to speake, in Diuinitie, in Phisicke, in skill of the Lawes and in all other Sciences and conuersations, which men entermedled withall. In sort, that if we will faine a perfect Logician, or an ac­complished Oratour, he cannot fall into due considera­tion vnlesse he be seen in all the Sciences, for they all appertaine to his iurisdiction, and in which soeuer of them, he may exercise his rules without distinction: not as Phisicke which hath his matter limited whereof it must intreat: and so likewise naturall Philosophie, and morall, Metaphisick, Astrologie, and the rest: and there­fore Cicero said, The Oratour whersoeuer he abideth, [Page 129] dwelleth in his own. And in another place he affirmeth, in a perfect Oratour is found all the knowledge of the Philosophers, and therefore the same Cicero auouched, that there is no art more difficult than that of a perfect Oratour: and with more reason he might so haue said, if he had known with how great hardnesse al the Sciences are vnited in one particular subiect.

Anciently the doctors of the law were adorned with the name of Oratour, for the perfection of pleading re­quired the notice & furniture of al the arts in the world, for the lawes do iudge them all. Now to know the de­fence reserued for euerie art by it selfe, it was necessary to haue a particular knowledge of them all; for which cause Cicero said, No man ought to be reputed in the number of oratours, who is not well seen in all the arts. But seeing it was impossible to learne all Sciences: first, through the shortnesse of life, and then because mans wit is so bounded, they let them passe, and of necessitie held themselues contented to giue credit to the skilfull in that art whereof they made profession, and no farther.

After this maner of defending causes, straightwaies succeeded the euangelicall doctrine, which might haue been persuaded by the art of oratorie, better than all the Sciences of the world besides, for that the same is the most certaine and truest: but Christ our redeemer, char­ged S. Paul, that he should not preach it with wisdom of words, to the end the Gentiles should not think it was a well couched leasing, as are those which the oratours vse to persuade by the force of their art. But when the faith had been receiued, many yeares after it was al­lowed to preach with places of Rhetoricke, and to vse the seruice of eloquent speech; for that then the incon­uenience [Page 130] fell not in consideration, which was extant when S. Paul preached. Yea we see that the preacher rea­peth more fruit, who hath the conditions of a perfect orator, and is more haunted than he that wanteth them: and the reason is verie plaine. For if the ancient oratours gaue the people to vnderstand things false for true (vsing those their preceptes and rules) more easily shall the christian auditorie be drawen, when by art they are per­suaded to that which alreadie they vnderstand and be­leeue. Besides that the holy Scripture (after a sort) is all things; and to yeeld the same a true interpretation, it be­hooueth to haue all the Sciences conformable to that so oft said saw, He sent his damsels to call to the Castle. This fitteth not to be remembred to the preachers of our time, nor to aduise them that now they may do it: for their particular studie (besides the fruit which they pretend to bring with their doctrine) is to seeke out a good text, to whose purpose they may applie many fine sentences taken out of the diuine Scripture, the holy doctors, poets, historians, phisitians and lawyers, without forbearing anie Science, and speaking copiou­sly with quietnesse and pleasant words; and with al these things they goe amplifying and stuffing their matter, an houre or two if need be, Of this saith Cicero the ora­tours of his time made profession: The force of an ora­tour (saith he) and the selfe art of well speaking, seemeth that it vndertaketh and promiseth to speake with copi­ousnesse and ornament, of whatsoeuer matter that shall be propounded. Then if we shall prooue that the graces and conditions which a perfect oratour ought to haue, do all appertaine to the imagination and to the memo­rie; we shall also know that the diuine, who is indowed with them will be an excellent preacher: but being set to [Page 131] the doctrrin of S. Thomas and Scotus can litle skill therof, for that the same is a science belonging to the vnder­standing, in which power, of necessitie it holdeth litle force.

What the things be which appertaine to the imagi­nation, and by what signs they are to be knowne, we haue heretofore made mention: now we will return to a replication of them, that they may the better be refre­shed to the memorie. All that which may be tearmed good figure, good purpose and prouision, comes from the grace of the imagination, as are merrie ieasts, resem­blances, quips, and comparisons.

The first thing which a perfect Orator is to go about (hauing matter vnder hand) is to seeke out arguments and conuenient sentences, whereby he may dilate and prooue, and that not with all sorts of words, but with such as giue a good consonance to the eare: and there­fore Cicero sayd: I take him for an Orator, who can vse in his discourses, words well tuning with the eare, and sentences conuenient for proofe. And this (for certain) appertaineth to the imagination, sithens therin is a con­sonance of well pleasing words, and a good direction in the sentences.

The second grace which may not be wanting in a perfect Orator, is to possesse much inuention, or much reading, for if he rest bound to dilate and confirme any matter whatsoeuer, with many speeches and sentences applied to the purpose, it behooueth that he haue a very swift imagination, and that the same supplie (as it were) the place of a braach, to hunt and bring the game to his hand, and when he wants what to say, to deuise some­what as if it were materiall. For this cause we sayd be­fore, that heat was an instrument with which the ima­gination [Page 132] worketh, for this qualitie lifteth vp the figures and maketh them to boile. Here is discouered all that which in them may be seene, and if there fel out nought else to be considered, this imagination hath force not onely to compound a figure possible with another, but doth ioyne also (after the order of nature) those which are vnpossible, and of them growes to shape mountains of gold, and calues that flie. In lieu of their owne inuen­tion, oratours may supply the same with much reading, forasmuch as their imagination faileth them: but in cō ­clusion whatsoeuer bookes teach, is bounded and limi­ted; and the proper inuention is a good fountain which alwaies yeeldeth forth new and fresh water. For retai­ning the things which haue been read, it is requisite to possesse much memorie, and to recite them in the pre­sence of the audience with readinesse, cannot be done without the same power. For which cause Cicero said, he shall (in mine opinion) be an oratour worthy of so im­portant a name, who with wisdome, with copiousnesse, and with ornament, can readily deliuer euerie matter that is worth the hearing. Heeretofore we haue said and prooued that wisdome appertaineth to the imagi­nation, copiousnesse of words and sentences to the me­morie, ornament and polishment to the imagination: to recite so many things without faltring or stopping, for certain is atchieued by the goodnesse of the memo­rie. To this purpose, Cicero auouched that the good oratour ought to rehearse by heart, and not by booke. It falleth not besides the matter to let you vnderstand that M. Antony of Lebrissa, through old age grew to such a decay of memorie, that he read his Rhetoricke lecture to his schollers out of a paper, and for that he was so ex­cellent in his profession, and with good proofes confir­med [Page 133] his points propounded, it passed for currant; but that which might no way be tollerated, was, that where he died sodainly of an apoplexie, the Vniuersitie of Alca­la recommended the making of his funerall oration to a famous preacher, who inuented and disposed what he had to say the best he could: but time so pressed him, as it grew impossible for him to con the same without booke: Wherefore getting vp into the pulpit with his paper in his hand, he began to speake in this sort. That which this notable man vsed to do whilst he read to his schollers, I am now also resouled to do in his imitation; for his death was so sodaine, and the commandement to me of making his funerall fermon so late, as I had neither place nor time to studie what I might say, nor to con it by heart. Whatsoeuer I haue been able to gather with the trauell of this night, I bring heere written in this paper, and beseech your maisterships that you will heare the same with patience, and pardon my slender memorie.

This fashion of rehearsing with paper in the hand so highly displeased the audience, as they did nought els than smile and murmure: Therefore verie well said Cicero, that it behooued to rehearse by heart and not by booke. This preacher verily was not endowed with any inuention of his own, but was driuen to fetch the same out of his books; and to performe this, great studie and much memorie were requisite. But those who borrow their conceits out of their owne brain, stand not in need of studie, time, or memorie: for they find all ready at their fingers ends. Such will preach to one selfe audi­ence all their life long without reapeating any point touched in twentie yeares before; whereas those that want inuention, in two Len [...]s cull the flowers out of all [Page 134] the books in a whole world, and ransacke to the bottom all the writings that can be gotten; and at the third Lent must go and get themselues a new auditory, except they will heare cast in their teeth, This is the same which you preached vnto vs in the yeare before.

The third propertie that a good orator ought to haue, is that he know how to dispose his matter, placing eue­rie word and sentence in his fit roome, in sort that the whole may carrie an answerable proportion, and one thing bring in another: And to this purpose Cicero said, Disposition is an order and distribution of things which sheweth what ought in what places to be bestowed; which grace when it is not naturall, accustomably bree­deth much cumber to the preachers, For after they haue found in their books many things to deliuer, all of them cannot skill to apply this prouision readily to euerie point. This property of ordering and distributing, is for certaine a worke of the imagination, since (in effect) it is nought els, but figure and correspondence.

The fourth propertie wherewith good oratours should be endowed, and the most important of all, is action, wherwith they giue a being and life to the things which they speake, and with the same do moue the hea­rers, and supple them to beleeue how that is true which they go about to persuade. For which cause Cicero said, Action is that which ought to be gouerned by the mo­tion of the body, by the gesture, by the countenance, & by the confirmation and varietie of the voice. As if he should say: action ought to be directed in making the motions and gestures, which are requisite for the things that are spoken, lifting vp and falling with the voice, growing passionate, and sodainly turning to appease­ment; one while speaking fast, another-while leisurely, [Page 135] reproouing, and cherishing, mouing the bodie, some­times to the one side, somtimes to the other, plucking in the armes, and stretching them out, laughing and weep­ing: and vpon some occasions beating the hands togi­ther. This grace is so important in preachers, that by the same alone (wanting both inuention and disposition) of matters of small value and ordinary, they make a ser­mon which filleth the audience with astonishment, for that they haue this action, which otherwise is termed spirit or pronunciation. Heerein falleth a thing worth the marking, whereby is discouered how much this grace can preuaile; and it is, that the sermons which through the much action and much spirite doe please much, when they be set downe in writing are nothing worth, nor will any wel-neer vouchsafe their reading: and this groweth because with the pen it is impossible to pourtray those motions and those gestures, which in the pulpit so far wan mens likings. Other sermons shew verie well in paper; but at their preaching no man listeth to giue eare because that action is not giuē them, which is requisite at euerie close. And therefore Plato said, that the stile wherewith we speake, is far different from that which we write well, where-through we see manie men who can speake very well, do yet endite but meanly, and others contrariwise, endite verie well, and discourse but harshly: all which is to be reduced to action, and action (for certaine) is a worke of the imagination, for all that which we haue vttered thereof, maketh figure, correspondence, and good consonance.

The fifth grace, is to know how to assemble & alleage good examples and comparisons, which better conten­teth the hearers humour than any thing els: For by a fit example they easily vnderstand the doctrine, and with­out [Page 136] the same it soone slippeth out of their mind: where­on Aristotle propounded this question, Whence it ri­seth that men (in making speeches) are better pleased with examples and fables than with conceits, as if he should say, For what occasion do such as come to heare oratours, make more reckoning of the examples and fa­bles which they alleage, to prooue the things that they striue to persuade, than of the arguments and reasons which they frame? and to those he answereth, That by examples & fables men learne best, because it is a proofe which appertaineth to the sense, but arguments and rea­sons hold not the like reason, for that they are a worke whereto is requisite much vnderstanding. And for this cause Christ our redeemer in his sermons vsed so many parables and comparisons, because by them he gaue to vnderstand many diuine secrets. This point of deuising fables and comparisons, it is a thing certaine that the same is performed by the imagination, for it is figure, and denoteth good correspondence and similitude.

The sixth propertie of a good oratour, is, to haue a readie tongue of his owne, and not affected, choice words, and many gratious sorts of vtterance: of which graces we haue entreated oftentimes heeretofore, proo­uing that the one part of them appertaineth to the ima­gination, and the other to a good memorie.

The seuenth propertie of a good oratour, is that which Cicero speaketh of: furnished with voice, with action, and with comlinesse, the voice full and ringing, pleasing to the hearers, not harsh, not hoarse, nor sharp: and although it be true that this springeth from the tem­perature of the breast and the throat, and not from the imagination: yet sure it is that from the same tempera­ture from which a good imagination groweth, namely [Page 137] heat, a good voice also fetcheth his originall, & to know this, importeth much for our purpose: For the Schoole­diuines in that they are of a cold and drie complexion, cannot haue their voice a good instrument: and this is a great defect in a pulpit.

This same Aristotle also prooueth, alleaging the ex­ample of old men, by reason of their coldnesse and dry­nesse. To haue a full and cleare voice, much heat is re­quisit to enlarge the passages, and measurable moisture which may supple and soften them. And also Aristotle demaundeth why al who by nature are hote, are also big voiced? For which cause we see the contrary in women and Eunuches, who through the much coldnes of their complexion (sayth Galen) haue their throat and voice ve­ry delicat, in sort, that when we heare a good voice, we can straightwaies say, it comes of much heat and moi­sture in the brest: which two qualities, if they passe so far as the braine, make the vnderstanding to decay, and the memorie and imagination to increase, which are the two powers wherof the good preacher serueth himselfe to content his auditorie.

The eighth propertie of a good orator (sayth Cicero) is to haue toung at will, ready, and well exercised, which grace cannot befall men of great vnderstanding, for that it may be readie, it behooueth the same to partake much heat, and meane drouth. And this cannot light in the melancholicke, either naturall, or by adustion. Aristotle prooueth it, by asking this question, Whence commeth it, that such as haue an impediment in their speech, are reputed to be of complexion melancholicke? To which probleme he answereth very vntowardly, saying, That the melancholicke haue a great imagination, and that the toung cannot hast to vtter so fast as the imagination [Page 138] conceiueth, wherethrough they stammer and stumble: which yet proceedeth from nought else, saue that the melancholike haue euer their mouth full of froath and spittle, through which disposition their toung is moist and slipper, which thing may euidently be discerned, considering the often spitting of such. This selfe reason did Aristotle render, when he demaunded, Whence it groweth that some are so slow tounged? and he answe­reth, That such haue their toung very cold and moist, which two qualities breed an impediment therein, and make it subiect to the palsie; and so you see his conceit of the imagination cannot follow: for this he yeeldeth a profitable remedie, vz. to drinke a little wine, or at first to hallow somwhat lowd, before they speake in the pre­sence of their audience, for thereby the toung getteth heat, and drieth.

But Aristotle sayth further, that not to speake plaine, may grow from hauing the toung very hot, and very drie, and voucheth the example of cholericke persons, who growing in choler, cannot speake, and when they are void of passion and choler, they are very eloquent: the contrarie betideth to the flegmaticke, who being quiet, cannot talke, and when they are angred vtter spee­ches of great eloquence. The reason of this is very ma­nifest, for although it is true, that heat aideth the imagi­nation, and the toung also, yet the same may also breed them dammage: first, for that they want supplie of re­plies and wittie sentences, as also because the toung can­not pronounce plainly, through ouer-much drinesse; wherethrough we see, that after a man hath drunke a little water, he speaketh better.

The cholericke (being quiet) deliuer very well, for they then retaine that point of heat which is requisit for [Page 139] the toung, and the good imagination; but in anger, the heat groweth beyond due, and turneth the imagination topsie turuie. The flegmaticke vnincensed, haue their braine very cold and moist, and therefore are set a ground what to say, and their toung is ouer slipper through too much moisture; but when they are set on fire and in choler, the heat foorthwith getteth vp, and so lifteth vp the imagination; by which means there comes to their mind much what to deliuer, and the toung giueth no hinderance for that it is heated: these haue no great vaine in versifieng, for that they are cold of braine, who yet (once angred) do then make verses best, and with most facilitie, against such as haue stirred them, and to this purpose Iuuenal sayd:

Through the defect of toung, men of great vnderstan­ding cannot be good orators or preachers, and specially for that action requireth a speech sometimes high, and sometimes low, and those who are slow tounged, can­not pronounce but with loud voice, and in a maner cry­ing out, & this is one of the things which soonest cloi­eth the hearers: whereon Aristotle mooueth this doubt, Whence it springeth, that men of slow toung cannot speake soft. To which probleme he answereth very well, saying, that fastened to the toung which is the roofe of the mouth, by reason of much moisture, is better loose­ned with a force, than if you put therto but little might, as if one would lift vp a launce, taking the same by the point, he shal sooner raise it at one push and with a force, then taking it vp by little and little.

Me seemeth, I haue sufficiently proued that the good naturall qualities which a perfect Orator ought to haue, spring for the most part from a good imagination, and [Page 140] some from the memorie. And if it be true that the good preachers of our time content their audience, because they haue these gifts; it followeth very well, that whoso­euer is a great preacher can small skill of Schoole-di­uinitie, and a great scholler will hardly away with preaching, through the contrarietie, which the vnder­standing carieth to the imagination and to the memo­rie. Well knew Aristotle by experience, that although the oratour learned Naturall and Morall Philosophy, Phisicke, Metaphisicke, the Lawes, the Mathematicals, Astrologie, and al the arts and sciences; notwithstanding he was seen of all these, but in the flowers and choice sentences, without pearcing to the roote of the reason & occasion of any of them: But he thought that this not knowing the Diuinitie, nor the cause of things which is termed Propter quid, grew, for that they bent not themselues thereunto, and therfore propounded this demand. Why do we imagine that a Philosopher is dif­ferent from an oratour? To which probleme he answe­reth, that the Philosopher placeth all his studie in know­ing the reason and cause of euerie effect, and the oratour in knowing the effect and no farther. And verily it pro­ceedeth from nought els, than for that naturall Philoso­phy appertaineth to the vnderstanding, which power the oratours do want; and therefore in Philosophy they can pearce no farther than into the vpper skin of things. This selfe difference there is between the Schoole-di­uine and the positiue, that the one knoweth the cause of whatsoeuer importeth his faculty; and the other the pro­positions which are verefied, & no more. The case then standing thus, it falleth out a dangerous matter that the preacher enioyeth an office and authoritie to instruct Christian people in the trueth, and that their auditorie is [Page 141] bound to beleeue them, and yet they want that power, through which the trueth is digged vp from the roote, we may say of them (without lying) those wordes of Christ our redeemer, Let them go, they are blinde, and do guide the blinde; and if the blind guide the blind, both fall into the ditch. It is a thing in tollerable to be­hold with how great audacity such set themselues to preach, who cannot one iote of Schoole-diuinitie, nor haue anie naturall abilitie to learne the same.

Of such S. Paul greatly cōplaineth; saying, But the end of the commandement is charitie from a pure heart and good conscience, & faith vnfained▪ from which (verily) some straying, haue turned aside to vain babling: who would be doctors in the Law and yet vnderstand not the things which they speake, nor which they auouch.

Besides this we haue prooued tofore, that those who haue much imagination, are cholericke, subtle, malig­nant, and cauillers, and alwaies enclined to euill, which they can compasse with much readinesse & craft. Tou­ching the oratours of his time, Aristotle propoundeth this demand, why we vse to call an oratour craftie, and giue not this name to a musitian, nor to a comical poet? And more would this difficulty haue growen, if Aristotle had vnderstood that musicke and the stage appertain to the imaginatiō. To which probleme he answereth, That Musitions and stage-plaiers shoot at none other Butte, than to delight the hearers; but the oratour goes about to purchase somewhat for himselfe, and therfore it be­hooueth him to vse rules and readinesse, to the end the hearers may not smell out his fetch and bent.

Such properties as these be had those false preachers, of whom S. Paul spake, writing to the Corinthians, But I feare that as the serpent beguiled Eue with his subtletie; [Page 142] so their senses are led astraie: for these false Apostles are guilefull workmen, who transforme themselues into the Apostles of Christ: and this is no wonder, for Sa­than transformed himselfe into an Angel of light, and therefore it is no great matter for his ministers to trans­forme themselues as ministers of iustice, whose end shall be their worke: as if he should say; I haue great feare (my brethren) that as the serpent beguiled Eue with his sub­tletie and malice, so they also intricate their iudgment and perseuerance: for these false Apostles are like pot­tage made of a foxe. Preachers who speake vnderwiles, represent verie perfectly a kinde of holinesse, seeme the Apostles of Iesus Christ, and yet are disciples of the diuell, who can skill so well to represent an Angel of light, that there needeth not a supernaturall gift to dis­couer what he is: and since the maister can play his part so well, it is not strange that they also who haue learned his doctrine practise the semblable, whose end shall be none other than their works. All these properties are well knowen to appertaine to the imagination, and that Aristotle said very wel, that oratours are subtle and rea­die, because they are euer in hand to get somewhat for themselues.

Such as possesse a forcible imagination we said be­fore, that they are of complexion verie hote, and from this quality spring three principall vices in a man; Pride, Gluttonie, and Lecherie: for which cause the Apostle said, Such serued not our Lord Iesus Christ, but their bellie.

And that these three euill inclinations spring from heat, and the contrarie vertues from cold: Aristotle proo­ueth, saying thus: and therfore it holdeth the same force to shape conditions, for heat and cold (more than anie [Page 143] thing els which is in the bodie) do season maners, and therefore printeth and worketh in vs the qualities of maners: as if he should say, from heat and cold spring all the conditions of man: for these two qualities do more altér our nature than any other: For which cause men of great imagination are ordinarily bad and vitious: for they abandon themselues to be guided by their na­tural inclination, and haue wit and ability to do lewdly. For which cause the same Aristotle asketh, Whence it groweth, that a man being so much instructed, is yet the most vniust of all liuing creatures? to which probleme he maketh answere that man hath much wit, and a great imagination, and for this he findeth manie waies to do ill, and (as by his nature he coueteth delights, and to be superiour to all and of great happinesse) it is of force that he offend: for these things cannot be atchieued, but by doing wrong to many: but Aristotle wist not how to frame this probleme, nor to yeeld a fitting answere.

Better might he haue enquired for what cause the worst people are commonly of greatest wit, & amongst those, such as are best furnished with abilitie, commit the lewdest prancks: whereas of dew, a good wit and sufficiencie should rather encline a man to vertue and godlinesse than to vices and misdoing. The answere heereto is, for that those who partake much heate, are men of great imagination, and the same qualitie which maketh them wittie, traineth them to be naughtie & vi­cious. But when the vnderstanding ouerruleth, it or­dinarily inclineth a man to vertue, because this power is founded on cold and drie: From which two qualities, bud many vertues, as are Continencie, Humilitie, Tem­perance, and from heat the contrarie. And if Aristotle had knowen this point of Philosophy, he should haue [Page 144] been able to answer this probleme which saith, Whence may it proceed that that sort of men whō we call crafts­men of Bacchus or stage▪ plaiers, are for the most part ill conditioned? as if he should say: for what cause are such as gaine their liuing on the stage, In keepers and But­chers, and those whose seruice is vsed about feastes and banquets to order the cates, ordinarily naught and viti­ous? To which probleme he answereth, saying; that such by being occupied in these belly cheere offices, leaue themselues no leisure to studie, and therefore passe ouer their life in incontinencie. And heereto is pouerty also aiding, which accustomably bringeth with it manie euils: but (verily) this is not the reason; but playing on the stage and ordering of feasts springeth from the diffe­rence of the imagination, which inuiteth a man to this maner of life. And because this difference of imaginati­on consisteth in heate, all of them haue verie good sto­mackes and great appetite to eate and drinke. These al­though they gaue themselues to learning, should therby reape little fruit; and had they been neuer so wealthie, yet would they (howsoeuer) haue cast their affection to these seruices, were they euen baser than they are: for the wit and abilitie draweth euery one to that art, which answereth it in proportion.

For this cause Aristotle demanded what the reason was, why there are men who more willingly addict thē ­selues to the professiō of which they haue made choice, (though somwhiles vnworthy) than to the more hono­rable? As for example, to berather a iugler, a stage-plaier, or a trumpeter, than an Astrologer or an Orator? To which probleme he answereth verie well, saying; that a man soon discerneth to what art he is disposed, and in­clined of his owne nature, because he hath somewhat [Page 145] within that teacheth him, and nature can doe so much with her pricks, that albeit the art and office be vnseem­ly for the calling of the learner, yet he cleaueth vnto that and not to others of greater estimation. But sithence we haue put by this manner of wits from the function of preaching, and that we are bound to giue and bestow vpon euerie difference of abilitie that sort of learning, which is answerable thereto in particuler: we must like­wise determin what sort of wit he ought to be endowed withall, vnto whose charge the function of preaching is to be committed, which is the thing that most impor­teth the christian commonwealth: For we must con­ceiue that albeit we haue prooued heertofore, that it is a matter repugnant in nature to find a great wit accompa­nied with much imagination and memorie. Notwith­standing this rule holdeth not so vniuersally in all arts, but that it admitteth his exceptions and somtimes com­meth short.

In the last chapter of this worke saue one, we will proue at full, that if nature be possessed of her due force, and haue no impediment cast athwart to stop her, she maketh so perfect a difference of wit, as the same vniteth in one selfe subiect a great vnderstanding, with much imagination and memorie, as if they were not contrary, nor held any naturall opposition.

This should be a fitting abilitie, and conuenient for the function of preaching, if there could be found many subiects to be endowed therewith; but (as we will shew in the place alleaged) they are so few, that of 100000. whom I haue measured, I can meet but with one of the size. Therefore it behooueth to seeke out another more familiar difference of wit, though not so far stept in per­fection as the former. We must then weet, that between [Page 146] the Phisitians and Philosophers riseth a great diuersity in opinions, for resoluing the temperature and the qua­litie of vineger, of choler adust, and of ashes; inasmuch as these things sometimes worke the effect of heat, and somtimes of cold; and thereon they deuided themselues into diuers sects: but the trueth is, that all these things which suffer adstiuon, and are consumed and burned by the fire, haue a variable temperature. The greater part of the subiect is cold and drie, but there are also other parts entermingled, so subtle and delicate, and of such feruencie and heat, that albeit they contain litle in quan­titie, yet they carie more efficacie in working than al the rest of the subiect.

So we see that vineger and melancholie through a­dustion open & leauen the earth by meanes of the heat, and close it not though the more part of these humours be cold. Hence is gathered that the melancholicke by adustion, accompanie great vnderstanding with much imagination; but they are all weake of memorie, for the much adustion much also drieth & hardneth the braine. These are good preachers, or (at least) the best that may be found, sauing those perfect ones of whom we spake: for although memorie faile them, they enioy of them­selues such inuention that the verie imagination serueth them in stead of memorie and remembrance; and mini­streth vnto them figures and sentences to deliuer, with­out that they stand in need of ought besides. Which these cannot bring about who haue conned bosome ser­mons, and swaruing from that bias are straight set a ground, without hauing the furniture of any second meanes, to bring themselues aflote again. And that me­lancholie by adustion hath this varietie of temperature, namely; cold and dry, for the vnderstanding, and heate [Page 147] for the imagination, Aristotle declareth in these wordes, Melancholike men are variable and vnequall: for the force of choler adust is variable and vnequall; as if the same might be greatly both hot and cold, & as if he had said, Melancholike men by adustion are variable and vn­equall in their complexion: for that choler adust is verie vnequall, inasmuch as somtimes it is exceeding hot, and somtimes cold beyond measure.

The signs by which men of this temperature may be knowne, are very manifest: they haue the colour of their countenaunce a darke greene, or sallow, their eies very fierie; of whom it was sayd, he is a man that hath blood in his eyes, their haire blacke and bald, their flesh leane, rough and hairie, their vains big, they are of very good conuersation, and affable, but letcherous, proud, stately, blasphemers, wily, double, iniurious, friends of ill doo­ing, and desirous of reuenge: this is to be vnderstood when melancholie is kindled, but if it be cooled, foorth­with there grow in them the contrary vertues, chastitie, humilitie, feare and reuerence of God, charitie, mercie, and great acknowledgmēt of their sinnes, with sighings and tears, for which cause they liue in continuall warre and strife, without euer enioying ease or rest. Somtimes vice preuaileth in them, sometimes vertue, but with all these defects, they are wittiest, and most able for the fun­ction of preaching, & for all matters of wisdome which befall in the world; for they haue an vnderstanding to know the truth, and a great imagination to be able to persuade the same.

Wherethrough, we see that which God did when he would fashion a man in his mothers wombe, to the end that he might be able to discouer to the world, the com­ming of his sonne, and haue the way to prooue and per­saude, [Page 148] That Christ was the Messias and promised in the law. For making him of great vnderstanding, & of much imagination, it fell out of necessitie (keeping the naturall order) that he should also make him cholericke and adust. And that this is true, may easily be vnderstood by him, who considereth the great fire & furie, with which Paule. he persecuted the church, the greefe conceiued by the synagogues, when they saw him conuerted, as they who had forgone a man of high importance, and of whom the contrarie partie had made a gainfull purchace. It is also knowen by the tokens of the reasonable choler, with which he spake and answered the deputy, Consuls, and the Iudges who had arrested him: defending his owne person and the name of Christ, with so great a [...]t and readinesse, as he conuinced them all: yet he had an imperfection in his tongue, and was not very prompt of speech, which Aristotle affirmeth to be a property of the melancholicke by adustion. The vices wherto he con­fessed himselfe to be subiect before his conuersion, shew him to haue been of this temperature: he was a blasphe­mer, a wrong doer, and a persecutor: all which springeth from abundance of heat. But the most euident signe which shewed that he was cholericke adust, is gathered from that battaile which himselfe confesseth he had within himselfe, betwixt his part superiour & inferiour, saying; I see another law in my members striuing against the law of my minde, which leadeth me into the bon­dage of sinne. And this selfe contention haue we proo­ued (by the mind of Aristotle) to be in the melancholicke by adustion.

True it is that some expound (very well) that this bat­taile groweth from the disorder which originall sinne made betweene the spirit and the flesh; albeit being such [Page 149] and so great, I beleue also that it springs from the choler adust, which he had in his naturall constitution: for the roiall prophet Dauid participated equally of original sin, and yet complained not so much as did S. Paul; but saith, that he found the inferiour portion accorded with his reason, when he would reioice with God: My heart (saith he) and my flesh ioyed in the liuing God, and (as we will touch in the last chapter saue one) Dauid posses­sed the best temperature that nature could frame: and heereof we will make proofe by the opinion of all the Philosophers, that the same ordinarily enclineth a man to be vertuous without any great gainstriuing of the flesh. The wits then which are to be sorted out for prea­chers, are first those who vnite a great vnderstanding with much imagination and memorie, whose signes shalbe expressed in the last chapter saue one. Where such want, there succeede in their roome the melancholicke by adustion. Those vnite a great vnderstanding with much imagination, but suffer defect of memorie; wher­through, they are not stored with copie of words, nor can preach with full store in presence of the people.

In the third rancke succeed men of great vnderstan­ding, but defectiue in their imagination and memorie. These shall haue but a bad grace in preaching; yet will preach sound doctrine. The last whom I would not charge with preaching at all, are such as vnite much me­morie with much imagination, and haue defect of vn­derstanding. These draw the auditorie after them, and hold them in suspense and well pleased: but when they least misdoubt it, they fetch a turne to the holy house: for by way of their sweet discourses and blessings, they beguile the innocent.

IN the Spanish toung, it is not void of a mysterie, that this word (Lette­red) being a common tearme for all men of letters or learning, as well Diuines, as Lawyers, Phisitions, Lo­gicians, Philosophers, Orators, Ma­thematicians, and Astrologers, yet in saying that such a one is learned, we all vnderstand it by common sence, that he maketh profession of the lawes, as if this were their proper and peculiar title, and not of the residue.

The aunswer of this doubt, though it be easie, yet to yeeld the same such as is requisit, it behooueth first to be acquainted what law is, and wherevnto they are bound, who set themselues to studie that profession, that after­wards they may imploie the same to vse, when they are iudges or pleaders. The law (who so well considereth thereof) is nought else, but a reasonable will of the law maker, by which he declareth, in what sort he will that the cases which happen dayly in the common wealth, be decided, for preseruing the subiects in peace, and di­recting them in what sort they are to liue, & what things they are to refraine.

I sayd, a reasonable will, because it sufficeth not, that the king or emperour (who are the efficient cause of the lawes) declaring his will in what sort soeuer, doth there­by [Page 151] make it a law, for if the same be not iust, and groun­ded vpon reason, it cannot be called a law, neither is it: euen as he cannot be tearmed a man who wanteth a rea­sonable soule. Therefore it is a matter established by common accord, that kings enact their lawes with assent of men very wise and of sound iudgement, to the end they may be right, iust, and good, and that the subiects may receiue them with good will, and be the more bound to obserue and obey them. The materiall cause of the law is, that it consist of such cases as accustomably befall in the common wealth, according to the order of nature, and not of things impossible or such as betide very sildome. The finall cause is, to order the life of man and to direct him what he is to do, and what to forbeare, to the end that being conformed to reason, the com­mon wealth may be preserued in peace. For this cause we see that the lawes are written in plaine words, not doubtfull, nor obscure, nor of double vnderstanding, without ciphers, and without abbreuiations, and so ea­sie and manifest, that whosoeuer shall read them, may readily vnderstand and retaine them in memorie. And because no man should pretend ignorance, they are pub­likely proclaymed, that whosoeuer afterward breaketh them, may be chastised.

In respect therefore of the care and diligence which the good law makers vse, that their lawes may be iust and plaine, they haue giuen in charge to the iudges and pleaders, that in actions or iudgements, none of them follow his owne sence, but suffer himselfe to be guided by the authoritie of the lawes, as if they should say, We commaund that no iudge or aduocat, imploy his con­ceit, nor intermeddle in deciding, whether the law be iust or vniust, nor yeeld it any other sence than that that [Page 152] is contained in the text of the letter. So it followeth that the lawyers are to construe the text of the law, and to take that sense which is gathered out of the constructi­on thereof, and none other.

This doctrine thus presupposed, it falleth out a mat­ter very manifest, for what reason the lawyers are termed lettered, and other men of learning not so, for this name is deriued from the word letter, which is to say, a man who is not licenced to follow the capacitie of his owne vnderstanding, but is enforced to ensue the sense of the very letter. And for that the well practised in this profes­sion haue so construed it, they dare not denie or affirme any thing which appertaineth to the determination of any case whatsoeuer, vnles they haue lying before them some law which in expresse tearms decideth the same. And if sometimes they speake of their owne head, inter­terlacing their conceit and reason, without grounding vpon some law, they do it with feare and bashfulnesse, for which cause it is a much worne prouerbe, We blush when we speake without law. Diuines cannot call them­selues lettered in this signification, for in the holy scrip­ture the letter killeth, and the spirit giueth life; it is full of mysteries, replenished with figures and cyphers, ob­scure, and not vnderstood by all readers, the vowels and phrases of speech hold a very different significatiō from that which the vulgar and three-tounged men do know. Therefore whosoeuer shall set himselfe to construe the letter, and take the sence which riseth of that Gramma­ticall construction, shall fall into many errours.

The Phisitions also haue no letter whereto to sub­mit themselues, for if Hippocrates and Galen, and the other graue authors of this facultie, say and affirme one thing, and that experience and reason approue the contrarie, [Page 174] they are not bound to follow them: for in Phisicke, ex­perience beareth more sway than reason, and reason more than authoritie: but in the lawes it betideth quite contrary, for their authoritie and that which they de­termine, is of more force and vigour than all the reasons that may be alleaged to the contrary. Which being so, we haue the way layd open before vs, to assigne what wit is requisit for the lawes. For if a Lawyer haue his vn­derstanding and imagination tied to follow that which the law auouched, without adding or diminishing, it falleth out apparent, that this facultie appertaineth to the memorie, and that the thing wherein they must la­bour, is to know the number of the lawes, and of the rules which are in the text, and to call to remembrance ech of them in particular, & to rehearse at large his sen­tence and determination, to the end that when occasion is ministred, we may know there is a law which giueth decision, and in what forme and maner. Therefore to my seeming it is a better difference of wit for a lawyer to haue much memory and litle vnderstanding, than much vnderstanding and litle memorie. For if there fall out no occasion of employing his wit and abilitie, and that he must haue at his fingers ends so great a number of lawes as are extant, and so far different from the other; with so manie exceptions, limitations, & enlargements, it serues better to know by heart what hath been deter­mined in the lawes for euerie point which shall come in question, than to discourse with the vnderstanding in what sort the same might haue been determined: for the one of these is necessarie, & the other impertinent, since none other opinion than the verie determination of the law must beare the stroke.

So it falles out for certaine, that the Theorick of the [Page 154] law appertaineth to the memorie and not to the vnder­standing, nor to the imagination: for which reason, and for that the lawes are so positiue, and that because the lawyers haue their vnderstanding so tied to the will of the law-maker, and cannot entermingle their own reso­lution, saue in case where they rest vncertaine of the de­termination of the law, when any client seeketh their iudgement, they haue authoritie and licence to say, I wil looke for the case in my booke: which if the Phisition should answer when he is asked a remedie for some dis­ease, or the Diuine in cases of conscience; we would re­pute them for men, but simply seen in the facultie wher­of they make profession. And the reason heereof is, that those sciences haue certain vniuersall principles and de­finitions, vnder which the particuler cases are contai­ned; but in the law-facultie euery law containeth a seue­rall particular case, without hauing anie affinitie with the next, though they both be placed vnder one title. In respect whereof, it is necessarie to haue a notice of al the lawes, and to studie ech one in particuler, and distinctly to lay them vp in memorie. But heere against Plato no­teth a thing worthy of great consideration; and that is, how in his time a learned man was held in suspition that he knew many lawes by heart, seeing by experience that such were not so skilfull iudges & pleaders, as this their vaunt seemed to pretend. Of which effect it appeareth he could not find out the cause, seeing in a place so con­uenient he did not report the same; onely he saw by ex­perience that Lawyers endowed with good memorie, being set to defend a cause, or to giue a sentence, applied not their reasons so well as was conuenient.

The reason of this effect may easily be rendered in my doctrine, presupposing that memorie is contrarie to [Page 155] the vnderstanding, & that the true interpretation of the lawes, to amplifie, restraine, and compound them, with their contraries and oppositions, is done by distinguish­ing, concluding, arguing, iudging, and chusing: which workes we haue often said heeretofore belong to dis­course, and the learned man possessing much memorie cannot by possibilitie enioy them.

We haue also noted heeretofore that memorie sup­plieth none other office in the head than faithfully to preserue the figures and fantasies of things: but the vn­derstanding and the imagination, are those which work therewithall.

And if a learned man haue the whole art of memory, and yet want vnderstanding and imagination, he hath no more sufficiencie to iudge or plead, than the verie Code or Digest, which cōpassing within them all the laws and rules of reason, for all that cannot write one letter. Moreouer, albeit it be true that the law ought to be such as we haue mentioned in his definition; yet it falleth out a miracle to finde thinges with all the perfections, which the vnderstanding attributeth vnto them: that the law be iust and reasonable, and that it proceed fullie to all that which may happen, that it be written in plain termes, void of doubt & oppositions, and that it receiue not diuerse constructions, we see not alwaies accompli­shed: for in conclusion, it was established by mans coū ­sell, and that is not of force sufficient to giue order for al that may betide: and this is daily seen by experience, for after a law hath bin enacted with great aduisement and counsell, the same (in short space) is abrogated againe; for when it is once published and put in practise, a thou­sand inconueniences discouer themselues: whereof (when it was persuaded) no man took regard: and ther­fore [Page 156] kings and emperours are aduised by the same laws, that they shame not to amend and correct their lawes: for, in a word, men they are, and maruell there is none if they commit an error, so much the rather, for that no law can comprehend in wordes and sentences all the circumstances of the case which it decideth: for the craft of bad people is more wily to finde holes than that of good men to foresee how they are to be gouerned; and therefore it was said, Neither the lawes nor the reso­lutions of the Senate can be set down in writing in such sort, that all the cases which seuerally chance may be comprised therein; but it sufficeth to comprehend the things which fall out oftenest: and if other cases succeed afterward, for which no law is enacted, it decideth them in proper termes.

The law facultie is not so bare of rules and princi­ples, but that if the iudge or pleader haue a good dis­course, to know how to applie them; they may find their true determination and defence, and whence to gather the same. In sort that if the cases be more in number than the lawes, it behooueth that in the iudge and in the pleader there be much discourse to make new laws, and that not at all aduentures: but such as reason (by his consonance) may receiue them without contradiction. This the lawyers of much memorie cannot doe: for if the cases which the law thrusteth into their mouth, be not squared and chewed to their hands, they are to seek what to doe. We are woont to resemble a lawyer, who can rehearse many lawes by heart, to a regrater or hosier that hath many paires of hosen ready made in his shop, who, to deliuer you one that may fit you, must make you to assay them all: and if none agree with the buiers measure, he must send him away hoselesse. But a [Page 157] learned man of good vnderstanding, is like a good tailer, who hath his sheeres in his hand, and his peece a cloth on the table, and taking measure, cutteth his hosen after his stature that demandeth them.

The sheeres of a good pleader is his sharp vnderstan­ding, with which he taketh measure of the case, and ap­parelleth the same with that law which may decide it: and if he finde not a whole one that may determine it in expresse termes, he maketh one of many peeces, and therewith vseth the best defence that he may. The law­yers who are endowed with such a wit and abilitie, are not to be termed lettered: for they construe not the let­ter, neither bind themselues to the formall words of the law; but it seemeth they are law-makers, or counsellors at law: of whom the lawes themselues enquire and demand how they shall determine: for if they haue power & authoritie to interpret them, to reaue, to adde, and to gather out of them exceptions, and fallacies; and that they may correct and amend them, it was not vnfit­ly said, That they seem to be law makers.

Of this sort of knowledge it was spoken: by the knowledge of the lawes it is not meant to con their wordes by rote; but to take notice of their force and power, as if he should say, Let no man thinke that to know the lawes is to beare in minde the formall words with which they are written; but to vnderstand how far their forces extend, and what the point is which they may decide: for their reason is subiect to manie varie­ties, by meanes of the circumstances as well of time as of person, of place, of maner, of matter, of cause, and of the thing itselfe. All which breedeth an alteration in the decision of the law, and if the iudge or pleader be not endowed with discourse, to gather out of the law, or to [Page 158] take away or adioine that which the law selfe doth not expresse in words, he shall commit manie errors in fol­lowing the letter: for it hath been said that the words of the law are not to be taken after the Iewish manner, that is, to consture onely the letter, and so take the sense thereof.

On the things alreadie alleaged, we conclude that pleading is a worke of discourse, and that if the lear­ned in the lawes possesse much memorie, he shalbe vn­toward to iudge or plead through the repugnancie of these two powers. And this is the cause for which the learned of so ripe memorie (whom Plato mentioneth) could not defend well their clients causes, nor apply the lawes. But in this doctrin there presents it selfe a doubt, and that (in mine opinion) not of the lightest: for if the discourse be that which putteth the case in the law, and which determineth the same by distinguishing, limi­ting, amplifieng, inferring, and answering the arguments of the contrarie party, how is it possible that the dis­course may compasse all this, if the memorie set not downe all the lawes before it? for (as we haue aboue re­membred) it is commanded that no man in actions or iudgements shall vse his owne sense, but leaue himselfe to be guided by the authoritie of the lawes. Conforma­ble heereunto, it behooueth first to know all the lawes and rules of the law facultie, ere we can take hold of that which maketh to the purpose of our case. For albeit we haue said that the pleader (of good vnderstāding) is lord of the lawes: yet it is requisit that all his reasons and ar­guments be grounded on the principles of this facultie, without which they are of none effect or valure. And to be able to do this it behooueth to haue much memorie that may preserue and retaine so great a number of laws [Page 159] which are written in the books.

This argument prooueth it to be necessarie, to the end a pleader may be accomplished, that there be vnited in him a great discourse and much memorie. All which I confesse, but that which I would say is, that since we cannot finde great discourse vnited with much memo­rie, through the repugnancie which they carrie ech to o­ther, it is requisit that the pleader haue much discourse, and litle memory, rather than much memory & litle dis­course: for to the default of memory are found many re­medies; as books, tables, alphabets, & other things deui­sed by men: but if discourse faile, there can nothing be found to remedie the same.

Besides this, Aristotle faith, that men of great discourse though they haue a feeble memory, yet they haue much remembrance, by which they retaine a certaine diffuse notice of things, they haue seen, heard, and read: wher­vpon discoursing, they cal them to memorie And albeit they had not so many remedies to present vnto the vn­derstanding the whole bodie of the ciuilllaw: yet the lawes are grounded on so great reason, as Plato repor­teth, that the ancients termed the law, Wisdom & Rea­son. Therefore the iudge or pleader, of great discourse, though iudging or counselling he haue not the law be­fore him; yet seldome shall he commit an error: for he hath with him the instrument, with which the Empe­rors made the lawes. Whence oftentimes it falleth out that a Iudge of good wit, giueth a sentence without knowing the decision of the law; and afterwards findeth the same so ruled in his books: and the like we see som­times betideth the pleaders when they giue their iudge­ment in a case without studying. The lawes and rules of reason, whosoeuer well marketh them, are the foun­taine [Page 160] and originall, whence the pleaders gather their ar­guments and reasons to prooue what they vndertake. And this worke (for certaine) is performed by the dis­course: which power if the pleader want, he shall neuer skill to shape an argument though he haue the whole ci­uill law at his fingers ends. This we see plainly to befall in such as studie the art of oratorie, when the aptnesse thereunto is failing: for though they learne by art the Topicks of Cicero, being the spring from which flow the arguments that may be inuented to prooue euerie pro­bleme, both on the affirmatiue and the negatiue part: yet they cannot thereout shape a reason. Againe, there come others of great wit and towardnes; who without looking in booke or studying the Topicks, make 1000 arguments seruing for the purpose, as occasion requi­reth.

This selfe falleth out in the lawyers of good memo­rie, who will recite you a whole text very perfectly, and yet of so great a multitude of lawes, as are comprised therein, cannot collect so much as one argument to prooue their intention. And contrariwise, others who haue studied simply without books, and without allow­ance, worke miracles in pleading of causes. Hence we know how much it importeth the common wealth, that there may be such an election and examination of wits for the sciences; inasmuch as some without art know and vnderstand what they are to effect: and others lo­den with precepts and rules, for that they want a conue­nient towardlinesse for practise, commit a thousand ab­surdities, which verie ill beseeme them. So then, if to iudge & plead, be effected by distinguishing, inferring, arguing, & chusing, it standeth with reason that whoso­euer setteth himselfe to studie the lawes, enioy a good [Page 161] vnderstanding, seeing that such actions appertain to this power, and not to the memorie or to the imagination. How we may finde whether a child be endowed with this difference of wit or no, it would do well to vnder­stand: but first it behooueth to lay downe what are the qualities of discourse, & how many differences it com­priseth in it selfe, to the end we may likewise know with distinction, to which of these the lawes appertaine: for the first, we must weet, that albeit the vnderstanding be the most noble power, and of greatest dignitie in man: yet there is none which is more easily led into errour (as touching the trueth) than the vnderstanding. This Aristotle attempted to prooue when he said, That the sense is euer true, but the vnderstanding (for the most Lib. 3. de Ani­ma. ca. 3. part) discourseth badly; the which is plainly seen by ex­perience: for if it were not so amongst the Diuines, the Phisitions, the Philosophers, and the Lawyers, there would not fall out so manie waightie dissentions, so di­uers opinions, and so many iudgements and conceits vpon euery point, seeing the trueth is neuer more than one. Whence it groweth, that the senses hold so great a­certaintie in their obiects, and the vnderstanding is so easily beguiled in his, may well be conceiued if we con­sider that the obiects of the fiue senses, and the spices by which they are known, haue their being, reall, firme, and stable by nature before they are knowen. But that truth which is to be contemplated by the vnderstanding, if it selfe do not frame and fashion the same, it hath no for­mall being of his owne; but is wholly scattered and lose in his materials, as a house conuerred into stones, earth, timber & tiles, with which so many errors may be com­mitted in building, as there shall men set themselues to build with ill imagination.

[Page 162] The like befalleth in the building which the vnder­standing raiseth when it frameth a trueth: for if the wit be not good, all the residue wil worke a thousand follies with the selfe same principles. Hence springs it that a­mongst men there are so sundrie opinions touching one selfe matter: for euery one maketh the composition and figure such as is his vnderstanding.

From these errours and opinions are the fiue senses free: for neither the eies make the colour, nor the tast the sauours, nor the feeling the palpable qualities; but the whole is made and compounded by nature before anie of them be acquainted with his obiect. Men because they carrie not regard to this bad operation of the vn­derstanding, take hardinesse to deliuer confidently their owne opinion, without knowing (in certaintie) of what sort their wit is, and whither it can a fashion a truth well or ill. And if we be not resolued heerein, let vs ask some of these learned mē, who after they haue set down in writing, and confirmed their opinions with many ar­guments and reasons, and haue another time changed their opinions and conceit, when or how they can assure themselues, that (now at last) they haue hit the nail on the head? themselues will not denie, but that they er­red the first time, seeing they vnsay what they said to­fore.

Secondly, I auouch that they ought to haue the lesse confidence in their vnderstanding, because the power which once ill compoundeth the trueth, whilest his pa­trone placed so much assurance in his argumentes and reasons, should therefore the sooner take suspect, that he may once again slide into error whilest he worketh with the selfe same instrument of reason; and so much the ra­ther for that it hath been seen by experience, that the [Page 163] first opinion hath borne most trueth, and afterwards he hath relied vpon a worse, and of lesse probabilitie. They hold it for a sufficient token, that the vnderstanding compoundeth well a trueth, when they see it inamored of such a figure; and that there are arguments & reasons which moue it to conclude in that sort: and verily they misse their cushion, for the same vnderstanding carrieth the same proportion to his false opinions, that the infe­riour powers haue ech with the differences of their ob­iect: for if we demand of the Phisitions, what meat is best and most sauoury of al that men accustomably feed vpon; I beleeue they will answere, that for men who are distempered and of weake stomacke, there is none abso­lutely good or euill, but such as the stomacke is that shal receiue it: for there are stomacks (saith Galen) which bet­ter brooke beefe than hennes or cracknels, and other­some abhorre egges and milke: and others againe haue a longing after them, and in the maner of vsing meates: some like rost, and some boild: and in rost, some loue to haue the bloud run in the dish, and some to haue it browne and burned, And (which is more worthie of consideration) that meat which this day is fauourly ea­ten, and with good appetite, to morrow will be lothed, and a farre worse longed for in his roome. All this is vn­derstood when the stomacke is good and sound: but if it fall into a certain infirmitie, which the Phisitions call Pica, or Malacia, then arise longings after things, which mans nature abhorreth: so as they eate earth, coles, and lime, with greater appetite than hennes or trouts. If we passe on to the facultie generatiue, we shall find as many appetites & varieties▪ for some men loue a foule womā, and abhorre a faire: others cast better liking to a foole than her that is wise: a fat wench is fulsome, and a leane [Page 164] hath their liking, silks & braue attire offend some mens fancies, who leese themselues after one that totters in her ragges. This is vnderstood when the genitall partes are in their soundnesse: but if they fall into their infirmi­tie of stomacke, which is termed Malacia; they couet de­testable beastlinesse. The same befalleth in the facultie sensitiue: for of the palpable qualities hard and soft, rough and smooth, hot and cold, moist and drie, there is none of them which can content euery ones feeling: for there are men who take better rest on a hard bed than a soft, & other som better on a soft than a hard. All this va­rietie of strange tasts & appetites, is found in the compo­sitions, framed by the vnderstanding: for if we assemble 100 men of learning and propound a particular questi­on, each of them deliuereth a seuerall iudgement, and discourseth thereof in different maner. One selfe argu­ment to one seemeth a sophisticall reason, to another probable; and some you shall meet with, to whose capa­citie it concludeth as if it were a demonstration. And this is not onely true in diuerse vnderstandings, but we see also by experience that one selfe reason concludeth to one selfe vnderstanding, at one time thus-wise, and at another time otherwise: so much that euerie day men varie in opinion; some by processe of time purging their vnderstanding, know the default of reason, which first swaied them, and others leesing the good temperature of their braine, abhorre the trueth, and giue allowance to a leasing. But if the braine fall into the infirmitie, which is termed Malacia, then we shal see strange iudge­ments and compositions, arguments false and weake to prooue more forcibly than such as carrie strength and trueth; to good arguments, an answere shaped, and to bad a condescēding: from the premisses, whence a right [Page 165] conclusion may be collected, they gather a wrong, and by strange arguments, and fond reasons, they prooue their bad imaginations. This, graue and learned men duely aduising, labour to deliuer their opinion, concea­ling the reasons whereon they ground: for men per­suade themselues, that so farre mans authoritie auaileth, as the reason is of force on which he buildeth, and the arguments resting so indifferent for cōcluding through the diuersitie of vnderstandings, euerie man giueth a iudgement of the reason conformably to the wit which he possesseth for which cause it is reputed greater gra­uitie to say, This is mine opinion, for certaine reasons which moue me so to thinke; than to display the argu­ments whereon he relieth. But if they be enforced to render a reason of their opinion, they ouerslip not anie argument, how slight so euer: for that which they least valued, with some concludeth and worketh more effect, than the most vrgent. Wherein the great miserie of our vnderstanding is discouered, which compoundeth, and diuideth, argueth, and reasoneth, and at last (when it is growen to a conclusion) is void of proofe or light, which may make it discern whether his opinion be true or no.

This selfe vncertaintie haue the diuines in matters which appertaine not to the faith: for after they haue argued at full, they cannot then assure themselues of anie infallible proofe or euident successe that may dis­couer, which reasons carried greatest waight, and soeue­rie diuine casteth how he may best ground himself, and answer with most apparence to the aduerse parties argu­ments, his owne reputation saued, and this is all whera­bouts he must bestow his endeuour. But the charge of a Phisition, and a Generall in the field, after he hath well [Page 166] discoursed and refuted the grounds of the contrary par­tie, is to marke the successe, which if it be good he shal be held for discreet; if had, allmen will know that he re­lied vpon guilefull reasons.

In matters of faith propounded by the Church there can be fall none error: for God, best weeling how vn­certaine Take heed you receiue no hurt for leauing out the Pope. mens reasons are, and with how great facilltie they runne headlong to be deceiued, consenteth not that matters so high and of so waightie importance, should rest vpon our onely determination: but when two or three are gathered togither [...] his name, with the solemnitie of the Church, he forthwith [...] into the midst of them, as president of the action and to giueth allowance to that which they say well and reaueth their errours, and of himselfe reuealeth that to whose notice by humane forces we cannot attaine. The proofe then: which the reasons formed in matters of faith must re­ceiue, is to aduise well whether they prooue or inferre: the same, which the Catholicke church saith and decla­reth: for if they collect ought to the contrarie ther (without doubt) they are faultie: but in other questions i where the vnderstanding hath libertie of [...], there hath not yet any maner bin deuised to know what reasons conclude, nor when the vnderstanding doth well compound a trueth: onely we relie vpon the good consonance which they make, and that is in argument which may [...] better ap­parence and likelier proofe of truth, than the [...] them­selves.

Phisitions, and such as command in martiall affairs, haue successe and experience for proofe of their reasons. For if [...] captains proue by many reasons; that it is best to ioine battaile, and so many (in the other side) defend [Page 167] the contrarie, that which succcedeth, will confirme the one opinion, and conuince the other. And if two Phisi­tions dispute whether the patient shall die or liue, after he is cured or deceassed, it will appeare whose reason was best. But for all this, the successe is yet no sufficient proofe, for whereas an effect hath many causes, it may very well betide happily for one cause, and yet the rea­sons (perhaps) were grounded on a contrary. Aristotle moreouer affirmeth, that to know what reasons con­clude, it is good to ensue the common opinion; for if many wisemen say and affirme one selfe thing, and all conclude with the same reasons, it is a signe (though to­picall) that they are conclusiue, and that they compound well the truth. But who so taketh this into due conside­ration, shall find it a proofe subiect also vnto beguiling, for in the forces of the vnderstanding, waight is of more preheminence than number: for it fareth not in this, as in bodily forces, that when many loine together to lift vp a waight, they preuaile much, and when few, but lit­tle: but to attaine to the notice of a truth deepely hid­den, one high vnderstanding is of more value, than 100000 which are not comparable thereunto; and the reason is, because the vnderstandings helpe not each o­ther, neither of many make one, as it fals out in bodily powers. Therefore well sayd the wise man, Haue many peace-makers, but take one of a thousand to be thy coū ­sellor; as if he should say, Keepe for thy selfe many friends who may defend thee when thou shalt be dri­uen to come to hand-strokes, but to aske counsell, chuse only one amongst a thousand. Which sentence was also expressed by Heraelilus, who sayd, One with me is worth a thousand. In contentions and causes, euery lear­ned man be thinketh how he may best ground himselfe [Page 168] on reason, but after he hath well reuolued euery thing, there is no art which can make him know with assurance whether his vnderstanding haue made that compositi­on which in iustice is requisit; for if one pleader proue with law in hand, that reason standeth on the deman­dants side, and another by way also of the law, prooueth the like for the defendant, what remedie shall we deuise, to know which of the two pleaders hath formed his rea­sons best? The sentence of the Iudge maketh no de­monstration of true iustice, neither can the same be tear­med a successe, for his sentence (also) is but an opinion, & he doth none other than cleaue to one of the two plea­ders: and to increase the number of learned men in one selfe opinion, is no argument to persuade that what they resolue vpon is therefore true, for we haue alreadie affir­med and prooued, that many weake capacities (though they ioine in one to discouer some darke conceiued truth) shall neuer ariue to the power and force of some one alone if the same be an vnderstāding of high reach. And that the sentence of the Iudge maketh no demon­stration is plainly seene, in that at another higher seat of iustice they reuerse the same and giue a diuerse iudge­ment, and (which is woorst) it may so fall, that the infe­riour iudge, was of an abler capacitie than the superior, and his opinion more conformable vnto reason. And that the sentence of the superiour iudge, is not a suffici­ent proofe of iustice neither, it is a matter very manifest, for in the same actions, and from the same iudges, with­out adding or reauing any one iot, we see dayly contra­rie sentences to issue. And he that once is deceiued by placing confidence in his owne reasons, falleth duly in­to suspect, that he may be deceiued of new. Where­through we should the lesse relie vpon his opinion. For [Page 169] he that is once naught (sayth the wiseman) chace him from thee. Pleaders, seeing the great varietie of vnder­standings which possesse the iudges, and that each of them is affectionat to the reason which best squareth with his wit, and that sometime they take satisfaction at one argument, & sometimes assent to the contrary, they thereupon boldly thrust themselues foorth to defend e­uery cause in controuersie, both on the part affirmatiue and the negatiue; and this so much the rather, because they see by experience, that in the one maner and the o­ther, they haue a sentence in their fauour, and so that coms very rightly to be verefied, which wisedome sayd, The thoughts of mortall men are timerous, and their foresights vncertaine. The remedie then which we haue against this, seeing the reasons of the lawyer faile in proofe and experience, shall be, to make choise of men of great vnderstanding, who may be iudges and plea­ders; For the reasons and arguments of such (sayth Ari­stotle) are no lesse certaine and firme, than experience it selfe. And by making this choice, it seemeth that the cō ­mon wealth resteth assured that her officers shall admi­nister iustice. But if they giue them all scope, to enter without making trial of their wit, as the vse is at this day, the inconueniences (which we haue noted) will euer­more befall.

By what signs it may be knowne, that he who shall studie the lawes, hath the difference of wit requisit to this facultie, heretofore (after a sort) we haue expressed, but yet, to renew it to the memorie, and to prooue the same more at large, we must know, that the child who being set to read, soone learneth to know his letters, and can pronounce euery one with facilitie, according as they be placed in the A B C, giueth token that he shal be [Page 170] endowed with much memorie, for such a worke as this (for certaine) is not performed by the vnderstanding, nor by the imagination but it appertaineth vnto the of­fice of the memorie, to preserue the figures of things, and to report the natures of each, when occasion so re­quireth, and where much memorie dwelleth, we haue prooued before, that default of vnderstanding also raig­neth.

To write also with speed, and a faire hand, we sayd that it bewraid an imagination, wherethrough the child who in few daies wil frame his hand, and write his lines right, and his letters euen and with good forme and fi­gure, yeeldeth signe of meane vnderstanding, for this worke is performed by the imagination, and these two powers encounter in that contrarietie which we haue alreadie spoken of and noted.

And if being set to Grammer he learne the same with little labour, and in short time make good Latines, and write fine epistles, with the well ruled closes of Cicero, he shall neuer be good iudge nor pleader, for it is a signe that he hath much memorie, and (saue by great miracle) he will be of slender discourse. But if such a one wax ob­stinat in plodding at the lawes, and spend much time in the schooles, he will prooue a famous reader, and shall haue a stint of many hearers, for the latine tongue is ve­ry gratious in chaires, and to read with great show, there are requisit many allegations, and to fardell vp in euery law, whatsoeuer hath bene written touching the same; and to this purpose, memorie is of more necessitie than discourse. And albeit it is true, that in the chaire he be to distinguish, inferre, angue, iudge and chuse, to gather the true sense of the law; yet in the end he putteth the case as best liketh himsellfe, he mooues doubts, maketh [Page 171] obiections, and giueth sentence after his own will with­out that any gainsaie him; for which a meane discourse is sufficient. But when one pleader speaketh for the plaintife, and another for the defendant, and a third lawyer supplieth the iudges place; this is a true contro­uersie, & men cannot speake so adrandom as when they skirmish without an aduersarie. And if the childe profit slenderly in Grammer, we may thereby gather, that he hath a good discourse, I say we may so coniecture, be­cause it followeth not of necessitie, that whosoeuer can­not learne Latine, hath therefore straight waies a good discourse, seeing we haue prooued tofore, that children of good imagination neuer greatly profit in the Latine tongue; but that which may best discouer this, is Lo­gicke: for this science carieth the same proportion with the vnderstanding, as the touchstone with gold. Where through it falled out certaine, that if he who ta­keth lesson in the area, begin not within a month or two to discourse and to cast doubts; and if there come not in his head arguments and answers in the matter which is treated of, he is void of discourse; but if the prooue to­wardly in his sei [...]ne [...]; it is an infallible argument that he is endued with a good vnderstanding for the lawes, and so he may forth with addict himself to studie them with­out longer tarying. Albeit would hold it better done, first to run through the arts, because Logicke, in respect of the vnderstanding, is nought els than those shockles which we [...] on the legs of an vntrained Mule, which going with them in any daies, taketh a steddie & seemlie place. Such a march doth the vnderstanding make in his disputations, when it first bindeth the same with the rules and precepts or Logicke; but if this child, whom we go thus wise [...], reape no profit in the La­tine [Page 172] tongue, neither can come away with Logicke as were requisite, it behooueth to trie whether he pos­sesse a good imagination, ere we take him from the laws; for herein is lapped vp a verie great secret, and it is good that the common-wealth be done to ware thereof, and it is, that there are some lawyers, who getting vp into the chaire, work miracles in interpreting the texts, & others in pleading: but if you put the staffe of iustice into their hands, they haue no more abilitie to gouerne, than as if the lawes had neuer been enacted to any such end. And contrariwise, some other there are who with three mis­vnderstood lawes, which they haue learned at all aduen­tures; being placed in anie gouernment, there cannot more be desired at any mans handes than they will per­forme. At which effect, some curious wits take wonder, because they sinck not into the depth of the cause, from whence it may grow. And the reason is, that gouern­ment appertaineth to the imagination, and not to the vnderstanding nor the memorie. And that this is so, the matter may verie manifestly be prooued, considering that the common-wealth is to be compounded with or­der & concert, with euery thing in his due place, which all put togither maketh good figure & correspondence. And this (sundrie times heeretofore) we haue prooued to be a worke of the imagination: and it shall prooue nought els to place a great lawyer to be a gouernour, than to make a deafe man a Iudge in musicke; but this is ordinarily to be vnderstood, & not as an vniuerfall rule: for we haue alreadie prooued it is possible that nature can vnite great vnderstanding with much imagination: so shall there follow no repugnancie to be a good plea­der and a famous gouernour: and we heeretofore disco­uered, that nature being endowed with all the forces [Page 173] which she may possesse, and with matter well seasoned, will make a man of great memorie, and of great vnder­standing, and of much imagination; who studying the lawes, will prooue a famous reader, a great pleader, and no lesse gouernor, but nature makes so few such, as this cannot passe for a generall rule.

WHat time the Arabian Phisicke flori­shed, there was a Phisition very fa­mous, aswell in reading, as in wri­ting, arguing, distinguishing, answe­ring, and concluding; who, men would thinke in respect of his pro­found knowledge, were able to re­uiue the dead, and to heale any disease whatsoeuer, and yet the contrarie came to passe: for he neuer tooke anie patient in cure, who miscarried not vnder his handes. Wherat greatly shaming, and quite out of countenance, he went and made himselfe a frier, complaining on his euill fortune, and notable to conceiue the cause how he came so to misse. And because the freshest examples af­foord surest proof, and do most sway the vnderstanding, it was held by many graue Phisitions, that Iohn Argen­tier, a phisition of our time, farre surpassed Galen in redu­cing the art of phisicke to a better method: and yet for all this it is reported of him, that he was so infortunate in practise, as no patient of his countrey durst take phisicke [Page 174] at his hands, fearing some dismall successe. Hereat it see­meth the vulgar haue good reason to maruell, seeing by experience (not onely in those rehearsed by vs: but also in many others with whom men haue dayly to deale) that if the Phisition be a great clearke: for the same rea­son he is vnfit to minister.

Of this effect Aristotle procured to render a reason, but could not find it out. He thought that the cause why the reasonable Phisitions of his time failed in cu­ring, grew for that such men had only a generall notice, and knew not euerie particular complexion, contrarie to the Empiricks, whose principal study bent it self to know the properties of eueriy seuerall person, and let passe the generall; but he was void of reason, for both the one and the other exercised themselues about particular cures, & endeuoured (so much as in them lay) to know ech ones nature singly by it selfe. The difficultie then consisteth in nothing els than to know, for what cause so well learned phisitions, though they exercise themselues all their life long in curing; yet neuer grow skilfull in practise, and yet other simple soules with three or foure rules, learned verie soone: and the schollers can more skill of ministring than they.

The true answere of this doubt holdeth no little dif­ficultie, seeing that Aristotle could not finde it out, nor render (at least in some sort) any part therof. But groun­ding on the principles of our doctrine, we will deliuer the same: for we must know that the perfection of a phi­sition consisteth in two things, no lesse necessarie to at­taine the end of his art, than two legges are to go with­out halting. The first is, to weet by way of method, the precepts and rules of curing men in generall, without descending to particulars. The second, to be long time [Page 175] exercised in practise, and to haue visited many patients: for men are not so different ech from other, but that in diuers things they agree; neither so conioyned, but that there rest in them particularities of such condition, as they can neither be deliuered by speech, nor written, nor taught, nor so collected, as that they may be redu­ced into art: but to know them, is onely granted to him, who hath often seen and had them in handling. Which may easily be conceiued, considering that mans face, being composed of so small a number of parts, as are two eies, a nose, two cheeks, a mouth, & a forehead, nature shapeth yet therein so manie compositions and combinations, as if you assemble togither 100000 men, ech one hath a countenance so different from other, and proper to himselfe, that it falleth out a miracle, to find two who do altogither resemble. The like betideth in the foure elements, & in the 4 first qualities, hot, cold, moist, and drie, by the harmonie of which, the life and health of man is compounded: and of so slender a num­ber of parts, nature maketh so many proportions, that if a 100000 men be begotten, ech of them comes to the world with a health so peculier and proper to himselfe, that if God should on the sodaine miraculously change their proportion of these first qualities, they would all become sicke, except some two or three, that by great disposition had the like consonance and proportion. Whence two conclusions are necessarilie inferred. The first is, that euerie man who falleth sicke, ought to be cu­red conformable to his particular proportiō; in sort, that if the phisition restore him not to his first consonance of humours, he cannot recouer. The second that to per­forme this as it ought, is requisite the phisition haue first seen & dealt with the patient sundry times in his health, [Page 176] by feeling his pulse, perusing his state, and what maner countenance and complexion he is of, to the end that when he shall fall sicke, he may iudge how farre he is from his health, and in ministring vnto him, may know to what point he is to restore him. For the first, (namely to weet and vnderstand the Theorick and composition of the art) saith Galen, it is necessarie to be endowed with great discourse and much memorie: for the one part of phisick consisteth in reason, and the other in experience and historie. To the first is vnderstanding requisite, and to the other memorie, and it resting a matter of so great difficultie, to vnite these two powers in a large degree; it followeth of force that the phisition become vnapt for the Theorick. Where-through we behold many Phisi­tions, learned in the Greeke & Latine tongue, and great Anotomists and Simplicists (all workes of the memory) who brought to arguing or disputations, or to finde out the cause of anie effect that appertaineth to the vnder­standing, can small skill thereof.

The contrarie befalleth in others, who shew great wit and sufficiencie in the Logicke and Philosophie of this art: but being set to the Latine and Greeke tongue, touching simples and anotomies, can do little, because memorie in them is wanting: for this cause Galen said ve­rie wel, That it is no maruell, if among so great a multi­tude of men, who practise the exercise and studie of the art of Phisicke and Philosophie, so few are found to pro­fit therein, and yeelding the reason, he saith, It requires a great toile to find out a wit requisite for this Science; or a maister who can teach the same with perfection, or can studie it with diligence and attention. But with all these reasons Galen goeth groping, for he could not hit the cause whence it comes to passe, that few persons profit [Page 177] in Phisick. Yet in saying it was a great labour to find out a wit requisit for this science, he spake truth; albeit he did not so far-forth specifie the same, as we will; namely, for that it is so difficult a matter to vnite a great vnderstan­ding with much memorie, no man attaineth to the depth of Theoricall phisick. And for that there is found a repugnancie between the vnderstanding and the ima­gination (whereunto we will now prooue, that practise and the skill to cure with certaintie appertaineth) it is a miracle to find out a Phisition, who is both a great Theo­rist, and withall a great practitioner, or contrariwise a great practitioner, and verie well seen in Theorick. And that the imagination, and not the vnderstanding is the power, wherof the phisition is to serue himself, in know­ing and curing the diseases of particular persons, may ea­sily be prooued.

First of all presupposing the doctrine of Aristotle, who affirmeth, That the vnderstanding cānot know particu­lars; neither distinguish the one from the other, nor dis­cerne the time and place, & other particularities which make men different ech from other: and that euery one is to be cured after a diuers maner; and the reason is (as the vulgar Philosophers auouch) for that the vnderstan­ding is a spiritall power, and cannot be altered by the particulars which are replenished with matter. And for this cause Aristotle said, That the sense is of particulars, and the vnderstanding of vniuersals.

If then medicines are to worke in particulars, and not in vniuersals (which are vnbegotten, and vncorrup­tible) the vnderstanding falleth out to be a power im­pertinent for curing. Now the difficultie consisteth in discerning why men of great vnderstanding, cānot pos­sesse good outward senses for the particulars, they be­ing [Page 178] powers so repugnant; And the reason is verie plain, and this is it, that the outward senses cannot well per­forme their operations, vnlesse they be assisted with a good imagination, and this we are to prooue by the o­pinion of Aristotle, who going about to expresse what the imagination was, saith it is a motion caused by the outward sense, in sort as the colour, which multiplieth by the thing coloured, doth alter the eie. And so it fareth that this selfe colour, which is in the christallin humour, passeth farther into the imagination, and maketh therin the same figure which was in the eie. And if you demād of which of these two kindes the notice of the particular is made, all philosophers auouch (and that verie truely) that the second figure is it which altereth the imaginati­on, and by them both is the notice caused, conforma­ble to that so commō speech, From the obiect, and from the power the notice springeth. But from the first which is in the christallin humour, & from the sightfull power, groweth no notice, if the imagination be not attentiue thereunto, which the phisitions do plainly prooue, say­ing, That if they lance or sear the flesh of a diseased per­son, who for al that feeleth no pain, it shews a token that his imagination is distracted into some profound con­templation: whence we see also by experience in the sound, that if they be raught into some imagination, they see not the things before them, nor heare though they be called, nor tast meat sauorie or vnsauory, though they haue it in their mouth. Wherefore it is a thing cer­taine, that not the vnderstanding or outward senses, but the imagination, is that which maketh the iudgement, and taketh notice of particular things.

It followeth then, that the phisition, who is well seen in Theoricke, for that he is indowed with great vnder­standing, [Page 179] or great memory, must of force prooue a bad practitioner, as hauing defect in his imagination. And contrariwise, he that prooueth a good practitioner, must of force be a bad Theorist: for much imagination can­not be vnited with much vnderstanding and much me­morie. And this is the cause for which so few are tho­roughly seen in phisicke, or commit but small errors in curing: for, not to halt in the worke, it behooueth to know the art, and to possesse a good imagination, for putting the same in practise, and we haue prooued that these two cannot stick togither.

The Phisition neuer goeth to know and cure a dis­ease, but that secretly to himselfe he frameth a Syllogisme in Darij, though he be neuer so well experienced, and the proofe of his first proportion belongeth to the vn­derstanding, and of the second to the imagination: for which cause, the great Theorists doe ordinarily erre in the minor, and the great practitioners in the maior: as if we should speake after this maner, Euerie feuer which springeth from cold and moist humours, ought to be cured with medicins hot and drie. (Taking the token­ing of the cause) this feuer which the man endureth, de­pendeth on humors cold and moist: therefore the same is to be cured with medicines hot and drie. The vn­derstanding will sufficiently prooue the truth of the ma­ior, because it is an vniuersall, saying; That cold & moist require for their temperature hot and drie: for euerie qualitie is abated by his contrarie. But comming to prooue the minor, there the vnderstanding is of no va­lue: for that the same is particular and of another iuris­diction whose notice appertaineth to the imagination, borowing the proper and particular tokens of the dis­ease, from the fiue outward senses.

[Page 180] And if the tokening is to be taken from the feuer, or from his cause, the vnderstanding cannot reach therun­to: onely it teacheth the tokening is to be taken from that which sheweth greatest perill; but which of those tokenings is greatest, is only known to the imagination, by counting the damages which the feuer produceth, with those of the Syntomes of the euill, and the cause and the small or much force of the power. To attain this notice, the imagination possesseth certain vnutterable properties, with which the same cleereth matters that cannot be expressed nor conceiued, neither is there found any art to teach them. Where-through, we see a phisition enter to visit a patient, and by meanes of his sight, his hearing, his smelling, and his feeling, he know­eth things which seem impossible. In sort that if we de­mand of the same phisition, how he could come by so readie a knowledge, himselfe cannot tell the reason: for it is a grace which springeth from the fruitfulnesse of the imagination, which by another name is termed a readi­nesse of capacitie, which by common signes, and by vn­certain coniectures, and of small importance, in the twinckling of an eie knoweth 1000 differēces of things, wherein the force of curing and prognosticating with Solertia. certaintie consisteth.

This spice of promptnesse, men of great vnderstan­ding do want, for that it is a part of the imagination: for which cause, hauing the tokens before their eies (which giue them notice how the disease fareth) it worketh no maner alteration in their senses, for that they want ima­gination. A phisition once asked me in great secresie, what the cause was, that he hauing studied with much curiositie all the rules and considerations of the art prognosticatiue; & being therin throughly instructed, [Page 181] yet could neuer hit the truth in any prognostication which he made. To whom (I remember) I yeelded this answer that the art of Phisick is learned with one power, and put in execution with another. This man had a ve­rie good vnderstanding, but wanted imagination: but in this doctrin there ariseth a difficultie verie great, and that is, how phisitions of great imagination, can learn the art of phisicke, seeing they want that of vnderstan­ding: and if it be true that such were better than those who were well learned, to what end serueth it to spend time in the schooles? to this may be answered, that first to know the art of phisicke is a matter verie important: for in two or three yeares, a man may learn al that which the ancients haue bin getting in two or three thousand. And if a man should heerin ascertain himselfe by expe­rience, it were requisit that he liued some thousands of yeeres, and in experimenting of medicines, he should kill an infinit number of persons before he could attain to the knowledge of their qualities: from whence we are freed, by reading the books of reasonable experien­ced phisitions, who giue aduertisment of that in wri­ting, which they found out in the whole course of their liues; to the end that the phisitions of these daies may minister some receits with assurance, and take heed of o­ther-some as venomous.

Besides this, we are to weet that the common & vul­gar points of al arts are verie plain and easie to learn, and yet the most important of the whole worke. And con­trariwise, the most curious and subtile, are the most ob­scure, and of least necessitie for curing. And men of great imagination, are not altogither depriued of vnderstan­ding, nor of memorie. Wher-through, by hauing these two powers in some measure they are able to learn the [Page 182] most necessarie points of Phisicke: for that they are plainest, and with the good imagination which they haue, can better looke into the disease and the cause thereof, than the cunningest doctors. Besides that the imagination is it which findeth out the occasion of the remedie that ought to be applied, in which grace the greatest part of practise consisteth: for which cause Galen said, that the proper name of a phisition, was The finder out of occasion.

Now to be able to know the place, the time, and the occasion, for certain, is a worke of the imagination, since it toucheth figure and correspondence; but the difficul­tie consisteth in knowing (amongst so many differences as there are of the imagination) to which of them the practise of Phisicke appertaineth, for it is certaine, that they all agree not in one selfe particular reason, which contemplation hath giuen me much more toile and la­bour of spirit than all the residue: and yet for all that, I cannot as yet yeeld the same a fitting name, vnlesse it spring from a lesse degree of heat which partaketh that difference of imagination, wherewith verses and songs are endited. Neither do I relie altogether on this, for the reason whereon I ground my selfe, is, that such as I haue marked to be good practitioners, do all piddle somwhat in the art of versifieng, and raise not vp their contempla­tion very high, and their verses are not of any rare excel­lencie, which may also betide, for that their heat excee­deth that tearme which is requisit for poetrie: and if it so come to passe for this reason, the heat ought to hold such qualitie, as it somewhat drie the substance of the braine, and yet much resolue not the naturall heat, albeit (if the same passe further) it breedeth no euill diffe­rence of the wit for Phisicke, for it vniteth the vn­derstanding [Page 183] to the imagination by adustion. But the imagination is not so good for curing, as this which I seeke, which inuiteth a man to be a witch, superstitious, a magician, a deceiuer, a palmister, a fortune teller, and a calker: for the diseases of men are so hidden, and deliuer their motions with so great secrecie, that it behooueth alwaies to go calking what the matter is.

This difference of imagination may hardly be found in Spaine, for tofore we haue prooued that the inhabi­tants of this region want memory and imagination, and haue good discourse: neither yet the imaginatiō of such as dwell towards the North, is of auaile in Phisicke, for it is very slow and slacke, only the same is towardly to make clocks, pictures, poppets, & other ribaldries which are impertinent for mans seruice.

Aegypt alone is the region which ingendereth in his inhabitants this differēce of imagination, wherthrough the Historiens neuer make an end of telling, how great enchaunters the Aegyptians are, and how readie for ob­taining things, and finding remedies to their necessities. Ioseph to exaggerat the wisedome of Salomon, sayd in this manner, So great was the knowledge and wisedome which Salomon receiued of God, that he outpassed al the ancients, and euen the very Egyptians, who were repu­ted the wisest of all others. And Plato also sayd, that the Aegyptians exceeded all the men of the world in skill how to get their liuing; which abilitie appertaineth to the imagination. And that this is true, may plainly ap­peare, for that all the sciences belonging to the imagina­tion, were first deuised in Aegypt, as the Mathematicks, Astrologie, Arithmeticke, Perspectiue, Iudiciarie, and the rest. But the argument which most ouer-ruleth me in this behalfe, is, that whē Francis of Valois king of France, [Page 184] was molested by a long infirmitie, and saw that the Phi­sitions of his houshold and court, could yeeld him no remedy, he would say euery time when his feuer increa­sed, It was not possible that any Christiā Phisition could cure him, neither at their hands did he euer hope for re­couerie: wherethrough one time agreeued to see him­selfe thus vexed with this feuer, he dispatched a post in­to Spaine, praieng the emperour Charles the fifth, that he would send him a Iew Phisition, the best of his court, touching whom he had vnderstood, that he was able to yeeld him remedie for his sicknesse, if by art it might be effected. At this request the Spaniards made much game, and all of them concluded it was an humorous conceit of a man, whose brains were turmoiled with the feuer. But for all this, the Emperour gaue commande­ment that such a Phisition should be sought out, if anie there were, though to find him they should be driuen to send out of his dominions; and whē none could be met withall, he sent a Phisition newly made a Christian, sup­posing that he might serue to satisfie the kings humour. But the Phisition being arriued in France, and brought to the kings presence; there passed between them a gra­tious discourse, in which it appeared that the Phisition was a Christian: and therefore the king would receiue no phisicke at his hands. The king with opinion which he had conceiued of the phisition, that he was an He­brue, by way of passing the time, asked him whether he were not as yet weary in looking for the Messias promi­sed in the law? The phisition answered; Sir I expect not any Messias promised in the Iews law. You are verie wise in that (replied the king): for the tokens which were deliuered in the diuine scripture, whereby to know his comming, are all fulfilled many daies ago. [Page 185] This number of daies (reioyned the phisition) we Christians do well reckon: for there are now finished 1542 yeares, that he came and conuersed in the world 33 yeares; in the end of which he died on the crosse, and the third day rose again, and afterwards ascended into heauen, where he now remaineth. Why then quoth the king you are a Christian? yea Sir, by the grace of God, I am a Christian (quoth the phisition) then (answe­red the king) return you home to your own dwelling in good time: for in mine owne house and court I haue Christian phisitions very excellent, and I held you for a Iew, who (in mine opinion) are those that haue best na­turall abilitie to cure my disease. After this maner he li­cenced him without once suffering him to feele his pulse, or see his state, or telling him one word of his griefe. And forthwith he sent to Constantinople for a Iew, who healed him with the onely milke of a she Asse.

This imagination of king Francis (as I think) was ve­rie true, and I haue so conceiued it to be, for that in the great hot distemperatures of the brain, I haue prooued tofore, how the imagination findeth out that, which (the partie being sound) could neuer haue done. And because it shall not seem that I haue spoken in iest, and without relying herein vpon a materiall ground, you shall vnderstand that the varieties of men, aswell in the compositions of the body, as of the wit and conditions of the soule, spring from their inhabiting countries of different temperature, from drinking diuers waters, and from not vsing all of them one kind of food. Wherein Plato said, Some through variable windes and heats, are amongst themselues diuers in maners and kinds: others through the waters and food which spring of the earth, [Page 186] who not only in their bodies, but in their minds also, can skill to do things better and woorse, as if he should say, some men are different from others, either by reason of the contrarie aire, or through drinking seuerall wa­ters, or for that they feed not all vpon one kind of meat, and this difference is discerned not only in the counte­naunce and demeanure of the body, but also in the wit of the soule.

If I then shall now prooue, that the people of Israell dwelt many yeares in Aegypt, and that departing from thence, they did eat & drinke waters & meats, which are appropriat to make this difference of imagination, I shal then yeeld a demonstration for the opinion of the king of France, and by consequence we shall vnderstand what wits of men are in Spaine to be made choice of, for studieng the art of Phisicke. As touching the first, we must know, that Abraham asking tokens whereby to be assured that he or his descendents should possesse the land of promise, the text sayth, that whilest he slept, God made him answer saying, Know that thy seed shall bee a stranger in a countrie not his owne, and they shall make them vnderlings in bondage, and afflict them for 400 yeares, notwithstanding I will iudge that nation whom they serue, and after this, they shall depart from thence with great substance; which Prophesie was accompli­shed: albeit God for certaine respects, added therevnto 30 yeares more, for which cause the scripture sayth, But the aboad of the children of Israell in Aegypt was 430 yeares, which being finished, that very day the whole ar­mie of the Lord departed out of the land of Aegypt. But although this text say manifestly, that the people of Isra­ell abode in Aegypt 400 yeares, a glosse declareth, that thefe yeares were the whole time which Israell went on [Page 187] pilgrimage, vntill he possessed his own countrie. In as much as he remained in Aegypt but 210 yeates, which declaration agreeth not well with that which S. Stephen the Prothomartyr made, in his discourse to the Iewes, namely that the people of Israell was 430 yeares in the bondage of Aegypt.

And albeit the abode of 210 yeares suffised, that the qualities of Aegypt might take hold in the people of Is­raell, yet the time whiles they liued abroad, was no lost season, in respect of that which appertaineth to the wit, for those who liue in bondage, in miserie, in affliction, and in strange countries, engender much choler adust, because they want libertie of speech, and of reuenging their iniuries: and this humour, when the same is grown drie, becommeth the instrument of subtiltie, of craft, and of malice: whence we see by experience, that if a man rake hell for bad maners and conditions, he cannot find woorse than in a slaue, whose imagination alwaies occu­pieth itselfe in deuising how to procure dammage to his maister, and freedome to himselfe. Moreouer the land which the people of Israell walked through, was not much estranged nor different from the qualities of Ae­gypt: for in respect of the miserie thereof, God promi­sed Abraham to giue him another, much more aboun­dant and fruitfull. And this is a matter greatly verefied, as well in good naturall Philosophie, as in experience, that barraine and beggerly regions, not fat, nor plentifull of fruit, engender men of very sharpe wit. And contrari­wise abundant and fertile soils, bring foorth persons big limmed, couragious, and of great bodily forces, but ve­ry slow of wit.

Touching Greece, the Historiens neuer make an end to recount, how appropriat that region is to breed men [Page 188] of great habilitie, and particularly Galen auoucheth, that it is held a miracle for a man to find a foole in Athens. And we must note that this was a citie the most misera­ble, and most barren of all the rest in Greece. Whence we collect, that through the qualities of Egipt, and of the Prouinces where the Hebrue people liued, they grew verie quick of capacitie. But it behooueth likewise to vn­derstand for what cause the temperature of Aegypt pro­duceth this difference of imagination. And this wil fall out a plain matter when you are done to ware, that in this region, the sunne yeeldeth a feruent heat: and ther­fore the inhabitants haue their brain dried, and choler adust, the instrument of wilinesse and aptnesse: In which sense, Aristotle demandeth why the men of Aethiopia & Aegypt, haue their feet crooked, & are commonly curl­pated and flat nosed? to which probleme he answereth, that the much heat of the countrey rosteth the substance of these members, and wrieth them, as it draweth togi­ther a peece of leather set by the fire; and for the same cause, their haire curleth, and themselues also are wily. And that such as inhabit hot countries, are wiser than those who are born in cold regions, we haue alreadie prooued by the opinion of Aristotle: who demandeth whence it grows, that men are wiser in hot climats than in cold? But he wist not to answer this probleme, nor make distinction of wisdome: for we haue prooued heretofore, that in man there rest two sorts of wisdome; one whereof Plato said, Knowledge which is seuered from Iustice, ought rather to be termed craft than wis­dome: another there is found accompanied with iustice and simplicity, without doublenesse, and without wiles; and this is properly called Wisdome: for it goeth al­waies guided by iustice and dutie. They who inhabit [Page 189] very hot countries, are wise in the first kind of wisedom, and such are those of Aegypt.

Now let vs see when the people of Israel was depar­ted out of Aegypt, and come into the desart, what meat they did eat, what water they dranke, and of what tem­perature the aire was where they trauailed? that we may know whether vpon this occasion, the wit with which they issued out of bondage, took exchange; or whether the same were more confirmed in them? Fortie yeares (saith the text) God maintaind this people with Manna, a meat so delicat and sauoury, as any might be, that euer men tasted in the world. In sort that Moses seeing the de­licacie and goodnesse therof, commanded his brother Aaron to fill a vessell, and place the same in the Arke of confederacie, to the end the descendents of this peo­ple, when they were setled in the land of promise, might see the bread with which God had fed their fathers, whiles they liued in the wildernesse, and how bad pai­ment they yeelded him in exchange of such cherish­ments. And to the end that we who haue notseen this meat, may know of what maner the same was: it will do well that we describe the Manna which nature maketh; and so adioining therunto the conceit of a great delica­cie, we may wholly imagine his goodnesse. The mate­riall cause of which Manna is engendred, is a very de­licat vapour, which the sunne, with the force of his heat, draweth vp from the earth; the which taking stay aloft, is concocted and made perfect: and then the cold of the night cōming on, it congealeth, and through his waigh­tinesse, turneth to fall vpon the trees and stones, where men gather the same, and preserue it in vessels to serue for food. It is called Deawy, and Airy honny, through the resemblance which it beareth to the deaw, and for [Page 190] that it is made in the aire. His colour is white, his sauour sweet as honny: his figure like that of Coriander, which signes the holy Scripture placeth also in the Manna, which the people of Israel did eat: and therfore I carry an imagination, that both were semblable in nature. But if that which God created were of more delicat sub­stance, so much the better shall we confirme our opini­on. But I am euer of opinion that God applied himself to naturall means, when with them he could performe what he meant; and where nature wanted, his omnipo­tencie supplied. This I say, because to giue them Manna to eat in the desart (besides that which heerby he would signifie) me seemeth was founded in the selfe dispositi­on of the earth, which (euen at this day) produceth the best Manna in the world: through which Galen affirm­eth, that on Mount Libanus (which is not far distant frō this place) there is great and very choice abundance: in sort, that the countrie people are wont to sing in their pastimes, That Iupiter raineth honny in that region. And though it be true, that God miraculously created that Manna in such quantitie, at such time, and on speciall daies: yet it may be that it partaked the same nature with ours, as had also the water which Moses drew forth of the rocke; and the fire which Elias with his word caused to rain from heauen; all of them naturall things, though miraculously brought to passe.

The Manna described by the holy Scripture, it saith was as deaw, & as the seed of Coriander, white, & in tast like honny, which conditions are also in the Manna produced by nature. The temperature of this meat, the Phisitions say, is hot, and consisting of subtile and verie delicat parts, which composition the Manna eaten by the Iews, should also seeme to haue: whereon (complai­ning [Page 191] of his tendernesse) they said in this maner, Our soule hath a fulsomnesse at this slight meat; as if they should say, that they could no longer endure nor brook so light a meat in their stomacke: and the Philosophie of this was, that their stomacks had been made strong by onions, chibals, and leeks; and comming to eat a meat of so small resistance, it wholly with them turned into choler. And for this cause, Galen gaue the charge that men endowed with much naturall heat, should for­beare to eat honny or other light meats: for they would turne to corruption, and in steed of digestion, would partch vp like soot.

The like heereof befell to the Hebrues, as touching Manna, which with them wholly turned into choler a­dust, and therefore they were altogither drie and thin: for this meat had no corpulencie to fatten them. Our soule (said they) is drie, and our eies see nothing but Manna. The water which they dranke after this meat, was such as they would desire; and if they could not find any such, God shewed to Moses a wood of so di­uine vertue, that dipping the same in grosse and salt wa­ters, it made them to become delicat and of good sauor: and when they had no sort of water at all, Moses took the rod, with which he had parted the red Sea, and striking therewith the rocks, there issued springs of waters so de­licat and sauourie, as their tast could desire. In sort, that S. Paul saith, The rocke followed them, as if he should say, The water of the rocke seconded their tast, issuing delicat, sweet, and sauourie. And they had accustomed their stomacks before, to drinke waters thicke and bri­nish: for in Aegypt (saith Galen) they boiled them ere they could serue for drinke, for that they were naughty and corrupt, so as afterwards drinking waters so delicat, [Page 192] it could not fall out otherwise, but that they should turn into choler, for that they found small resistance. Water requireth the same qualities, to digest well in our sto­macke (saith Galen) & not to corrupt, that the meat hath wheron we accustomably feed. If the stomack be strong, it behooueth to giue the same strong meat, which may answer in proportion: if the same be weake and delicat, such also the meat ought to be. The like regard is to be held as touching the water: where-through we see by experience, that if a man vse to drinke grosse water; he neuer quencheth his thirst with the purer: neither fee­leth it in his stomacke. Rather the same encreaseth his thirst: for the excessiue heat of the stomacke burneth and resolueth it so soon as it is receiued, because therein is no resistance.

The aire which they enioyed in the desert, we may also say, that it was subtile and delicat: for iournieng o­uer mountains, and through vninhabited places, they had the same alwaies fresh, clensed, and without anie corruption: for they neuer made long stay in any one place. So did it alwaies carrie a temperature: for by day a cloud was set before the sunne, which suffered him not to scorch ouer vehemently; and by night, a piller of fire which moderated the same. And to enioy an aire of this maner (Aristotle affirmeth) doth much quicken the wit. VVe may consider then that the men of this folke must needs haue a seed verie delicat and adust, eating such meat as Manna was, and drinking the waters before spe­cified, and breathing and enioying an aire so clensed and pleasant, as also that the Hebrue women bred flow­ers very subtile and delicat.

Againe, let vs call to mind, that which Aristotle said, that the flowres being subtile and delicat, the child who [Page 193] is bred of them, shalbe a man of great capacitie. How much it importeth, that for begetting children of great sufficiencie, the fathers do feed on delicat meats, we wil prooue at large in the last chapter of this worke. And be­cause all the Hebrues did eat of one selfe so spirituall and delicat meat, and dranke of one selfe water, all their chil­dren and posteritie prooued sharp and great of wit in matters appertaining to this world.

Now then, when the people of Israel came into the land of promise, with so great a wit as we haue expres­sed, there befell vnto them afterwards so many trauails, dearths, siedges of enimies, subiections, bondages, and ill intreatings: that though they had not brought from Aegypt and the wildernesse, that temperature, hot, drie, and adust before specified: they would yet haue made it so by this dismall life: for continuall sadnesse and toil, vniteth the vitall spirits, and the arteriall bloud, in the brain, in the liuer, and in the heart: and there staying one aboue another, they grow to drinesse and adustion. Where-through, oft times they procure the feuer, and their ordinarie is to make melancholie by adustiō, wher­of they (in maner) do all partake euen to this day, in re­spect of that (which Hippocrates saith) Feare and sadnesse continuing a long time, signifieth melancholie. This choler adust (we said before) to be the instrument of promptnesse, craftinesse, sharpnesse, subtiltie, and mali­ciousnesse. And this is applied to the coniectures of Phisicke, and by the same a man getteth notice of the diseases, their causes and remedies. Wherfore king Fran­cis vnderstood this maruellous well, and it was no lightnesse of the brain, or inuention of the diuell, which he vttered. But through his great feuer, lasting so manie daies, and with the sadnesse to find himselfe sicke and [Page 194] without remedy, his brain grew dry, and his imaginati­on rose to such a point, of which we made proofe to­fore, that if it haue the temperature behooffull, a man will on a sodain deliuer that which he neuer learned. But there presents it selfe a dufficultie very great against all these things rehearsed by vs, and that is, that if the children or nephews of those who were in Aegypt, and enioyed the Manna, the waters, and the subtle aire of the wildernesse, had been made choice of for phisitions, it might seeme, that king Francis opinion were in some part probable, for the reasons by vs reported. But that their posteritie should preserue till our daies those dispo­sitions of the Manna, the water, the aire, the afflictions, and the trauails, which their ancestors endured in the prison of Babilon, it is a matter hard to be conceiued: for if in 430 yeares, during which the people of Israel li­ued in Aegypt, and 40 in the desart, their seed could purchase those dispositions of abilitie, better, and with more facilitie could they leese it again in 2000 yeares, whilest they haue been absent. And specially sithence their comming into Spain, a region so contrarie to Ae­gypt, and where they haue fed vpon different meats, and druncke waters of nothing so good temperature and substance as those other.

This is agreeable to the nature of man, and whatso­other liuing creature and plant, which forthwith parta­keth the conditions of the earth where they liue, and leese those which they brought with thē from elswhere. And whatsoeuer instance they can alleage, the like will betide it within few daies beyond all gainsaying.

Hippocrates recounteth of a certain sort of men, who to be different from the vulgar, chose for a token of their nobilitie, to haue their head like a sugar-loafe. And to [Page 195] shape this figure by art, when the child was born, the mid-wiues tooke care to bind their heads with sweaths, and bands, vntill they were fashioned to the forme. And this artificialnesse grew to such force, as it was conuerted into nature: for in processe of time, all the children that were born of nobilitie, had their head sharp from their mothers womb. So from thenceforth, the art and dili­gence of the mid-wiues heerin, became superfluous. But so soon as they left nature to her liberty, and her owne ordering, without oppressing her any longer with art, she turned by little and little to recouer again the figure which she had before.

In like sort might it befall the children of Israel, who notwithstanding the region of Aegypt, the Manna, the delicat waters, and their sorrowfulnesse, wrought those dispositions of wit in that seed: yet those reasons and re­spects surceasing, and other contrary growing on, it is certain that by little and little the qualities of the Manna would haue worn away, and other far different there­from haue grown on, conformable to the countrey where they inhabited, to the meats which they fed vp­on, to the waters which they dranke, & to the aire which they breathed. This doubt in naturall philosophy hol­deth little difficultie: for there are some accidents to be found, which are brought in at a moment, & afterwards endure for euer in the subiect, without possibility of cor­rupting. Others there are, which wast asmuch time in vndoing, as they occupied in engrafting, & some more, some lesse, according to the action of the agent, and the disposition of the patient. For example of the first, we must know, That a certain man through a great feare wher-into he was driuen, rested so transformed and changed in colour, that he seemed dead; and the same [Page 196] lasted not only during all the time of his owne life, but also the children which he begat had the same colour: without that he could find any remedie to take it away. Conformable heerunto, it may be, that in 430 yeares, whilest the people of Israel led their liues in Aegypt, 40 in the wildernesse, and 60 in the bondage of Babilon there needed more than 3000 yeares, that this seed of Abraham should take a full losse of their disposition of wit, occasioned by this Manna, seeing to reforme the bad colour, setled vpon a sodain through feare, more than 100 yeares were requisit. But because the truth of this doctrin may be vnderstood from the root, it beho­ueth to resolue two doubts which serue to the purpose, and as yet I haue not cleered. The first is, whence it commeth, that meats, by how much the more delicat and sauoury they are, as hennes, and partridge; so much the sooner the stomacke doth abhorre and lothe them? and contrariwise, we see that a man eateth beefe all the yeare long without receiuing any annoiance thereby, and if he eat hennes flesh but three or foure daies togi­ther, the fifth he cannot abide the sauour thereof; but that it will turne his stomacke vpside-downe. The se­cond is, whence it commeth, that bread of wheat, and flesh of mutton, not being of substance so good and sa­uoury, as hen and partridge; yet the stomacke neuer loa­theth them, though we feed theron all our liues long? But wanting bread we cannot eat other meats, neither do they content vs.

He that can shape an answer to these two doubts, shal easily vnderstand for what cause the descendents of the people of Israel, haue not yet lost the dispositions & ac­cidents which Manna brought into that seed: neither will the promptnesse of wit, and subtletie wherof they [Page 197] then possessed themselues, so soon take an end. Two certain and very true principles there are in naturall phi­losophy, on which the answer and resolution of these doubts dependeth. The first is, That al powers, (whatso­euer) which gouern man, are naked and depriued of the conditions and qualities which rest in their obiect, to the end that they may know and giue iudgement of all the differences. The eies partake this property, who be­ing to receiue into themselues all figures and colours, it was of necessitie, vtterly to depriue them of figures and colours. For if they were pale, as in those who are ouercome with the yellow iandize, all things wheron they looked would appeare to them of the same colour. So the tongue, which is the instrument of tast, ought to be void of all sauours: and if the same be sweet or bitter, we know by experience, that whatsoeuer we eat or drinke hath the like tast. And the same may be auou­ched of hearing, of smelling, and of feeling. The second principle is, that all things created, naturally couet their preseruation, and labour to endure for euer, and that the being which God and nature haue giuen them, may ne­uer take end: notwithstanding that afterward they are to possesse a better nature. By this principle, all naturall things endowed with knowledge and sense, abhorre and flie from that which altereth and corrupteth their naturall composition.

The stomacke is naked and depriued of the substance and qualities of all meats in the world, as the eye is of colours and figures, and when we eat ought, though the stomacke ouercome it, yet the meat turneth against the stomacke, for that the same is of a contrary principle, and altereth and corrupteth his temperature and sub­stance, for no agent is of such force, but that in doing, it [Page 198] also suffereth. Meats that are very delicat and pleasing doe much alter the stomacke; first, because it digesteth and embraceth them with great appetit and liking, and then, through their being so suttle and void of excre­ments, they pierce into the substance of the stomacke, from whence they cannot depart againe: the stomacke then feeling that this meat altereth his nature, and ta­keth away the proportion which he carrieth to other meats, groweth to abhor the same, and if he must needs feed thereon, it behooueth to vse many sallets and sea­sonings, thereby to beguile him.

All this, Manna had euen from the beginning, for though the same were a meat of such delicasie and plea­sing relish, yet in the end, the people of Israell found it fulsome, and therefore sayd, Our soule loatheth this o­uer light meat. A complaint far vnworthie of a people so specially fauoured by God, who had pretended a reme­die in that behalfe, which was, that Manna had those re­lishes and tasts which well agreed with them, to the end they might eat thereof. Thou sentest them bread from heauen, which had in it all pleasingnesse; for which cause many amongst them fed thereon with good appe­tite, for they had their bones, their sinewes, and their flesh, so imbewed with Manna and his qualities, that by means of the resemblance from each to other, they lon­ged after nothing else. The like befalleth in bread of wheat, and weathers flesh, whereon we accustomably feed.

Grosse meats and of good substance, as beefe, haue much excrements, and the stomacke receiueth them not with such desire, as those that are delicat and of good re­lish, and therefore is longer ere the same take alteration by them. Hence commeth it, that to corrupt the alterati­on [Page 199] which Manna made in one day, it behooueth to feed a whole moneth vpon contrarie meats. And (after this reckoning) to deface the qualities that Manna brought into the seed in the space of 40 yeares, there need 4000 and vpward. And if any man will not herewith rest satis­fied, let vs say, that as God brought out of Aegypt the 12 tribes of Israell, so he had taken then 12 male, and 12 fe­male Moores of Aethiopia, and had placed them in our countrie, in how many yeares thinke we, would these Moores and their posteritie, linger to leaue their natiue colour, not mixing themselues the while with white persons? to me it seemeth a long space of yeares would be requisit. For though 200 yeares haue passed ouer our heads, sithens the first Aegyptians came out of Aegypt into Spaine, yet their posteritie haue not forlorne that their delicacie of wit and promptnesse, nor yet that ro­sted colour which their auncestors brought with them from Aegypt. Such is the force of mans seed when it re­ceiueth thereinto any well rooted qualitie. And as in Spaine the Moores communicat the colour of their el­ders, by means of their seed, though they be out of Ae­thiopia, so also the people of Israel comming frō thence, may communicat to their descendents their sharpenesse of wit, without remaining in Aegypt, or eating Manna: for to be ignorant or wise, is as well an accident in man, as to be blacke or white. True it is, that they are not now so quicke and prompt, as they were a thousand yeares since: for from the time that they left to eat Manna, their posterity haue euer lessened hitherto, because they vsed contrarie meats, and inhabited countries different from Aegypt: neither dranke waters of such delicacie as in the wildernesse. As also by mingling with those who de­scended from the Gentils, who wanted this difference [Page 200] of wit: but that which cannot be denied them, is, that as yet they haue not lost it altogither.

WHat is the cause (saith Aristotle) that see­ing Fortitude is not the greatest of all vertues, but Iustice and Prudence are greater than it: yet the commonwealth, and in a maner all men with a common consent do make greater accompt, and within themselues, do more honour a valiant man than either the iust or wise; though placed in neuer so high callings or offices. To this probleme Aristotle answe­reth, saying; there is no king in the world who doth not either make war, or maintain war against some other: and for somuch as the valiant procure them glorie and empire, take reuenge on their enemies, and preserue their estate, they yeeld chiefest honour, not to the prin­cipall vertue, which is Iustice, but to that by which they reap most profit and aduantage. For if they did not in this wise intreat the valiant, how were it possible, that kings should find captains and souldiours, who would willingly ieopard their liues to defend their goods and estates?

Of the Asiaticans it is recounted, that there was a people inhabiting a part therof, who bare themselues verie couragiously; and being asked why they had nei­ther king nor law: they made answer, that laws made [Page 201] men cowards, and seeing it was necessarie to vndergoe the hazard of the wars, for depriuing another of his estate, they made choice to fight for their own behoofe, and themselues to reap the benefit of the victorie. But this was an answer rather of barbarous men than reaso­nable people, who well know, that without a king, with­out a common-wealth, and without lawes, it is impossi­ble to preserue men in peace. That which Aristotle said, serueth verie well to the purpose, though there be a better answer to be framed, namely, That when Rome honoured her captains with those triumphs and solem­nities, she did not only reward the courage of the trium­pher, but also the iustice with which he maintained his armie in peace and concord, the wisdome with which he performed his enterprises, and their temperancy vsed in abstaining from wine, women, and meat, which trou­ble the iudgement, and turne counsels into error. Yea wisdome is more highly to be regarded and rewar­ded in a generall, than courage and manlinesse: for as Vegetius well said, Few ouer couragious captains bring their enterprises to luckie passe. Which groweth for that wisdome is more necessarie in warre, than courage in bickering: but Vegetius could neuer attain to the notice what maner of wisdom this is: neither could plot down, with what difference of wit he ought to be endowed, who taketh charge in war. Neither do I ought maruell thereat: for the maner of philosophie wheron this de­pendeth, was not then deuised. True it is, that to verefie this point, answereth not our first intent, which purpor­teth to make choice of apt wits for learning. But marti­all affaires are so dangerous, and of so deep counsell: and it falleth out a matter so important for a king to know well vnto whom he credit his power and state, that we [Page 202] shall perform no lesse thanks worthie a part of seruice to the common wealth, to teach this difference of wit and his signs, than in the other which we haue alreadie de­scribed. For which cause we must note, that Malitia and Militia, vz. martiall matters, and malice, haue as it were one selfe name, and likewise one selfe definition. For changing a into i, of malitia you make militia, and of mi­litia, malitia, with great facilitie. What the nature and propertie of malice is, Cicero teacheth, saieng, Malice is a way of hurting, craftie, and full of guile. In warre (like­wise) nothing falleth so much into cōsideration, as how to offend the enimie, and defend ourselues from his en­trappings. Therefore the best propertie whereof a Gene­rall can be possessed, is to be malicious with his enemie, and neuer to construe any his demeanures to a good sense, but to the worst that may be, and to stand on his guard.

Beleeue not (sayth Ecclesiasticus) thine enimie, with his lips he sweetneth, and in his hart he betraieth thee, to make thee fall into the dike: he weepeth with his cies, and if he light vpon a fit occasion, he will not be satisfied with thy blood. Hereof we find a manifest example in the holy scripture; for the people of Israel being besie­ged in Bethulia, and straightned with hunger and thirst, that famous lady Iudith, issued out with a resolution to kill Holofernes, and going towards the armie of the Assi­rians, she was taken by the sentinels and guards, and be­ing asked whether she was bound, made answere with a two-fold mind; I am a daughter of the Hebrues, whom you hold besieged, and flie onto you, for I haue learned that they shall fall into your hands, and that you shall e­uill intreat them, because they would not yeeld them­selues to your mercy: therefore I determined to flie vn­to [Page 203] Holofernes, and to discouer vnto him the secrets of this obstinat people, shewing him how he may enter with­out the losse of any one souldier.

So Iudith being brought to Holofernes presence, threw her selfe downe to the ground, and with closed hands began to worship him and vtter words full of deceit, the most craftily that might be, in sort that Holofernes and all his counsell, verely beleeued she sayd nothing but truth: but she not forgetfull what in heart she had pur­posed, found a conuenient occasion, and chopped off his head.

Contrary hereunto are the conditions of a friend, and therefore it behooueth euer to yeeld him credit, wherethrough Holofernes should haue done better to be­leeue Achior, seeing he was his friend, and on zeale that he should not leaue the siege with dishonour, sayd vnto him, Sir, first informe your selfe whether this people haue sinned against God, for if it be so, himselfe will de­liuer them into your hands, without that you shall need to conquer them; but if he hold them in grace, know for certaine, that he will defend them, and we shall not be able to vanquish them. Holofernes conceiued displea­sure at this aduertisement, as a man confident, lasciuious and a wine bibber, which three things turne topsie tur­uie that counsell which is requisit for the art of war. For which cause Plato sayd, he liked very well of a law which the Carthagineans had, by which they commaunded, that the Generall whilst he had charge of the armie, should drinke no wine, for this licour (as Aristotle affir­meth) maketh a man of wit be quite burned vp with choler (as Holofernes shewed in those so furious words which he spake to Achior.)

Now that wit which is requisit for ambushes and stra­tagems, [Page 204] aswell to prepare them as to perceiue them, and to find out such remedie as appertaineth, Cicero descri­beth, drawing his discēt from this nown versutia, which he saith is deriued from this verb versor: for those who are winding, craftie, double, and cauillers, vpon a sodain contriue their wiles, and employ their conceit with faci­litie: and so the same Cicero exemplified it, saying; Chri­sippus a man doubtlesse winding and craftie. I call those winding whose mind is sodainly winded about. This propertie to attain sodainly the means is solertia (quick­nesse) and appertaineth to the imagination: for the powers which consist in heat performe speedily their worke. And for this cause men of great vnderstanding are little worth for the war, for this power is very slow in his operation and a friend of vprightnesse, of plain­nesse, of simplicitie and mercie: all which is woont to breed much dammage in war. These are good to treat with friends, with whom the wisdome of the imagina­tion is not needfull; but only the rightfulnesse and sin­glenesse of the vnderstanding, which admitteth no dou­blenesse, nor doth any wrong: therfore with the enemy it booteth nothing, for he alwaies studieth to offend with wiles, and such wit is requisit wherwith to coun­ter-gard our selues. And so Christ our redeemer adui­sed his disciples, saying; Behold I send you as sheep a­mongst woolfes: be you therfore wise as serpents, and simple as dooues. With our enimies we must practise wisdome, and with our friends plainnesse and simpli­citie.

Now if the captain be not to giue credit to his enimy, but is alwaies to misdoubt that he will go beyond him, it is necessarie that he hold a difference of imagination, forecastfull, warie, and which can skill to discern the [Page 205] wiles which come vailed with anie couerture: for the selfe power which finds them out can only deuise the remedies which are behooffull in that behalfe: that see­meth to be another difference of the imagination which deuiseth the engins and war-like instruments, wherby vnuincible fortresses are won, which pitcheth the camp and marshalleth euerie squadron in his due place, and which knoweth the occasions of ioyning and retiring; which plotteth treaties, consortments and capitulati­ons with the enemie: for all which the vnderstanding is impertinent as are the eares to see withall. And there­fore I nothing doubt, but that the art of warre appertai­neth to the imagination, for all whatsoeuer a good cap­tain is to performe importeth consonance, figure and correspondence.

Now the difficulty resteth to set down with what diffe­rence of the imagination in particular, war is to be man­naged. And in this I cannot resolue with certaintie, be­cause the knowing therof is verie nice: yet I coniecture that it requireth a degree more of heat than the practise of phisicke, and that it allay choler but not vtterlie quench it.

This is verie manifest: for those captains who are ful of promptnesse and subtletie, are not verie couragious, nor desirous of bickering, neither couet to come to han­dystrokes; but by stratagems & fetches, without aduen­turing a broken pate, do bring their purposes to passe. Which property, better pleased Vegetius than any other. Good captains (saith he) not by open war, in which the perill is common, but by secret practises, euer assay with the safetie of their owne souldiers, to cut their enemies in peeces, or at least to make them afraid. The fruit of this maner of wit, the Romain Senat verie wisely looked [Page 206] into: for though they had manie famous captains, who atchieued sundry warres, yet returning to Rome to re­ceiue the triumph and glorie due to their enterprise, so great were the plaints which the parents made for their children, the children for the parents, the wiues for their husbands, and brothers for brethren, that through the sorrow for them who perished in the warres, they could take little pleasure in the sports and pastimes. Wherefore the Senat took a resolution, not to seeke out so couragi­ous captains, wholly desirous to come to hand strokes: but men somwhat timorous, & verie ready, as Q. Fabius, of whom it is written, that it was a wonder to see him offer a pitched battaile in the open field, and speciallie when he was far from Rome, wherby in ill successes he could not readily be releeued, and he did nought-els but giue way to the enemie, and deuise stratagems and wiles, with which he exploited great enterprises, and ob­tained many victories, without the losse of any one souldiour. He was receiued into Rome with great ioy of all men: for if he carried forth 100000 souldiours, he returned with as many, vnlesse some perhaps miscarried by sicknesse. The shout which the people gaue at his returne was (as Ennius reporteth) of this tenour:

As if they had said, This man with giuing way to our enemies, hath made vs lords of the world, and brought backe our souldiours to their houses in safetie. Some captains haue since that time endeuoured to imitate him: but because they wanted his wit and readinesse, they sundry times let slip many fit occasions of fighting, whence greater dammages and inconueniences arose, than if they had speedily ioyned battaile. We may also take example of that famous Carthaginian captain, of [Page 207] whom Plutarch writeth these words, Anniball after he had attained this so great a victorie, commanded that manie Italian prisoners should freely be set at libertie without ransom, to the end the fame of his courtesie and pardoning might be dispersed among the people; albeit of disposition he were very wide from this vertue: for of his owne nature he was fell and vnmercifull, and in such sort was trained vp from the tender yeares of his youth, that he neuer learned laws or ciuil conditions, but wars, slaughters, and betrayings of the enemy. Wher through he grew to be a captain verie cruel, and malicious in be­guiling men, and alwaies deuising how he might entrap his enemie. And when he saw he could not preuaile by open war, he sought to get the vpper hand by pollicies, as was plainly seen in this deed of arms by vs rehearsed, and by the battaile which he fought against Sempronius, neer the riuer Trebia. The tokens to know a man that is possessed of this difference of wit, are verie strange and well worthy of contemplation. VVher-through Plato saith, that the man who is verie wise (in this sort of abi­litie which we trace out) cannot be couragious nor wel conditioned: for Aristotle saith, That wisdom consisteth in cold, and stomacke and manlinesse in heat. Therefore these two qualities being repugnant and contrarie, it is impossible that a man be verie full of hardinesse, and also of wisdome therewithall. For which cause it is necessa­rie that choler be burned, and become choler adust, to the end that a man may prooue wise: but where this spice of melancholie is found, inasmuch as the same is cold, feare & cowardize are straightwaies entertained. In sort, that craft and readinesse require heat, for that the same is a worke of the imagination, but not in such de­gree as courage, where-through they repugne ech to o­ther [Page 208] in extension. But heerin befalleth a matter worth the noting, that of the foure morall vertues, Iustice, Prudence, Fortitude, and Temperance; the two first require a wit and good temperature, to the end that they may be put in practise: for if a Iudge be not endowed with vnderstanding, to make himselfe capable of the point of iustice, little auails it that he carrie a good will to render euery man his due. Since this his good mea­ning may wander out of the way, and wrong the true proprietarie. The like is to be vnderstood of wisdome: for if the only will sufficed to set things in good order, then in no work good or euill, should any error be com­mitted. There is no theefe whatsoeuer, who seeketh not to rob in such manner as he may not be espied, and there is no captain, who desireth not to be owner of so much wisdome, as may serue to vanquish his enemie. But a theefe that is not his craftsmaister in filching, soon falleth to be discouered; and the captain that wanteth imagination, ere long is ouercome. Fortitude, and Tem­perance are two vertues, which men carrie in their fist, though they want a naturall disposition: for if a man be disposed to set little of his life, and show hardinesse, he may well do it: but if he be couragious of his owne na­turall disposition, Aristotle and Plato affirme verie trulie, it is not possible that he can be wise though he would. In sort, that by this reason, there groweth no repugnan­cie to vnite the wisdome of the minde with courage: for a wise and skilful man, hath the vnderstanding to ha­zard his honour in respect of his soule, and his life in re­spect of his honour, and his goods in respect of his life, and so he doth. Hence it comes, that gentlemen for that they are so much honored, are so couragious; and there is none who will endure more hardnesse in the wars, for [Page 209] that they are brought vp in so many pleasures, to the end they may not be termed ribalds. Heeron is that by­word grounded, God keep me from a Gent. by day, and a theefe by night; for the one, because he is seen, and the other that he may not be known, do fight with double resolution: on this selfe reason, is the religion of Malta grounded, who knowing how much it importeth nobilitie, to be a man of valure, haue a firme law, that all those of their order shalbe issued from gentilitie, both on the fathers side and the mothers: for so ech of them must in the combat shew himselfe worth two of a baser progenie. But if a gentleman had the charge giuen him, to encamp an army, and the order whereby he should put the enemy in rout, if he had not a wit appropriat heerunto, he would commit and vtter a thousand dis­orders: for wisdome lieth not in mens disposition. But if there were recōmended vnto him the guard of a gate: they might soundly sleep on his eies, although by na­ture he were a baggage. The sentence of Plato is to be construed, when a wise man followeth his owne natural inclination, and doth not correct the same by reason. And in that sort it is true, that a verie wise man cannot of his naturall disposition be couragious: for choler a­dust (which maketh him wise) maketh him also saith Hip­pocrates timorous and fearfull. The second propertie, wherewith a man possessed of this difference of wit can­not be endowed, is to be pleasant and of quaint behaui­our: for with his imagination he frameth many plots, and weeteth that whatsoeuer error or negligēce, are the way to cast away an army, wher-through he euer carieth an eie to the maine chance. But people of little worth, call carefulnesse a toil, chastisment crueltie, and mercie softnesse; suffering and dissembling of leud parts a good [Page 210] disposition. And this verily springeth, because men are sots, who pierce not into the true value of things, nor in what sort they ought to be managed: but the wise and skilfull cannot hold patience, nor beare to see matters ill handled, though they nothing appertain vnto them­selues, and therfore liue a small while, and with much trouble of spirit. Whence Salomon said, I gaue also my mind to vnderstand wisdom, doctrine, errors, and folly; and found that in these also, there is wearinesse and af­fliction of spirit: for into much wisdome entreth much displeasure, and who so attaineth Science, getteth sor­row. In which words it seemeth that Salomon gaue vs to vnderstand, that he liued better contented being igno­rant, than after he had receiued wisdome. And so verily it came to passe: for the ignorant liue most carelesse; in­asmuch as nothing giueth them pain nor vexation, and they litle reck who haue a better capcase than thēselues. The vulgar accustometh to call such the Angels of hea­uen: for they see how they take nothing at heart; nei­ther find fault with any thing ill done, but let all passe: but if they considered the wisdome and condition of the Angels, they should see it were a word that carried euill consonance, and a case for the inquisition house: for from the day when we receiue the vse of reason, vn­till that of our death, they doe nought els saue re­prooue vs for all our euill doings, and aduise vs to that which we ought to do. And if as they speake to vs in their spiritual language, by mouing our imagination, so they should deliuer vs their opinion inmaterial words, we would hold them importunate and vnmannerly brought vp. And he that beleeueth not this, let him marke that the Angel (of whom S Mathew maketh men­tion) S. John Baptist was an angell in his office. seemed such a one to Herod, and to the wife of his [Page 211] brother Philp, seeing (because they would not heare his fault-findings) they faire and well chopped off his head. Better were it, that these men, who by the vulgar are fondly termed Angels of heauen, were called Asses of the earth: for amongst brute beasts (saith Galen) there is none more blunt, or of lesse wit than the Asse: although in memory he out reach all the rest. He refuseth no bur­den, he goeth whither he is driuen without any gain­striuing, he winceth not, he biteth not, he is not fugi­tiue, not iadish conditioned; if he be laboured with a cudgell, he setteth not by it, he is wholly made to the wel-liking and seruice of him that is to vse him: these selfe properties do those men partake, whom the vulgar terme Angels of heauen; which sport-making, springeth in them, for that they are blockheads and void of imagi­nation, and haue their wrathfull power verie remisse, which tokeneth a great defect in a man, and argueth that he is ill compounded.

There was neuer Angel nor man in the world, better conditioned than Christ our redeemer, and he entring one day into the temple, belaboured welfauoredly those whom he found there selling of merchandize: and this he did because the irascible is the chastice geuer, and sword of reason, & the man who reprooueth not things ill done, either sheweth himselfe but a foole, or is depri­ued of the wrathfull power. In sort, that it falles out a miracle to see a wise man of that gentlenesse or conditi­ons, which are best liking to lewd mens fancies: where­through such as set down in writing the actions of Iulius Caesar, maruelled to see how his souldiers could support a man so rough and seuere, and this grew in him, because he lighted vpon a wit requisit for the warres. The third propertie of those who are endowed with this differēce [Page 212] of witis, to be recklesse touching the attiring of their person, and in a maner all of them are slouinly, homely, with their hosen hanging about their heels, ful of wrinc­kles, their cap sitting vpō the one side, with some threed­bare gabberdine on their backe, & neuer long to change suits.

This propertie, Lucius Florus recounteth, had that fa­mous captain Viriatus, by nation a Portuguise, of whom (exaggerating his great humility) he saith and affirmeth, that he despised so much all ornament of his person, as there was no priuat souldier in his army, that wēt worse apparelled than himselfe. And verily this was no ver­tue, neither did he the same artificially, but it is a natu­ral effect of those, who are possessed with that difference of imagination after which we enquire.

This rechlesnesse in Iulius Caesar, greatly deceiued Ci­cero: for being asked (after the battell) the cause which mooued him to follow the party of Pompey; he answered (as Macrobius recounteth) His girding deceiued me: as if he had said, It was my beholding of Iulius Caesar to be a man somwhat slouinly, and who neuer wore his girdle handsomly, whom his souldiers in scoffe called, Loose­coat. But this should haue mooued and made him to know, that he was endowed with a wit requisit to the counsell of warre Rightly did Silla hit the naile on the head, who (as Suetonius Tranquillus reporteth) seeing the rechlesnesse of Iulius Caesar in his apparrelling himselfe when he was a boy, aduertised the Romains, saying; take heed of this ill girded yong fellow. The Historians busie themselues much, in recounting how carelesly Hanniball bare him touching his apparell, and how little he reaked to go neat and handsome. To grow in great dislike at motes on the cape, to take much care that his [Page 213] stockings sit cleane, and his cloke handsome, without plaits, appertaineth to a difference of the imagination of very base alloy, and gainsaith the vnderstanding, and that imagination which the warre requireth. The fourth signe is to haue a bald head, and the reason heerof may soon be learned: for this difference of imagination, re­sideth in the forepart of the head, as doe all the rest, and excessiue heat burneth the skin of the head, and closeth the poares, through which the haire is to passe. Besides that the matter wherof the haire is engendered (as the phisitions auouch) are those excremēts which the brain expelleth in time of his nourishing, and by the great fire that there is, they are consumed and burned vp, and so the matter faileth wherof they may breed. And if Iulius Caesar had been seen in this point of philosophy, he would not so much haue shamed at his baldhead, as that to couer the same, he caused the hinder part of his haire which should hang down on his necke to be featly tur­ned towards his forehead. And Suetonius maketh men­tion, that nothing so much contented him, as when the Senat enacted that he might weare a laurell garland on his head, and that on none other ground than because thereby he might couer his baldnesse. Another sort of baldnesse groweth from hauing the haire hard & earth­ly, and of a grosse composition, but that betokeneth a man void of vnderstanding, imagination and memory. The fifth signe, wherby those are known who haue this difference of imagination is, that such are spare in words and full of sentences, and the reason importeth because the brain being hard, it followeth of necessitie, that they suffer a defect in memorie, to which copie of words ap­pertaineth. To find much what to say, springeth from a coniunction, which the memorie maketh with the ima­gination, [Page 214] in his first degree of heat. Such as haue this conioyning of both powers, are ordinarily great liers, and neuer want words and tales, though you stand harkening vnto them a whole day togither.

The sixt propertie of those who haue this difference of imagination is, to be honest, and to take great dislike at filthie and baudie talke: and therefore Cicero saith, that men very reasonable, do imitate the honestie of nature, who hath hidden the vnseemly and shamefull parts, which she made to prouide for the necessity of mankind and not to adorne it, and she consenteth not to fasten the eyes on these, nor that the eares should once heare them named. This we might well attribut to the imagi­nation, and say that the same resteth offended at the euil representation of these parts, but in the last chapter we rendered a reason of this effect, and reduced the same to the vnderstanding, and we adiudged him defectiue in this power, who tooke not offense at such dishonestie. And because to the difference of imagination appurte­nant to the art militarie, there is ioyned this discourse, therefore are good captains very honest. Wherthrough, in the historie of Iulius Caesar, we find an action of the greatest honestie that might be, and that is, whilst they murthered him with daggers in the Senat-house, he (perceiuing it was impossible to escape death) gaue him­selfe to fall to the ground, and so fitted his imperiall robe about him, that after his death they found him couched with great honestie, with his legs and other parts coue­red, that might any way offend the sight.

The seuenth propertie, and of greatest importance, is that the Generall haue good fortune and be luckie, by which signe we shall perfectly find, that he is seized of the wit and habilitie behooffull for the art martiall, for in [Page 215] substance and truth, there is nothing which ordinarily maketh men vnfortunat, and that their enterprises do not alwaies take successe after their desire, saue that they are depriued of wisedome, and lay not hold on the con­uenient means for achieuing their exploits. For that Iu­lius Caesar shewed such wisedome in the affairs which he managed, he bare away the bell (in respect of fortunate­nesse) from all other captains of the world, so as in perils of importance, he encouraged his souldiors, saieng; Feare not, for you haue Caesars good fortune to fight on your partie.

The Stoicks held opinion, that as there was a first cause, euerlasting, almightie, and of infinit wisedome, knowne by the order and concert of his maruellous works; so also there was another vnwise and vnconcer­ted, whose workes prooued without order, without rea­son, and void of discretion: for with an affection no way reasonable, it giueth and reaueth from men riches, dig­nitie, and honour. This they tearmed Fortune, seeing hir a friend to men who performe their businesse by hap ha­sard, without forecasting, without wisedome, and with­out submitting themselues to the gouernmēt of reason. They pourtraied her (the better to make her manners and malice knowne) in fourme of a woman, a roiall scep­ter in her hand, her eyes vailed, her feet vpon a round ball, accompanied with persons sottish and void of all trade of liuing. By painting her like a woman, they no­ted her great lightnesse and little discretion; by her roiall scepter, they acknowledged her soueraigntie ouer riches and honour; her veiled eyes, gaue to vnderstand the ill fashion which she held in distributing her gifts; her feet standing on the round ball, betokened the small firme­nesse in the fauours which she imparted, for she snat­cheth [Page 216] them away with the like facilitie that she reacheth them foorth, without keeping stedfastnesse in ought whatsoeuer: but the worst part they found in her, was that she fauoureth the wicked, and persecuteth the ver­tuous; loueth the foolish, and abhorreth the wise; aba­seth the noble, & aduanceth the base: what is foule plea­seth her, and what is faire worketh her annoiance. Many men, placing cōfidence in these properties, because they know their owne good fortune, take hardinesse to vn­dertake fond and headlong enterprises, which yet pros­per with them very luckily, and yet other men, very wise and aduised, dare not aduenture to execute those enter­prises, which they haue begun with great discretion, fin­ding by experience that such find worst successe. How great a friend Fortune sheweth her selfe to bad people, Aristotle maketh knowne by this probleme, Whence groweth it, that riches (for the most part) are possessed rather by the wicked than by men of worth? Whereto he shapeth answer, Perhaps because Fortune being blind cannot know nor make choice of what is best. But this is an answer vnworthy of so great a philosopher: for it is not Fortune that bestoweth wealth on men, and though it were, yet he yeeldeth no reason, why she alwaies cherisheth the bad, and abandoneth the good. The true solution of this demand is, that the lewd sort are verie witty, and haue a gallant imagination, to beguile in buy­ing and selling, and can profit in bargaining, and em­ploying their stocke where occasion of gaine is offered. But honest men want this imagination: many of whom haue endeuoured to imitate these bad fellowes, and by trafficquing & trucking, within few daies haue lost their principall.

This, Christ our redeemer pointed at, considering [Page 217] the sufficiencie of that steward, whom his maister called to accompt, who reseruing a good portion of the goods to his owne behoofe, salued vp all his reckonings, and got his quietus est. Which wisdome (though it were faul­tie) yet God commended saying; The children of this world are more wise in their kinde, than the children of light: for these ordinarily enioy a good vnderstanding, with which power they place their affection on their law, and haue want of imagination, whereto the know­ledge how to liue in this world appertaineth; where­through many are morally good, because they lacke the wit how to be naught. This maner of answering is more easie and apparent. The naturall philosophers, because they could not reach so farre, deuised so fond and ill iointed a cause, as lady Fortune, to whose power they might impute good and bad successes, & not to the vn­skilfulnesse and little knowledge of men.

Foure sorts of people there are in euerie common-wealth, if a man list to marke them. For some men are wise, and seeme not so; others seeme so, and are not; o­thers, neither are, nor seem; and some both are, and seem so. Some men there are silent, slow in speech, staid in an­swering, not curious nor copious of words: yet they retain hidden within them, a naturall power apper­taining to the imagination, whereby they know the fit time and occasion to bring their purpose to passe, and how they are therein to demeane themselues without communicating or imparting their minde to any other. These by the vulgar are called happy and luckie, them seeming that with little knowledge, and lesse wit, euery thing falleth into their lap.

Others, contrariwise are of much eloquence in words and discourse, great cōuersers, men that take vpon them [Page 218] to gouerne the whole world, who go about hunting how with small expense they may reape great gains, and therein (after the vulgars conceit) no man in iudgement can step an acc beyond them, and yet, comming to the effect, all falleth to the ground betweene their hands. These crie out vpon fortune, and cal her blind buzzard, and iade, for the matters which they disseigne & worke with much wisdome, she suffereth not to take good ef­fect: but if there were a Fortune who might plead her own defence, she would tell them, Your selues are the buzzards, the sots, and the doo-noughts, whome you speake of, that being vnskilful, hold yourselues wise, and vsing vnfit means, would yet reape good successes. This sort of people haue a kind of imagination which dec­keth vp and setteth foorth their words and reasons, and maketh them seeme to be what in deed they are not. Wheron I conclude, that the Generall who is endowed with a wit requisit for the art militarie, and doth duly forecast what he is to exploit, shall be fortunate and hap­pie, otherwise it is lost labour to looke that he euer pre­uaile to victorie, vnlesse God do fight for him, as he did for the armies of Israell, and yet withall, they chose the wisest and skilfullest amongst them to be commaunders, for we must not leaue all vpon Gods hands, neither yet may a man wholy affie on his own wit and sufficiencie, but it will do best to ioine both together; for there is no other Fortune, saue God and a mans own good inde­uour.

He who first deuised Chesse-play, made a modell of the art militarie, representing therein all the occurrents and contemplations of war, without leauing any one be­hind: and as in this game Fortune beareth no stroke, nei­ther can the plaier who beateth the aduerse party be ter­med [Page 219] fortunat, nor he who is beaten vnfortunat. So the captain that ouercōmeth ought to be called wise, and the vanquished, ignorant; and not the one happie, or the other vnhappie. The first thing which he ordained in this play was, that when the king is mated, the contra­ry partie is vanquisher, thereby to let vs vnderstand, that the cheefe force of an armie, consisteth in a good com­maunder to gouern and direct the same: and for proofe hereof, he lotted as many cheefe men to the one side as to the other, to the end that whosoeuer lost, might be ascertained, it so fell out through default of his owne knowledge, and not of fortune. And this is more appa­rantly seene, if we consider, that a skilfull plaier will spare halfe his men to the other partie, and yet for all that get the game. And this was it which Vegetius noted, that of­ten few souldiers and weake, vanquish many & valiant, if they be gouerned by a generall who can skill in ambu­shes and stratagems. He ordained also that the pawnes might not turne backe, thereby to aduise the commaun­der that he duly forecast all chances, ere he send foorth his souldiers to the seruice, because if any mischaunce a­light, it behooues rather that they be cut in peeces wher they were placed, than to turne their backs, for the soul­dier is not to know, when time serueth to flie or to fight saue by direction of his captaine, and therefore so long as his life lasteth, he is to keepe his place, vnder paine of becomming infamous. Hereunto he adioined another law, that the pawne which had made seuen draughts without being taken, should be made a queene, & might make any draught at pleasure, and be placed next the king, as one set at libertie; and endowed with nobility; whereby he gaue vs to vnderstand, how in the warre it importeth greatly for making the souldior valiant, to [Page 220] proclaime aduantages, free camps, and preferments, for such as shal haue done any speciall peece of seruice. And principally, that the honour and profit passe to their po­steritie: for then they will exploir with greater courage, and gallantnesse. For which cause Aristotle affirmeth that a man maketh more reake to be chiefe of his linage, than of his owne proper life. This Saul well perceiued when he caused to be proclaimed in the army, Whosoeuer shal strike that man (meaning kill the Giant Golias) shall be made rich by the king, and shall haue his daughter to wife, and his house shalbe enfranchised in Israel from all maner tribute. Conformable vnto this proclamation, there was a court in Spain, which ordained, that what­soeuer souldier, by his good vsage, deserued to receiue for his pay 500 Soldi (this was the greatest stipend al­lowed in the warres) should himselfe and his posteritie, be discharged for euer from all taxes and seruices. The Moores (as they are great plaiers at chesse) haue in their plaies set seuen degrees in imitation of the 7 draughts, which the pawn must make to be a queene, and so they enlarge the play from one to the second, and from the second to the third, vntill they arriue to seuen, answera­ble to the proofe that the souldier shall giue of himselfe: & if she be so gallant as to enlarge his pay to the seuenth, they yeeld him the same: and for this cause they are ter­med Septerniers, or Seuenstears. These haue large li­berties and exemptions, as in Spain those gentlemen who are called Hidalgos. The reason hereof, in naturall philosophy is verie plain: for there is no facultie of all those that gouern man, which will willingly worke, vn­lesse there be some interest to moue the same: which Aristotle proueth in the generatiue power, and the selfe reason swaieth in the residue. The obiect of the wrath­full [Page 221] facultie (as we haue aboue specified) is honour and aduantage: and if this cease, straightwaies courage and stomacke decay: by all this may be conceiued the great signification which it carrieth to make that pawne a queene, who hath made seuen draughts without ta­king: for whatsoeuer the greatest nobilitie in the world, that hath been or shalbe, hath sprung and shall spring from pawns, and priuat men, who by the valour of their person haue done such exploits, as they deserued for themselues and their posteritie, the title of gentlemen, knights, noblemen, earls, marquesses, dukes and kings. True it is, that some are so ignorant and void of conside­ration as they will not grant, that their nobilitie had a beginning; but that the same is euerlasting, and grown into their bloud, not by the grace of some particular king, but by the supernaturall and diuine reason. To the bent of this purpose (though we shall thereby som­what lengthen our matter) I cannot but recount a verie wittie discourse, which passed between our Lord the Prince Don Carlos, and the doctor Suares of Toledo, who was iudge of the Court in Alcala of Heuates. Prince: Doctor what thinke you of this people? Doctor. Verie well (my Lord) for here is the best aire, and the best soile of any place in Spain. P. For such the phisitions made choice of to recouer my health: haue you seen the Vniuersitie? D. No my L. P. See it then: for it is very speciall; and where they tell me the Sciences are verie learnedly red. D. Verily, for a colledge and parti­cular studie, it carrieth great fame, and should be such in effect, as your highnesse speaketh of. P. Where did you studie? D. In Salamanca, my lord. P. And did you pro­ceed doctor in Salamanca? D. My lord, no. P. That me seemeth was euill done to studie in one Vniuersitie, and [Page 222] take degree in another. D. May it please your highnesse, that the charges of taking degrees in Salamanca, are ex­cessiue; and therefore we poore men flie the same, and get vs to some other Vniuersitie, knowing that we re­ceiue our sufficiencie and learning, not from the degree, but from our studie and pains, albeit my parents were not so poore, but if them listed might haue borne the charge of my proceeding in Salamanca: but your high­nesse well knoweth, that the doctors of this Vniuersitie haue the like franchises, as the gentlemen of Spain, and to vs who are such by nature, this exemption doth harm, at least to our posteritie. P. Which of the kings mine an­cestors gaue this nobility to your linage? D. None. And to this end your highnesse must vnderstand, there are two sorts of gentlemen in Spain; some of bloud, & some by priuiledge. Those in bloud (as my selfe) haue not re­ceiued their nobility at the kings hand, but those by pri­uiledge haue. P. This matter is very hard for me to con­ceiue, and I would gladly that you expressed it in plai­ner termes: for if my bloud royall, reckoning from my selfe to my father; and from him to my grandfather; and so by order from ech to other commeth to finish in Pe­lagius: to whom by the death of the king Don Rodericke, the kingdome was giuen, before which time he was not king, if we reckon vp after this sort your pedigree, shall we not come at last to end in one who was no gentle­man? D. This discourse cannot be denied, for all things haue had a beginning. P. I aske you then, from whence that first man had his nobilitie, who gaue beginning to your nobilitie? he could not enfranchise himselfe, nor plucke out his own necke from the yoke of tributes and seruices, which before time he paied to the kings my predecessors: for this were a kind of theft, and a prefer­ring [Page 223] himselfe by force with the kings patrimony, and it soundeth not with reason, that gentlemen of bloud should haue so bad an originall as this: therefore it fal­leth out plain, that the king gaue him freedom, and yeel­ded him the grace of that nobilitie. Now tell me from whom he had it. D. Your highnesse concludeth verie well, and it is true, that there is no true nobilitie saue of the kings grant: but we terme those noble of bloud, of whose originall there is no memorie, neither is it speci­fied by writing, when the same began, nor what king yeelded them this fauour. And this obscurenes is re­ceiued in the common-wealth, for more honourable than distinctly to know the contrarie. The common­wealth also maketh gentlemen: for when a man grow­eth valorous, of great vertue, and rich: it dareth not to challenge such a one, as seeming thereby to doe him wrong, and that it is fit a man of that worth do liue in al franchize. This reputation passing to the children, & to the nephews, groweth to nobilitie, & so they get a pre­tence against the king. These are not therefore gentle­men, because they receiue 500 Soldi of pay; but when the contrarie cannot be prooued, they passe for such. That Spaniard, who deuised this name of a gentleman, Hisiodalgos, gaue verie well to vnderstand this doctrine which we haue set down: for by his opinion, men haue two kinds of birth: the one naturall, in which all are e­quall, the other spirituall. When a man performeth any heroicall enterprise, or any vertue or extraordinarie worke, then is he new borne, and procureth for himselfe other new parents, and leeseth that being which he had tofore. Yesterday he was called the sonne of Peter, and nephew of Sanchius, and now he is named the sonne of his owne actions. Hence had that Castilian prouerb [Page 224] his original which saith, Euery man is the son of his own works. And because the good and vertuous works, are in the holy scripture termed somwhat, & in the Spanish tongue it signifieth algo, and vices & sins nothing, which in the Spanish is termed nada. This Spaniard compoū ­ded this word hijo dalgo therof, which importeth nought els, but that such a one is descended of him, who per­formed some notorious and vertuous action: for which he deserued to be rewarded by the king or common-wealth, togither with all his posteritie for euer. The law of the Partita saith, that hiio dalgo, signifieth the sonne of goods: But if we vnderstand the same of temporall goods, the reason was not good; for there are infinit gentlemen poore, and infinit rich men, who are no gen­tlemen: but if he meane the sonne of goods; that is to say of good qualities, it carrieth the same sense which we before expressed.

Of the second birth which men ought to haue be­sides their naturall, there is affoorded vs a natural exam­ple in the scripture, where Christ our redeemer repre­hendeth Nichodemus, because he (being a doctor of the law) wist not yet, it was necessarie that a man should be borne of new, therby to obtain a better being, and more honourable parents than his naturall: for which cause, all the time that a man performeth no heroicall enter­prise, in this sense he is called hiio de nada, to weet the sonne of nothing; although by his ancestors he beare the name of hiio dalgo, that is the sonne of somwhat; or a gentleman. To the purpose of this doctrine, I will recite vnto you a discourse which passed between a very honourable Captain, and a Caualiero, who stood much on the pantophles of his gentilitie. Whereby shall be discouered in what the honor of this second birth con­sisteth. [Page 225] This captaine then falling in companie with a knot of Caualieros, and discoursing of the largesse & li­berty, which souldiers enioy in Italie, in a certaine de­mand, which one of them made him, he gaue him the you, because he was natiue of that place, and the sonne of meane parents, born in a village of some few houses: but the captain (agreeued therat) answered saying; Sig­nore your signory shall vnderstand, that souldiers who haue enioyed the libertie of Italy, cannot content them­selues to make abode in Spain, because of the many laws which are here enacted against such as set hand to their sword.

The other Caualieros, hearing him vse the terme of Signoria, could not forbeare laughter. The Caualiero blushing hereat, vsed these words, Your Mercedi may weet, that in Italy, to say Signoria, importeth so much as in Spain to say mercede, and this Signor Capitano, being accustomed to the vse and maner of that country, giueth the terme of Signoria, where he should doe that of mer­cede. Hereto the captain answered, saying; let not your Signory hold me to be a man so simple, but that I know when I am in Italy, to apply my selfe to the language of Italy, and in Spain, to that of Spain: but he that in Spain talking with me, may giue me the you, it behooueth at least that he haue a Signory in Spain; & yet so I can scarse take it wel, the Caualiero somwhat affrōted made reply, saying; why Signor Capitano are you not natiue in such a place, and sonne to such a man? And know you not again who I am, and what mine ancestors haue been? Signore (answered the captain) I know right-well, that your Signory is a good Caualiero, and such haue been your elders: but I and my right arme (which now I ac­knowledge for my father) are better than you & all your [Page 226] linage. This captain meant to allude to the second birth, when he said I and my right arme, which now I ac­knowledge to be my father; and that not vnduly: for with his right arme, and with his sword he had perfor­med such actions, as the valour of his person was equall to the nobility of that Caualiero. For the most part, the laws and nature (saith Plato) are contrary: for a man som­times issueth out of natures hands, with a minde verie wise, excellent, noble, franke, and with a wit apt to command a whole world: yet because his hap was to be borne in the house of Amiclas, a base peasant; by the laws he remaineth depriued of that honour and liberty, wherin nature placed him. And contrariwise we see o­thers, whose wit & fashions were ordained to be slaues; and yet for that they were borne in noble houses, they come by force of the laws to be great Lords. But one thing hath been noted many ages ago, which is worthy of consideration, that those who are born in villages and thatched houses, prooue more sufficient men, and of greater towardnesse for the Sciences & arms, than such as haue great Cities for their birth-place. Yet is the vul­gar so subiect to ignorance, as they gather a consequence to the contrary, from birth in meane places: hereof the sacred scripture affoordeth as an example, where it is read, that the people of Israel much wondering at the great works of our sauiour Christ, said; is it possible, that out of Nazareth can come ought that is good? But to return to the wit of this captain, of whō we haue dis­coursed; he ought to be endowed with much vnder­standing, and with the difference of imagination, which is requisit for the art of war. Wher through, in this trea­tise we deliuer much doctrine, whence we may gather wherin the valour of men consisteth, that they may reap [Page 227] estimation in the common-wealth.

Six things (me seemeth) a man ought to haue, to the end he may be termed honourable, and which of them soeuer want, his being is thereby impaired: but yet all of them are not placed in one selfe degree, nor partake a like valew, or the selfe qualities.

The first and principall, is the valour of a mans owne person, as touching his wisdome, iustice, mind, and cou­rage. This maketh riches and birth-right, from hence grow honourable titles; from this beginning all the no­bilitie in the world fetcheth his originall. And if any be setled in a contrary opinion, let him go to the great hou­ses in Spain, and he shall find that they all deriue their o­riginall from particular men, who by the valour of their persons, attained to that, which now by their successi­ons is possessed.

The second thing which honoureth a man, next to the valour of his person is substance, without which we find not, that any man carrieth estimation in the com­mon-wealth.

The third is, the nobilitie and antiquitie of his ance­stors, to be well born, and of honourable bloud, is a thing verie precious: but yet retaineth in it selfe a great defect: for by it selfe alone, it yeeldeth a slender auaile, aswell in regard of the gentleman himselfe, as of others who stand in need therof: for a man can neither eat nor drinke the same, nor apparrell himselfe therewithall, nor giue nor bestow the same: but it maketh a man to liue as dying, by depriuing him of the remedies, which he might otherwise procure to supplie his necessities; but let him vnite the same with riches, and by no degree of honour it can be counteruailed. Some are wont to re­semble nobilitie, to a cipher in numbring, which of it [Page 228] selfe beareth no value, but vnited with another number, multiplieth the same.

The fourth point which maketh a man to be of ac­compt, is to haue some dignitie or honourable office; and contrariwise nothing so much abaseth a man, as to get his liuing by some handy-craft.

The fifth thing which honoureth a man, is to be cal­led by a good surname, and a gratious christian name, which may deliuer a pleasing consonance to the eare, & not to be termed pasty, or pestell, as some that I know. We read in the generall historie of Spaine, that there came two Embassadours out of France, vnto king Al­fonse the ninth, to demand one of his daughters in mar­riage for their soueraigne king Philip: one of which ladies was verie faire, and named Vrraca, the other no­thing so gratious, and called Blanche. They both com­ming in presence of the Embassadours, all men held it as a matter resolued, that the choice would light vpon Vrraca, as the elder, and fairer, and better adorned: but the Embassadours, enquiring ech of their names, tooke offence at the name of Vrraca, and made choice of the lady Blanche: saying, that her name would be better re­ceiued in France than the other.

The sixth thing which honoureth a man, is the seem­ly ornament of his person, & his going well apparelled, and attended with manie waiters. The good discent of the Spanish nobilitie, is of such as through the valour of their person, and through their honourable enterprises atchieued, grew in the wars to the pay of 500 Soldi. The originall wherof our late writers cannot verifie: for if they find not their matter laid down in writing, and ex­pressed to their hands by others, they are vnable to sup­plie the same, with anie inuention of their own. The dif­ference [Page 229] which Aristotle placeth betwixt memory and re­membrance is, that if the memorie haue lost anie of those things which at first it knew, it cānot call the same to mind, without new learning thereof: but remem­brance enioieth this special grace, that if it forget ought, by stopping a while to discourse thereupon, it turneth to find out that which was before lost. Which may be the Court that speaketh in fauour of good souldiours, we find at this day recorded neither in books, nor in the memorie of men, but there are left as reliques these words, hijo dalgo, in those that receiue 500 Soldi of pay, after the Court of Spain, and their known wages. By ma­king discourse, and arguing wheron, it wil fall out an ea­sie matter to find out their associats. Antony of Lebrissa giuing the signification of this verbe, vendico, cas: saith the same signifieth, to draw vnto it that which is due for pay, or by reason, as we say now a daies by a new phrase of speech, to take pay from the king. And it is a thing so vsed in Castilia the old, to say such a one hath well im­paied his trauaile, when he is well paied, that amongst the ciuiller sort, there is no maner of speech more ordi­narie.

From this signification, the word vindicare fetched his originall, namely, when anie one would stirre at the wrong offered him by another: for iniury metaphori­cally is termed debt. After this sort when we now say, such a one is hiio dalgo, de vengar quincentos sueldos, that is, a gentleman of the pay of 500 Soldi, we meane that he is descended from a souldier so valiant, as for his prow­esse he deserued to receiue so large a pay, as is that of 500 Soldi. VVho by the court of Spain was (with all his po­steritie) enfranchised from paying any tallages or serui­ces to the king. This known pay, is nought els saue the [Page 230] entrance which such a souldiour made into the number of those, whose stipend was 500 Soldi: for then were registred in the kings booke, the name of the souldiour, the countrey where he was born, and who were his pa­rents, and progenitors: for the more certaintie to him who receiued this benefit and stipend. Euen as at this day we read in the book of Bezerro, which is kept at Sa­lamanca, where are foūd written, the beginning of wel­neere all the Spanish nobilitie. The semblable diligence vsed Saul, when Dauid slew Golias: for forthwith he sent Abner his captain, to take information of what stock the yong man was descended. Antiently they termed So­laro, the house of the villaine, aswell as of the gentle­man.

But sithens we haue stepped aside into this digressi­on, it behooueth to make returne to our purpose from whence we parted, and to know whence it groweth, that in play at chesse, which we tearmed a counter­feit of war, a man shameth more to loose, than at any o­ther game, albeit the same turne him to no dammage, neither is the play for monie: and whence it may spring that the lookers on see more draughts than the plaiers themselues, though they are lesse seene in the play? and that which most importeth is, that some gamsters play best fasting, and some better after meat. The first doubt holdeth like difficultie, for we haue auouched, that in warre and in chesse play fortune hath nought to do, neither may we be allowed to say, Who would euer haue thought this? but all is ignorance and carelesnesse in him that leeseth, and wisedome and cunning in him that getteth. And when a man is ouer come in matters of wit & sufficiencie, and is cut off from all allegations of excuse or pretence, other than his own ignorance, it [Page 231] followeth a matter of necessitie that he wax ashamed: for man is reasonable, and a friend to his reputation, and cannot brooke that in the works of this power, any o­ther should step a foot before him. For which cause Ari­stotle demaundeth what the reason may be, why the an­tients consented not that speciall rewards should be as­signed to those, who surpassed the rest in the Sciences, & yet ordained some for the best leaper, runner, thrower of the barre, and wrestler? To which he frameth answer, That in wrestling and bodily contentions, it is tollerated that there be Iudges assigned, who shall censure how far one man exceedeth another, to the end they may iustly yeeld prize to the vanquisher, it falling out a matter of no difficultie for the eye to discerne who leapeth most ground, or runneth with greatest swiftnesse: but in mat­ters of science it prooueth very hard to trie by the vn­derstanding, which exceedeth other, for that it is a thing appertaining to the spirit, and of much queint­nesse; and if the iudge list to giue the prize maliciously, all men cannot looke thereunto, for it is a iudgement much estranged from the sence of the beholders. Be­sides this answer, Aristotle giueth another which is bet­ter, saying, That men make no great recke to be ouer­come in throwing, wrastling, running, and leaping, for that they are graces wherein the very brute beasts out­passe vs. But that which we cannot endure with pati­ence, is, to haue another adiudged more wise and adui­sed than our selues, wherethrough they grow in hatred with the iudges, and seeke to be reuenged of them, thin­king that of malice they went about to shame thē. Ther­fore to shun these incōueniences, they would not yeeld consent, that in works appertaining to the reasonable part, men should be allowed either iudges or rewards. [Page 232] Whence is gathered, that the Vniuersities do ill who as­signe iudges and rewards of the first, second, and third degree, in licencing those that prooue best at the exami­nations.

For besides that the inconueniences alleaged by Ari­stotle do betide, it is repugnant to the doctrine of the gospell, that men grow into contention who should be cheefe. And that this is true, we see manifestly, for that the disciples of our sauiour Christ, comming one day from a certain voiage, treated amongst themselues, who should be the greatest, and being now ariued at their lodging, their maister asked them whereof they had rea­soned vpon the way? but they (though somwhat blunt) well vnderstood how this question was not allowable, wherthrough the text saith, that they durst not tell him, but because from God nothing can be concealed, he spake vnto them in this maner, If any will be chiefe a­mongst you, he shalbe the last of all, and seruant to the rest. The Pharisies were abhorred by Christ our redee­mer, because they loued the highest seats at feasts, and the principall chaires in the Sinagogues. The chiefe reason wheron they rely, who bestow degrees after this maner, is, that when schollers know ech of them shalbe rewarded according to the triall which they shall giue of themselues, they will skantly affoord themselues time frō their studie, to sleep or eat. Which would cease, were there not a reward for him that taketh pains, or chastis­ment for him that addicteth himselfe to loosnesse and loitering. But this is a slender reason, and so only in ap­parence, and presupposeth a great falshood, which is, that knowledge may be gotten by continuall plodding at the booke, and by hearing of good maisters, and ne­uer leesing a lesson. And they marke not, that if a schol­ler [Page 233] want the wit and abilitie requisit for the learning which he applieth, it falleth out a lost labour, to beat his head day and night at his books. And the error is such, that if differences of wits, so far distant as these, do enter into competencie, the one through his quicke capacity, without studying or poaring in books, getteth learning in a trice, and the other, for that he is block-headed and dull, after he hath toiled all his life long, can small skill in the matter.

Now the Iudges come, as men to giue the first price to him, who was enabled by nature, and tooke no tra­uell, and the last to him who was born void of capacitie, yet neuer gaue ouer studying; as if the one had gotten learning by turning ouer his books, and the other lost the same through his owne sluggishnesse. And it fareth as if they ordained prices for two horses, of which the one had his legs sound and nimble, and the other halted down right. If the Vniuersities did admit to the studie of the Sciences, none but such as had a wit capable ther­of, and were all equall, it should seeme a thing well done to ordaine reward and punishment: for whosoeuer knew most, it would therby appeare that he pained him­selfe most, and who knew least, had giuen himselfe more to his ease.

To the second doubt we answer, that as the eies stand in need of light, and cleernesse, to see figures and co­lours, so the imagination hath need of light in the brain, to see the fantasies which are in the memory. This cleer­nesse, the sunne giueth not, nor any lamp or candle, but the vitalspirits which are bred in the heart, and dispersed throughout the body. Herewithall it is requisit to know that feare gathereth all the vitallspirits to the heart, and leaueth the braine darcke, and all the other parts of the [Page 234] body cold. Wherevpon Aristotle maketh this demaund, Whence commeth it, that who so feareth, his voice, his hands, and his nether lip do tremble? whereto he an­swereth, that through this feare, the naturall heat hieth to the heart, and leaueth all the residue of the body a­cold, and the cold (as is before touched) by Galens mind, hindereth all the powers and faculties of the soule, and suffereth not them to worke.

Hence beginneth the answer of this second doubt, and it is, that those who play at Chesse, conceiue feare to loose, because the game standeth vpon termes of reputa­tion and disgrace, and for that Fortune hath no stroke therein, so the vitall spirits assembling to the heart, the imagination is foreslowed by the cold, and the fantasms in the darke, for which two reasons, he who plaieth can­not bring his purpose to effect. But the lookers on, in as much as this no way importeth them, neither stand in feare of loosing through want of skill, do behold more draughts, for that their imagination retaineth his heat, and his figures are enlightened by the light of the vitall spirits. True it is, that much light reaueth also the light of the imagination, and it befalleth what time the player waxeth ashamed and out of countenaunce to see his ad­uersarie beat him; then through this aggreeuednes, the naturall heat encreaseth, and enlighteneth more than is requisit, of all which he that standeth by is deuoid. From hence issueth an effect very vsual in the world, that what time a man endeuoreth to make the best muster of him­selfe, and his learning and sufficiencie most knowne, it prooueth worst with him: with others againe the con­trarie betideth, who being brought to their triall, make a great show, and passed out of the lists, appeare of little woorth, and of all this, the reason is very manifest, for he [Page 235] whose head is filled with much naturall heat, if you ap­point him to do an exercise of learning or disputation, within foure and twentie hours after, a part of that ex­cessiue heat which he hath, flieth to the heart, and so the brain remaineth temperat, and in this disposition (as we wil prooue in the chapter ensuing) many points woorth the vtterance, present themselues to a mans remem­brance. But he who is very wise and endowed with a great vnderstanding, being brought to triall, by means of feare, cannot retaine the naturall heat in his head, whereon through default of light, he findeth not in his memorie what to deliuer.

If this fell into their consideration, who take vpon them to controll the Generals of armies, blaming their actions, and the order which they set down in the field, they should discerne how great a difference resteth be­tweene the giuing a looking on the fight out at a win­dow, or the breaking of a launce therein, and the feare to leese an armie whose charge their soueraigne hath com­mitted to their hands.

No lesse dammage doth feare procure the Physition in curing, for his practise (as we haue prooued hereto­fore) appertaineth to the imagination, which resteth more annoied by cold than any other power, for that his operation consisteth in heat. Whence we see by experi­ence, that Physitions can sooner cure the vulgar sort, than Princes and great personages. A counsellor at law one day asked me (knowing that I handled this matter) what the cause might be, that in the affairs where he was well payd, many cases and points of learning came to his memorie, but with such as yeelded not to his trauell what was due, it seemed that all his knowledge was shrunke out of his braine: whome I answered, that mat­ters [Page 236] of interest appertained to the wrathfull facultie which maketh his residence in the heart, and if the same receiue not contentment, it doth not willingly send forth the vitall spirits, by whose light, the figures which rest in the memorie may be discerned. But when that findeth satisfaction, it cheerfully affoordeth naturall heat. VVherthrough the reasonable soule obtaineth sufficient cleernesse to see whatsoeuer is written in the head. This defect do men of great vnderstanding par­take, who are pinching, and relie much on their interest and in such is the propertie of that counsellor best dis­cerned. But who so falleth into due consideration here­of, shall obserue it to be an action of Iustice, that he who laboureth in another mans vineyard be well paied his wages.

The like reason is currant for the phisitions, to whom (when they are wel hired) many remedies present them selues: otherwise, the art (aswell in them as the lawyer) slippeth out of their fingers. But here a matter verie im­portant is to be noted, namely; that the good imagina­nation of the phisition, discouereth on a sodain what is necessarie to be done. And if he take leisure and farther consideration, a thousand inconueniences come into his fancie, which hold him in suspense, and this-while the occasion of the remedie passeth away. Therefore it is neuer good, to aduise the phisition to consider well what he hath in hand, but that he forthwith execute what first he purposed. For we haue prooued hereto­fore, that much speculation maketh the naturall heat to auoid out of the head, and again the same may encrease so far forth, as to turmoile the imagination. But the phi­sition in whom it is slacke, shall not doe amisse to vse long contemplation: for the heat aduancing it selfe vp [Page 237] to the braine, shall come to attaine that point, which to this power is behooffull.

The third doubt in the matters alreadie rehearsed, hath his answer verie manifest: for the difference of the imagination, with which we play at chesse, requireth a certaine point of heat, to see the draughts, and he that plaieth well fasting, hath then the degree of heat requisit thereunto. But through the heat of the meat, the same exceedeth that point which was necessarie, and so he plaieth worse. The contrarie befalleth to such as play well after meales, for the heat rising vp togither with the meat and the wine, arriueth to the point, which wanted whiles he was fasting. It is therefore needfull to amend a place in Plato, who saith, that nature hath with great wisdome disioyned the liuer from the braine, to the end the meat with his vapours, should not trouble the con­templation of the reasonable soule. But here if he mean those operations which appertain to the vnderstanding, he speaketh very well, but it can take no place in anie of the differences of the imagination. Which is seen by ex­perience in feasts and banquets: for when the guests are come to mid meale, they begin to tell pleasant tales, merriments, and similitudes; where at the beginning, none had a word to say; but at the end of the feast, their tongue faileth them, for the heat is passed beyond the bound, requisit for the imagination. Such as need to eat and drinke a little, to the end the imagination may lift vp it selfe, are melancholicke by adustion: for such haue their brain like hot lime, which taken vp into yourhand, is cold and drie in feeling: but if you bath the same in a­ny liquor, you cannot endure the heat which groweth therof.

We must also correct that law of the Carthagineans, [Page 238] which Plato alleageth, whereby they forbad their Cap­tains to drinke wine, when they went to their wars, and likewise their gouernours, during the yeare of their of­fice. And albeit Plato held the same for a verie iust law, and neuer maketh an end of commending the same; yet it behooueth to make a distinction: we haue alleaged heretofore, that the worke of iudging appertaineth to discourse, and that this power abhorreth heat, and ther­fore receiueth much dammage by wine: but to gouern a common-wealth, (which is a distinct matter from ta­king into your hand a processe, & giuing sentence ther­vpon) belongeth to the imagination, and that requireth heat. And the gouernor not arriuing to the point, which is requisit, may well drinke a little wine, so to attaine the same. The like may be said touching the generall of an army, whose counsell partaketh also with the imagina­tion. And if the naturall heat be by any hot thing to be aduanced, none performeth it so well as wine; but it is requisit, that the same be temperatly taken, for there is no nourishment which so giueth and reaueth a mans wit, as this liquor. VVherefore it behooueth the Generall, to know the maner of his imagination, whe­ther the same be of those which need meat and drinke to supply the heat that wanteth, or to abide fasting: for in this onely, consisteth how to mannage his affaires well or euill.

[Page 239] WHen Salomon was chosen king and head of so great and numberfull a people, as that of Israell; the text saith, that for go­uerning and ruling them, he craued wisdom from heauen, and nothing be­sides. VVhich demand so much pleased God, as in reward of hauing asked so well, he made him the wisest king of the world, and not so contented, he gaue him great riches and glorie, euermore holding his request in better price. VVhence is manifestly gathered, that the greatest wisdome and knowledge which may possibly be in the world, is that foundation, vpon which the office of a king relieth. VVhich conclusion is so cer­taine and true, as it were but lost labour to spend time in the proofe therof. Only it behooueth to shew to what difference of wit the art of being a king, and such a one as is requisit for the common-wealth, appertaineth: and to vnfold the tokens, whereby the man may be known who is indowed with this wit and abilitie. VVhere­through it is certaine, that as the office of a king excee­deth all the arts in the world; so the same requireth a perfection of wit in the largest measure that nature can deuise. What the same is we haue not as yet defined: for we haue been occupied in distributing to the other arts, their differences & maners. But since we now haue the same in handling, it must be vnderstood that of nine temperatures, which are in mankind, one onely (saith Galen) maketh a man so surpassing wise, as by nature he can be. VVherin the first qualities are in such waight and measure, that the heat exceedeth not the cold, nor the moist the drie; but are found in such equalitie and conformitie, as if really they were not contraries, nor had any naturall opposition. VVhence resulteth an in­strument [Page 240] so appliable to the operations of the reasona­soule, that man commeth to possesse a perfect memorie of things passed, and a great imagination to see what is to come, and a great vnderstanding, to distinguish, in­ferre, argue, iudge, and make choice. The other diffe­rences of wit (by vs recounted) haue not anie one a­mongst them of sound perfection: for if a man possesse great vnderstanding, he cannot (by means of much dri­nesse) comprise the sciences which appertain to the ima­gination and the memorie; and if he be of great ima­gination, by reason of much heat, he remaineth vnsuffi­cient for the sciences of the vnderstanding and the me­morie, and if he enioy a great memorie, we haue to fore expressed how vnable those of much memory (through their excessiue moisture) do prooue for all the other sci­ences. Only this difference of wit, which we now are a searching is that, which answereth all the arts in propor­tion. How much dammage the vnablenesse of adioy­ning the rest, breedeth to any one knowledge, Plato no­teth, saying; That the perfection of ech in particular, de­pendeth on the notice and knowledge of them all in ge­nerall.

No sort of knowledge is found so distinctly and se­uered from another, but that the skill in the one much aideth to the others perfection. But how shall we do, if hauing sought for this difference of wit with great dili­gence in all Spaine, I can find but one such? Whereby I (No doubt your owne king.) conceiue, that Galen said verie well, That out of Greece, nature not so much as in a dream, maketh any man tem­perat, or with a wit requisit for the sciences. And the same Galen alleageth the reason hereof, saying; That Greece is the most temperat region of the world. Where the heate of the aire exceedeth not the cold, nor the [Page 241] moist the dry. VVhich temperature, maketh men very wise and able for all the Sciences, as appeareth, conside­ring the great number of famous mē, who thence haue issued, as Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, Hippocrates, Galen, Theo­phrastus, Demosthenes, Homer, Thales Milesius, Diogenes Cynicus, Solon, and infinit other wise men mentioned in histories, whose works we find replenished with all sci­ences. Not as the writers of other prouinces, who if they treat of phisicke, or any other science, it prooues a miracle, for them to alleage any other sort of science in their aid or fauour. All of them are beggerly and with­out furniture, as wanting a wit capable of all the arts. But which we may most maruell at in Greece is, that wher­as the wit of women is found so repugnant vnto lear­ning (as hereafter we will prooue) yet there haue been so many she Greekes, so specially seen in the sciences, as they haue grown into competencie with the sufficien­test men: as namely Leontia, a most wise woman, who wrote against Theophrastus, the greatest Philosopher of his time, reproouing him for many errors in philoso­phy. But if we looke into other Prouinces of the world, hardly shall we find sprung vp any one wit that was no­table. VVhich groweth for that they inhabit places dis­tempered, where men become brutish, slow of capacitie, and ill conditioned.

For this cause Aristotle moueth a doubt, saying; VVhat meaneth it, that those who inhabit a country, either o­uer cold, or ouer hot, are fierce and fell in countenance and conditions, To which probleme he answereth ve­rie well, saying; that a good temperature, not only ma­keth a good grace in the body, but also aideth the wit and abilitie. And as the excesses of heat & cold do hin­der nature, that she cannot shape a man in good figure; [Page 242] So (also for the like reason) the harmonle of the soule is turned topsie turuie, and the wit prooueth slow and dull.

This the Greeks well wist, inasmuch as they termed all the nations of the world Barbarians, considering their slender sufficiencie and little knowledge. VVhence we see, that of so many that are borne and studie out of Greece, if they be Philosophers, none of them arriueth to the perfection of Plato, and Aristotle: if Phisitions, to Hippocrates and Galen: if orators, to Demostbenes: if Poets, to Homer: and so in the residue of the sciences parts, the Greeks haue euer held the formost ranke beyond al con­tradiction. At least the probleme of Aristotle is verie well verified in the Greeks: for verily they are the men of most sufficiencie and loftiest capacity in the world: were it not that they liue in disgrace, oppressed by force of armes in bondage, and all hardly intreated, by the com­ming of the Turks, who bannished all learning, and cau­sed the Vniuersitie of Athens, to passe vnto Paris in France, where at this day the same cōtinueth. And (thus through want of manurance) so many gallant wits (as we haue before reported) are vtterly perished. In the o­ther regions out of Greece, though schools and exercise of learning are planted, yet no man hath proued in them of any rare excellency.

The Phisition holdeth he hath waded very far, if with his wit he can attain to that which Hippocrates and Galen deliuered, and the naturall Philosopher reckoneth him selfe so full of knowledge, as he can be capable of no more, if he once grow to the vnderstanding of Aristotle. But this notwithstanding, it goeth not for an vniuersall rule, that all such as haue Greece for their birth-place, must of force be temperate and wise, and all the residue [Page 243] distemperat and ignorant: for the same Galen recounteth of Anacharsis, who was born in Scythia, that he carried the reputation of a rare wit amongst the Grecians, though himselfe a Barbarian. A Philosopher, borne in Athens, falling in contention with him, said vnto him; get thee hence thou Barbarian. Then Anacharsis answe­red, My countrey is to me a shame, and so art thou to thine: for Scythia, being a region so distemperat, and where so many ignorant persons liue, my self am grown to knowledge, and thou being borne in Athens, a place of wit and wisdome, wert neuer other than an Asse. In sort, that we need not vtterly despaire in regard of the temperature: neither thinke it a case of impossibilitie, to meet herewithall out of Greece, and especially in Spain, a region not verie distemperat: for as I haue found one of these differences in Spaine, so it may well be, that there are many others not yet come to knowledge, and which I haue not been able to find out. It shall doe well therefore, to intreat of the tokens, by which a temperat man may be discerned, to the end where such a one is, he may not be hidden.

Many signes haue the Phisitions laid down to disco­uer this difference of wit, but the most principall, and which affoord best notice, are these following.

The first (saith Galen) is to haue his haire abourne, a colour between white and red; and that passing from age to age, they euer become more golden. And the rea­son is verie cleere: for the materiall cause whereof they haire consisteth, the Phisitions say, is a grosse vapour, which ariseth from the digestion, that the brain maketh at the time of his nourishment; and looke what colour is of the member, such also is that of his excrements. If the braine in his composition partake much of fleagme, [Page 244] the haire in growth is white, if much choler, saffron co­loured: but if these two humours rest equally mingled, the braine becommeth temperat, hot, cold, moist, and dry; and the haire abourne, partaking both the extremes. True it is Hippocrates saith, that this colour in men, who liue vnder the North, as are the English, Flemmish, and Almains springeth, for that their whitnesse is parched vp with much cold, and not for the reason by vs allea­ged. Wherfore in this token it behooueth to be wel ad­uised: otherwise we may soon slip into error.

The second token which a man, who shalbe endowed with this difference of wit, must haue, is, saith Galen, to be well shaped, of good countenance, of seemly grace, and cheerfull: in sort, that the sight may take delight to be­hold him, as a figure of rare perfection. And the reason is very plain: for if nature haue much force, and a seed well seasoned, she alwaies formeth of things possible, the best and most perfect in his kind: but being purueied of forces, mostly she placeth her studie in fashioning the braine, for that amongst all other parts of the bodie, the same is the principal seat of the reasonable soul: whence we see many men to be great and foule, and yet of an ex­cellent wit.

The quantitie of body, which a temperat man ought to haue (saith Galen) is not resolutely determined by na­ture, for he may be long, short, and of mean stature, con­formable to the quantitie of the temperat seed, which it had when it was shaped. But as touching that which ap­pertaineth to the wit in temperat persons, a mean stature is better than either a great or little. And if we must lean to either of the extreames, it is better to encline to the little than to the great: for the bones and superfluous flesh (as we haue prooued heeretofore, by the opinion [Page 245] of Plato and Aristotle) bring great dammage to the wit. Agreeable hereunto, the natural Philosophers are wont to demand, whence it proceedeth, that men of small sta­ture, are ordinarily more wise, than those of long sta­ture. And for proofe hereof, they cite Homer, who saith that Vlisses was very wise, and little of bodie; and contra­riwise Aiax very foolish, and in stature tall. To this que­stion they make verie simple answer, saying, that the rea­sonable soule gathered into a narrow roome, hath ther­by more force to worke conformably to that old saw, Vertue is of more force vnited than dispersed: and con­trariwise making abode in a body long and large, it wan­teth sufficient vertue to moue and animat the same. But this is not the reason thereof: for we should rather say, that long men haue much moisture in their compositi­on, which extendeth out their flesh, and ableth the same to that increase which the naturall heat doth euer pro­cure. The contrarie betideth in little bodies: for through their much drinesse, the flesh cannot take his course, nor the naturall heat enlarge or stretch it out, and therefore they remaine of short stature. And we haue ea [...]st proued that amongst the first qualities, none bringeth so great dammage to the operations of the reasonable soule, as much moisture, and that none so farre quickneth the vn­derstanding, as drinesse.

The third signe (saith Galen) by which a temperat man may be known, is, that he be vertuous and of good con­ditions: for if he be lewd and vitious, Plato affirmeth it groweth for that in man there is some distemperat qua­litie, which vrgeth him to offend: and if such a one will practise that which is agreeable to vertue, is behooueth, that first he renounce his owne naturall inclination. But whosoeuer is absolutely temperat, standeth not in need [Page 246] of any such diligence, for the inferiour powers require nothing at his hands, that is contrarie to reason. There­fore Galen saith, that to a man who is possessed of this temperature, we need prescribe no diet what he shall eat and drinke: for he neuer exceedeth the quantitie and measure which phisicke would assigne him. And Galen contenteth not himselfe to terme them most temperat: but moreouer auoucheth, that it is not necessary to mo­derat their other passions of the soule: for his anger, his sadnesse, his pleasure, and his mirth, are alwaies measu­red by reason. Whence it followeth, that they are euer­more healthful and neuer diseased, and this is the fourth figure.

But herein Galen swarueth from reason: for it is im­possible to frame a man, that shalbe perfect in all his powers, as the body is temperat, and that his wrathfull and concupiscentiall power, get not the soueraigntie o­uer reason, and incite him to sin. For it is not fitting to suffer any man (how temperat soeuer) to follow alwaies his owne naturall inclination without gainsetting and correcting him by reason. This is easily vnderstood, considering the temperature which the braine ought to haue, to the end the same may be made a conuenient in­strument for the reasonable facultie: and that which the heart should hold, to the end the wrathfull power may couet glorie, empire, victorie, and soueraigntie ouer all: and that which the liuer ought to haue for disgesting the meats, and that which ought to rest in the colds, to be able to preserue mankind, and to increase the same. Of the brain, we haue said sundry times tofore, that it should retaine moisture, for memory; drinesse, for discourse; and heat, for the imagination. But for all this, his natu­rall temperature is cold and moist; and by reason of the [Page 247] more or lesse of these two qualities, somtimes we terme it hot, and somtimes cold; now moist, then drie: but the cold and moist grow to predominat. The liuer, wherein the facultie of concupiscence resideth, hath for his naturall temperature, heat and moisture to predomi­nate; and from this it neuer altereth, so long as a man li­ueth. And if somtimes we say it is cold, it groweth, for that the same hath not all the degrees of heat requisit to his owne operations. As touching the heart, which is the instrument of the wrathfull facultie, Galen affirmeth it of his owne nature to be so hot, as if (while a creature liueth) we put our finger into his hollownesse, it will grow impossible to hold the same there one moment without burning. And albeit somtime we terme it cold; yet we may not conceiue, that the same doth predomi­nate: for this is a case impossible, but that the same con­sisteth not in such degree of heat, as to his operations is behooffull.

In the cods, where the other part of the concupisci­ble maketh abode: the like reason taketh place, for the predomination of his naturall temperature, is hot and drie. And if somtimes we say, that a mans cods are cold, we must not absolutly so vnderstand the same: neither to predomination: but that the degree of heat, requisit for the generatiue vertue is wanting. Hereon we plain­ly inferre, that if a man be well compounded and instru­mentalized, it behooueth of force, that he haue exces­siue heat in his heart: for otherwise the wrathfull facul­tie would grow verie remisse; and if the liuer be not ex­ceeding hot, it cannot disgest the meat, nor make bloud for nourishment: and if the cods haue not more heat than cold, a man will prooue impotent, and without power of begetting. Wherefore these two members [Page 248] (being of such force as we haue said) it followeth of ne­cessitie, that the braine take alteration through much heat, which is one of the qualities that most paineth rea­son; and which is worst, the will being free, inciteth and inclineth it selfe to condiscend to the appetites of the lower portion.

By this reckoning it appeareth, that nature cannot fa­shion such a man as may be perfect in al his powers, nor produce him inclined to vertue. How repugnant it is vnto the nature of man, that he become inclined to ver­tue, is easily prooued, considering the composition of the first man, which though the most perfect that euer mankind enioyed sauing that of Christ our redeemer, and shaped by the hands of so great an artificer: yet if God had not infused into him a supernaturall qualitie, which might keepe down his inferiour part; it was im­possible (abiding in the principles of his owne nature) that he should not be enclined to euill. And that God made Adam of a perfect power to wrath and concupi­scence, is well to be vnderstood, in that he said and com­manded him, Encrease and multiply, and to replenish the earth. It is certaine that he gaue them an able power for procreation, & made them not of a cold com­plexion, inasmuch as he commanded him that he should people the earth with men; which worke cannot be ac­complished without abundance of heat. And no lesse heat did he bestow vpon the facultie nutritiue: with which he was to restore his consumed substance, and re­new another in lieu thereof. Seeing that he said to the man and the woman, Behold, I haue giuen you euerie hearb, that bringeth forth seed vpon the earth, & what­soeuer trees haue seed of their kind, to the end they may serue you for food: for if God had giuen them a sto­macke [Page 249] and liuer, cold and of little heat, for certain they could not haue digested their meat, nor preserue them­selues 900 yeares aliue in the world. He fortified also the heart, and gaue the same a wrathfull facultie, which might yeeld him apt to be a king and lord, and to com­mand the whole world, and said vnto them, Do you sub­due the earth, and command ouer the fishes of the sea, and the foules of the aire, and all the beasts that mooue on the face of the earth. But if he had not giuen them much heat, they had not partaken so much viuacitie, nor authoritie of soueraigntie, of commandement, of glory, of maiestie, and of honour.

How much it endamageth a prince, to haue his wrath­full power remisse, cannot sufficiently be expressed: for through this only cause it befalleth, that he is not feared nor obeied, nor reuerenced by his subiects. After ha­uing fortified the wrathfull and concupiscible powers, giuing vnto the forementioned members so much heat, he passed to the facultie reasonable, and shaped for the same a braine cold and moist, in such degree, and of a substance so delicat, that the soule might with the same discourse, and philosophize, and vse his infused know­ledge. For we haue alreadie auouched, and heretofore prooued, that God to bestow a supernaturall knowledge vpon men, First ordereth their wit, and maketh them capable, by way of the naturall dispositions deliuered by his hand, that they may receiue the same: for which cause, the text of the holy scripture affirmeth, that he gaue them a heart to conceiue, and replenished them with the discipline of vnderstanding. The wrathful and concupiscentiall powers, being then so mighty through great heat, and the reasonable so weake and remisse to resist, God made prouision of a supernaturall qualitie, [Page 250] and this is tearmed by the Diuines Originall Iustice, by which they come to represse the brunts of the inferiour portion, and the part reasonable remaineth superiour, and enclined to vertue. But when our first parents offen­ded, they lost this qualitie, and the irascible and concu­piscible remained in their nature, and superiour to rea­son, in respect of the strength of the three members that we spake of, and man rested readie euen from his youth, vnto euill.

Adam was created in the age of youth, which (after the Physitions) is the most temperat of all the residue, and from that age foorth, he was enclined to euilnes, sauing that little time, whilst he preserued himselfe in grace by originall iustice. From this doctrine we gather in good naturall Philosophie, that if a man be to performe any action of vertue to the gainsaieng of the flesh, it is im­possible that he can put the same in execution, without outward ayd of grace; for the qualities with which the inferiour power worketh, are of greater efficacie. I sayd, with gainsaying of the flesh, because there are many ver­tues in man, which grow for that he hath his powers of wrath and concupiscence feeble, as chastitie in a cold person, but this is rather an impotencie of operation, than a vertue: for which cause, had not the catholicke church taught vs, that without the speciall aid of God, we could not haue ouercome our owne nature, Philoso­phie naturall would so haue learned vs, namely, that grace comforteth our wil. That then which Galen would haue sayd, was, that a temperat man exceedeth in vertue all others who want this good temperature, for the same is lesse prouoked by the inferiour part.

The fifth propertie which those of this temperature possesse, is to be very long liued, for they are strong to [Page 251] resist the causes and occasions which engender diseases; and this was that which the roiall prophet Dauid meant, The daies of our age in themselues are seuentie yeares, but if in the potentates there be eightie or more, it is their paine and sorrow: as if he should say, The number of yeares which men ordinarily do liue, arriue vnto se­uentie, and if potentates reach vnto eightie, those once passed, they are dead on their feet. He tearmeth those men potentates, who are of this temperature, for more than any other they resist the causes which abridge the life. Galen layeth downe the last token, sayeng, that they are very wise, of great memorie for things passed, of great imagination to foresee those to come, and of great vnderstanding to find out the truth of all matters. They are not malicious, not wily, not cauillers, for these spring from a temperature that is vitious Such a wit as this as­suredly, was not framed by nature to addict it selfe vnto the studie of the Latine tongue, Logicke, Philosophie, Phisicke, Diuinitie, or the Lawes: for put case he might easily attaine these sciences, yet none of them can fully replenish his capacitie; only the office of a king is in pro­portion answerable therevnto, and in ruling and gouer­ning ought the same solely to be imploied. This shal ea­silie be seene if you run ouer the tokens and properties of a temperat man, which we haue laid downe, by taking into consideration, how fitly ech of them squareth with the roiall scepter, and how impertinent they shew for the other arts and sciences.

That a king be faire and gratious, is one of the things which most inuiteth his subiects to loue him and wish him well; For the obiect of loue (saith Plato) is beautie and a seemly proportion: and if a king be hardly fauou­red, and badly shaped, it is impossible that his subiects [Page 252] can beare him affection, rather they reake it a shame, that a man vnperfect and void of the gifts of nature, should haue sway and commaundement ouer them. To be ver­tuous and of good conditions, easily may we gather how greatly it importeth; for he who ought to order the liues of his subiects, and deliuer vnto them rules and lawes to liue conformably to reason, it is requisit that he performe the same also in his owne person: for as the king is, such are the great, the meane, and the inferiour persons.

Moreouer, by this means he shall make his comman­dements the more authenticall, and with the better title may chastise such as do not obserue them. To enioy a perfection in all the powers which gouern man, name­ly; the generatiue, nutritiue, wrathfull and reasonable, is more necessarie in a king, than any artiste whatsoe­euer. For (as Plato deliuereth) in a well ordered com­mon-wealth, there should be appointed certain suruei­ours who might with skill looke into the qualities of such persons as are to be married, and giue to him a wife answerable vnto him in proportion, and to euerie wife a conuenient husband. Through this diligence, the principall end of matrimonie should not become vaine; for we see by experience, that a woman who could not conceiue of her first husbād, marrying another, straght­waies beareth children; and many men haue no chil­dren by their first wife, taking another, speedily come to be fathers.

Now this skill (saith Plato) is principally behooffull in the marriage of kings: for it being a matter of such im­portance, for the peace and quiet of the kingdome, that the Prince haue lawfull children to succeed in the estate, it may so fall, that the king marrying at all aduentures, [Page 253] shall take a barraine woman to wife, with whom he shal be combred all daies of his life, without hope of issue. And if he decease without heires of his body, straight­waies it must be decided by ciuill wars, who shall com­mand next after him. But Hippocrates saith, this art is ne­cessarie for men that are distemperat, and not for those who partake this perfect temperature by vs described. These need no special choice in their wife, nor to search out which may answere them in proportion: for whom soeuer they marry withal (saith Galen) forthwith they be­get issue, but this is vnderstood, when the wife is sound, and of the age wherein women by order of nature, may conceiue and bring forth: in sort, that fruitfulnesse is more requisit in a king than in any artist whatsoeuer, for the reasons tofore alleaged.

The nutritiue power (saith Galen) if the same be glut­tonous, greedy, and bibbing, it springeth, for that the li­uer and stomack want the temperature which is requisit for their operations: and for this cause men become rio­tous and short liued. But if these members possesse their due temperature and composition, the selfe Galen affir­meth, that they couet no greater quantitie of meat and drink than is conuenient for preseruation of life. Which propertie is of so great importance for a king, that God holdeth that land for blessed, to whose lot such a Prince befalleth. Blessed is the land (saith he in Ecclesiasticus) whose king is noble, and whose princes feed in due times, for their refreshment, and not for riotousnesse. Of the wrathful facultie if the same be extended or remisse, it is a token (saith Galen) that the heart is ill composed, and partaketh not that temperature, which is requisit for his operations. From which two extreams, a king ought to be farther distant, than any other artist. For to ioine [Page 254] wrathfulnesse with much power maketh smally for the subiects auaile. And as illy fitteth it for a king to haue his wrathfull power remisse: for if he slightly slip ouer bad parts and attempts in his kingdome, he groweth out of awe and reuerence amongst his subiects; whence great dammages and verie difficult to be remedied, doe accu­stomably arise in the common-wealth. But the man who is temperat, groweth displeased vpon good groūd, and can pacifie himselfe as is requisit: which propertie is as necessarie to be setled in a king, as anie of those which we haue before remembred. How much it im­porteth that the facultie reasonable, the imagination, the memorie, and the vnderstanding, be of greater perfecti­on in a king than in any other, is easily to be prooued: for the other arts and sciences (as it seemeth) may be ob­tained and put in practise by the force of mans wit: but to gouern a kingdome, and to preserue the same in peace and concord, not only requireth, that the king be en­dowed with a natural wisedom to execute the same: but it is also necessary, that God particularly assist him with his vnderstanding, and aid him in gouerning: whence it was well noted in the scripture, The heart of the king is in the hand of God. To liue also many yeares, and to enioy continuall health, is a propertie more conuenient for a good king than for any other artisan. For his indu­stry and trauell, breedeth an vniuersall good to all: and if he faile to hold out in healthfulnesse, the common-wealth falleth to ruine.

All this doctrine here laid downe by vs, will be eui­dently confirmed, if we can find in any history, that at any time there was any king chosen, in whom anie of those tokens and conditions by vs recited, were not wanting. And truth hath this as peculier to her nature, [Page 255] that she neuer lacketh arguments, whereby to be confir­med.

The diuine scripture recounteth, that God falling in dislike with Saul, for that he had spared Amalecks life; commanded Samuel that he should go to Bethleem, and annoint for king of Israel, one of the eight sons of Iesse. Now the holy man, presuming that God had a liking to Eliab, for that he was tall of stature; demanded of him, Is this man, here in the presence of my Lord, his Christ? to which question he was answered in this maner, Take not regard to his countenance, nor to the talnesse of his stature, for I haue refused him. I iudge not man by his looke: for man seeth the things outwardly apparent, but the Lord discerneth the heart; As if God should say, Marke not (O Samuel) the high stature of Eliab, nor that manly countenance which thou beholdest: for I haue tried that in Saul. You men iudge by the outward signes, but I cast mine eye vpon the iudgement and wisedom, wherewith a people is to be gouerned.

Samuel mistrusting his owne skill in chusing, passed on farther in the charge which was commanded him; asking still of God, vpon euery one, which of them he should annoint for king: and because God held him­selfe contented with none of them, he said vnto Iesse; hast thou yet no more sonnes but those who stand before vs? Who answered, saying; That he had yet one more, who kept his beasts, but he was of little growth: him seeming, that therefore he was not sufficient to weeld the royall scepter. But Samuel now wisted, that a great sta­ture was no sure token, caused him to be sent for. And it is a point worth the noting, that the holy Scripture, before it expressed how he was annointed king, said in this maner; But he was abourne haired, and of a faire [Page 256] countenance, and a visage well shaped, arise and annoint him, for this is he. In sort, that Dauid had the two first tokens, of those which we recounted, abourne haired, handsome shaped, and of a meane stature. To be ver­tuous and well conditioned, which is the third signe ea­sily we may conceiue, that he was therwithall endowed, seeing that God said, I haue found a man after my heart: for albeit he sinned sundry times, yet for all that, he lost not the name and habite of vertue. Euen as one by ha­bite vitious, though he performe some good morrall works, doth not therefore leese the name of lewd and vitious. That he led all the course of his life in health, it should seeme may be prooued; because in his whole historie, mention is made of his sicknes but once (& this is a naturall disposition, of all such as are long lyued.) Now because his naturall heat was resolued, and that he could not take heat in his bed; to remedie this, they couched a verie faire lady by his side, who might foster him with heat. And herethrough he liued so manie yeares, that the text saith, he deceased in a good age, full of daies, of riches, and of glorie: as if it should say, Dauid died in a good old age, full of daies, of riches, and of glo­rie: hauing endured so many trauails in the wars, and vndergone great penance for his transgressions And this grew, for that he was temperat, & of a good complexi­on: for he refused the occasions, which accustomably breed infirmitie, and shortning of mans life. His great wisdome and knowledge was noted by that seruant of Saul when he said; My lord, I know a cunning musition, the son of Iesse, born in Bethleem, couragious in fight, wise in discourse, and of seemly countenance. By which to­kens (aboue specified) it is manifest, that Dauid was a temperat man, and to such is the royall scepter belon­ging: [Page 257] for his wit is of the best mould that nature could fashion. But there presenteth it selfe a verie great diffi­cultie against this doctrine, namely; seeing God knew all the wits and abilities of Israel: and likewise wist, that temperat men are seized of the wisdom and knowledge requisit to the calling of a king: for what cause in the first election that he made, he sought not out a man of this sort? Nay the text auoucheth, that Saul was so tall of sta­ture, as he passed all the residue of Israel, by the head & shoulders, And this signe is not only an euill token of wit in natural Philosophy, but euen God himself (as we haue prooued) reprooued Samuel, because (mooued by the high growth of Eliab) he thereupon would haue made him king. But this doubt declareth that to be true, which Galen said, that out of Greece, we shall not (so much as in a dreame) find out a temperat man, Seeing in a peo­ple so large (as that of Israel) God could not find one to A weake reason, rather God chose Saule as a carnal man sit for the Iewes obstinat asking, and Da­uid as a spirituall man, the instru­ment of his mercie. chuse for a king: but it behooued him to tarrie, till Da­uid was grown vp, and the whiles made choice of Saul. For the text saith, that he was the best of Israel: but vere­ly it seemed he had more good nature than wisdome, and that was not sufficient to rule and gouern. Teach me (saith the Psalme) goodnes, discipline, and know­ledge. And this the royall Prophet Dauid spake, seeing that it auaileth not for a king to be good and vertuous, vnlesse he ioyne wisedom and knowldge there withall. By this example of king Dauid, it seemeth we haue suffi­ciently approoued our opinion.

But there was also another king borne in Israel, of whom it was said, Where is he that is borne king of the Iewes? And if we can prooue, that he was abourne hai­red, towardly, of meane bignesse, vertuous, healthfull, and of great wisedom and knowledge, it will be no way [Page 258] damageable to this our doctrin. The Euangelists busied not themselues, to report the disposition of Christ our redeemer: for it serued not to the purpose of that which they handled, but is a matter which may easily be vn­derstood, supposing that for a man to be temperat, as is requisit, compriseth all the perfection, wherewith natu­rally he can be edowed. And seeing that the holy spirit-compounded and instrumentalized him, it is certaine that as touching the materiall cause, of which he formed him, the distemperature of Nazareth could not resist him, nor make him erre in his worke, as do the other naturall agents: but he performed what him best plea­sed: for he wanted neither force, knowledge, nor will, to frame a man most perfect, and without any defect. And that so much the rather, for that his comming (as himselfe affirmed) was to endure trauels for mans sake, and to teach him the trueth. And this temperature (as we haue before prooued) is the best naturall instrument that can be found for these two things. Wherethrough I hold that relatiō for true, which Publius Lcntulus, Vice­consul, wrote from Hierusalem vnto the Roman Senat And I hold it vn­true, because the phrase vtterly differeth from the Latine toung as spectosus val­de inter filios bo­minum. after this maner.

There hath been seen in our time, a man who yet li­ueth, of great vertue, called Iesus Christ, who by the Gentiles, is termed the prophet of truth, and his dis­ciples say, that he is the sonne of God. He raiseth the de­ceased, and healeth the diseased, is a man of meane and proportionable stature, and of very faire countenance, his looke carrieth such a maiesty, as those who behold him, are enforced both to loue and feare him. He hath his haire coloured like a nut full ripe, reaching down to his eares, and from his eares to his shoulders; they are of waxe colour, but more bright: he hath in the middle [Page 259] of his forehead, a locke, after the maner of Nazareth. His forehead is plain, but very pleasing: his face void of spot or wrinckle, accompanied with a moderat colour: his nosthrils and mouth, cannot by any with reason be re­prooued: his beard thicke, and resembling his haire; not long, but forked: his countenance verie gratious and graue: his eies gracefull and cleere; and when he rebu­keth, he daunteth; and when he admonisheth, he plea­seth: he maketh himselfe to be beloued, and is cheerfull with grauitie: he hath neuer been seen to laugh, but to weep diuers times: his hands and arms are verie faire: in his conuersation he contenteth verie greatly, but is seldom in company: but being in company, is very mo­dest: in his countenance and port, he is the seemliest man that may be imagined. In this relation, are contai­ned three or foure tokens of a temperat person.

The first that he had, his haire and beard of the colour of a nut fully ripe, which to him that considereth it well appeareth to be a browne abourne; which colour, God commanded they heifer should haue, which was to be sacrificed as a figure of Christ: and when he entred into (Vnwritten V [...] ­rities.) heauen with that triumph and maiestie, which was re­quisit for such a Prince: some Angels who had not been enformed of his incarnation, said; Who is this that com­meth from Edon, with his garments died in Bozra? as if they had said, Who is he that commeth from the red Land, with his garment stained in the same die, in re­spect of his haire & his red beard, and of the bloud with which he was tainted? The same letter also reporteth him to be the fairest man that euer was seen, and this is the second token of a temperat person, and so was it pro­phesied by the holy scripture as a signe wherby to know him. Of faire shape aboue all the children of men. And [Page 260] in another place he saith, His eies are fairer than the wine, and his teeth whiter than milke. Which beautie and good disposition of body, imported much to effect that all men should beare him affection, and that there might be nothing in him worthy to be abhorred. For which cause, the letter deliuereth, that all men were en­forced to loue him. It reciteth also that he was meane of personage, and that not because the holy Ghost wanted matter to make him greater, if so it had seemed good: but (as we tofore haue prooued by the opinion of Plato and Aristotle) because when the reasonable soule is bur­dened with much bones and flesh, the same incurreth great dammage in his wit.

The third signe, namely; to be vertuous and wel con­ditioned, is likewise expressed in this letter, and the Iews themselues with al their false witnesses, could not proue the contrarie, nor reply when he demanded of them, VVhich of you can reprooue me of sinne? And Ioseph (through the faithfulnes which he owed to his history) affirmed of him that he partaked of another nature a­boue man, in respect of his goodnesse & wisedom. On­ly long life could not be verefied of Christ our redee­mer, because they put him to death being yong; where as if they had permitted him to finish his naturall course, the same would haue reached to 80 years and vpwards. For he who could abide in a wildernesse 40 daies, and 40 nights without meat or drinke, and not be sicke nor dead therwithall, could better haue defended himselfe from other lighter things, which had power to breed al­teration or offence. Howbeit this action was reputed miraculous, and a matter which could not light within the compasse of nature.

These two examples of kings, which we haue allea­ged, [Page 261] sufficeth to make vnderstood, that the scepter royal, is due to men that are temperate; and that such are en­dowed with the wit and wisdom requisit for that office. But there was also another man, made by the proper hands of God, to the end he should be king and Lord of all things created, & he made him faire, vertuous, sound, of long life, and verie wise. And to prooue this, shal not beamisse for our purpose. Plato holdeth it for a matter impossible, that God or nature, can make a man tempe­rat in a countrey distemperat: wherethrough he affir­meth that God, to create a man of great wisdom & tem­perature, sought out a place where the heat of the aire should not exceed the cold, nor the moist the dry. And the diuine scripture, whence he borrowed this sentence, saith not, that God created Adam in the earthly para­dise, which was that most temperat place whereof he speaketh; but that after he had shaped him, there he pla­ced him. Then our Lord God (saith he) tooke man, and set him in the Paradise of pleasure, to the end he might there worke and take it in charge. For the power of God being infinit, & his knowledge beyond measure, when he had a will to giue him all the naturall perfection that might be in mankinde; we must thinke that neither the peece of earth of which he was framed, nor the distem­perature of the soile of Damascus where he was created, could so gainsay him, but that he made him temperat. The opinion of Plato, of Aristotle, and of Galen, take place in the works of nature: and euen she also, can somtimes (euen in distemperat regions) engender a person that shalbe temperat. But that Adam had his haire and his beard abourne, which is the first token of a temperat man, manifestly appeareth. For in respect of this so no­torious signe, he had that name Adam, which is to say (as [Page 262] S. Hierom interpreteth it) a red man. That he was faire & wel fashioned, which is the second token, cannot in him be denied: for when God created him, the text saith; God saw all things which he had made, and they were verie good. Then it falleth out certaine, that he issued not from the hands of God, foule and ill shaped: for the works of God are perfect. And so much the more for that the trees (as the text saith) were faire to behold. Then what may we think of Adam, whom God created to this principall end, that he might be Lord and presi­dent of the world? That he was vertuous, wise, and well conditioned, (which are the third and sixth signes) is gathered out of these words, Let vs make a man after our owne image and likenesse: for by the antient Phi­losophers, the foundation on which the resemblance that man hath with God is grounded, are vertue & wis­dome. Therfore Plato auoucheth, that one of the grea­test contentments which God receiueth in heauen, is to see a vertuous and wise man, praised and magnified vp­on earth: for such a one is his liuely purtraiture. And contrariwise, he groweth displeased, when ignorant and vitious persons are held in estimation and honor: which springeth from the vnlikenesse between God and them. That he liued healthfull and a long space (which are the fourth and fifth tokens) is nothing difficult to prooue, inasmuch as his daies were 930 yeares. Where through I may now cōclude, that the man who is abourn haired, (And such a one if you mistake not, is your king Philip.) faire, of meane stature, vertuous, healthfull, and long ly­ued, must necessarily be verie wise, and endowed with a wit requisit for the scepter royall.

We haue also (as by the way) disclosed, in what sort great vnderstanding may be vnited with much imagi­nation, and much memory, albeit this may also come to [Page 263] passe, and yet the man not be temperat. But nature sha­peth so few after this modell, that I could neuer find (Your king and your selfe.) but two amongst all the wits that I haue tried: but how it can come to passe, that great vnderstanding may vnite with much imagination and much memory, in a man not temperat, is a thing which easily may be conceiued, if you presuppose the opinion of some Phisitions, who affirme that the imagination resideth in the forepart of the braine, the memorie in the hinder part, and the vn­derstanding in that of the middle. And the like may be said in our imagination, but it is a worke of great labour, that the braine, being (when nature createth the same) of the bignesse of a graine of pepper, it should make one ventricle of seed verie hot, another verie moist, and the middle most of verie dry: but in fine this is no impossi­ble case.

IT falleth out a matter worthie of maruaile, that nature being such as we all know her, wise, wittie, and of great art, iudgement, and force, and mankind a worke of so speciall re­gard, yet for one whome she maketh skilfull and wise, she produceth infi­nit depriued of wit. Of which effect my selfe searching the reason and naturall causes, haue found (in my iudge­ment) that parents apply not themselues to the act of ge­neration with that order and concert which is by nature [Page 264] established: neither know the conditions which ought to be obserued, to the end their children may prooue of wisedome and iudgement. For by the same reason, for which in any temperat or distemperat region, a man should be borne very wittie (hauing alwaies regard to the selfe order of causes) there will 100000 prooue of slender capacitie: now if by art we may procure a reme­die for this, we shall haue brought to the common­wealth the greatest benefit that she can receiue. But the knot of this matter consisteth, in that we cannot entreat hereof with tearms so seemly and modest, as to the na­turall shamefastnesse of man is requisit: and if for this reason I should forbeare to note any part or contempla­tion that is necessarie, for certaine the whole matter would be marred, in sort that diuers graue Philosophers hold opinion, how wise men ordinarily beget foolish children, because in the act of copulation, for honesties sake, they abstaine from certaine diligences which are of importance, that the sonne may partake of his fathers wisedome. Some antient Philosophers haue laboured to search out the naturall reason of this naturall shame, which the eyes conceiue when the instruments of gene­ration are set before them; and why the eares take of­fence to heare them named: and they maruell to see, that nature hath framed those parts with such diligence and carefulnesse, and for an end of such importance, as the immortalizing of mankind, and yet the wiser a man is, the more he groweth in dislike to behold or heare them spoken of. Shame and honestie (sayth Aristotle) is the proper passion of the vnderstanding, and who so re­steth not offended at those terms and actions of genera­tion, giueth a sure token of his wanting that power, as if we should say, that he is blockish, who putting his [Page 265] hand into the fire, doth not feele the same to burne. By this token, Cato the elder discouered, that Manilius (a no­ble man) was depriued of vnderstanding, because it was told him, that the other kissed his wife in presence of his daughter; for which cause he displaced him out of the Senat, and Manilius could neuer obtaine at his hands to be restored.

Out of this contemplation, Aristotle frameth a prob­leme, demaunding whence it grew, that men who de­sire to satisfie their venerous lusts, do yet greatly shame to confesse it, and yet coueting to liue, to eat, or to per­form any other such action, they stagger not to acknow­ledge it? to which probleme he shapeth a very vntow­ard answer, saying; Perhaps it commeth, because the co­uetings of diuers things are necessary, and some of them kill if they be not accomplished, but the lust of venerous acts, floweth from excesse, and is token of abundance. But in effect this probleme is false, and the answer none other: for a man not only shameth to manifest the de­sire he carrieth to companie with a woman, but also to eat, to drinke, and to sleepe, and if a will take him to send foorth anie excrement, he dares not say it or do it, but with cumber & shamefastnesse, and so gets him to some secret place out of sight. Yea, we find men so shamefast, as though they haue a great will to make water, yet can­not do it if any looke vpon them, whereas if we leaue them alone, straight-waies the vrine taketh his issue. And these are the appetites to send foorth the superfluous things of the body, which if they were not effected, men should die, and that much sooner than with forbearing meat or drink. And if there be any (saith Hippocrates) who speaketh or actuateth this in the presence of another, he is not maister of his sound iudgement. Galen affirmeth, [Page 266] that the seed holdeth the semblable proportion with the seed-vessels, as the vrine doth with the bladder, for as much vrine annoieth the bladder, so much seed endam­mageth the seed vessels. And the opinion which Ari­stotle held, in denieng that man and woman incur no in­firmitie or death by retaining of seed, is contrarie to the iudgement of all Phisitions, and especially of Galen, who saith and auoucheth, that many women remaining wi­dowes in their youth, haue therthrough lost their sense, motion, breathing, and finally their life. And the selfe A­ristotle reckoneth vp many diseases whereunto continēt persons are subiect in that behalfe. The true answer of this probleme cannot be yeelded in naturall Philoso­phie, because it is not marshalled vnder her iurisdiction; for it behooueth to passe to an higher, namely Metaphi­sicke, wherein Aristotle saith, that the reasonable soule is the lowest of all the intelligences, and for that it parta­keth of the same generall nature with the Angels, it sha­meth to behold it selfe placed in a body which hath fel­lowship with brute beasts: wherethrough the diuine scripture noteth it as a mysterie, that the first man being naked, was not ashamed, but so soone as he saw himselfe to be so, forthwith he got a couering. At which time he knew that through his owne fault, he had lost immor­tality, and that his body was become subiect to alterati­on and corruption, and those instruments and parts giuen him for that of necessitie he must die, and leaue an other in his roome, and that to preserue himselfe in life, that small space which rested, it behooued him to eat and drinke, and to expell those noisome and corrupt ex­crements. And principally he shamed, seeing that the Angels, with whom he had competence, were immor­tall and stood not in need of eating, drinking, or slee­ping: An high specu­lation. [Page 267] for preseruation of their life: neither had the in­struments of generation, but were created all at once, without matter, and without feare of corrupting. Of all these points were the eies and the eares naturally done to ware. Wherethrough, the reasonable soule groweth, displeased and ashamed, that these things giuen man to make him mortall and corruptible, are thus brought to his memory. And that this is a well fitting answere we Note here a sign which sheweth the immortalitie of the soule. euidently perceiue: for God to content the soule after the vniuersall iudgement, and to bestow vpon him in­tire glory, will cause that his body shall partake the pro­perties of an Angell, bestowing therupon subtlenesse, lightnesse, immortalitie, and brightnesse: for which rea­son, he shal not stand in need to eat or drink as the brute beasts. And when men shall thus-wise dwell in heauen, they will not shame to behold themselues clothed with flesh, euen as Christ our redeemer, and his mother, no­thing shamed thereat. But it will breed an accidentall glory, to see that the vse of those parts, which were wont to offend the hearing and the eies, is now surceased. I therefore making due reckoning of this naturall mode­stie of the eare, haue endeuoured to salue the hard and rough termes of this matter, and to fetch certain, not ill pleasing biasses of speech, and where I cannot throughly performe it, the honest reader shall affoord me pardon. For to reduce to a perfect maner, the art which must be obserued, to the end men may proue of rare capacities, is one of the things most requisit for the common­wealth. Besides that, by the same reason they shal proue vertuous, prompt, sound, and long lyued.

I haue thought good to seuer the matter of this chap­ter, into foure principall parts, that thereby I may make plaine what shalbe deliuered; and that the reader may [Page 268] not rest in confusion. The first is, to shew the naturall qualities and temperature which man & woman ought to possesse, to the end they may vse generation. The se­cond, what diligence the parents ought to employ, that their children may be male and not female. The third, how they may become wise and not fooles. The fourth, how they are to be dealt withall after their birth, for pre­seruation of their wit.

To come then to the first point we haue alreadie al­leaged, that Plato laieth downe, how in a well ordered common-wealth, there ought to be assigned certain sur­ueiors of marriages, who by art might skill, to looke in­to the qualities of the persons that are to be married, and to giue ech one the wife which answereth him in proportion, & to euery wife her cōuenient husband. In which matter, Hippocrates and Galen began to take some pains, and prescribed certain precepts and rules, to know what woman is fruitful, and who can beare no children; and what man is vnable for generation, and who able and likely to beget issue. But touching all this, they vt­tered verie little, and that not with such distinction as was behooffull, at least for the purpose which I haue in hand. Therefore it falleth out necessarie, to begin the art euen from his principles, and briefly to giue the same his due order and concert, that we so may make plaine and apparant, from what vnion of parents, wise children issue; and from what, fools and do-noughts: To which end it behooueth first to know a particular point of Phi­losophy, which although in regard of the practises of the art, it be verie manifest and true, yet the vulgar make little reake therof. And from the notice of this, depen­deth all that, which as touching this first point is to be deliuered: and that is, that man (though it seem other­wise [Page 269] in the composition which we see) is different from This is no chap­ter for maids to read in sight of others. a woman in nought els (saith Galen) than only in hauing his genitall members without his body. For if we make anotomie of a woman, we shall find that she hath with­in her two stones, two vessels for seed; and her bel­ly of the same frame as a mans member, without that a­ny one part is therin wanting. And this is so very true, that if when nature hath finished to forme a man in all perfection, she would conuert him into a woman, there needeth nought els to be done, saue only to turne his instruments of generation inwards. And if she haue sha­ped a woman, and would make a man of her, by taking forth her belly and her cods, it would quickly be perfor­med. This hath chanced many times in nature, aswell whiles the creature hath been in the mothers womb, as after the same was borne, wherof the histories are full; but some haue held them only for fables, because this is mentioned in the Poets, yet the thing carrieth meere truth: for diuers times nature hath made a female child, and she hath so remained in her mothers belly for the space of one or two months: and afterwards, plentie of heat growing in the genitall members, vpon some occa­sion they haue issued forth, and she become a male. To whom this transformation hath befallen in the mothers womb, is afterwards plainly discouered, by certain mo­tions which they retaine, vnfitting for the masculin sex, being altogither womanish, & their voice shrill & sweet. And such persons are enclined to perform womens acti­ons, and fall ordinarily into vncouth offences. Contra­riwise, nature hath sundrie times made a male with his genetories outward, and cold growing on, they haue turned in ward, and it became female. This is knowen after she is borne, for she retaineth a mannish fashion, as­well [Page 270] in her words, as in all her motions and workings. This may seem difficult to be prooued, but considering that which many authenticall historians affirme, it is a matter not hard to be credited. And that women haue been turned into men, after they were borne, the verie vulgar doe not much maruell to heare spoke of: for be­sides that which sundrie our elders haue laid downe for trueth, It befell in Spain but few yeares since, and that wherof we find experience, is not to be called in questi­on or argument. What then the cause may be, that the genitall members are engendred within or without, and the creature becommeth male or female, will fall out a plain case, if we once know that heat extendeth and en­largeth all things, and cold retaineth and closeth them vp. Wherthrough, it is a conclusion of all Philosophers and Phisitions, that if the seed be cold and moist, a wo­man is begotten, and not a man; and if the same be hot and dry, a man is begotten and not a woman. Whence we apparently gather, that there is no man, who in re­spect of a woman, may be termed cold; nor woman hot, in respect of a man.

Aristotle saith, it is necessarie for a woman to be cold and moist, that she may be likewise fruitfull: for if she were not so, it would fall out impossible, that her month­ly course should flow, or she haue milke to preserue the child nine months, in her belly, and two yeares after it is borne, but that the same would soone wast and con­sume.

All Philosophers and Phisitions auouch, that the bel­ly holdeth the same proportion with mans seed, that the earth doth with corne, and with any other graine. And we see, that if the earth want coldnesse and moisture, the husbandman dareth not sow therein, neither will the [Page 271] seed prosper. But of soils, those are most fruitfull and fer­tile in rendering fruit, which partake most of cold and moist, As we see by experience in the regions towards the North, As England, Flanders, and Almaine, whose a­bundance of all fruits, worketh astonishment in such as know not the reason thereof. And in such countries as these, no married woman was euer childlesse; neither You are much mistaken. can they there tell, what barrennesse meaneth, but are all fruitfull, and breed children through their abundance of coldnesse and moisture. But though it is true that the woman should be cold and moist for conception, Yet she may abound so much therin, that it may choke the seed; euen as we see excesse of raine spoileth the corne, which cannot ripen in ouermuch coldnesse. Whereon we must conceiue, that these two qualities ought to keep a certaine measurablenesse, which when they ex­ceed, or reach not vnto, the fruitfulnesse is spoiled. Hip­pocrates holdeth that woman for fruitfull, whose womb is tempered in such sort, as the heat exceedeth not the cold, nor the moist the drie. VVherethrough he saith, that those women who haue their belly cold, cannot conceiue, no more than such as are very moist, or verie cold and dry. But so, for the same reason that a woman and her genitall parts should be temperat; it were impos­sible that she could conceiue, or be a woman. For if the seed, of which she was first formed, had been temperat, the genitall members would haue issued forth, and she haue been a man. So should a beard grow on her chin, and her floures surcease, and she become as perfect a man, as nature could produce. Likewise the womb in a woman cannot be predominatly hot: For if the seed whereof she was engendred had been of that tempera­ture, she should haue been born a man, and not a wo­man. [Page 272] This is past all exception, that the qualities which yeeld a woman fruitfull, are cold and moisture: for the nature of man, standeth in need of much nou­rishment, that he may be able to vse procreation, and continue his kind. Wherethrough we see, that amongst all the females of brute beasts, none haue their monthly courses as a woman. Therefore it was requisite to make her altogether cold and moist, and that in such a degree, as that she might breed much flegmatick bloud, and not be able to wast or consume the same. I said flegmaticke bloud, because this is seruiceable to the breeding of milke; by which Hippocrates and Galen auouch, the crea­ture is releeued, all the time it remaineth in the mothers belly. Now if the same should be temperat, it would pro­duce much bloud, vnfit for the engendring of milke, and would wholly resolue, as it doth in a temperat man, and so nothing be left for nourishing the babe. There­fore I hold it for certain, and verily it is impossibie that a woman can be temperat or hot; but they are all cold and moist. And if this be not so, let the Philosopher or Phi­sition tell me for what cause all women are beardlesse, and haue their sicknesse whiles they are healthful, & for what cause the seed of which she was formed, being temperat or hot, she was borne a woman, & not a man? Howbeit, though it be true that they are alcold & moist: yet it followeth not, that they are all in one degree of coldnesse and moisture. For some are in the first, some in the second, and some in the third; and in ech of these they may conceiue, if a man answere them in pro­portion of heat, as shall hereafter be expressed. By what tokens we may know these three degrees of coldnesse and moisture in a woman, and likewise weet who is in the first, who is in the second, and who in the third: [Page 273] there is no Philosopher or Phisition, that as yet hath vn­folded. But considering the effects, which these quali­ties do worke in women, we may part them, by reason of their being extended, and so we shall easily get no­tice hereof. The first, by the wit and habilitie of the wo­man. The second, by her maners and conditions. The third, by her voice big or small. The fourth, by her flesh, much, or little. The fifth, by her colour. The sixth by her haire. The seuenth, by her fairenesse or foulnesse. As touching the first, we may know, that though it be true (as tofore we haue prooued) that the wit and abilitie of a woman, followeth the temperature of the brain, and of none other member: yet her womb and cods, are of so great force and vigour, to alter the whole body, that if these be hot and dry, or cold and moist, or of whatso­euer other temperature, the other partes (saith Galen) will be of the same tenour: but the member which most partaketh the alterations of the belly, all Phisitions say, is the brain, though they haue not set down the reason wheron they ground this correspondencie. True it is Galen prooueth by experience, that by speying a Sow, she becommeth faire and fat, and her flesh verie sauory: and if she haue her cods, she tasteth little better than dogs flesh. VVherby we conceiue, that the belly and the cods carrie great efficacie, to communicat their tempe­rature to all the other parts of the body; especially to the brain, for that the same is cold & moist like themselues. Between which (through the resemblance) the passage is easie.

Now if we conclude, that cold and moist, are the qua­lities which worke an impairement in the reasonable part, and that his contraries; namely hot and drie, giue the same perfection and encreasement, we shall find that [Page 274] the woman who sheweth much wit and sufficiencie, partaketh of cold and moist in the first degree; and if she be verie simple, it yeeldeth a signe that she is in the third, the partaking between which two extreames, argueth the second degree; for to thinke that a woman can be hot and drie, or endowed with a wit and abilitie confor­mable to these two qualities, is a verie great error; be­cause if the seed of which she was formed, had been hot and dry in their domination, she should haue been born a man, and not a woman. But in that it was could and moist, she was born a woman and not a man. The truth of this doctrine may cleerely be discerned, if you consi­der the wit of the first woman, who liued in the world: for God hauing fashioned her with his own hands, and that very accomplished, and perfect in her sex, it is a con­clusion infallibly true, that she was possessed of much lesse knowledge than Adam: which the diuell well wee­ting, got him to tempt her, and durst not fall in disputa­tion with the man, fearing his great wit and wisdome. Now to say, that Eue for her offence, was reft that know­ledge which she wanted, cannot be auouched, for as yet she had not offended.

So then this defect of wit in the first woman grew, for that she was by God created cold and moist: which tem­perature, is necessarie to make a woman fruitfull, and apt for childbirth, but enemy to knowledge: and if he had made her temperat like Adam, she should haue been very wise, but nothing fruitful, nor subiect to her month­ly courses, saue by some supernaturall meanes. On this nature S. Paul grounded himselfe, when he said, Let a woman learne in silence, with all subiection: neither would he allow the woman to teach, or gouerne the man, but to keep silence. But this is true, when a wo­man [Page 275] hath not a spirit or greater grace, than her own na­turall disposition: but if she obtaine any gift from aboue, she may wel teach and speake, for we know that the peo­ple of Israel, being oppressed and besieged by the Assiri­ans; Iudith (a very wise woman) sent for the Priests of the Cabeits and Carmits, and reprooued them saying, How can it be endured, that Osias should say, if within fiue daies there come no succour, he will yeeld the peo­ple of Israel to the Assirians? see you not, that these words rather prouoke God to wrath, than to mercie? how may it be, that men should point out a limited time for the mercy of God, and in their mind assigne a day, at which he must succour and deliuer them? And in the conclusion of this reproofe, she told them in what sort they might please God, and obtaine their demand. And no lesse, Elbora (a woman of no lesse wisdome) taught the people of Israel, how they should render thanks vnto God, for the great victories which she had attained against their enemies. But whilst a woman abi­deth in her naturall disposition, all sorts of learning and wisdome, carrieth a kind of repugnancie to her wit. And for this cause, the Catholicke Church, vpon great rea­son hath forbidden, that no woman do preach, confesse, or instruct: for their sex admitteth neither wisdome nor discipline.

It is discouered also by the maners of a woman, and by her condition, in what degree of cold and moist her temperature consisteth: for if with a sharp wit, she be fro­ward, curst, & wayward, she is in the first degree of cold and moist: it being true (as we haue proued tofore) that an ill condition, euermore accompanieth a good imagi­nation. She who partaketh this degree of cold & moist, suffereth nothing to escape her hands; noteth all things, [Page 276] findeth fault with all things, and so is insupportable. Such are accustomably of amiable conuersation, and feare not to looke men in the face, nor hold him ill mannered, who maketh loue vnto them. But on the o­ther side, to be a woman of good conditions, and to be agreeued at nothing, to laugh vpon euery small occasiō, to let things passe as they come, and to sleep sound­ly, descrieth the third degree of cold and moist: for much pleasantnesse of conceit, is ordinarily accompa­nied with little wit. She who partaketh of these two ex­treams, standeth in the second degree. A voice, hoarse, big, and sharp (saith Galen) is a token of much heat and drouth, and we haue also prooued it heretofore, by the opinion of Aristotle, wherthrough we may gain this no­tice, that if a woman haue a voice like a man, she is cold and moist in the first degree, and if very delicat, in the third. And partaking betwixt both the extreames, she shall haue the naturall voice of a woman, and be in the second degree.

How much the voice dependeth on the temperature of the cods, shall shortly hereafter be prooued, where we entreat of the tokens appertaining to a man. Much flesh also in women, is a signe of much cold and moist: for to be fat and big (say the Phisitions) groweth in li­uing creatures, from this occasion. And contrariwise, to be leane and dry, is a token of little coldnesse & moi­sture. To be meanly fleshed, that is, neither ouermuch, nor verie little; giueth euidence that a woman holdeth her selfe in the second degree of cold and moist. Their pleasantnesse and curtesies, sheweth the degrees of these two qualities: much moisture maketh their flesh supple, and little, rough and hard. The meane is the commendablest part: The colour also of the face, [Page 277] and of the other parts of the body, discouereth the ex­tended or remisse degrees, of these two qualities. When the woman is verie white, it boadeth (saith Galen) much cold and moist: and contrariwise, she that is swart and browne, is in the first degree therof; of which two ex­treames, is framed the second degree of white and well coloured.

To haue much haire, and a little shew of a beard, is an euident signe, to know the first degree of cold and moist: for all Phisitions affirme, that the haire and beard are engendred of heat and drinesse: and if they be blacke it greatly purporteth the same. A contrary temperature is betokened, when a woman is without haire. Now she whose complexion consisteth in the second degree of cold and moist, hath some haire; but the same reddish and golden. Foulnesse moreouer, and fairenesse help vs to iudge the degrees of cold and moist in women. It is a miracle to see a woman of the first degree very faire: for the seed whereof she was formed being dry, hinde­reth that she cannot be fairely countenanced. It be­hooueth that clay be seasoned with conuenient moi­sture, to the end vessels may be well framed, and serue to vse. But when that same is hard & dry, the vessell is soule and vnhandsom.

Aristotle farther auoucheth, that ouermuch cold and moist, maketh women by nature foule: for if the seed be cold and very moist, it can take no good figure, be­cause the same standeth not togither, as we see, that of ouer soft clay, ill shaped vessels are fashioned. In the se­cond degree of cold and moist, women prooue verie faire: for they were formed of a substance well seasoned, and pleasant to nature: which token, of it selfe alone af­fordeth an euident argument, that the woman is fruit­full: [Page 278] for it is certain that nature could do it, and we may iudge, that she gaue her a temperature and compositi­on, fit for bearing of children. Wherethrough she an­swers in proportion (welneer) to al men, and all men do desire to haue her.

In man, there is no power which hath tokens or signes, to descry the goodnesse, or malice of his obiect. The stomacke knoweth the meat by way of tast, of smel­ling, and of sight, wherethrough the diuine scripture saith That Eue fixed her eies on the tree forbidden, and her seemed that it was sweet in tast. The facultie of ge­neration, holdeth for a token of fruitfulnesse, a womans beautie; and if she be foule, it abhorreth her, conceiuing by this signe, that nature erred, and gaue her not a fit temperature, for bearing of children.