A DISCOVRSE OF CIVILL LIFE: Containing the Ethike part of Morall Philosophie. Fit for the instructing of a Gentleman in the course of a vertuous life.

By LOD: BR.

‘Virtute, summa: Caetera Fortunâ.’

ANCHORA SPEI

LONDON, Printed for EDVVARD BLOVNT. 1606.

TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE, HIS SINGVLAR GOOD LORD, ROBERT Earle of Salisbury, Vicount Cran­borne, Lord Cecill Baron of Essenden, Principall Secretarie to his Maiestie, Knight of the most noble order of the Garter, &c.

THis booke treating of the Morall vertues, being now to come vnder the censure of the world, doth summon me of it self to craue prote­ction from your Lordships honorable fauour, as the personage, who knowing best their worth, may best protect him from the iniury of any that should attempt to carpe the same. And my pri­uate obligations for your manifold fauours (a­mong which, the great benefite of my libertie, and redeeming from a miserable captiuitie e­uer fresh in my remembrance) doth make me hope, not onely of your Honors willingnesse to [Page] patronize both my selfe and my labour; but also that you wil be pleased therein to accept of the humble and deuoted affection, wherwith most reuerently I present it vnto your Lordshippe. Vouchsafe therefore (my most honored good Lord) to yeeld me the comfort of so gracious an addition to your former fauors and benefits: and to giue to all the yong Gentlemen of En­gland encouragement to embrace willingly that good which they may receiue by reading a booke of so good a subiect, the title whereof bearing in front your noble name, shall giue them cause to think it worthy to be passed with the approbation of your graue iudgement. VVhich being the most desired frute of my en­deuour, I will acknowledge as none of the least of your great graces, and euer rest

Your Lordships most bounden and humbly deuoted, LOD: BRYSKETT.

TO THE GENTLE and discreet Reader.

RIght well saith the Wise man, that there is no­thing new vnder the Sunne; and further, that there is no end of writing books. For howsoeuer in a generalitie the subiect of any knowledge be declared; yet the particulars that may be gathe­red out of the same, be so many, as new matter may be produ­ced out of the same to write thereof againe: so great is the ca­pacitie of mans vnderstanding able to attaine further know­ledge then any reading can affoord him. And therefore Ho­race also affirmeth, that it is hard to treate of any subiect that hath not bene formerly handled by some other. Yet do we see dayly men seeke, partly by new additions, and partly with or­naments of stile, to out-go those that haue gone before them: which haply some atchieue, but many moe rest farre behind. This hath bred the infinitenesse of bookes, which hath intro­duced the distinction of good from bad, vsed in best Common­weales, to prohibite such as corrupt manners, and to giue ap­probation to the good. For that the simpler sort by the former drinke their bane in steed of medicine, and in lieu of truth (the proper obiect of mans vnderstanding) they introduce falshood decked in truths ornaments, to delude the vnheedful Reader. Whereas on the other side, the benefite which we re­ceiue by the reading of good books being exceeding great, they deserue commendation that offer their endeuours to the bene­fiting of others with books of better matter. Which hath made me resolue to present vnto thy view this discourse of Morall Philosophie, tending to the wel ordering and composing of thy [Page] mind, that through the knowledge and exercise of the ver­tues therein expressed, thou mayst frame thy selfe the better to attaine to that further perfection which the profession of a Christian requireth; and that euerlasting felicitie, which, as­sisted with Gods grace (neuer refused to them that humbly and sincerely call for the same) thou mayst assuredly purchase. As my meaning herein is thy good chiefly: so let thy fauou­rable censure thankfully acknowledge my labor and goodwil, which may moue me to impart after vnto thee another trea­ting of the Politike part of Morall Philosophie, which I haue likewise prepared to follow this, if I shall find the fauourable acceptation hereof such as may encourage me thereunto. The booke written first for my priuate exercise, and meant to be imparted to that honorable personage, qui nobis haec otia fecit, hath long layne by me, as not meaning (he being gone) to communicate the same to others. But partly through the perswasion of friends, and partly by a regard not to burie that which might profit many, I haue bin drawne to consent to the publishing thereof. Gather out of it what good thou canst: and whatsoeuer thou mayst find therein vnperfect or defectiue, impute charitably to my insufficiencie and weaknesse; and let not small faults blemish my trauell and desire to benefite thee.

But say to thy selfe with that worthy bright light of our age Sir Philip Sidney, Let vs loue men for the good is in them, and not hate them for their euill. Farewell.

[Page 1]A DISCOVRSE, CONTAINING THE ETHICKE PART OF MORALL PHILOSOPHIE: FIT TO IN­struct a Gentleman in the course of a vertuous life.

Written to the right Honorable ARTHVR late Lord Grey of Wilton: By LOD: BRYSKETT.

WHen it pleased you (my good Lord) vpon the decease of maister Iohn Chaloner, her Maiesties Se­cretarie of this State, which you then gouerned as Lord Deputie of this Realme, to make choice of me to supply that place, and to recom­mend me by your honorable letters to that effect, I re­ceiued a very sufficient testimonie of your good opinion and fauourable inclination towards me. And albeit your intention and desire in that behalfe tooke not effect, whether through my vnworthinesse, or by the labour and practise of others: yet because your testimonie was to me instar multorum Iudicum; and because that repulse serued you as an occasion to do me after a greater fauor, I haue euermore sithens caried a continual desire to shew my selfe thankfull to your Lordship. For when at my [Page 2] humble sute, you vouchsafed to graunt me libertie with­out offence, to resigne the office which I had then held seuen yeares, as Clerke of this Councell, and to with­draw my selfe from that thanklesse toyle to the quietnes of my intermitted studies, I must needes confesse, I held my selfe more bound vnto you therefore, then for all other the benefits which you had bestowed vpon me, and all the declarations of honorable affection, whereof you had giuen me many testimonies before. And there­fore being now freed by your Lordships meane from that trouble and disquiet of mind, and enioying from your speciall fauour the sweetnesse and contentment of my Muses; I haue thought it the fittest meanes I could deuise, to shew my thankfulnes, to offer to you the first fruites that they haue yeelded me, as due vnto you, from whom onely I acknowledge so great a good. That they will be acceptable vnto you, I make no doubt, were it but in regard of the true and sincere affection of the gi­uer; who in admiring and reuerencing your vertues, gi­ueth place to no man aliue. Howbeit there will be other respects also (I doubt not) to moue your liking and ac­ceptance of the same. For if the trauell and industrie of those men be commendable, who curiously seeke to transport from farre and forraine countries, either for the health and vse of the bodie, or for the pleasing of the ex­terior senses, the strange grafts, plants and flowers, which excell, either for any medicinable qualitie, or for delight of the eye, the taste, or the smell: how much more will you esteeme of my endeuour, and be delighted with my translation of these choice grafts and flowers, taken from the Greeke and Latine Philosophie, and ingrafted vpon the stocke of our mother English-tongue? Especially be­ing such as will not onely promise delight and pleasing [Page 3] to the senses, but assuredly yeeld health and comfort to the mind oppressed and diseased? Neither is it vnlikely but that the receiuing of so vnlooked for a present out of this barbarous countrie of Ireland, will be some occa­sion to hold it the dearer, as a thing rare in such a place, where almost no trace of learning is to be seene, and where the documents of Philosophie are the more need­full, because they are so geason. Perhaps the want of that same sweeter tast & relish, which those Clymes of Athens and Rome could giue vnto them, and ours here of En­gland and Ireland cannot affoord, may make them seem vnto your Lordship at the first somewhat harsh and vn­pleasing: But the wholsomnesse of their fruite will easily supply the desire of the pleasing taste, and satisfie you rather with that it hath, then mislike you for lacke of that it cannot haue. For although our English tongue haue not that copiousnesse and sweetnes that both the Greeke and the Latine haue aboue all others: yet is it not there­fore altogether so barren or so defectiue, but that it is ca­pable enough of termes and phrases meete to expresse all those conceits which may be needfull for the treating and the discoursing of morall Philosophie. And the do­ctrine and consent of the wisest and best learned Philo­sophers being truly set downe and declared, though it be not done with that flowing eloquence wherewith Plato and Tullie did vtter their learning, hauing the vse of two such noble and flourishing languages: yet will not the appearing of this faire virgin-stranger in her homely weeds and attire, be any impediment (I presume) why she should not be as welcome and as willingly embraced as if she had come decked in all her gorgeous ornaments and apparell. For of her nakednes I do not feare she shall need to be ashamed, though of her pompe and garnish­ments [Page 4] shee haue no cause to be proud and haughtie. That your Lordship will not reiect her, but courteously entertaine her, though she be but the hand-maide of the doctrine of Grace, I do the rather assure my selfe because I haue bene an admitted testimonie, how often and very willingly you were pleased to recreate your selfe with her companie, at such times as either the waightie affaires of this your gouernement would spare you, or that you foūd cause to refresh your mind by drawing it from the depth of your other studies. For if I did perswade my self that you wold, as soone as you saw her, frowne and auert your countenance from her, as some men of this our age do, and say, that, where her Ladie and mistris is, she is not onely needlesse, but also perillous; I would truly haue kept her from your presence, contenting my selfe alone with her companie, and presuming that my familiaritie with her should neither inueigle me to like the lesse of her said Ladie and mistris, or to vse her otherwise then as the seruant and hand-maide, fit to make her Ladie the more reuerenced and the more honored. To your Lord­ship therefore I now direct her, that vnder your honora­ble fauour and patronage she may be denizened: For I nothing doubt but that the example of your courteous entertaining of her, will easily draw many others to de­light in her conuersation, and to feele the true taste of the healthfull and delicious fruites which she hath brought with her to furnish this our English soile & clime withal. Whereby we may with the lesse labour and cost hence­forth haue them to delight and nourish our minds, since we shall not be constrained to fetch them from Athens or from Rome, but may find them growing at home with our selues, if our owne negligence and sloth cause vs not to foreslow the culturation and manuring of the same. [Page 5] The course which I hold in this treatise, is by way of dialogue (which I haue chosen as best pleasing my minde) to discourse vpon the morall vertues, yet not omitting the intellectuall, to the end to frame a gentle­man fit for ciuill conuersation, and to set him in the di­rect way that leadeth him to his ciuill felicitie. Wherein though I haue (I feare me) hazarded my selfe to be re­prehended by such as looke after formalitie in all things: yet because my intention is to giue light as well to the meaner learned (whose iudgements can be content to busie it selfe rather to learne what they know not, then to find faults) as to the learneder critiques that spend their eyes to find a haire vpon an egge; I haue the more boldly followed mine owne liking: making account, that if I may purchase your liking and allowance of my labour, to whose satisfaction I do most recommend it; I shall the lesse esteeme the censure of any that may hap to carpe or mislike whatsoeuer part of the same. For as I can be con­tent to acknowledge my infirmitie and weaknes, and to confesse and take vpon me those faults which I may haue committed, when they are ciuilly and without malice discouered and made knowne vnto me: euen so shall the ouer-curious searcher of errors or escapes, to make them faults, very little molest me; being resolued to content mine own mind with the good that I hope wil be found in the work, rather then to dismay my selfe or be grieued because I cannot do a thing in that high degree of excel­lencie, that there were no fault to be found by any man in the same. The occasion of the discourse grew by the visitation of certaine gentlemen comming to me to my little cottage which I had newly built neare vnto Dublin at such a time, as rather to preuent sicknesse, then for any present griefe, I had in the spring of the yeare begunne [Page 6] a course to take some physicke during a few dayes. A­mong which, Doctor Long Primate of Ardmagh, Sir Ro­bert Dillon Knight, M. Dormer the Queenes Sollicitor, Capt. Christopher Carleil, Capt. Thomas Norreis, Capt. Warham, St Leger, Capt. Nicolas Dawtrey, & M. Edmond Spenser late your Lordships Secretary, & Th. Smith Apo­thecary. These coming of their curtesie to passe the time with me, and chauncing to meete there one day, when M. Smith the Apothecary was come to visit me also, and to vnderstand what successe the physick he had prepared for me did take; Sir Robert Dillon with a smiling counte­nance asked of him to what intent (I being to all their iudgements in health and well) he with his drugs should make me sick, and force me to keepe the house, whereby neither I could come to the citie, nor they being come to me might haue my company to walke about the grounds, to take the pleasure of seeing how the workes of my hands did prosper, now that the season of the yeare filling the plants and all other liuing things with the naturall humor, which the sharpe cold of the winter had restrained and kept within the inwardest parts, did bud and breake forth, to giue proofe and tokens of their prospering.

To which M. Smith answered, that he had ministred nothing to me but what my self had prescribed: and that if I was sicke therewith, it was mine owne doing and not his, who by his trade and profession could not refuse to compound and minister such physick as should be re­quired at his hands. But to tell you the truth sir (quoth he) I could find in my heart to giue him a potion that should purge him of his melancholy humor, because he hath no small need thereof in my opinion.

And whereby perceiue you any such humor to raigne [Page 7] in him, replied sir Robert Dillon; for in my iudgment nei­ther his complexion accuseth him of any disposition thereunto, nor his behauiour and manner of life giueth any token of sadnesse or desire of solitarinesse, which commonly all melancholy men are much giuen vnto: whereas he is not onely desirous of good compa­nie, but alwayes chearefull and pleasant among his friends.

Yea marry (said M. Smith) thereof he may thanke you and these other gentlemen his friends, that by comming often to visit him do keepe from him those fits which o­therwise it is likely enough he would fall into; whether that his complexiō draw him to it or no, which oft times deceiueth the most cunning Physitions, or whether it proceed of any accidentall cause. But (I pray you) for proofe of my words, who but one more then halfe mad or in a frensie, would of his owne accord, not being com­pelled thereunto, haue giuen ouer such an office as he hath resigned? which besides, that it was of good repu­tation and profit, gaue him the meanes to pleasure many of his friends, and kept him still in the bosome of the State, whereby he might in time haue risen to better place, and more abilitie to do himselfe and his friends both pleasure & good? All which in a melancholy mood he hath let slip, or rather put from him: for which I, a­mong other that loue him, could find in my heart to dis­ple him very well.

In troth (quoth sir Robert Dillon turning to me) ma­ster Smith seemeth to haue spoken more like a Physition, or rather like a Counseller, then like an Apothecary: and it will behoue you to satisfie him wel, lest we all begin to thinke of you as he doth, and agree with him that it were expedient to giue you a dose of Ellebore, which the [Page 8] Physitions say, hath a peculiar property to purge the me­lancholy humour. And therefore you shall do very well (I think) to declare vnto him, what reasons induced you to resigne that office, wherein I my selfe can testifie with how good contentment of all the table you did serue so many yeares. For withall some of vs, that haue not yet vnderstood vpon what foundation this resolution of yours is set and grounded, shall in like sort rest the better satisfied, if from your selfe they shall be made capable of some reasonable cause that might induce you thereunto. And henceforth beleeue, it hath bin well done, not be­cause you did it, but because you haue done it with rea­son and iudgment: which although we be all sufficiently perswaded you take to be your guides in al your actions, yet these words of master Smiths, and the like discourses, which we heare very often among some that loue you and wish you wel, doth make vs sometimes halfe doubt­full to allow of this retiring your selfe from the State. Because we suppose that a man of your condition and qualities should rather seeke to be employed, and to ad­uance himselfe in credit and reputation, then to hide his talent, and withdraw himselfe from action, in which the chiefe commendation of vertue doth consist. And to say truly what I thinke, a man of your sort, bred and trained (as it seemeth you haue bin) in learning, and that hath thereto added the experience and knowledge, which tra­uell and obseruation of many things in forraine coun­tries must breed in him that hath seene many places, and the maners, orders, and policies of sundry nations, ought rather to seeke to employ his ability and sufficiency in the seruice of his Prince and country, then apply them to his peculiar benefit or contentment. For you that were in so good a way to raise your selfe to credite [Page 9] and better employment, whereunto that office was but the first step and triall of what is in you, to forsake sud­denly so direct a path, leading you to preferment, and to betake your selfe to a solitary course of life, or a priuate at the least, seemeth a thing not agreeable to that opiniō which euery man that knoweth you, had conceiued of your proofe: and that of you it may be said, Grauior est culpa clara principia deserentis, quàm non incipientis; Non enim magna aggredi, sed perseuerare difficile. What is the end of parents in the education of their children, wherin they bestow so much care, and spend their wealth to purchase them learning and knowledge; but a desire to make them able to be employed, and a hope to see them raised to credit and dignitie in the common-wealth? Or who is he that doth not striue by all the meanes he can to aduance himselfe, and to presse forward still euen to the highest places of authoritie, and fauour vnder his Prince, though oftentimes with no small hazard and dan­ger, if he may once lay hold vpon that locke, which, men say, Occasion hath growing on her forehead, being bald behind; shewing thereby how foolish a thing it is to let her slip after she hath once presented her selfe to be apprehended? No doubt but this folly will be layd to your charge by many, and not without good apparance of reason, since you hauing had the occasion offered vnto you, as well to enrich your selfe, as to rise in credite and reputation, haue neuerthelesse let her go, after you had fast hand in her foretop, and abandoned so great a hope, nay, so assured a reward proposed to you for your labour and paines, to be sustained some while in that place.

Sir (quoth I) to haue answered M. Smiths imputation, I suppose would haue bin very easie, since the greatest [Page 10] matter therein was the neglecting of my profit, and the abandoning a meane to pleasure my friends. For the first is rather a commendation (though not so conceiued by him) then any iust blame: and the other is no more but a partiall complaint of him and others of his disposition, that looke to their owne priuate interest, and consider onely what they may misse, by not hauing a friend in such a place, who might stand them in stead, and regard no whit the contentment or discontentment of their friend, which they are not able to measure; as wanting the generall rule by which it ought to be measured according to reason; and so consequently frame the measure according to their owne minds: vsing their owne iudgements, euen as the auncient Greekes were wont to say of the Lesbian rule, which being made of lead, the work-men would bend and fit to their worke, and not frame their worke by a right rule. But hauing added to his obiection your owne censure of me, whose iudgement and prudence is so wel knowne, and so much by me to be respected, I can no lesse do, then make some further Apologie for my selfe touching that point, and open so much of my counsell and purpose in that behalf as I shall thinke needfull to giue you and others, that will prefer reason before their opinions, sufficient satisfaction. And first where you say, that my seruice in the place was acceptable vnto you all, I cannot but therein acknow­ledge my good hap, rather then impute it to any suffici­encie in my selfe. Neither would I, in regard of that great courtesie and fauour which I receiued therein, haue wil­lingly done any thing whereby I might haue seemed vnthankfull, or to haue made so small estimation of so worthy a fauour. But my not hauing bin brought vp or vsed to much writing and long standing, (which of or­dinary [Page 11] that office doth require) besides the extraordinary occasions which the seruice bringeth forth, to trauell, to sit vp late, and disorder the body, had bred such an in­crease of rheume in me, and of infirmities caused therby, as I could not without manifest and certaine perill of shortning my dayes haue continued the exercise of that place. Whereupon hauing in dutifull sort made knowne the cause of my desire to resigne the office to the Lord Deputy, who was in like sort priuy to some other iust oc­casion I had to further that my resolution; it pleased him with his accustomed prudence and fauour towards me, to consider and to allow of my request, and to grant me his honorable consent to the accomplishmēt of the same. Neither can this be rightly termed in me a retiring my selfe from the State, or a withdrawing from action to hide my talent. For leauing aside the vncertaintie and vaine issue for the most part of those hopes that com­monly draw men on into ambitious heauing & shouing for dignities and places of credit and commoditie; from which to be freed, little do men know or beleeue what gaine it is; as of things that, when they obtaine them not, vexe and torment their minds, and when they obtaine them, do soone glut and weary them. What comparison can a man of reason & iudgement make betweene them, and that contentednes which a well tempered and a mo­derate mind doth feele in a priuate life, employed to the bettering and amending of the principall part, which di­stinguisheth him from brute beasts? Surely for my part I confesse frankly vnto you, and protest I speake truly, I haue found more quietnes and satisfaction in this small time that I haue liued to my selfe, and enioyed the con­uersation of my bookes, when the care of my little buil­ding and husbandry hath giuen me that ordinary inter­mission [Page 12] which it must haue, then I did before in all the time that I spent in seruice about the State: the toile whereof was farre too high a price for the profit I might make of my place, and the expectation which was left me of rising to any better. Which neuerthelesse, suppose it had bin much greater then euer I conceiued, or then you haue seemed to make the same: so free am I from ambition or couetise (howsoeuer M. Smith would haue me to frame my mind thereto) as I am not only content not to flatter my selfe with the shew of good, which the best hopes might haue presented vnto me; but resolued also to put from me and tread vnder foot whatsoeuer de­sire or inclination, that either nature, ill custome, or daily example might vrge me vnto, or stirre vp within me. It is a perillous thing for men of weake braines to stand in high places, their heads will so soone be giddie, and all cilmbing is subiect to falling. Let men of great spirits, of high birth, and of excellent vertues, possesse in Gods name those dignities and preferments, which the fauour of the Prince and their sufficiencie may purchase vnto them: for it is they, that (as the Poet sayth) Posuêre in montibus vrbem: and of whom you might iustly say, Grauior est culpa &c. For as for me, I am one of those of whom the same Poet sayd, Habitabant vallibus imis. And so I had rather to do still, then to forsake my studies which I haue now begunne to renew againe: hauing ap­plied my endeuour to lay hold vpon the foretop, which Lady Occasion hath offered me to that effect: for to any other intent, she neuer yet did so much as once shew her selfe to me a farre off, much lesse present her selfe to me so neare as I might reach to catch her, or fasten my hand in her golden locke. I wish my friends therefore rather to allow, and giue their consents to this my resolution, [Page 13] grounded (as I thinke) vpon a reasonable consideration, and an exact weighing of mine owne abilitie and dispo­sition, then to concurre with M. Smith in opinion, or with any others that would lay to my charge folly, or lacke of iudgement for the same. And that generally all men would beleeue the Italian prouerbe, which sayth, that the foole knoweth better what is good and meet for himselfe, then doth the wise man what is fit for another man. Not that I would thereby reiect good counsell and friendly aduice, which I know well enough how bene­ficiall a thing it is to all men in matters of doubt and diffi­cultie: but my meaning is onely to reserue to a mans owne vnderstāding the iudgement of such particular and priuate determinations, as concerne the contentment or discontentment of his mind; the circumstances of which perhaps are not meete to be communicated to others. The example whereof Paulus Aemilius hath giuen vs, with that graue and wise answer he made vnto his friends that wold needs reprehend him for repudiating his wife, alledging her many good qualities, as her beautie, her modestie, her nobilitie, and other such like: when put­ting forth his leg, he shewed them his buskin, and sayd; You see this buskin is wel and handsomly made, of good leather, and to your seeming fit enough for my foote and leg, yet none of you knoweth (I am sure) where it doth wring me. Euen so my selfe may haply say to any whom my former answer may not fully satisfie, that al­though to their seeming my state and condition was better by holding that office, not onely in respect of the benefit and commoditie my selfe and my friends might reape thereby; but also in regard of the expectation of preferment & aduancement that I might haue had by the exercise of the same: yet is it to them vnknowne what o­ther [Page 14] particulars might moue me to conceiue thereof o­otherwise, and to like rather of the priuat life I now leade, then of all those benefits and commodities which the o­ther could promise vnto me.

Although the reasons by you before alledged, might well enough be answered, quoth sir Robert Dillon, yet this last obiection you haue made to conclude your speech withall, is such, as I should hold him vnwise that would go about to remoue you frō your determination. For it were a point of ouermuch curiositie, to search so farre into your mind and drift in that behalfe. But since it seemeth that your desire is now bent to the renewing of your studies, and to apply your selfe to the bettering (as you say) of that part which is proper vnto man, which is the mind, or reasonable power of the soule, from whence indeed all operations worthy commenda­tion do proceed, I pray you let vs heare from you what kind of studie that is, by which you intend to purchase to your selfe this so great a good. For it is not euery science that can affoord the same, since we see oftentimes men of great learning in sundry professions, to be neuerthe­les rude and ignorant in things that concerne their cari­age and behauiour: insomuch as it hath bin fitly vsed for a prouerbe among vs, that the greatest clerkes are not al­wayes the wisest men. And as I for one, am desirous to know your determination and opinion touching that point: so do I think that the rest of these gentlemen here, wil be willing and glad to spend this time which we haue all disposed to visit you and keepe you companie, in hea­ring you discourse vpon so good a Theme, by which there cannot but arise some good and profit to euery of vs. Because we nothing doubt, but that, as you haue ma­turely debated with your selfe the reasons that haue in­duced [Page 15] you to take vpon you this resolution; so you can declare the same, and make vs partakers with you of so much of your contentment, as the loue and good will we beare you, will thereby fasten vpon vs.

Sir (said I) you haue right well alledged and applied our common prouerbe, in my opinion: for it is not in­deed euery kind of knowledge and studie that bettereth the mind of man, as dayly experience teacheth vs: since we see many men vse the same as an instrument to worke their mischiefe and wickednes withall the more artifici­ally and the more dangerously. For though nature hath engrafted in euery man a feruent desire of knowledge, which discouereth it selfe in children, euen in their infan­cie; yet haue we all from the corruption of her, a disposi­tion likewise to abuse the same, and to turne it rather to euill than to goodnesse, if speciall grace, or an excellent education (which cānot be without grace) do not fashiō and frame the mind to the right vse thereof. The general scope of parents, when they set their children to learning, tendeth only to the enabling of them, thereby to attaine some meanes to liue by the profession either of Law, of Physicke, or of Diuinitie: for of the meaner intentions I wil not speake. And too common an error it is in scho­lers themselues, whē they are entred into the Arts, which are called liberal, to spend their time in curious searching of subtilties, friuolous, and to no vse: or els in purchasing rather an apparance of learning in the science they apply their studies vnto, thereby to win the shorter way to pro­fit, then the profound and exact knowledge of sciences themselues; whereof euery one neuerthelesse being tho­roughly attained, would yeeld no smal helpe and furthe­rance to that bettering of the mind, which I haue spo­ken of.

[Page 16] But who is he that in the profession of the Law, ay­meth at any other marke, then at sufficiencie to pleade well at the barre, to draw him the more clients, or to rise to such dignities as thereby others climbe vnto: or in Physick, then to haue a reputation of skil, to procure him much practise to inrich himselfe: or in Diuinitie, then to be accounted a good Preacher, whereby he may get a fruitful benefice, or be inuested with some Bishopricke and title of honor? Or which of them do we see, that when he hath hit the marke he shot at, and is come to the height that his profession can raise him vnto, doth shew himselfe sincere, or incorrupt of mind, or so master ouer his owne passions, as either through couetousnes, or am­bition, or loue, or hatred, he will not forget the dutie which he oweth to that place, whereunto he is called, and to him that hath giuen him the gift as well of the meane as of the thing it selfe?

To answer you therefore directly what kind of studie I affect or thinke may most better my mind, I will say that it is none of these before mentioned: for albeit I ac­knowledge the true study of Diuinitie to include all that knowledge, which may any way be required for the per­fection of mans life: yet because there is a more speciall calling thereunto, then to any other, and ought to be ap­plied in a more reuerent maner, and to a further end, then that euery man might presume to take it in hand, I dare not venture to make my selfe a professor of it. As for the profession of the Law, I will not in these yeares, and with this mind, alienated from troubles and businesse, giue my selfe to the same, it being the principall meane and high way to leade me againe into the labyrinth which I desire most to eschew and voide. To Physicke I was by my fathers choice appointed; for the performance [Page 17] of whose wil, as became me in dutie and obedience, all the time I spent by his direction in studie, I employed in the knowlegde of the principles thereof: and sithens, as well for the vse thereof to mine owne behoofe, as for the delightfulnesse, which the discouery of the secret o­perations and effects of nature worketh (I suppose) in e­uery man as it doth in me, I haue (when time and leisure would permit) bent my most study and reading to the authors of that science; but intention to professe it, or to practise it, in very deed as yet had I neuer none. For how soeuer the prouidence of my father, or mine owne indu­stry had fashioned me to be meete to make a Physition, yet the higher prouidence had otherwise determined, making me to take another course of life, which before was neuer so much as once thought of by either of vs, and made me of a scholer to become a seruant. By which occasion being drawne into this countrey, and left my studies, I haue so many yeares led my life here in such sort as you haue seene. But hauing now withdrawne my selfe from the toilesome place I held, and gathered my selfe into a little compasse, as a snaile into his shell, my purpose is (if God shall please to giue me his gracious assistance) to spend my time in reading such bookes, as I shall find fittest to increase my knowledge in the duties of a Chri­stian man, and direct me in the right path of vertue, without tying my selfe to any particular kind. And as I haue (God be thanked) some store of all sorts; so shall I dispense my time accordingly, sometime in perusing such as may instruct me more and more in the true ma­ner of seruing God; sometime in reading of histories, which are as mirrours or looking-glasses for euery man to see the good and euill actions of all ages, the better to square his life to the rule of vertue, by the examples of o­thers; [Page 18] and sometimes, and that for the most part (as thus aduised) in the study of Morall Philosophie, which fra­meth men fittest for ciuill conuersation, teaching them orderly what morall vertues are, and particularly what is the proper action of euery one, and likewise what vice is, and how vnseemly a thing, and how harmefull to a good mind the spot and contagion thereof is. To this haue I euer had a speciall inclination, and a greedy desire to instruct my selfe fully therein; which hitherto, partly through the course I held whiles I was a scholer (as be­fore I said) I could not wel do, and euer sithens my con­tinuall busines and attendance about mine office, haue diuerted me therefro. And to professe plainly the truth, not any one thing hath so much preuailed to make me resolue the giuing ouer that place, as the longing I had, and haue to returne to the course of reading Morall Phi­losophy, which I was euen then newly entred into, when I was called to be employed in that office; and the delight whereof was so great vnto me, for that little which I had begun to reade, and the expectation such, which I had conceiued of the vse thereof (as by which a man learneth not onely to know how to carry himselfe vertuously in his priuat actions, but also to guide and order his family, and moreouer, to become meete for the seruice of his Prince and countrey, when occasion of employment may be offered vnto him) that I was halfe doubtfull when I was summoned to come and take the place, whe­ther I should accept thereof or no.

Then said M. Dormer, Yea but it seemeth to me that these your words imply a contradiction, when saying that you haue so earnestly desired to withdraw your selfe from the exercise of your office, wherin you had so good meanes, not only to make shew of your owne sufficiency [Page 19] and vertue, and to do your Prince and countrey seruice, and withall to pleasure many of your friends, you seeme neuertheles to direct your studies to such an end, as ai­meth not onely at the knowledge of vertue, but also at the practise thereof, whereby a man is made fit and enabled for such employments as the Prince or State shall lay vpon him. For indeed it is an approoued saying among Philosophers, Virtutis laus, actio: and you know what Tullie saith, and Plato before him, Non nobis nati sumus, partem patria, partem parentes, partem amici sibi vendicant. So as M. Smiths accusation (for ought I see) may be held as yet very reasonable against you, vnles you can alledge vs some better reason in your defence then hitherto you haue done.

In faith (quoth I) if you be all against me, I shall haue much adoe to defend my selfe, since the old prouerbe is, that, Ne Hercules quidem contraduos: and how can I then resist so many? But I hope that some of this companie will take my part, though he haue forestalled me of the two chiefe men, whose patronage might best haue ser­ued me, hauing gotten you two lawyers to pleade for him. Yet because I suppose you haue not bin entertained by him for that purpose with any fee, and that you are here, not as lawyers or aduocates to maintaine his cause, but rather as indifferent Iudges, to determine who hath the best right on his side; I hope that vpon better infor­mation, you will be drawne to iudge vprightly, and not be caried away with apparances, which oftentimes hide and cast a cloud ouer the truth. And to answer therefore to your obiection, which carieth with it some probabi­litie, I would easily confesse my selfe in fault, if this resig­ning of my office had bin an absolute retiring my selfe from action, or that I had (as they say) forsworne any [Page 20] employment for the seruice of the State or my Prince. But if you please to consider how this my resolution hath bin grounded vpon a desire to be freed onely from a place of such continuall toile and attendance, as suffe­red me to haue no time to spare, wherein I might almost breathe, or take any reasonable recreation; and not to liue idle, or sequestred so from action, as I should onely spend my time in reading or contemplation, I doubt not but you wil find my words to agree wel inough without any contradiction, and my course of life well enough fitting a man that meaneth not to liue to himselfe alone. For if such had bin my purpose, I would haue sought out a meeter dwelling then this so neare the citie, and I could well enough haue deuised to haue bin farre from such cōptrollers as M. Smith, and to haue auoided this iudge­ment that I am now subiect vnto, not without hazard of my reputation, hauing two such persons to assist my ac­cuser, and beare vp his cause. You see that I haue not so estranged my selfe from all employments, but that I can be content to take paine in the increasing of her Maiesties reuenue, by the care I haue of her impost: I refuse not any other ordinary employments, as of trauelling in such commissions as the Lord Deputie and Councel oft times direct vnto me for the examining of sundrie causes: neither do I so giue my selfe to be priuate, but that you and other my friends, who vouchsafe of their courtesie sometimes to visite me, find me apt enough to keep them companie, either here at home, or else abroad: so as though I desire to know how to do these things as per­fectly well as I might, and to that end frame my selfe as much to study as conueniently I can, yet do I not therin contradict the reasonable and iust disposition I haue to employ my selfe for the seruice of her Maiestie, when oc­casion [Page 21] serueth: neither doth my endeuour in that behalf any way oppose it selfe to my desire, of retiring from a painefull employment to a more quiet life, which now (I thanke God) I enioy: wherein I may frankly and truly protest vnto you, I find more sweetnes and contentment in one dayes expence, then I could taste in seuen yeares before, whiles I was Clerke of the Councell. And were it but in regard of that same contentment, I know not what man of reasonable sense and vnderstanding, would not esteeme the purchase thereof at a farre higher rate then any office in Ireland whatsoeuer. M. Smith therfore may well enough put vp his pipes, and hold his peace hence­forth, and I hope not onely yee two, but all the rest of this companie will hold him sufficiently put to silence, and begin to allow of this my resolution, especially see­ing it aimeth at so high a marke as humane felicitie.

At which word the Primate seemed as it were to start, & said, what sir? though we can be content to admit your reasons against M. Smith, and to allow of your resolutiō, as hauing chosen (as our Sauiour said to Martha of her sister) the better part; yet must you not thinke that we will let euery thing go with you which you say: but by your leaue, plucke you a little backe by the sleeue, when we see you presse forward presumptuously, as now in my opinion you do, when you seeme to shoote at such a marke as humane felicitie, which is without, not your reach onely, but all mens, whiles they are here in this low and muddie world: for I wis that is no where to be found but aboue the stars: mans felicity is placed only in heauē, where God of his mercie hath appointed it for him to be found, and not here on earth. I say of his mercie, because albeit he had ordained the same for man from before all ages; yet our first father by his disobedience depriuing [Page 22] himselfe and all his posteritie of all possibilitie thereof, the same was eftsoones by the infinite goodnes and mer­cie of God purchased to him againe at a deare price, euen the precious bloud of his dearest Son, which he was con­tent to shed for the ransome of mankind, entrapped by the diuell, and taken captiue, whereby he might returne into his heauenly countrie againe, to enioy that happie inheritance prepared there for him. Whosoeuer therfore shall seeke to get his felicitie here in this world, will find himselfe deceiued: and although it be said to some pur­pose fitly, that he that shooteth at a starre, aimeth higher then he that shooteth at a furbush: yet well ye wot, that to shoot vp to the starres, is but meere follie and vanitie; and no lesse do I hold your aiming at so high a marke to be, which is so farre out of your reach.

I crie you mercie, my Lord, quoth I, if I haue stepped into your marches before I were aware. But I may the better be excused, because I had no intention or purpose so to do; but simply, and after the cōmon maner of speech haue vsed the general word in stead of the particular. For though I said I aimed at the high marke of humane feli­citie, yet for so little as I haue read in Morall Philoso­phy, I haue learned that Plato hath made mention of two distinct felicities of man (and others besides him) the one a contemplatiue felicitie (which some men haply draw neare vnto, but cannot perfectly attaine in this life;) the other an actiue or practicke felicitie, consisting in vertu­ous actions, and reducing of a mans passions vnder the rule of reason. Which practicke felicitie may not onely be atchieued here on earth by mans endeuour, assisted with Gods grace and fauour: but is also a great helpe and meane for such as obtaine the same, to bring them after this life vnto the other in heauen. Of this latter, the rules [Page 23] whereof are to be taken from you Church-men and Di­uines; I meant not when I said, I aymed so high, at the lestwise my purpose was not properly to say, that I shot at that marke by my studie, for then I should haue con­tradicted my former words, when I protested I durst not presume to the studie of Diuinitie, which (I well vnder­stood) required a particular calling. But onely my mea­ning was to get your approbation, in that I had resolued by the study of Morall Philosophie to compasse, so farre forth as my endeuours could preuaile, that humane pra­cticke felicitie, which of all men in all ages hath bene so highly esteemed; and for the directing of men wherunto, so many great learned Philosophers haue taken so great trauell and paines to find out the ready way vnto it, and by their writings to make the same knowne to others: whereby not onely particular persons might in this life attaine to liue happily, but also purchase the same happi­nes to their families, yea to whole Cities and Common­wealths. This felicitie (I think) euery wel disposed man is to labor for in this life; & the better he is borne, the more ought he to bend his study to learne by what meanes the same is to be attained: and by working accordingly, to prepare himselfe to be fit and capable of that other when soeuer he shall be called out of this world, knowing how assured promises therof are giuen to them that in this life liue vertuously; and how certain he may be, that the fur­ther that good which his vertuous actions shall extend to the benefite of others in this life, the greater shall be his reward in the life to come, where that felicitie is prepared for them, that by the treading downe of their passions and sensual appetites, shal endeuour to reduce their soule to that purenesse and cleannes which is required in them to whom that euerlasting blisse and felicitie is promised. [Page 24] For my part, the thing which I most earnestly desire, is to learne the shortest way to compasse the same: and happpie should I thinke my selfe if I could find any man whose knowledge and learning might helpe me to direct my study to that end; because I know right well how hard it is for a man by his owne labour to search out the ready way to vnderstand those precepts, which haue bin set downe in the learned writings of Philosophers that haue treated of that matter, especially in the Greeke and Latine tongues, in which it hath bin substantially hand­led. For although I cannot truly pretend ignorance in the Latine, in which the workes of Plato and Aristotle are to be read: yet I confesse that I do not find that facilitie in the conceiuing of their writings, as I could wish, or as the greedinesse of my desire to apprehend might ouer­take. For Plato hath couched his sense thereof so disper­sedly in his dialogues, as I thinke he must be a man of great learning and exact iudgement that shall picke them out, and seuer them from the other parts of Philosophie, which he indeed most diuinely discourseth vpon. And Aristotle is not to me so cleare nor so easily vnderstood without deepe study, as my meane capacitie would re­quire; specially without the interpretation of some bet­ter scholer then my selfe. And herein do I greatly enuie the happinesse of the Italians, who haue in their mother­tongue late writers, that haue with a singular easie me­thod, taught all that which Plato or Aristotle haue con­fusedly or obscurely left written. Of which, some I haue begun to reade with no small delight, as Alexander Picco­lomini, Gio. Baptista Giraldi, and Guazzo, all three hauing written vpon the Ethick part of Morall Philosopie both exactly and perspicuously. And would God that some of our countrimen wold shew themselues so wel affected [Page 25] to the good of their countrie (whereof one principall and most important part consisteth in the instructing of men to vertue) as to set downe in English the precepts of those parts of Morall Philosophy, whereby our youth might without spending of so much time, as the learning of those other languages require, speedily enter into the right course of vertuous life. In the meane while I must struggle with those bookes which I vnderstand, and con­tent my selfe to plod vpon them, in hope that God (who knoweth the sincerenesse of my desire) will be pleased to open my vnderstanding, so as I may reape that profit of my reading, which I trauell for. Yet is there a gentle­man in this company, whom I haue had often a purpose to intreate, that as his leisure might serue him, he would vouchsafe to spend some time with me to instruct me in some hard points which I cannot of my selfe vnder­stand: knowing him to be not onely perfect in the Greek tongue, but also very well read in Philosophie, both mo­rall and naturall. Neuertheles such is my bashfulnes, as I neuer yet durst open my mouth to disclose this my de­sire vnto him, though I haue not wanted some hartning thereunto from himselfe. For of his loue and kindnes to me, he encouraged me long sithens to follow the reading of the Greeke tongue, and offered me his helpe to make me vnderstand it. But now that so good an oportunitie is offered vnto me, to satisfie in some sort my desire; I thinke I should commit a great fault, not to my selfe a­lone, but to all this company, if I should not enter my request thus farre, as to moue him to spend this time which we haue now destined to familiar discourse and conuersation, in declaring vnto vs the great benefites which men obtaine by the knowledge of Morall Philo­sophie, and in making vs to know what the same is, what [Page 26] be the parts thereof, whereby vertues are to be distingui­shed from vices: and finally that he will be pleased to run ouer in such order as he shall thinke good, such and so many principles and rules thereof, as shall serue not only for my better instructiō, but also for the contentmēt and satisfaction of you al. For I nothing doubt, but that euery one of you will be glad to heare so profitable a discourse, and thinke the time very wel spent, wherin so excellent a knowledge shal be reuealed vnto you, from which euery one may be assured to gather some fruit as wel as my self. Therfore (said I) turning my selfe to M. Spenser, It is you sir, to whom it pertaineth to shew your selfe courteous now vnto vs all, and to make vs all beholding vnto you for the pleasure and profit which we shall gather from your speeches, if you shall vouchsafe to open vnto vs the goodly cabinet, in which this excellent treasure of ver­tues lieth locked vp from the vulgar sort. And thereof in the behalfe of all, as for my selfe, I do most earnestly in­treate you not to say vs nay. Vnto which words of mine euery man applauding most with like words of request, and the rest with gesture and countenances expressing as much, M. Spenser answered in this maner.

Though it may seeme hard for me to refuse the request made by you all, whom, euery one alone, I should for many respects be willing to gratifie: yet as the case stan­deth, I doubt not but with the consent of the most part of you, I shall be excused at this time of this taske which would be laid vpon me. For sure I am, that it is not vn­knowne vnto you, that I haue already vndertaken a work tēding to the same effect, which is in heroical verse, vnder the title of a Faerie Queene, to represent all the moral ver­tues, assigning to euery vertue, a Knight to be the patron and defender of the same: in whose actions and feates [Page 27] of armes and chiualry, the operations of that vertue, whereof he is the protector, are to be expressed, and the vices & vnruly appetites that oppose themselues against the same, to be beatē downe & ouercome. Which work, as I haue already well entred into, if God shall please to spare me life that I may finish it according to my mind, your wish (M. Bryskett) will be in some sort accompli­shed, though perhaps not so effectually as you could de­sire. And the same may very well serue for my excuse, if at this time I craue to be forborne in this your request, since any discourse, that I might make thus on the sudden in such a subiect, would be but simple, and little to your satisfactions. For it would require good aduisement and premeditation for any man to vndertake the declaration of these points that you haue proposed, containing in effect the Ethicke part of Morall Philosophie. Whereof since I haue taken in hand to discourse at large in my po­eme before spoken, I hope the expectation of that work may serue to free me at this time from speaking in that matter, notwithstanding your motion and all your in­treaties. But I will tell you, how I thinke by himselfe he may very well excuse my speech, and yet satisfie all you in this matter. I haue seene (as he knoweth) a translation made by himselfe out of the Italian tongue, of a dialogue comprehending all the Ethick part of Moral Philosophy, written by one of those three he formerly mentioned, and that is by Giraldi, vnder the title of a dialogue of ciuil life. If it please him to bring vs forth that translation to be here read among vs, or otherwise to deliuer to vs, as his memory may serue him, the contents of the same; he shal (I warrant you) satisfie you all at the ful, and himselfe wil haue no cause but to thinke the time well spent in re­uiewing his labors, especially in the company of so many [Page 28] his friends, who may thereby reape much profit, and the translation happily fare the better by some mending it may receiue in the perusing, as all writings else may do by the oftē examinatiō of the same. Neither let it trouble him, that I so turne ouer to him againe the taske he wold haue put me to: for it falleth out fit for him to verifie the principall part of all this Apologie, euen now made for himselfe; because thereby it will appeare that he hath not withdrawne himself from seruice of the State, to liue idle or wholy priuate to himselfe, but hath spent some time in doing that which may greatly benefit others, and hath serued not a little to the bettering of his owne mind, and increasing of his knowledge, though he for modesty pre­tend much ignorance, and pleade want in wealth, much like some rich beggars, who either of custom, or for coue­tousnes, go to begge of others those things whereof they haue no want at home.

With this answer of M. Spensers, it seemed that all the company were wel satisfied: for after some few speeches, whereby they had shewed an extreme longing after his worke of the Faerie Queene, whereof some parcels had bin by some of them seene, they all began to presse me to produce my translation mentioned by M. Spenser, that it might be perused among them; or else that I should (as neare as I could) deliuer vnto them the contents of the same, supposing that my memory would not much faile me in a thing so studied, and adui­sedly set downe in writing, as a translation must be. And albeit I alledged for mine excuse, that I had done it but for mine exercise in both languages, not with purpose to haue it seene, nor so aduisedly, as had bin needful to come vnder their censures: yet would they haue no nay, but without protracting time in excuses, I must needs fulfill [Page 29] their desires; and so with a courteous force they made me rise from where I sate to go fetch my papers. Which being brought before them, I said: Loe, here you may see by the manner of these loose sheetes, how farre I meant this labour of mine should come to light: and the con­fused lying of them, and the blots and interlinings which you see, may giue you well enough to vnderstand, how hard a thing it is to haue it read before you, as you pre­tended. Besides that, it is of such a bulke and volume, as you may easily vnderstand, it cannot in a short time be runne ouer. And therefore since you haue so easily acquited M. Spenser of that charge which you all with me seemed so desirous to impose vpon him: you may do wel in like courteous manner to discharge me of the like bur­then that you would lay vpon me.

Then said sir Robert Dillon, though it appeare indeed vnto vs, that the lose and disorderly placing of the papers with the interlinings, do make it vnfit to be read as we desired, and that the often interrupting of the sense to find out and match the places, would take away the best part of the delight which the subiect might yeeld vs: yet because we know that you, hauing translated the whole, may easily with your memory supply the defects of the papers; I for my part do thinke, and so I suppose do the rest here present, that it is no sufficient reason to free you from so profitable a labour, as this, whereby you may ac­quaint vs with those worthy conceits in our owne lan­guage, which you haue in the Italian found to be so de­lightfull, and fit to be communicated by your trauell to others. Therfore if you shal not think it good to reade it vnto vs as it is set downe in the translation precisely; at the least yet this we will vrge you vnto, that you will be content to deliuer vnto vs the general points of the same, [Page 30] marshalling them in their order, though in the circum­stances of the dialogue and persons you follow not ex­actly the forme of the author; and our dispensation in that case shall serue to deliuer you from the blame, that otherwise as an interpreter you might be subiect vnto. For being done to vs, and at our request, we shall be your warrants, notwithstanding any law or custome to the contrary. Be you onely willing to gratifie vs, and for the rest feare you no danger; since we sit not here as in the courts, to examine whether there be as well due forme, as sufficient matter in bills & pleadings that are brought before vs: but are here to passe the time with you in ho­nest and vertuous conuersation. And the drift of our speeches hauing growne to this issue, that we should spend this short space which we may be together, in the discoursing vpon the Ethick part of Morall Philosophie, and you hauing the subiect so ready at hand, in Gods name we pray you, delay vs not by losing time in friuo­lous excuses, but begin to open to vs this treasure, which you would so faine hide from our eyes.

Here they began all to second his speeches, and so im­portunatly to intreate me to accomplish their desire, that being no further able to say them nay: I answered.

Since such is your will, I can no longer resist you: onely thus much I must protest vnto you, that you are guiltie, not onely of whatsoeuer fault or error I shal com­mit against the lawes of an interpreter, but also of breach of the law of hospitalitie, in ouerruling me in mine owne house. And as for this I may iustly complaine of violēce, yet perhaps find no redresse, so if any shal find fault with me for not obseruing the precise rules of a translator, let him impute the same not to me, but vnto you, hauing some compassion vpon me, that besides being constrai­ned [Page 31] to produce that which I purposed to haue kept to my selfe, I am also forced to do it, not according to mine owne choice, but in such sort as it hath pleased you to cō ­pell me. Well then, to gaine as much time as may be, I wil omit the introduction of the author to his dialogue, as a thing depending vpon former matter and occasion, by which the persons introduced by him are fitted for his purpose, & supposing this present companie to be as apt to conceiue the reasons by him set downe, & to make as pertinent obiections as they did, I will begin euen there where he, following the course of most others that haue writtē vpon that subiect, maketh entry into his discourse. But with this prouiso, that, because this day will not serue vs to runne ouer the whole, you wil be content, that, as he hath deuided his whole work into three dialogues, so we may meete here three seuerall dayes, to giue euery seueral dialogue of his one day to explane the same: for so much (I think) may well be performed euery day. To which they all agreeing, I tooke my loose papers in hand, and began in this manner following. I must now presuppose that ye, whō I esteeme to be as those gentlemen introdu­ced by this author, haue likewise moued the same questi­on, which they did, to wit, what maner of life a gentlemā is to vndertake and propose to himselfe, to attaine to that end in this world, which among wisemen hath bene, and is accounted the best; beginning frō the day of his birth, and so guiding him therein vntill he be meet to purchase the same end. And likewise where any occasion of doubt or question, for the better vnderstanding may happen in the discourse, that some one of you desiring to be resol­ued therein, wil demaund such questions as shal be need­full. Wherein you shall find this author plentifully to sa­tisfie your expectations, not tying himselfe absolutely [Page 32] to follow neither Plato nor Aristotle, but gathering from both, and from other excellent writers besides, so much as may yeeld you the greater and fuller satisfaction. Giue eare therefore vnto his words.

THe end in all things that men do in this world, is the first that is cōsidered, though afterwards it be the last to be put in execution. And as, when it is brought to per­fection, it beareth the name of effect, so is it the cause that moueth all other to bring it to effect. And therefore to treate of that end, which is now the motion inducing vs to discourse hereupon, we must come to the first princi­ples which may be the causes to bring a man to this end. In which respect it were needfull for me first to speake of the generation of man, since as all seeds bring forth their fruit like to themselues; so falleth it out for the most part in men: for such as are the father and the mother, such are most commonly the children. I should likewise declare, how he that wil be a commendable father, ought to haue a speciall care, not of himselfe onely (for him we wil suppose to be a man endewed with all the ornaments required for a wel composed body and mind) but of the mother also. For albeit she receiue the seed of generation from the man; yet howsoeuer it be, the children when they be once conceiued, take their nourishment from the mother, and in her wombe, vntill the time of their birth: whereby we see the children very often to retaine the vi­ces of the mother. Also that in regard hereof, euery man that intendeth to take a wife, ought to be very carefull in the choice of her; so that she may not be base of paren­tage, vitious, wanton, deformed, lame, or otherwise im­perfect or defectiue: but well borne, vertuous, chaste, of tall and comely personage, and well spoken; to the end that of father and mother, by kind gentle, vertuous, mo­dest, [Page 33] and comely of shape and proportion, like children may betweene them be brought forth. For frō wise men hath proceeded that warning to men, that such wiues they should chuse as they wished to haue their children. And Archidamus King of Sparta, was condemned by his citizens to pay a fine, for hauing taken to wife a wo­man of very low stature; because (said they) she is like to bring vs forth no kings, but dandiprats. Thereby decla­ring how they accounted no small part of the maiestie of a king, to consist in the comely presence and stature of his body; and not without cause. For it is written, that the goodly shew and apparance of a man, is the first thing worthy soueraigntie. But because in the request made to me, I am required to begin onely at his birth, I thinke it shall suffice, if I declare vnto you in what maner he ought to be nourished, and brought vp, and instructed, till he come to such ripe yeares and iudgement as he may rule himselfe, and be his owne guide to direct all his actions to that same end, which in all humane things is the last and best. Neuertheles before I begin therewith, I would haue you to vnderstand, that the first gift which the fa­ther bestoweth on the son after he is borne, is his name, by which he is all his life time to be called. Which name, is to be wished, may be decent and fit, so as it may seeme the life of the child is marked with a signe or pronosti­cation of good hap, and of being framed to the course of vertue: for some are of opinion, that the name often­times presageth the qualities and conditions of the child. And therefore they are not to be commended that name their children by the names of brute beasts, as in some countries is vsed; where the names of Leo, of Orso, of A­store, of Pardo, of Cane, and such like are in vse: as if their desire were that their children should resemble those [Page 34] wild and bruite beasts in their conditions. Let men ther­fore in Gods name be intitled with names meet for men, and such as may signifie or carry with them dignitie, or rather holinesse and religion, and leaue to bruite beasts their owne possesion.

Then, said sir Robert Dillon, before you proceed any further, I pray you let vs vnderstand whether that point be cleare or no, of the nourishing all manner of children. For among Lycurgus his lawes, there was one, whereby it was ordained, that such children as were borne vnper­fect in any part of their bodies, crooked, mis-shapen, of ill aspect, should not onely, not be fostered vp, but also be throwne downe from the top of a high rocke, as creatures condemned by God and nature in their con­ception; and so marked by them, to the end that men might know, that such (if they were through ignorance bred & nourished) were likely to bring harme and ruine to the houses and common-wealths wherein they should liue. Let vs therfore heare your authors opinion concer­ning that law.

There is no doubt (said I) but that such was the opi­nion of Lycurgus, and such his law, though cruell and vn­iust. Neuertheles though the felicitie of man be a perfe­ction of all the good gifts of body and mind, and he that is so borne, cannot indeed be properly termed happie in the highest degree of worldly happines: yet much more prudently haue those wise men determined, who say, that the imperfections of mens bodies which are borne with them, are not to be imputed to them as hurtful or shamefull, because it is not in their power to auoid them. And who is he that can be so hard hearted as to slay an infant so cruelly, onely because nature hath shaped him vnperfect in any of his lims? The mind of any good man [Page 35] abhorreth to thinke such a thing, much more to put it in execution.

Indeed (replied sir Robert Dillon) pittie ought alwaies to be before the eyes of al men, as a thing natural to them, and without which they are vnworthy the name of hu­manitie: yet must not this pittie extend so farre for any particular compassion, as thereby to confound the vni­uersall order of things. The pittie which Hecuba had of Paris (as Poets haue taught vs) was the cause that Troy was burnt, and Priamus with all his worthy family de­stroyed: which things (say they) had neuer happened, if contrary to the directiō of the Gods (who by her dreame forewarned her of those euils) she had not saued him. If then it were true, as Lycurgus affirmed, that the markes or tokens, so brought into the world by children from their mothers wombe, should foretell such to be likely to bring ruine or calamitie to their cities or countries; were it not better that he that is so brone, should rather die in his cradle, then be nourished to become the ouerthrow and desolation of a whole people? We know that by the opinion of the wisest, it is expedient rather one should die to saue a multitude, then by sparing his life a number should perish.

That opinion (sayd I) is not vnworthy wise men, but it is deepely to be considered, and their meaning to be looked into, for so shall we find no such sense therein, as you inferre: for those men spake not of children newly borne, who are not able, either by speech or deed, to giue any signe or token, whereby it may be gathered, that they will proue either good or euill; but of such, as being commonly heads and ring-leaders of factious and sedi­tious people, do make themselues authors of the destru­ction of noble families and whole cities: such as were [Page 36] both the Gracchi in Rome, and sundry others in Greece. And so it is to be applied, to wit, that such a man shall ra­ther die, then for the sauing of his life, a whole citie or people should go to wracke. Or otherwise, when in time of warre, by the ioyning of two armies in battell, a great multitude were likly to be slaine, it were farre better that one, or two, or moe, in certaine number on each side should fight and hazard their liues in stead of the rest, then their whole powers to meet, and venter the slaugh­ter of the most part of them. As in the beginning of the State of Rome, the Horatij and the Curiatij did to keepe from hazard of battell both people, which were ready ar­med and prepared to fight together. In like manner may that saying be applied, in case a whole citie be in danger of desolation, & that the death of one man may redeeme the same. As by Curtius the same citie of Rome was pre­serued: who with so great courage threw himselfe armed on horsebacke into that pestilent pit which infected the whole citie, to the end that by his death he might saue the people from that mortalitie and infection. And the same effect (but farre more excellently) did our Sauiour likewise work, who to redeeme mankind from the bands of hell, tooke vpon him all our sinnes, through which we were become thrals to Satan; and for our saluation yeel­ded himselfe willingly to a most bitter death. But as in such cases it is to be allowed, that one should die for the people: so is it much more to be discommended then I can declare, that an infant newly borne should be killed, though by defect of nature, want of seed, or any straine or mischance of the mother, or through abundance of ill humors, or any other strange accident, it be borne im­perfect, or marked as is said.

Well, said sir Robert Dillon, it is true indeed that the law [Page 37] of Lycurgus was too cruell and vniust. But Plato in his books de Repub▪ deuised a more mild and reasonable way: for he allowed not that such children should be killed, as holding it inhumane, yet he ordained that they should be brought vp in some place appointed out of the citie, and that they should be debarred all possibilite of bea­ring any rule or magistracie in the Common-wealth. For it seemed, he thought that through the intemperance and disordinate liuing of the parents, children came to be in­gendred no lesse deformed and corrupt in mind then in body: and therein the excesse of drinking wine to be a principall cause. In which respect he forbad as wel to the man as to the woman the vse of wine at such times as they were disposed to attend the generation of chil­dren.

Plato (said I) must not be left vnanswered, neither wil I spare to say (by his leaue) that his law, though it be milder then the other, was neuer the more allowable for the cau­ses aboue specified. For it is not alwayes true, that the im­perfections of the body are likewise in the mind: or that a faire body hath euermore a faire mind coupled vnto it. Haue we not seene men of mis-shapen bodies that haue had diuine minds, and others of goodly personages that haue bin very furies of hell? as Plato himselfe constrai­ned by the force of truth and dayly experience could not but confesse. The good or bad shape of the body therefore, must be no rule for vs to bring vp, or not to bring vp our children, though it be to be esteemed a great grace to be borne with seemely and wel proportio­ned members: and that it is a speciall point of happinesse to haue a faire mind harbored in a comely body, because both together beare with them a naturall grace, pleasing and gratefull to the eyes of men, constraining in a sort [Page 38] the loue of all that behold them: which thing Virgil wel vnderstanding, when he spake of Eurialus, said,

Gratior & pulchro veniens in corpore virtus, Adiuuat, &c.

For although vertue of it selfe be louely and to be highly esteemed, yet when she is accompanied with the beauty of the bodie, she is more amiable (whatsoeuer Seneca the Stoicke, more seuere then need, please to say) and with more affection embraced of all them that see her. Which thing appeared in Scipio Africanus, when he met with Asdrubal his enemy in the presence of king Siphax: for as soone as the subtill African had beheld the comely presence and gratefull countenance of Scipio, he forth­with conceiued that, which afterward fell out, to wit, that Scipio would draw Siphax to ioyne with the Ro­manes, against the Carthaginians. But for all this we are not in any wise to esteeme a person in body mis-shapen or deformed, lesse worthy to be nourished, or to be ad­mitted to magistracie, if he be vertuous, then the other that is of gratefull presence. For though Aristotle thinke the deformitie of the body to be an impediment to the perfect felicitie of man, in respect of exteriour things; yet he determineth, that it is no hindrance to the course of vertue. To conclude therfore this point, though chil­dren be borne weake, crooked, mis-shapen, or deformed of body, they are not therefore to be exposed, but as wel to be brought vp and instructed as the other, that they may grow and increase in vertue, and become worthy of those dignities which are dispensed in their common-weales. And, me thinketh, Socrates that wise man spake very well to his scholers, and to this purpose, when he ad­uised them, that they should often behold themselues in looking-glasses: to the end (said he) that if you see your [Page 39] faces and bodies comely and beautifull, ye may endeuor to set forth and grace the gifts of nature the better, by ad­ioyning vertues thereunto: and if ye perceiue your selues to be deformed and il-fauoured, you may seeke to supply the defects of nature, with the ornaments of vertue, thereby making your selues no lesse grateful and amiable then they that haue beautiful bodies. For it is rather good to see a man of body imperfect and disproportioned en­dued with vertues, then a goodly body to be nought else but a gay vessell filled with vice and wickednes. Children are to be bred, such as nature giueth them vnto vs, and we are to haue patience to abide their proof, and to see what their actions will be: and if theirs that be of deformed body, do proue good and vertuous, they are so much the more to be commended, as they seemed lesse apt there­unto by their birth. And on the contrary side, they that being beautifull of body, are lewd and vitious, deserue to be driuen from the conuersation of ciuil men; yea chased out of the world, as vnthankful acknowledgers of so great a gift bestowed vpon them, and as vnworthy to liue a­mong men. These how faire soeuer (be they children or men) that cary one thing in their tongue, and another in their heart, be they that deserue to be hunted out of all ci­uill societie, that are ingrate for benefites receiued; who hurt, or seeke to hurt them that haue done them good, and hate them, onely because they cannot but know themselues to be bound vnto them. These be they that in very truth are crooked, mis-shapen and monstrous, and might well be condemned to be buried quicke: not simple innocent babes, who, hauing no election, can yeeld not tokens either of good or euill; against whom to pronounce sentence of death before they haue offen­ded, is great iniustice and exceeding crueltie. And this [Page 40] (loe) is the sentence of this author touching the doubt proposed, wherein (if you rest satisfied) I will pro­ceede.

All the companie assented to the same: and then Ma­ster Dormer said; Now then (I pray you) let vs heare you declare what this end is, whereof you were discoursing when this doubt was proposed, and withall we must ex­pect that you shall shew vs and set vs in the way wherein we are to trauel for the attaining thereof, and giue vs pre­cepts whereby that perfection may be purchased, vnto which all men desirous to become happie in this life, di­rect their actions and their endeuours.

Of this expectation (quoth I) you need not feare to be frustrated, for here shall you haue enough (I assure my selfe) to fulfill your desire: and therewith, perusing my papers, I thus followed. The end of man in this life, is happinesse or felicitie: and an end it is called (as before was said) because all vertuous actions are directed there­unto, and because for it chiefly man laboureth and tra­uelleth in this world. But for that this felicitie is found to be of two kinds, wherof one is called ciuill, and the other contemplatiue: you shall vnderstand that the ciuill feli­citie is nothing else then a perfect operation of the mind, proceeding of excellent vertue in a perfect life; and is at­chieued by the temper of reason, ruling the disordinate affects stirred vp in vs by the vnreasonable parts of the mind, (as when the time shall serue will be declared) and guiding vs by the meane of vertue to happy life. The other which is called contemplation, or contempla­tiue felicitie, is likewise an operation of the mind, but of that part thereof which is called intellectiue, so that those parts which are void of reasō, haue no intermedling with the same: for he which giueth himselfe to follow this fe­licitie, [Page 41] suppresseth all his passions, and abandoning all earthly cares, bendeth his studies and his thoughts who­ly vnto heauenly things; and kindled and inflamed with diuine loue, laboureth to enioy that vnspeakable beauty, which hath bin the cause so to inflame him, and to raise his thoughts to so high a pitch. But forasmuch as our purpose is now to intreate onely of the humane precepts and instructions, and of that highest good, which in this vale of misery, may be obtained▪ ye shall vnderstand that the end whereunto man ought to direct all his actions, is properly that ciuill felicitie before mentioned; which is, an inward reward for morall vertues, and wherein for­tune can chalenge no part or interest at all. And this end is so peculiar to reason, that not onely vnreasonable crea­tures can be no partakers thereof, but yong children also are excluded from the same. For albeit they be naturally capable of reason, yet haue they no vse of her, through the imperfection of their yong age, because this end be­ing to be attained by perfect operations in a perfect life, neither of which, the child, nor the yong man is able to performe, it followeth that neither of them can be ac­counted happie. And by the same reason it commeth to passe, that though man be the subiect of felicitie, yet nei­ther the child nor the yong man may be said properly to be the subiect therof, but in power and possibilitie only: yet the yong man approcheth nearer thereunto then the child. And thus much may suffice for a beginning, to satisfie the first part of your demaund.

Then said Captaine Carleil, seeing you haue proposed to vs this end, which is the marke (as it were) whereat all ciuill actions do leuel, as at their highest or chiefest good, we will now be attentiue to heare the rest, and how you will prescribe a man to order his life, so as from his child­hood, [Page 42] and so forward from age to age, he may direct his thoughts and studies to the compassing of this good, or summum bonum, as Philosophers do terme it.

That shal you also vnderstand, quoth I, but then must the discourse thereof be drawne from a deeper conside­ration. Those men that haue established lawes for people to be ruled by, ought to haue framed some among the rest for the foundation of mans life, by which a true and certaine forme of life might be conceiued, and such, as beginning to leade him from his childhood, might haue serued him for a guide, vntill he had attained to those ri­per yeares, wherein he might rather haue bin able to in­struct others, then need to be himselfe instructed. For the foundation of honest and vertuous liuing, beginneth e­uen in childhood: neither shal he euer be good yong mā, that in his childhood is naught; nor a wicked yong man lightly proue good when he is old. For, such as are the principles and beginnings of things, such are the procee­dings. Whereupon the wisest men of the world, haue e­uer thought, that the way to haue cities and common-wealths furnished with vertuous and ciuil men, consisted in the bringing vp of childrē commendably. But among all the lawes of our time, there is no one that treateth of any such matter. There are orders and lawes both vni­uersall and particular, how to determine causes of con­trouersie, to end strifes and debates, and how to punish malefactors: but there is no part in the whole body of the law, that setteth downe any order in a thing of so great importance. Yet Plato held it of such moment, as knowing that the well bringing vp of children, was the spring or wel-head of honest life: he thought it not suffi­cient, that the fathers onely should take care of nurturing their children, but appointed besides publike magistrates [Page 43] in the common-wealth, who should attend that matter, as a thing most necessary. For though man be framed by nature mild and gentle, yet if he be not from the begin­ning diligently instructed and taught, he becometh of humane and benigne that he was, more fierce and cruell then the most wild and sauage beast of the field. Wheras if he be conueniently brought vp, and directed to a com­mendable course of life: of benigne and humane that he is, he becometh through vertue in a sort diuine. And to the end the cause may be the better knowne, why so great diligence is needful and requisite, you must vnder­stand, that although our soule be but one in substance, and properly our true forme, yet hath it not one onely part, power, or facultie, or vertue (as we may call it) but diuers, appointed for diuers and sundry offices. For we being participant of the nature of all things liuing, and those being deuided into three kinds; it is necessary that man shold haue some part of euery of those three. There is then one base and inferiour kind of life of lesse estima­tion then the rest, and that is the life of trees and plants, and of all such things as haue roote in the earth, which spring, grow, bloome, and bring forth fruite: which fruit Aristotle sayth, cometh from them in stead of excrement, together with their seed. And these trees and plants, and such like growing things, haue onely life, deuoid of fee­ling (though Pythagoras thought otherwise) or of any knowledge: but by the benefite of nature onely, they spring, they grow, and bringforth fruite and seed for the vse of man, and for the maintaining of their kind. There is another kind of life, lesse imperfect then that, which is the same that perfect liuing creatures haue (for of that life, which is in maner a meane between the life of plants and this of sensible creatures, we need not now to speake; [Page 44] or if it were, we should resemble it to that which Phy­sitions call Embrio, and is the creature vnperfect in the wombe, whiles it is betweene the forme of seed, and of the kind whence it cometh) which life of perfect liuing creatures, hath in it by nature power to feele, and to moue from place to place. For we see they stir and feele, and haue power to desire those things that are meete for the maintaining of their life and of their nature. And by natural inclination, and for the increase and continuance of their kinds, they couet the ioyning of their bodies, to yeeld vnto nature that, which of nature they haue recei­ued, that is, to ingender the like vnto themselues. But this power of the soule, cannot vse that force and vertue which naturally it hath, if it haue not withall that former part which is proper (as is said) to plants, & is called vege­tatiue (you must giue me leaue to vse new words of Art, such as are proper to expresse new conceits, though they be yet strange, and not denizened in our language) be­cause it giueth life and increase to growing things, and without it the power of feeling doth vtterly faile. Next after this, cometh that excellent and diuine part of the soule, which bringeth with it the light of reason, con­taining in it the powers, faculties, or vertues of the other two. For it hath that life which proceedeth from plants; it hath sense or feeling, & motion frō place to place, pro­per to the second kind; and it hath besides that other part, wherby it knoweth, vnderstādeth, discourseth, cōsulteth, chuseth, and giueth it selfe to operation, and to contem­plate things naturall and diuine: and this part is proper only to man. And as by the two other faculties before mentioned, we are like to plants and to bruite beasts: so by this last, we do participate of the diuine nature of God himselfe. Wherefore Aristotle said, that man was crea­ted [Page 45] vpright, for no other cause, then for that his sub­stance was diuine, whose nature and office is to know and vnderstand. And truly this gift is giuen vnto vs by the maker and gouernour of all things, because we might know our selues to be of a nature most perfect among earthly things, and not farre inferiour to the diuine. And that we haue receiued so singular a gift from Almightie God for no other cause, but onely to the end we might perceiue how all other things that grow and liue on earth, are corruptible, and do resolue into their first prin­ciples or beginnings, and cease any more to be, as soone as the soule of life departeth from them: but that our minds are immortal and incorruptible, whereby we may rest assured of an eternall life. Since then these three fa­culties of the soule are in vs, it is cleare, that as the plants, among things that beare life, are the most imperfect; so that part of the soule is most vnperfect which is proper to their kind: but it is so necessary to all other kinds, as without it there is no life, and with it the rest of the fa­culties that are ioyned therewith, though they be wor­thier, decay and fall. And this necessitie of nature, that without it she giueth no life, maketh the same to be most base and ignoble. For among natural things, those, which are so necessary, as without them nothing can be done, are alwaies held and reputed the most vnworthy. Which thing we may see in that we call Materia prima: which though it be in nature before the forme, yet because of the necessitie thereof, it is esteemed of no nobilitie in comparison of the forme. And euen so likewise among the senses, that of feeling is held the basest, because no perfect liuing creature can be without it, nor yet the rest of the senses, vnlesse that be present. And therefore Ari­stotle said, that the other senses were giuen to man, that [Page 46] thereby he might liue the better; but the sense of feeling was giuen him, because without it he could neither be, nor liue. Now for so much as life may be without sense, because the sensitiue soule is not of such necessitie as is the vegetatiue, therefore is that of more nobilitie then this somewhat, yet inferiour to the intellectiue, which can no more be without the sensitiue, then the sensitiue without the vegetatiue. And because the intellectiue soule is not of necessitie seruing to any other facultie or power, ther­fore is she as Lady, Mistris, and Queene ouer all other the powers, faculties, or vertues of the soul; so as there is none proper vnto man, but that whereby he may be either good or bad, happie or vnhappie: and the same is it, whereby we vnderstand and make choice rather of one course of life then of another. This great gift hath God bestowed vpon vs, to shew his great grace and goodnes, and for this purpose, that, as he hath inuited vs through vertue of our vnderstanding to the knowledge of truth, and by this knowledge to become like vnto himselfe; so we should bend all our study and endeuours thereunto, as the end and scope of our life in this world. Of which, the occasion of this our present speech did first arise.

Here I pawsing a while, as to take breath, and withall to order some of the papers, the Lord Primate spake, say­ing: Hauing treated thus farre of the powers, faculties, vertues, or parts of the soule, I thinke it not impertinent to moue a question, whether they be in man separate, and in seuerall places; or whether they be vnited all to­gether, and seated in one place?

This question (quoth I) is very pertinent to this place, and by the author here resolued as a doubt, not lightly or easie to be answered. First, for that there haue not wan­ted some, who would needs haue that these three powers [Page 47] of the soule, were three distinct soules, and not ioyned in one soule, appointed for seuerall offices. But because that opiniō hath bin esteemed but vaine, it needeth not to be insisted vpon; but briefly that I declare, what Aristotle and Plato, with their followers, haue held. The first, with his scholers, affirme the reasonable soule to be in sub­stance indiuisible: and albeit they assigne vnto her diuers vertues, yet will they not haue them to be indeed seueral and diuers, but that the diuersitie should proceed & con­sist only in the maner of vnderstanding them: supposing them to be in the soule after such a sort, as in the line of a circle, the inner part which is hollow or embowed, and the outward which is bended. Which two parts, though we vnderstand them diuersly, yet are they but one line, and not seuerall. Neither do they assigne vnto her diuers places: but say that she is all and whole in all our body, and in euery part of the same, and apt there to exercise all her functions, if the parts were apt to receiue them. But because euery part is not disposed to receiue them, therefore she maketh shew of them onely in such as are made fit instruments to execute her powers and facul­ties. So giueth she vertue to the eye to see, to the eare to heare, and to the rest of the members that are the in­struments of our senses. But Plato and his sect, haue giuē to euery power of facultie of the soule, a peculiar seate in mans body: for though they held the soul to be but one, endued with seueral vertues or powers; yet they affirmed that euery one of those had a seuerall seate appointed in mans body. To the vegetatiue (from which, as from a fountaine, they said, the concupiscible appetite doth flow) they appointed the Liuer for her place. To the sensitiue, whence cometh (say they) the feruent passion of anger, they gaue the Heart. But the reasonable soule (as being [Page 48] the most diuine thing vnder heauen, they assigned to hold her seate, like a Queene in a royal chaire, euen in the head: vnto which opinion, all the Greek authors of Phy­sicke haue leaned, and specially Galen the excellent in­terpreter of Hippocrates, who hath not onely attributed three seuerall seates to the three seuerall faculties of the soule, in respect of their operations; but hath also shewed with what order those members are framed, that must be the receptacles of those faculties. For he sheweth how the first member, that taketh forme after the conception, is the liuer, from whence spring all the veines, that like small brookes, carry bloud ouer all the body. And in this member doth he place the liuing or nourishing soule, which we haue termed vegetatiue, affirming it to be most approching to nature. Next vnto this, he placeth the heart, wherein all the vitall spirits are forged, and receiue their strength: for the generation whereof, the liuer sen­deth bloud thither, where it is refined, and made more pure and subtill; and from thence by the arteries (which all spring from the heart) the same spirits are spread tho­roughout the whole body. And these two principall members, are the seates of the two principall appetites, the irascible and the concupiscible; of that the heart, of this the liuer. And because all this while the creature hath yet no need (as being vnperfect) of sense or motion, it is busied about nothing but receiuing of nourishment. Somewhat further off from the heart, beginneth the braine to grow, and from it do all the senses flow; and then (loe) beginneth the child to take forme and shape of a perfect creature, the face, the hands, and the feet being then fashioned, with the other parts of the body, apt for feeling and voluntary mouing: and from thence be deriued the sinewes, the bands or ligaments, [Page 49] and muscles are framed, by which the motions of the members are disposed. This part is the seate of the reaso­nable soule, by vertue and power of which, we vnder­stand, we will, we discourse, we know, we chuse, we con­template and do all those operations which appertaine vnto reason. And as nature hath placed the braine a good distance off from the other two principall members; so hath she framed a cartilage, or thin rynd, or skin to seuer the heart from the liuer and other inward bowels, as with a fence or hedge betweene them and the other baser parts that are lesse pure. For the heart is purer, and so is that bloud which conueyeth the spirits from it throughout the body, then the liuer; or the bloud which is ingendred in the same. And in this respect was Aristotle iustly re­prehended by Galen, in that he gaue to the heart alone, that which appertained to all three the principall mem­bers aforesaid. For though he assigned diuers vertues or powers to the soule, yet he placed them all in the heart alone; from which he said (contrary to that which com­mon sense and experience teacheth) that all the veines, arteries and sinewes of the body were deriued. But be­cause we should go too farre astray from our purpose, if I should discourse particularly all that which may be said in this matter, I will returne (if you so thinke good) to our former purpose, which I left to satisfie your de­maund.

Thus much (said the Lord Primate) hath not a little opened the vnderstanding of this matter, and therefore you may proceed, vnlesse any other of the company haue any other doubt to propose. But they all being si­lent, and seeming attentiue to heare further, I said; Now that you haue vnderstood what the powers and faculties of the soule are, it followeth to be declared, how the ages [Page 50] of mās life haue similitude with the same. As the soule of life therfore, called vegetatiue, is the foundatiō of the rest, and consequently of the basest: so is the age of childhood the foundatiō of the other ages, and therfore the least no­ble, for the necessity which it carieth with it. And because vpō it, the other ages are built, there ought the greater di­ligence to be vsed about the same, to make it passe on to­wards the other more noble then it self: so as we may rea­sonably cōceiue a hope, that frō a wel-guided childhood the child may enter into a cōmendable youth, and thence passe to a more riper age, by the directiō of vertue. But first ye must vnderstād, that Aristotle wil in no wise yeeld, that this inferior soule should be capable of reason; and ther­fore placeth in the sensible soule, both the concupiscible and the irascible appetites. And contrariwise, Plato (as before is said) distinguisheth these two affects, into both these faculties of the soule, giuing to the first the concu­piscible, and the irascible to the other. And because Plato his opinion hath generally bin better allowed then Ari­stotles, I will speake thereof according as Plato hath deter­mined. This baser soule then, being that, whereby we be nourished, we grow, we sustaine life, and receiue our body and being; about whose maintaining and increase, she vseth continually, whether we wake or sleep, without any endeuour of our owne, her vertue and operation (if food and nourishment faile not) is in her ful force, chiefly in childhood: and as soone as the child is borne, stirreth vp the desire of food, to the end that by little and little it might gather strength of body, to become apt for the vse of the soule, whose organ or instrument it is, for the accomplishing of the more noble operations meet for man. And because the milk of the mother, or of the nurse, is the first fit food for the infant; it were to be wished, [Page 51] that it should receiue the same rather from the mother, then from any strange woman: for, in reason, the same should be more kindly and natural for the babe then any other. In consideration whereof, the instructors of ciuill life, haue determined and taught, that it is the fathers of­fice to teach and instruct the child, but the mothers to nourish it. For wise men say, that Nature hath giuen to women their brests, not so much for defence of the hart, as because they should nourish their children: and that she hath giuē them two paps, to the end that they might nourish two, if by chance they shold be deliuered of two at once. And truly it cannot be, but that would much in­crease both the loue of the mother to the child, and like­wise that of the child to the mother. Neuertheles, if it fal out (as oftentimes it doth) that the mother cannot giue sucke to her child, or for other considerations she giue it forth to be nursed to another woman; yet is there special regard to be had, in getting such a nurse as may be of good complexion, and of louing nature, and honest conditions, that with milke it may also suck a disposition to a vertuous and commendable life.

By your licence (said M. Dormer) let me aske you a question, whether you thinke that the mind taketh any qualitie from the nutriment of the body: for if the mind be diuine, me seemeth it is against reason, that it should not be of greater power, then to receiue corruption from the nutriment of the body.

You say very well, quoth I, and here shall you be re­solued of that doubt. That the mind is a diuine thing, cannot be denied. And if the vertue of the mind (which is reason) could be freed from the company of those o­ther two faculties of the soule, void of reason, in respect of themselues, it would doubtlesse remaine still in perfe­ction [Page 52] of one nature, and not receiue any vice from that nutriment, which yeeldeth matter to the basest facultie of the soule to maintaine and increase the body, but e­uermore practise her proper operations and vertue: but because it hapneth too often, partly by the ill qualitie of the nutriment, and partly for want of care in the educa­tion, that the part wherein the vegetatiue power lieth, getteth ouermuch strength, and allured by the delights of the sensible part, giueth it selfe wholy to follow the pleasures of the senses, the mind being oppressed, can­not performe the offices and functions pertaining there­unto. And for this cause Plato affirmed, that vnhealthfull bodies make the minds weake. And the body can neuer be sound or healthfull, when it is giuen to follow that ba­ser part of the soule, and the lusts and sensualities of the same, whereby it forceth the mind preuailing against rea­son. Not but that the mind is neuertheles diuine, but be­cause the body being the necessary instrument of the mind, when it is wrested and drawne to an ill habit, the mind cannot vse it as it would, and the light of reason is darkned & hindred, not through any defect of the mind, but onely in respect of the instrument that is become re­bellious. Euen as if a candle should be put into a close vessell, that the light thereof could not appeare: for the not yeelding of light, should not proceed from the defect of the candle, but of the vessell that inclosed the same. To the end therefore that the child receiue not any vici­ous habit by the qualitie of his first food and nourish­ment; wise men haue aduised, that the nurse to be cho­sen for a child, should not be base or of vile condition, that the child might be the apter to be brought vp to ver­tue: that she be not of strange nation, lest she should giue it strange or vnseemely manners, vnfit or disagreeable [Page 53] to the customes and conditions of the house or citie wherein it is borne, and wherein it is to liue: and lastly, that she be of good and commendable behauiour, to the end that with the milk it may suck good conditions, and an honest disposition to vertuous life. And because the nurse may be kept in house, or suffered to carry the child to her owne dwelling place; of the two, it is to be wished that the parents should rather keepe her in their owne house, to the end that euen from his infancy it might learne to know the father and mother, and the rest of the family, and take by little and little the fashions and man­ners of the house. For the minds of children, whiles they be yong, are like to the yong tender slips of trees, which a man may bend and straighten as he list; and are fashio­ned to such customes and conditions as may best be­seeme them. For looke what behauiour they first learne, the same they retaine and keepe a long while after. Wherefore Phocilides said right well:

Whiles yet in tender yeares the child doth grow,
Teach him betimes conditions generous.

Great is the care then that fathers ought to vse in fra­ming the manners and disposition of their children, when they be yong and tender in their owne houses, and are yet in their nurses laps. Hauing regard not to vse them either ouer-curstly, or ouer-fondly: for as the first ouer-aweth them, maketh them dull and base, and vile minded, by taking away the generositie of their minds; the other bringeth them to be wantons and waiward, so as they will neuer be still, but euer crying and wraw­ling for they wote not what. For being yet but new in the world, and not acquainted with those things, the images whereof are presented to them by the senses of hearing and seeing; they easily giue themselues to way­wardnes [Page 54] and crying, when they see any strange sight or images, or heare a fearfull sound or noise, the rather by reason of the melancholy humor, which they bring with them from the mothers womb, (reason hauing yet little or no force in them, and their iudgments being too weak to distinguish good from euill, or what is hurtfull, from what may do them good:) not that naturally they be so, for that tender age is rather sanguine and aëriall; but tho­rough the remnant of that bloud, from which they recei­ued their nutriment in their mothers belly: vnto which their crying, the vsuall remedy is the mouing them from place to place, the rocking of them in their cradles, & the dandling of them; for such motions do diuert them from those fearfull impressions, and make them the lesse way­ward and combersome, quieting the inward passions of the mind. Besides that, such stirring of them, wakeneth and kindleth in them that naturall heate which helpeth the digestion of humors in them, and maketh them apt to be well nourished and strengthened against those out­ward feares, which cause their waywardnes and crying. Hereunto may be added the singing of their nurses, whereby they commonly still them, vsing it, as taught by nature onely: which some men thinke cometh to passe, by reason that the soule is (as they say) composed of har­mony, and therefore is delighted with that which is pro­per and naturall to it selfe. Others (haply of better iudge­ment) say, that children are stilled by the singing of their nurses, because one contrary expelleth and driueth away another, when it is the stronger: so as the nurses singing being lowder then the childs crying, therefore it preuai­leth. But the most effectuall reason is, that the vegetatiue power or facultie being of most force in that age, and it taking pleasure in things delightfull, and abhorring those [Page 55] that are displeasant and noisome; when with crying it fin­deth it selfe annoyed, it doth more willingly admit the nurses singing, and becometh calme and still by hearing the numbers and sweetnes of the voice delighting them. Thus then are children drawne from way wardnes to be stil, from crying to mirth, and become thereby the more liuely and fuller of spirit, and stirred vp to a better kind of life; growing by little and little apt to vnderstand, and to speake as nature may permit thē. In which time specially, great diligence is to be vsed, that they neither heare any dishonest or vnseemely speeches, vnfit for a generous mind to conceiue, nor see any sights that be shame­full or vndecent to behold. For these two senses, of all the rest, are of most importance in this life; for that the images of things are represented to the mind by the eies, and by the eares do the conceits and words enter into the same. And of these two senses, do the eares so much the more helpe vs towards the learning of a ciuill life, as the sentences of wise men passe thereby into our vnderstan­ding. And whereas the things which we learne by the eyes, are but dumbe words: so do the eares heare the liuely voices, by which we learne good disciplines, & the true maner of well liuing. And therefore Xerxes said, that the mind had his dwelling in the eares, which were de­lighted with the hearing of good words, and grieued at the hearing of vnseemely. And the auncient wise men considering the great profit which the eares yeelded to­wards the attaining of knowledge, accounted them as consecrated to Prudence and to Wisdom. In which respect also, when they met their children, they kissed them on the eare, as if they meant to make much of that part chiefly, by which they hoped their children were to learne wisedome. And for this cause ought they that [Page 56] haue the care of bringing vp children to be very circum­spect, neuer to pronounce any word before them, but such as are modest, and may tend to the instruction of a good life. For though it seeme not, that yong children marke such things; yet what they heare and see, doth se­cretly enter into their tender minds, and there take in­sensible rootes: which, when men think least of any such matter, bringeth foorth fruite agreeable to the seed was sowne. And of ill seed, the fruite cannot but also be euill. Let fathers then take great heed to the modesty of speech and honest behauiour of all his family, and specially of the nurses, in whose bosoms their children are euer held, and in whose faces their eyes are alwayes fixed; because they note and obserue most what they do or say, hauing lesse regard to others. And thus, vnderstanding, increa­sing in the child with yeares, as soone as he is come to be capable of any precept, before all other things it is expe­dient that care be had to make him conceiue a know­ledge of that simple, pure and omnipotent nature, the most high and euerliuing God, and that the same be so imprinted in his heart, as he may learne God to be the Creator of all things, the giuer of life, and maintainer therof, the disposer of all gifts & graces, and the only dis­penser of al goodnes: so as he may be made to vnderstād, that he receiues al goodnes frō his diuine Maiesty. Ther­fore they that giue vnto him any thing, how smal soeuer a trifle it be, or a toy, shall do well to offer it vnto him, as a thing sent vnto him, or made for him by God, by little and little to acquaint his mind, and to fashion it to the knowledge of God, and of his diuine power and good­nes. For by this meanes shall there be a sure and firme foundation layd, whereupon a strong and neuer-failing frame of good manners and godly instructions may be [Page 57] built: and without this foundation, all other care will be spent but in vaine. For he that is void of religion, and of that feare of God, which is in effect but a due reuerence vnto his Maiesty, can neuer in all the whole course of his life, do any thing worthy prayse or commendation. Whereas on the other side, he that hath this holy feare fixed in his mind, will alwayes abstaine from doing any thing vnfitting or dishonest, or that may offend God, and bring him to his wrath and indignation. And if per­haps through the frailtie of our nature apt to offend, by reason of the spot of sinne, wherein we are conceiued, throgh the disobedience of our first father Adam, he hap­pen to fall somtime into any sin, he is forthwith strucken with that same religious feare and reuerence, and being ashamed of himself, seeketh to make reconciliation ther­fore, to the end he may not dwell in the wrath and dis­pleasure of Almighty God, from whom he acknowled­geth as well his life and being, as whatsoeuer good be­sides he hath in this mortall life. To the attaining of this religion, will the example of the father greatly further the child, if to him he shew himselfe such, as he wisheth he should become. For though the children of Socrates (as it is written) proued not capable of good discipline, though the father were a patterne or fountaine of honest and vertuous life, yet are we to assure our selues, that the example of the fathers life is the true and perfect mirror for the child to fashion himselfe by, that he may attaine a commendable course of life. For if the dumbe and sens­lesse images of excellent men, which the auncient Ro­manes held in their houses, were sufficient to stirre vp in young men, when they beheld them, a desire to follow their steps, and to resemble those noble personages of their auncestors, whose resemblances they beheld; ende­uouring [Page 58] themselues not to degenerate from the vertues and the nobilitie of their parents: how much more, may we thinke, that it wil moue the child to see in his fathers liuely face, and in his actions vertue imprinted, and daily represented. I know right well, that sometimes the con­trary is seene, through the inconstancy of humane things: but if we consider what happeneth for the most part, we shall find that good examples commonly are causes of good, and bad examples causes of euill. Since the child therfore is chiefly to learne of the father his forme of life, it is the fathers part to be to him in his tender yeares a liuely patterne of vertue, as we haue said, wherby he may (as it were) ingraft into his childs mind that good and commendable kind of life, which may bring him by ver­tuous actions to honour and estimation. But because it cometh oftener to passe then were requisite, that the fa­ther being busied about other matters concerning the order of his house and family, or else in the managing of the affaires of the common-wealth, he cannot attend the bringing vp of his child with that care that he ought, ther­fore must he prouide for his education, so as the same be not neglected. For as the true images of vertue are easily imprinted in the minds of childrē whiles they be tender: so do they quickly weare out and vanish, if they be not re­freshed and reuiued by the discretion and industry of some meet person appointed for that purpose, and their contraries as soone ingraued in their places. The father therefore ought in any wife to make choise of some such man, to whom he may commit the charge and instru­ction of his child, when he is past the age of three yeares, as may be meet to giue him good example of life, and season him with such doctrine, as he may not degenerate or decline from that vertuous course of life which he [Page 59] hath endeuored to put into the babes mind, euen whiles he was yet in his nurses armes, and vnder the charge of women. For if in those first dayes of infancy, when yet he had almost no vnderstanding, so great care was to be taken (as we haue said) to lay a good foundation, how much more diligence is there now to be vsed, when he beginneth to haue some knowledge and iudgement, that the building may rise answerable to the same. Wise men haue wisely said, that nature is the best mistris we can haue: and the custome of vertuous behauiour and wholsome doctrine being taken in tender yeares, is con­uerted not onely into an habite, but euen into nature. Wherefore let the father at those yeares giue his child in charge to some vertuous and godly man to be trained and instructed, who must be neither too mild nor too seuere; but such, as may in some things agree with the manner of the nurses bringing vp, to the end he may gently turne to other manners and behauiour then he had learned when he was most among women. For to take a child from the brest, and from his nurses bosome, and to put him suddenly vnder the hard gouernment of a curst master, would be too violent a change, and force that tēder nature ouermuch. But if he that shal then haue the ruling of him, shall discreetly win him with mildnes from being fond after the nurse, and by little and little draw him to a more firme kind of behauiour, in such sort as he scarse perceiue that he hath forsaken his nurses lap: the child wil quickly delight to be with him as much as with his nurse, yea or with his father or mother: and pratling or childishly crauing, now one thing, then ano­ther of him, there wil soone spring in his mind a desire of knowledge: which desire, though indeed it be naturall & borne with vs, yet hath it need to be holpē and stirred vp [Page 60] to come forth and put it selfe in action; for else will it lie hidden and couered with the vnworthiest part of the soule, like to the fire which is couered with ashes: which though it haue naturally vertue to giue light and heate, yet vnlesse that impediment be taken away, it wil do nei­ther of both, nor be apt to worke his naturall effect. And therefore (as before is said) he which shall take the charge of the child after the nurse, must be very discreet to win him to his discipline without bitternes or stripes, which do rather dull and harden the childs mind, then worke any good effect. And the seruile feare which the ouer­sharpe and vnaduised vsage or beating of the child brin­geth him vnto, (not fit for a generous mind) maketh him to hate the thing he should learne, before he can come to know it, much lesse to loue it. It is also a thing very profitable for his better instructing, that there be o­thers of like yeares in his company to learne with him; for so will there arise a certaine emulation among them, through which, euery of them will striue to step before his fellow: besides that the conuersation of such as are like in age and qualitie, wel bred and brought vp, is a very fit occasion to make them all wel mannered and of good behauiour, those yong yeares being (as before is sayd) apt for the simplicitie thereof, to take whatsoeuer forme is giuen vnto them. And for this cause was Merides King of the Aegyptians greatly commended among the auncient wise men, for that as soone as his sonne Sisostres was borne, he caused all the children that were borne in the citie that same day, to be gathered together, and brought vp with his said son, where they were instructed in all those disciplines and noble arts, that in those dayes were in estimation, and meet to direct to a commenda­ble life. And that the manner of good education is to [Page 61] proceed by degrees, it appeared by the order which the Kings of Persia held in the bringing vp of those who were to succeed them in their Empire. But because our discourse tendeth not to the instructing of Princes chil­dren, but onely of such gentlemen of meaner qualitie as may be fit instruments for the seruice of their common­wealth or country: it will be best to passe that ouer in si­lence.

Whiles in this place I was pawsing a while, as to take some breath, Captaine Carleil sayd in this sort: I hope your author giueth not ouer so this matter. For howso­euer his purpose was to discourse of the ciuill life of pri­uate men, yet the declaring of the order which was held in the instructing and training vp of the children of those Princes, cannot but be as well profitable as delightfull. Therefore let vs (I pray you) heare what is sayd by him touching the same.

That shal I willingly do, said I, for that the like request was made to him by one of that company; and thus he proceedeth, saying, that though it might suffice to refer them to what Xenophon in his Ciropaedia hath left written of that subiect, hauing learnedly and diligently vnder the person of Cirus, framed an idaea or perfect patterne of an excellent Prince: yet he meaning to follow Plato and A­ristotle in his treatise, will therefore report what he hath gathered out of Plato to that purpose, and adde therunto briefly as much out of Aristotle as may serue for the bet­ter vnderstanding of the rest. You shall vnderstand then that the custome among these kings, was to giue the child who was to succeed in the kingdome, soone after he was borne, into the hands of those Eunuchs that were estee­med of best life in the court: whose care was chiefly to fa­shion his body with all diligence, that it might be straight [Page 62] and most comely of shape and proportion; because the first thing that is offred to the sight in a King, is the grace and comelinesse of his person, which maketh him to be reuerenced of his people, and beloued of his Peeres. His infancy being past, he was giuen in charge to others, that exercised him in handling his weapons, horse-manship, and feates of armes; and likewise in hunting, as a meet ex­ercise to frame him fit for military discipline. And this the father did, because he was perswaded that the know­ledge of warre was one of the surest foundations for the vpholding of a State or kingdome. When he was come to the age of 14. yeares, then was he deliuered ouer to foure other excellent personages, who were called the royall schoole-masters, the one most wise and prudent, the other most iust, another most temperate, and the last most valiant. The first instructed him to know and ho­nour God, and taught him the knowledge of things di­uine and eternall, and withall, such as appertaine to the life of a good Prince: by which he became learned, as wel in things contemplatiue, as in things concerning the actions necessary and conuenient for a King. For they exercised him dayly in the vnderstanding of sciences, and in the knowledge of good and vertuous behauiour, as two most necessary things to humane life, and which should leade him the ready way to his felicitie and happi­nes in this world; making him to know, that nothing was more miserable in man then ignorance, and how by the generall consent of the most wise men, he that is ignorant is esteemed an ill man. To which purpose it is said by Ci­cero, that there is no greater euill can befall a man then to be ignorant. And Plato (from whom the other drew his sentence) sayth, that all ignorant persons were in that re­spect also miserable. For Temperance being the rule [Page 63] and measure of Vertue, vpon which dependeth mans felicitie; the opinion of this diuine Philosopher was, that he that was ignorant could not know temperance, and consequently must be to seeke in the way of vertue: the defect whereof estrangeth a man from God, euen as the hauing of this singular vertue of temperance (wherof we shall speake hereafter more at large) doth draw him neare vnto his Maiesty, to his great comfort and satisfaction. Ignorance therfore being a mortall infirmitie vnto mans mind, and such a one as suffereth him not to enioy his fe­licitie, to which (as to the marke proposed) he leuelleth all his actions: it is written that they of Mitilene intending seuerely to punish certaine of their confederates, who being armed with them in the field, had forsaken them, made a decree against them, that from thenceforth they should not set their children to schoole to learne arts or sciences. This first schoole-master teaching him thus, Re­ligion and the feare of God; and training him in the mā ­ners and behauiour appertaining to a King, did so long hold him vnder his gouernance, till it appeared he had ta­ken well and perfectly that discipline. Then the second master taking him in charge, taught him that which in consequence next followeth to religion, that is, that there is nothing more fitting for a King then truth and veritie; that speciall care was to be taken so to embrace the same, as he should neuer haue one thing in his mouth, and an­other in his heart, as wicked and deceitful men haue, who are borne for the destruction of vertue, and of honest and wel-disposed persons: and that those, who were to be ta­xed therewith, were not only deceiuers, but worthy the name of traitors. In regard wherof (as Philostratus writes) among the Indians, if any man bearing magistracy, were detected of a lie, he was presently depriued of his magi­stracy, [Page 64] and disabled for euer after to beare any. And this did they, because they conceiued (and that rightly) that he which respected not truth in matters of moment, de­stroyed as much, as in him lay, the societie and ciuill con­uersation of men, since no man can trust or beware of a lyer. Therfore (as Plutarch reporteth) Epenetus affirmed, that all iniuries and wickednes proceeded from a lyer. This schoole-master gaue him to vnderstand, that as the nature of God is pure and simple, neuer deceiuing vs, whether we sleepe or wake: so, seeing there was no dig­nitie vnder God so great as the Kings, he ought first, and aboue all things, to conforme himselfe and his actions vnto that high and eternall truth, the feare & knowledge of whom, had bin formerly taught him. And as it seemed to them, that by truth he attained a resemblance of God himselfe: so did they think that by lying, a man was wor­thy to loose the title of a man. Which thing haply he meant, who deuised Pan to be the son of Mercury, the in­uenter of speech, as Poets haue fained; signifying by the shape of Pan, vnder which is comprehended as well the false speaker as the true; that the vpper part of his body bearing humane shape, betokeneth truth (then the which nothing is more proper to a man of vertue) but by the lower parts being crooked, and of shape like a goate, false and vntrue speaking was signified: inferring that man by speaking vntruth, becometh monstrous, and of a reaso­nable creature falleth to be a bruite beast: whence also proceeded that among the Persians, a lie was reputed a most hainous offence. And we see that euen now among vs, it is reputed so great a shame to be accounted a lyer, that any other iniury is cancelled by giuing the lie; and he that receiueth it, standeth so charged in his honor and reputation, that he cannot disburden himselfe of that im­putation, [Page 65] but by striking of him that hath so giuen it, or by chalenging him the combat▪

Captaine Norreis hearing thus much spoken of truth, and of the lie, interrupting me, said; God grant your au­thor follow this theame a while, that we soldiers may al­so haue some instruction from him. For this matter of the lie giuing and taking, is growne of late among vs to be confused and dangerous, so as a man can hardly tell, how to carry himselfe in so many occasions, and sundry cases, as dayly happen in companies, wherein perhaps the au­thoritie and reasons of such a man may yeeld vs no small light.

Your wish therin (quoth I) shal not be frustrate, for the matter is by him handled at large: but let vs heare what be the points that you would specially be resolued in; for it is not vnlikely but that they will iump with the question proposed by one of those persons supposed in his dia­logue.

Marry sir (said he) I would gladly know, since he hath spoken of truth and vntruth, and declared how the iniury receiued by taking the lie, cannot be cancelled, but by striking or chalenging the partie who gaue it; whether this kind of chalenging and fighting man to man, vnder the name of Duellum, which is vsed now a dayes among souldiers and men of honour, and by long custome au­thorized, to discharge a man of an iniury receiued, or for want of proofes in sundry causes, be ancient or no? whe­ther it concerne honor or no? and whether it appertaine to ciuill life, and that felicitie which we are discoursing vpon or no?

You haue (said I) moued your question very right, and to the purpose; which to answer at full, would require a­long speech: so deepe rootes like an ill weed, haue the [Page 66] opinions of men taken concerning the same in this our age; which to cut downe or roote vp, many sithes and howes would scarce suffice. But as briefly as may be, you shall be satisfied in part; and he will make it appeare vnto you, that the reasons which are set downe in defence of this foolish custome and wicked act, are false and absurd. And first of all you shall heare him say, that this maner of combatting, which through the corruption of the world hath taken strength, and is permitted of some Princes, is nothing auncient at all. For in histories it is not to be found, that for reuenge of iniury, for want of proofes, for points of honour, or for any such like causes, this wic­ked and vnlawfull kinde of fight, was euer graunted or allowed in auncient time. For when any difference or controuersie fell out among men of honor, which might concerne their credit and reputation for matter of valor, they neuer tried the quarrell by combat betweene them­selues, but stroue to shew which of them was most wor­thy honor, by making their valour well knowne in fight against their common enemies, as in Caesars Commen­taries we haue a notable example. And the singular fights or combats, that are mentioned in the Greeke or Latine histories, or fained by the Poets, happened euermore be­tweene enemies of contrary nations, or otherwise in time of publike warre, though perhaps the quarrell might be priuat betweene some of the chiefe men of both camps, as betweene Turnus and Aeneas, Paris and Menelaus. Tur­nus labouring that Aeneas might not haue Lauinia to his wife: and Menelaus seeking to recouer his wife whom Paris had taken from him. Or else they fought for the publike quarrell, one to one, or more in number on each side, for preuenting of greater bloodshed, as did the Ho­ratij and the Curiatij before Rome. Or by the ordinance [Page 67] of some publike games, as those called Pithij and Olim­pici among the Greeks, and those called Circenses a­mong the Romanes, whether they were celebrated in honour of their Gods, or at the funerals of their dead, or for other causes. In which games or spectacles were pro­duced certaine men, named by the Romanes Gladiato­res, and by the Greeks Monomachi, to fight together; the first inuention wherof, appeareth to haue come from the people of Mantinea. But other priuate combats for causes aboue mentioned, was neuer so much as heard of among them, much lesse receiued or allowed in their common-weales, which were well ordered and maintai­ned by honest and vertuous lawes. The name of Duellum was giuen by the Latins, not to singular fight betweene man and man, but to the generall warre betweene two nations or States, as may be seene by Plautus, Horace, Li­uie, and other authors. And as for them that say, the name of Duellum was vnproperly applied to an vniuersal warre, they are not to be heard or beleeued, because they that so vsed it, were the fathers of the Latine tongue, who knew better the proprietie of the words of their owne language, then these fellowes now do. But rather they are to be blamed for wresting that auncient name to so wicked a fight, which they rightly gaue to the generall warre allowed by the lawes, and by all ciuil and politike constitutions.

The Primate, who had bin attentiue to this speech, said, as concerning the Latins, it is true that hath bin alledged: but it seemeth, the Greeks knew very well this combat, as may be gathered by the word Monomachia, which sig­nifieth the fight of one man against another. And I re­member Plato in his dialogue intituled Laches, maketh mention of this same singular fight, which sheweth, that [Page 68] in his dayes the combat of body to body was knowne and vsed.

Two things (said I) the author hath said, the one, that this sort of battell or fight which is now in vse, and called Duellum, was not knowne to the ancient Greeks nor Ro­manes in their wel-ordered Common-weales, and that therefore they gaue no such name vnto the same: the o­ther, that the Romanes gaue that name of Duellum to the publike warre betweene two people or nations, being enemies. But that the Greeks gaue not the name of Mo­nomachia to those singular fights which were vsed among them, that hath he not said. But though the name of Mo­nomachia were vsed among them, yet was it not meant of this kind of combat which we speake, but of that onely which was sometimes vsed in their publike games and spectacles, or else might fall out sometimes accidentally in their warres. And that same place of Plato which you haue alledged, doth sufficiently declare it. For if my me­mory faile me not, he saith there, that when the generall battell ceaseth, and that it is requisite either to fight with them that resist, or to repulse those that would assault, in such a case the Monomachia, or fight of man to man was meet to end all strife. Which word of Monomachia, ne­uertheles I remember not to be vsed by Aristotle in any place of all his works, from whom neuertheles these men that defend this folly, seeme to fetch their arguments, as hereafter I shall declare. But by this you may perceiue that the vse of Monomachia, was a fight betweene two men in their publike games and shewes, not for priuate quarrell or hatred, nor for want of proofes, or for points of honour. And further I will say, that in well ordered martiall discipline, and warres lawfully enterprised, after the fury of the battell was ceased, it was not lawfull [Page 69] to kill or hurt the publike enemy. Which thing is cleer­ly set foorth by Xenophon in the person of Chrisantas, who although he had cast downe his enemy, and fastned hold in the haire of his head, ready to haue stricken it off; yet hearing the trumpet sound the retreit, forbare to strike him, but let him go: holding it not fit to offend his enemy after the time of fight was past, signified by the retreit sounding. This sort of fight was likewise suffered against publike enemies by the Romanes when their state flourished. For we reade in their histories of sundry that haue in the warres fought hand to hand with their enemies; but yet could not the Romane souldier, though he were prouoked by his enemy to singular battell, fight with him without the licence of his General or Captain. And this was so religiously obserued among them in that Common-weale (which was the patterne of all o­thers) that the father spared not to condemne and slay his owne sonne, who had gotten a notable victory in his absence, because he had without his fathers licence at­tempted to fight with the enemy. True it is, that for con­tention of valor, we reade that Alexander granted a com­bat betweene Diosippus and his aduersary, both being his souldiers and in his campe, though the one were a Ma­cedonian, and the other an Athenian; which Diosippus vnarmed, hauing onely a clubbe for weapon, ouercame the Macedonian armed with speare and sword, and other armour on his body. But this was not for quarrell of in­iury receiued, for reuenge or want of proofes. Neither from this one example, is any conclusion to be drawne, that for strife of valour the combat should be granted. For the not admitting it afterwards in wel-ordered com­monweales, nor by any other generall that we can reade, aboue once, doth plainly shew that it was rather a toy of [Page 70] Alexanders head, then grounded vpon any reason: who among so many vertues as he had, wanted not other dis­ordered motions, which stained his noblest and most glorious actions, as that of the death of Calisthenes and some others. By this then you may vnderstand that amōg the Greeks our maner of combat was vnknown, & that it was not that which they cal Monomachia. But this wicked and detestable custom of the combat sprong first among the Longobards, a barbarous people; & much more bar­barous is the thing it selfe growne, by the abuse therof in our daies. For though they in some cases grāted the com­bat, yet suffered they not their champions to fight with weapons of steele or iron, but only with staues & targets, vnles it were in cases of treason. But now vpō euery qua­rell they come to fight with swords & daggers, and other like sharp weapons, and with minds cruelly bent to mur­der and mischiefe like most wild and sauage beasts. And thus much concerning the first question may serue, since time wil not permit to treate of euery one at large.

Yea but, I think, said captain Carleil, that if the combat be lawfull in cases of treason or iniury to the Prince, the same reason should make it lawfull also for other causes.

Not so, said I, for treasons or offences against the Prin­ces persons, offend the publike State, which reposeth vpon the person of the Prince, and therefore the iniuries of priuate men are not to be compared vnto them. And as touching the second point, whether it concerne honor or no: my author saith, that he that taketh so vniust a course to reuenge his priuate wrong, is so farre from get­ting honor thereby, as he rather looseth whatsoeuer ho­nor or reputatiō he had before; the combat being a thing odious and offensiue vnto God. For it is said, that he re­serueth reuenge vnto himselfe; which, they that by com­bat [Page 71] seeke to wreake themselues, take vpon them to do by their owne power and strength, against all lawes diuine, naturall and positiue, in contempt of magistrates, con­trary to the orders and constitutions of all wel-founded Common-weales: and finally contrary to all equity, and all ciuill and honest conuersation. Howbeit I know there want not some, who with their confused arguments go about to make men beleeue, that so great an iniustice should be equitie: not knowing, or faining not to know, that equitie is the tempering or mitigating the rigor of the law, which otherwise (like a tyrant) condemneth without mercy; being farre from fauouring the rigor of so vnreasonable and so sharpe a conflict, then the which, none can be imagined more furious or contrary to the nature of man. Yet forsooth to equitie do these maintai­ners of the combat seeke to draw this crueltie; arguing that of two euils, it is the lesser; and that the lesser euill is to be reputed in liew of a good, if not truly, yet re­spectiuely. Which argument is no way to be admitted, since that (God be thanked) without this lesser euill, so many good Common-weales haue euer bin ruled, and at this day are ruled with good and politike gouerne­ment; and the same neuer permitted, but where men forsake to follow reason, and like mad and desperate peo­ple are transported by rage and fury. For what common­wealth, either auncient or moderne, well framed vpon honest and godly lawes, hath euer admitted this lesser e­uill? And yet, Iwis, in all places and in all ages haue iniu­rious words and deeds past betweene men. Nay, the same hath euermore bin forbidden vtterly, and the inqui­rie and punishment of the wrong-doers bin reserued to the magistrates. Neither doth their allegation of being included within the kind of warre generall, serue to their [Page 72] purpose. For the combat is not contained vnder warre, as the particular vnder the vniuersall: for those things that are contained vnder any vniuersall, are of the same nature that the vniuersal is: as we see man hath the nature of the liuing creature, vnder which he is contained,euen as is the bruite beast; but the combat is cleane contrary of nature to the vniuersall warre, as shall be declared. First great Lords and Princes who make warre, haue no ma­gistrates ouer them to decide by iustice, and to end their controuersies, as priuate men haue. Besides that, when warre is moued against any Prince, the State and Com­mon-weale is offended, publike orders are peruerted, honesty put in danger, the way layd open to all iniury to the offence of Almightie God, and finally, whatsoeuer is good or honest in citie or country, brought into con­fusion. And man being borne for the behoofe of his country, his Prince, his kinred and friends, and for the de­fence of religion, publike honesty and of vertue; it is the dutie of euery man of vertue and honor, to oppose him­selfe against the fury of the enemy for the defence of all those things aboue specified. Furthermore, the vniuersal warre is allowed by the lawes of all those who haue bin founders of famous Common-weales, to take away se­ditions, and reduce such as were rebellious to obedience, and to maintaine temperance and order among all sub­iects. And God himselfe is called the God of hoasts, but not the God of combats: for they are none of his works, but of the diuell himselfe. Whereupon it is also sayd in the Scripture, that the strength of warre consisteth not in the multitude of souldiers, but that it commeth from heauen. And S. Augustine sayth, that warre is not vniust, vnlesse it be raised with purpose to vsurpe or to spoyle: and S. Ambrose in like sence affirmeth, that the valour of [Page 73] those men that defend their countrey from barbarous people, is full of iustice. By all which may clearly be seene how farre they are astray, that would bring this kind of combat to be comprehended vnder the kind of warre v­niuersall. And if in all ages, ciuill warres haue bin odious and accounted cruell, what praise or commendation can be iustly giuen to two gentlemen of one citie or country that fight together with purpose to kill one another? whereas then the circumstances aboue mentioned make the vniuersall warre iust and lawfull: this wicked kind of priuate fight or combat, is voyde of them all, and cannot therefore be but most vniust and vnlawfull. With like wrong do they also labour to make it seeme commenda­ble, affirming that men thereby shew their valour and fortitude. For valour or fortitude being a principall ver­tue, how can it haue place in so vniust and so vnnaturall an action, proceeding onely from anger, rage, fury, and rashnes? Finally, these men that will needs haue Aristotle to be their warrant, might (if they list) see that he in his Ethikes, where he directeth man vnto vertue, and to ci­uill felicitie, putteth not among those whom he calleth fortes, or men of valour, such men as are delighted in re­uenge, but giueth them the title of warlike or bellicosi. And in the same bookes he sayth, that whosoeuer doth any thing contrary to the lawes, is to be accounted vn­iust. And (I pray you) what can be more directly con­trary to the lawes then this kind of combat or priuate fight? And if by taking iustice from the world, all vertue must needs decay, because she is the preseruer and defen­der of vertue; how can this so excellent a vertue of for­titude be in them, that despising the lawes and the magi­strates, and neglecting all religion, and good of their cun­trey and weale publike, do practise this wicked combat.

[Page 74] Moreouer, they perceiue not, that Aristotle in his Ethikes (from whence the rules of ciuill life are to be drawne, and not from his Rhetorikes, out of which these men fetch their doutie arguments, because elsewhere they can find none for their purpose) saith, that to fight for cause of honour, is no act of fortitude. Whereupon ensueth, that such as come to the combat vpon points of honour, as men do now a dayes for the most part, make not any shew of their fortitude, but onely of their strength and abilitie of body, and of their courage: whereas true for­titude, is to vse these gifts well and honestly, according to reason. And what honestie or reason can there be in this so mischieuous and wicked a fight? which neuerthe­les these men so farre allow and commend, as they are not ashamed to say (moued surely by some diuellish spi­rit) that a man for cause of honour may arme himselfe against his country, the respect whereof is and euer was so holy; yea euē against his father, and with cursed hands violate his person, vnto whom (next after God) he must acknowledge his life and being, and what else soeuer he hath in this world. This cannot be but a most pestiferous opinion, and a speech hardly to be beleeued could come out of the diuels owne mouth of hell; who though he be the author of all euill, yet scarce thinke I that he durst fa­ther so abhominable a conceit or sentence. But it is a world to see how solemnly men wil become starke mad, when they once vndertake to defend a mad cause. For to make their frantike fancie to seeme reasonable, they vtter such absurdities as are not only detestable to mē, but euē bruite beasts also abhorre. For among beasts, many there are, that by naturall instinct, not onely feare and respect their begetters, but do also nourish them diligently when they are waxen old, and not able to purchase foode for [Page 75] themselues, repaying thankfully the nouriture which themselues receiued whiles they were yong, as it is cer­tainly knowne the Storke doth. But here to colour their assertions, they say, that so ought children to do to their parents, and citizens to their country, so long as the one ceaseth not to be a father, and the country forgetteth not her citizens: a saying no lesse foolish then the other. For when can that come to passe? what law of nature, or what ciuill constitution hath taught vs this lesson? or out of what schoole of Philosophie haue they learned it? what iniuries can a father or a mans country do vnto him that may make him not to acknowledge his countrey, which ought to be deerer vnto him then his life, or to cast off the reuerence due to his father? Good God what els is this but to inuite men, and as it were to stir them vp to parricide, a thing odious euen to be mentioned. It is no maruel therfore, if such as attribute so much to points of honor, & wil needs defend the combat in that respect, fall by Gods sufferance (as men blinded of the light of naturall reason) into such absurd opinions, fit for senslesse men: which opinions, in very truth, are no lesse to be con­demned then wicked heresies, and the authors of them worthy sharpe punishment to be inflicted vpon them by such as haue authoritie in that behalfe. And this do they the rather deserue, because they seeke to maske and disguise the good and commendable opinions of the best Philosophers, and to wrest them in fauour of their dam­nable and wicked doctrine. But I should digresse too far if I should say all I could to confute this impietie, and these wicked writings and cruell opinions: and therefore returning to our purpose of honour, whereof we were speaking, you may vnderstand by that which I haue al­ready sayd, that honour there is none to be gotten by the [Page 76] combat; yet because among other things they say the combat hath bin deuised for cause of honour, I must let you know that in true and sound Philosophie, they that respect honour as the end of their actions, are not onely vnworthy to be accounted vertuous men, but deserue blame and reproch. But hereof I shall haue occasion to speake more amply in a fitter place. Onely this I wil now adde, that no actions are commendable but those that are honest, and where honestie is not, there can be no ho­nour. And honestie in truth there is none (as before hath bin said) in such a fight contrary to all vertue, odious to all lawes, to all good magistrates, and to God himselfe; though the folly of the fauourers of this diuellish deuice seeke most wrongfully to draw the summe of all vertues to this iniustice. Furthermore, either the offences done to men, may be auouched before Princes and magistrates in iudgement, as no wrongs, but lawfull acts, or not. If they may be so auouched and proued, then a thousand combats cannot take them away: neither is there any cause of combat if so wicked a custome were allowable. If not, then he that hath done the iniury, is already disho­nest and dishonored; and the victorie ouer such a man, in faith what honour can it purchase? Plato the diuine Philosopher, and Aristotle his disciple after him, conside­ring the nature of iniury, and finding that it caried with it alwayes vice and reproch, affirmed that it was better to receiue an iniury then to do it. And Plato concludeth, that he that doth iniury, cannot attaine to happinesse: both which sayings are most agreeable to Christian re­ligion. Aristotle affirmeth, that the magnanimous or great minded man, vtterly despiseth all iniuries, for that an ill man cannot by any iniury he can do vnto him, ble­mish those vertues wherewith he must be adorned to be [Page 77] truly magnanimous. With these worthy men therefore I conclude, that iniuries are to be contemned and light set by, specially of magnanimous men. For, as Seneca saith, a magnanimous man will neuer thinke that a vici­ous man hath done him iniury, though his meaning were to do it; but referre the punishment of his ill inten­tion to the magistrate, and the reuenge to God. And whosoeuer doth otherwise, entring into this reuengefull humour of the combat, he doth not onely not purchase any honor to himselfe thereby, but heapeth on his owne head Gods wrath and indignation, and shame of the world in the iudgement of wise men, who know what is honest, and what not, what things deserue praise, and what blame; and how, when, and wherefore a man of vertue ought to venture his life. For he that thinketh by the combat to right himselfe, taketh vpon him the office of God, and of the magistrate, as if himselfe were supe­riour to them both, and were able of himselfe (as soue­raigne Lord) to do iustice: which thing how dangerous it is in a wel-ordered Common-weale, all lawes, and rea­son it selfe doth plainly teach vs.

But yet these goodly defenders of this abuse say, that a man, both by order of nature, and by the opinion of Philosophers, may well repulse an iniury by his owne vertue, and not by law. And I say (as before) that if the iniury be done vnto a man of magnanimitie; the way to shake it off, is to despise it, because the excellencie of his vertue is greater then any iniury that can be done vnto him: and if it be done to him that is not come to that degree of vertue as to be magnanimous, he may per­chance at the instant repulse the same, or reuenge himself in hot bloud without any great reproch. But to reserue a malice or hatred any long time, and therupon to come [Page 78] to the combat with a reuengefull mind, as bruite beasts do; will alwayes be esteemed of wise men, a vicious acti­on, and contrary to all lawes and ciuill order. And they that are of such reuengefull minds, are termed by Aristo­tle bitter and sharpe men, as if he would say without rea­son. In which respect he iudgeth them to be (as hereafter shal be shewed) men vnworthy of ciuil conuersatiō. And by him it is esteemed the part or office of a vertuous ci­uill man, and a point of magnanimitie to pardon and forgiue offences and iniuries. For Plato and his follow­ers were euer of opinion, that magnanimitie was giuen to man, not because he should dispose himselfe to hatred, fury, reuenge and wrath, but to honestie and vertue. Wherefore Seneca also said, that it was a kind of reuenge to forgiue. And the temple of the Graces (according to Aristotles opinion) was placed in the midst of the citie of Athens, because all men might thereby vnderstand, that they were to render good for good, not ill for ill. For as by the first, cities are the better preserued and maintained: so by the other, they are destroyed and brought to ruine. Yet if the magnanimous man would wish him chastised that hath offended him, he will not vouchsafe himselfe to file his hands vpon so base and vi­cious a person as those be (by Plato and Aristotles iudge­ment) who are iniurious to others; but suffereth the ma­gistrates according to the order of law to reuenge his cause by the punishment of the offender, according to his desert, to the end the vertue of the one, and the vice of the other may be manifested, and the one chastised, and the other honored thereby. And what more glori­ous reuenge can a man desire, or what more notable te­stimonie of his vertue, then to haue him corrected, and rest infamous by the punishment which law shall inflict [Page 79] vpon him who hath done him iniury? Or what else do these furious minded men seeke in fine by their combat? But yet they alledge further (as wiling to maintaine their wrong opinions with some shew of reason) that combats are sought only in cases of iniuries, not determinable by law. Which answer is as inconsiderate as the rest. For what kind of iniuries can grow betweene man and man, whereunto the authoritie of the Prince and of the Ma­gistrates doth not extend? who indeed are not to regard the obstinacie of the parties, but to punish them by im­prisonment, and such other meanes as law doth allow and permit; to bridle the insolencie and disobedience of such as will not obey and be ameinable. For if in ciuill actions that course be held, wherefore should not the same rigor be the rather vsed in this so vnlawfull and beastly a debate? Neither is there any reason in that they speake of publike and priuate iniuries, since the cases are farre vnlike. For publike iniuries come from lawfull ene­mies, such as offend or offer wrong to States or Cities: but they that are priuatly iniuried in their person, cannot call them their lawfull enemies that so haue done them iniury: rather they themselues are to be esteemed law­full enemies to their countrey, whiles in following their rage and furious appetite of reuenge, they oppose them­selues against the publike and ciuill gouernement, and deserue in that respect to be seuerely punished by the ma­gistrate, as men that esteeme more their priuate iniustice then publike iustice. And thus much for the second part of your question. Now touching the last point, whether it appertaine to ciuill felicitie or no: you may easily ga­ther by that which is already said, that there can be no­thing more contrary to good discipline in a wel-ordered commonweale, then this wicked and vniust kind of fight, [Page 80] which destroyeth, so farre foorth as it beareth sway, all ciuill societie. For it breedeth the contempt of God and his commandements, of Religion, of lawes, constituti­ons and ciuill gouernement, of Princes, of magistrates, and finally of countrey, parents, friends and kinred: to all which men are bound by reason naturall and ciuill, and for defence of them to spend their liues in maner a­foresaid: but not at their owne appetite, instigated by rage and furie to be prodigall thereof, or for reuenge of priuate quarrels or iniuries. Will you see how absurd and senslesse a thing these men maintaine, that set vp and magnifie this glorious combat? then take but this one instance. They say, in good sooth, that if two gentle­men, subiect to the selfe and same lawes, stirred by this furious conceit, haue chalenged the one the other to the combat, and that their soueraigne Lord or Prince forbid them to proceed therein, that they are not to obey him, but to seeke to accomplish their chalenge elsewhere out of his iurisdiction. And can any reasonable man, or a good subiect endure to heare such a proposition main­tained without stomacke or displeasure? That which a­mong the Painims and Gentiles was not lawful without speciall licence of the superiours to be attempted against a publike enemie, armed to the ruine of their State and Common-weale: will these iolly politicians haue now to be lawfull among Christians in despite of their natu­rall and lawfull Lords and Princes, vpon whom the foun­dation of well pollicied States is layd, and in the obedi­ence towards whom, ciuill felicitie it selfe doth rest? But we neede not to maruell, if such men contemne hu­mane lawes and ordinances, when they sticke not to dis­obey God himselfe; vnto whom they knowing mani­festly this kind of fight to be odious and displeasing; [Page 81] yet are they not ashamed by publike writings to main­taine it, and thereby to draw souldiers and men of valour into their errror of a wilfull madnesse and mischieuous mind. It is a more mockery, and a thing worthy to be laughed at, to see how busily such fellowes build vpon a false foundation, as if their building were like to stand. For leauing and forsaking the patterne and true rules of vertuous behauiour, of policie and states, and of good lawes written by that excellent Philosopher Aristotle, they take hold (forsooth) of some fragments or parcels of his Rhetorikes to worke vpon: as though from thence men were to take the precepts of ciuill conuersation or politike gouernement, whence onely the rules and me­thod of well speaking are to be taken, and not of ciuill fe­licitie. Out of his Rhetorikes they haue culled out name­ly this place, where he saith, that God helpeth those that are wronged, not vnderstanding, or seeming not to vn­derstand, that Aristotle in that place speaketh of ciuill iudgements or criminall; and not of battels or combats, such as this that he neuer knew, ne yet euer heard spoken of: and if he had, would haue sought to haue driuen it out of the frantike fancie of all men. It is not to be de­nied, but that in good and godly iudgements managed by men desirous to maintaine iustice, God is alwayes at hand to help and vphold the right, and to tread downe and ouerthrow the wrong. For by him haue iudgements bin appointed and ordained, and magistrates to rule and ouersee them, not only for the common benefit of men, but also for the defence of truth and righteousnesse, and for the punishment of vntruth and wickednesse. More­ouer it is to be vnderstood, that onely such places in Ari­stotles Rhetorikes are to be approoued and allowed in ci­uil or politike life, as are by him confirmed in his Ethikes [Page 82] and Rhetorikes: as that it is lawfull for a man to repulse an iniury, and to defend himselfe, and such other like. For, as himselfe affirmeth, the drift of his booke of Rhe­torikes, is to instruct a man how to frame his speech to perswàde, and how to moue the minds of Iudges to an­ger, hatred, reuenge, compassion, and such like other af­fects, which oftentimes wrest the truth, and make wrong to preuaile. So as if the Orator preuaile, and attaine the end he seeketh, which is to perswade, or vse the meanes to attaine it artificially, he hath done his dutie. By which it appeareth, that Rhetorike is ordained for iudgements and controuersies, but not for instruction of ciuill life and manners. But let vs see what they get by this place taken out of the Rhetorikes. For my part, I see not wher­fore any man should looke or hope for any helpe or fa­uour at Gods hands in this so vniust, vnlawfull and wic­ked an action, most offensiue to his diuine Maiestie, as contrary to his expresse commandement, and a worke most pleasing and acceptable to the diuell, by whose in­stigation the same is wholy set forward. Nay rather may the preuailing of them that haue the wrong cause to de­fend, as oftentimes we see it happen in the combat, serue for a most cleere argument, that it falleth out by Gods speciall permission to vnseele the eyes (if it were possible) of such as are so wilfully blinded, to the end they might see how vniust the conflict is, which these men say, was first inuented (among other causes) that truth might be knowne, and right from the wrong. But how is truth or right found out, if he which hath right on his side be o­uercome, as oftentimes it falleth out? Forsooth they an­swer, that it so hapneth by reason of some other offences of him that is ouercome, and that God will haue him so punished for the same. By which reason it should follow [Page 83] that God (who is truth it selfe) suffereth in this fight (which they say was deuised for trying out of the truth) that in respect of punishing him for other offences that maintaineth the truth, the other who hath the wrongfull cause in hand, should triumph in his vniust victory, and truth should be borne downe and defaced. Then which reason, what can be imagined more contrary to the goodnes, iustice, and power of God? as if he could not o­therwise punish sinners, then by a meane that should spot and ouerthrow truth, in which he is so well pleased. It is therfore a most euident signe & certaine testimonie, that this kind of proofe or trial of truth is most vncertain, and the fight to that end vniust and wicked. And that it is no other then the work of the very diuell, who being the author of all discord, hatred, debate, falshood, seditions, vniust wars, of death, & mortal enemy to truth, reioiceth when he seeth right ouerwhelmed with wrong, reason oppressed by iniustice, truth defaced by falshood, and by meanes thereof, men drawne to euerlasting damnation. And when it doth come to passe, that he which maintai­neth the right doth preuaile (if any right or reason may be supposed in so wicked and vnlawfull an action) euen that it selfe is to be imputed to the subtiltie of the diuell, to draw men on as with a baite, because he is loth to lose the great gaine of soules which he maketh by the humor of this detestable combat. By which, not onely the cham­pions themselues, but they that hauing power, permit them or grant them libertie to fight; all they that counsel them therunto, & all they that giue them the looking on in so damnable an action, become subiect vnto him, and enemies to God their Creator and Redeemer. And in­deed there is no vice or sinne in the world, whereby he winneth more to his kingdome, then by this; because at [Page 84] once he purchaseth thousands of soules: so foolishly do men flocke to be the beholders of a bloudie spectacle, with inhumane desire to see the spilling of mans blood. But now to conclude this matter, it is a lamentable thing that any Christian Prince, or other generall commander, should permit so pernicious and so damnable a thing, and consent, that vnder their authoritie it should be law­full for one man to kill another for priuate quarrell, and they to sit themselues protribunali, to behold so vniust and cruell a fight. For they ought rather to consider, that they are Gods ministers, and by his diuine prouidence called to so high and so eminent a place, not to fauour or giue reputation to the diuels works (among which there is none more wicked then this) but to execute his will, to which the combat is directly and expresly contrary, though it haue bin accepted and allowed by ill vse, or ra­ther abuse, and bene entituled by the name of a custome by such as defend the same: who consider not that cu­stome is to be obserued in good and cōmendable things, and not in wicked and vnlawfull, as this is. And if it hap­pen that any abuse do grow and shrowd it selfe vnder the name of a custome, the same ought to be taken away and abolished; and thereto do all Philosophers agree. Of which kind, this combat being manifestly one, it should be rooted out, and not suffered to continue vn­der that name. For good customes are agreeable to Na­ture, in which respect it is said, that custome is another nature. But that which is contrary to nature (as this is) ought not to be named a custome, but a vile abuse, be it neuer so much cloked with the name of custome: the rule whereof is prescribed by Aristotle in his second booke of Politikes, and should therefore not only not be permitted or maintained, but being crept in, be remoued [Page 85] and banished as a most pestilent and dangerous thing. And wheras Aristotle in his Rhetorikes saith, that reuenge is better then pardon, that is to be ruled according to the ciuill orders and constitutions of good common-weales. For he sayth not so vniuersally, but onely in respect of an Orator, and (as is said already) he in his Rhetorikes tea­cheth but what is requisite for an Orator to consider, to perswade, and not what is meete in ciuill life, as he doth in his Ethikes.

And thus much this author hauing said effectually to the purpose of your demaund, I may, if you please, pro­ceed to the former matter, from which this question hath occasioned him and vs to digresse.

All the companie agreed thereunto, and hauing well allowed of the discourse, framed themselues attentiuely to heare the rest.

Wherefore I said, You remember well (I doubt not) that the next was to speake of the third master of the Kings son; who after the good instructions giuen by the former two to their disciple, taught him that his ap­petite was in all things to be subject to reason, and that he ought neuer to suffer himselfe to be drawne from that which was honest by any inticement: for that ho­nestie was the end and scope of all vertue. He sought to perswade him, that the chiefest thing that maketh a King to be knowne for a King, was to know how to rule himselfe before he ruled others, and to master his owne appetites rather then other mens. So the first hauing fashioned him to Religion, and the second to truth, this third framed him to be temperate and iust. Whereby it came to passe, that although he know him­selfe to be aboue the law, yet did he not onely not seeke to ouer-rule the law, but became a law to himselfe: [Page 86] so as he was neuer led, either by loue or hatred, in his iudgements (whether he punished or rewarded, nor by anger, or desire to benefite any man) from that which was iust and honest. Thus holding vnder reasons awe the disordinate appetites of his mind, with the direct rule of iustice, (vnder which, Plato saith, all vertues are contai­ned, because it is grounded vpon truth) he alwayes di­rected his actions to the marke of honestie, euer doing good, but neuer harming any. And knowing, that who so is subject to his owne appetites, deserueth not the title of a free man, much lesse of a King: he framed himselfe to be most continent, and shewed in himself an example of honest life and behauior to all his subjects. His benignitie he declared to them by his liberalitie, and by shewing more care of the publike good then of his owne; and that he would rather giue of his owne, then take from them their goods. With his mildnesse and affabilitie he made himselfe singularly beloued, and wan their hearts, and with gentlenesse in word and deed, and with loue to­wards his people, & truth in al his actions, he made them vnderstand that indeed he approched as neare to God in these excellent qualities, as a mortall man could do. By meanes whereof, no man fearing harme from him, he was beloued and reuerenced as a God among them. Now hauing learned of his three first masters, Religion, Prudence and Wisedome, Truth, Iustice and Tempe­rance, with those other vertues belonging vnto them; the fourth then taught him all that appertained to For­titude, and made him vnderstand, that onely he is to be esteemed a man of fortitude and valour., who can hold a meane betweene furie and feare. And that when occa­sion of perill and danger is offred vnto him, bearing with it honestie, and wherein he might make shew of his ver­tue [Page 87] and courage, did readily embrace and take hold of the same. And that albeit he were deare to himselfe, in respect of those vertues which he knew himselfe to be possessed of; yet esteeming more an honest and a glori­ous death then a naturall and reprochfull life, he would make no difficultie to hazard his life for the benefite of his countrey, knowing that an honorable end would be crowned with immortall fame. And forasmuch as it is seldome seene, that men can vse this princely vertue as it ought to be vsed, and when it should be vsed, with such other circumstances as are requisite thereto; therefore did his master instruct him and make him vnderstand, that he which matcheth not his naturall courage with Prudence, and those other vertues, which the former ma­sters had taught him, could not rightly be called a valiant man. And how that this vertue, being stirred vp by mag­nanimitie, stoutly pursued honest things without respect of difficulties: and that though things formidable and terrible be naturally shunned of men, yet the valiant man despiseth them, and feeleth them not in respect of iustice and honestie, whereby such men became equall to the Gods, as Poets fained. And that if Prudence and Tem­perance were not ioyned with this royall vertue of For­titude, the same was turned into foolish hardinesse. And because his disciple should know how to auoid this vice, he declared to him how such men as, to auoyde infamie, onely exercised their valour, and exposed their liues to perill, or onely to purchase honour, were not to be called properly valorous men; but they onely who for hone­sties sake made triall of their valour, because honestie is the onely end of vertue, by which humane felicitie is to be atchieued. And that he likewise was not to be accom­pted valiant, who for feare of paine or punishment, tooke [Page 88] in hand fearefull and dangerous enterprises, nor yet they that through long experience in warfare, or because they haue bin often in the brunt and danger of battels, went cheerfully or couragiously into the warres to fight, as it were by custome, for that they did it rather by art and practise then by free election, without the which can be no vertue. Neither he that by rage and furie suffered himselfe to be transported to attempt any danger; since there can be no vertue, where reason guideth not the mind. And for this cause wilde beasts (though they be terrible and fierce by nature) cannot be termed valiant, because they being stirred onely by naturall fiercenesse, wanting reason, do but follow their instinct, as do the Li­ons, Tygers, Beares, and such other like. Neuertheles he denied not but that anger might accōpany fortitude; for that it is rather a help vnto it, then any let or impediment, so long as reason did temper them, and that it serued but for a spurre to pricke men forward in the defence of iust and honest causes. Moreouer he declared vnto his scho­ler, that there is a kind of fortitude that hath no need of any such spurre of anger: which kind concerned the bea­ring of grieuous and displeasing accidents, and the mode­rating of a mans selfe in happie and prosperous successes. And this is that blessed vertue which neuer suffereth a man to fall from the height of his minde, being called by some men patience: who will not onely haue her to be a vertue separate from the foure principall vertues, but also that she should be aboue them. But this opinion of theirs is not well grounded, since in truth she is but a branch of fortitude: through which (as Virgil sayth) men beare stoutly all iniuries, whether they proceed from wicked persons, or from the inconstancie and change­ablenesse of fortune; but remaineth alwayes inuincible [Page 89] and constant against all the crosses, thwarts and despites of fortune. This vertue is fitly described by Cicero, where he saith, that it is a voluntary and constant bearing of things grieuous and difficult, for honesties sake. And in the Scriptures it is said, that it is better for a man to beare with inuincible courage such things, then to be otherwise valiant, or to hazard himself, how, where, & when it is fit. For who so beareth stoutly aduersities, deserueth greater commendation and praise then they which ouercome their enemies, or by force win cities or countries, or o­therwise defend their owne, because he ouercometh him selfe, and mastereth his owne affects and passions. Ha­uing respect to these things, this wise schoole-master she­wed his disciple, that the valiant man was like a square so­lid body, as is the die, whereunto Aristotle also agreeth, which in what sort soeuer it be throwne, euer standeth vpright: so he being still the same man, which way soe­uer the world frame with him, or the malice and enuie of wicked men, or the freakes of fortune tosse him; which fortune, some call the Queene of worldly accidents, though, as a blind cause, she alwayes accompanieth her selfe with ignorance. Moreouer he added that hope of gaine or profit ought not to moue a man to put his life in apparant danger: for if it chanced (as often it doth) that the hope began to quaile, forthwith courage failed withall, and the enterprise was abandoned, because vaine conceiued hope, and not free choice of vertue had gui­ded him. A thing which neuer happeneth to them that in honest causes hazard their liues. For though any vn­expected terror chance vnto them, so as on the sudden they cannot deliberate what were best to do: yet euen by habite which they haue made in the vertue of forti­tude, they loose not their courage; but the more difficult [Page 90] and fearefull the accident appeareth, the more stoutly will they resist and oppose themselues against the same. Likewise he declared to him, that it was not true forti­tude, when men (not knowing what the danger was which they entred into) did vndertake any perillous en­terprise: for it must be iudgement, and not ignorance, that shall stirre men to valorous attempts. Neither yet that they were to be esteemed properly valiant, who like wilde sauage beasts, moued by rage and fury, sought re­uenge, and to hurt them that had prouoked them to wrath: for such were transported by passion, and not gui­ded by reason. Last of all he concluded that he was iust­ly to be accounted a man of valour, who feared not eue­rie thing that was perillous, yet of some things would be afraid. So as true fortitude should be a conuenient mean betweene rashnesse and fearefulnesse: the effect whereof was to be ready and hardie to vndertake dangerous acti­ons, in such time, place, and maner as befitted a man of vertue; and for such causes as reason commanded him so to do: and because the doing thereof was honest and commendable, and the contrary was dishonest and shamefull. All these points did this worthy schoolmaster seeke to imprint in the yong Princes mind, that he might become stout and haughtie of courage, to the end that he (who was borne to rule and commaund) might not through any sudden or vnlooked for accidents be daun­ted with feare, or become base and cowardly minded: nor yet by ouermuch rashnesse or furie waxe fierce and cruell; but with mild, yet awfull behauiour, gouerne and commaund the people subject vnto him. These were the seeds of vertue, which these wise and worthy masters did cast into the tender mindes of those yong Princes, from whence (as out of a fertile soile) they hoped to reape [Page 91] in their riper yeares fruite answerable to their labour and trauell. And this is all (said I) that this author hath dis­coursed vpon this matter, and as much (I suppose) as is needfull for the education of children, till they come to yeares of more perfection, wherein they may begin to guide themselues.

And then sir Robert Dillon (who as well as the rest had giuen a very attentine eare to the whole discourse) sayd: Truly these were right good and worthy docu­ments, and meete to traine a Prince vp vertuously; nei­ther could any other then a glorious issue be expected of so vertuous principles and education. And though this diligence and care were fitting for so high an estate as the son of a mightie monarke, yet hath the declaration therof bin both pleasing and profitable to this companie, and may well serue for a patterne to be followed by priuate gentlemen, though not with like circumstances; since the same vertues serue as well for the one as for the other to guide them the way to that ciuill felicitie, whereof our first occasion of this dayes discourse began. But euening now hasting on, and the time summoning vs to draw homeward, we will for this present take our leaues of you; hauing first giuen you harty thanks for our friendly entertainment, especially for this part thereof, whereby with your commendable trauell in translating so good and so necessary a worke, you haue yeelded vs no small delight, but much more profite; which I am bold to say as well for all the companie as for my selfe: whereunto they all accorded.

But, said the Lord Primate, we must not forget one point of your speech, which was, that you tied vs to a condition of three dayes assembly; that as the author had deuided his work into three dialogues, so we should [Page 92] giue you three dayes time to runne ouer euery day one of his dialogues. Supposing therefore that you haue fini­shed his first, we will to morrow (if this company please to giue their consent thereunto) be here to vnderstand whether he haue as sufficiently set downe rules for the fashioning a yong man to the course of vertue, as he hath done for the education of his childhood. Therefore you may looke for vs, & prepare your tongue, as we will bring attentiuenesse to heare his doctrine by your study made ready for our vnderstanding. And so they depar­ted all together towards the citie.

The second dayes meeting, and discourse of Ciuill life.

WHen the next morning was come, which ap­peared faire and cleare, the companie (which the day before had bin with me) came walking to my house, all, saue onely M. Smith the Apothecary, whose businesse being of another sort, was not so desi­rous to spend his time in hearing discourses of that na­ture, which brought no profit to his shop. And being entred into the house, they found me ready to go walke abroade to take the sweete and pleasant ayre: wherefore though they had already had a good walke from the ci­tie thither, being somewhat more then a mile; yet were they not vnwilling to beare me companie, and would needs go with me. So I led them vp the hill to the little mount, which standeth aboue my house, along a pleasant greene way, which I had planted on both sides with yong ashes: from whence hauing the prospect not onely of the citie, but also of the sea and hauen, we there sate vs downe, and some commending the ayre, some the de­lightfulnesse [Page 93] of the view, we spent the time in sundry speeches, vntil one of the seruants came to summon vs to walk home to dinner. Whereupon returning home, and finding the meate on the table, we sate vs downe; I telling them that they found a Philosophers dinner, for so I would now begin to take vpon me to entitle my selfe, since they had made me (at the lest) the trucheman or in­terpreter of one that was worthy that name. And that I had the rather prepared no greater store of meate for them, because I would imitate the temperance of a Phi­losopher, as we were in number a conuenient companie for a Philosophicall dinner.

Why, said the Lord Primate, what meane you by that? is there any determinate companie appointed for such meales as are fit for Philosophers?

Yea sir, quoth I, if my memory faile me not, I haue read that to such refections as might as wel feed the mind as the body, there would not be any such great company of guests inuited, as by the confusion of their talke and communication, the serious and yet delightful discourses that might be proposed, should not be imparted to all, nor yet so few, as for want of matter the same were to be omitted. Therfore it was determined that the number should be betweene the Graces and the Muses, that is to say, not vnder three, nor aboue nine. We are therefore a fit companie for a Philosophicall dinner., and your en­tertainment shall be according for your cheere.

Wel, said sir Robert Dillō, you shal need no shifts with vs, for as we wil not cōmend your cheere (which is the thing is cōmonly begged by the excusing of want of meate) so shal you not need to take any care, either for the satisfying of our appetites with dainty fare, or to entertaine vs with Philosophicall discourses at dinner: for we expect such a [Page 49] at your hands after dinner in that kind, as we shall the better passe ouer our dinner without them, which we desire in that respect may be the shorter, to the end that our bodies being fed temperatly, our mindes may be the sharper set to fall to those other dainties which you haue prepared for vs.

Yea but let not our dinner I pray you (said Captaine Dawtrey) be so temperate for sir Robert Dillons words, but that we may haue a cup of wine: for the Scripture telleth vs that wine gladdeth the heart of man. And if my memory faile me not, I haue read, that the great ban­ket of the Sages of Greece, described by Plutarke, was not without wine; & then I hope a Philosophical dinner may be furnished with wine: otherwise, I will tell you plainly, I had rather be at a camping dinner then at yours, howsoeuer your rerebanket will haply be as pleasing to me as to the rest of the company

Whereat the rest laughing pleasantly, I called for some wine for Captaine Dawtrey; who taking the glasse in his hand, held it vp a while betwixt him and the window, as to consider the colour: and then putting it to his nose, he seemed to take comfort in the odour of the same.

Then said the Lord Primate, I thinke (Captain Daw­trey) that you meane to make a speculation vpon that cup of wine, you go so orderly to worke, as if you were to ex­amine him vpon his qualities; whereof two principall you haue already resolued your selfe of, by the testimony of your two principall senses. The colour, we all deter­mine with you is good, the smell seemeth not to mislike you: it is consequent therefore that when you haue drunke it vp, you will also resolue vs whether all three the qualities concurring together, it may deserue the title of vinum Cos or no: for such was the wine wont to be enti­tuled [Page 95] among the ancient Romanes, that caried the repu­tation to be the best.

And what (I pray you, said I) might be the cause that their best wine was so called? for I haue heard that que­stion sundry times demaunded, but I could neuer heare it yet answered sufficiently to my satisfaction.

It is no maruell (sayd the Lord Primate) for although the matter haue bin long in controuersie, and debated by many ful learned men, and among them some that loued wine so well, as their experience might make them be­leeue that their verdit shold be very sound; yet for ought I find, we may say adhuc sub iudice lis est. Some say it should be taken for vinum Cossentinum, as coming from a territory so named, which commonly bare the best wines neare about Rome. Others interprete it by letters, saying that Cos is to be taken for corpori omnino saluberri­mum. But they that presume most to haue hit the marke, say that it is so to be vnderstood, that Cos should signifie the wine to be best by these three qualities, which Cap­taine Dawtrey seemeth to insist vpon, that is to say, colo­ris, odoris, and saporis; which three recōmending a wine, it cannot but be called very good. And this is as much as I haue read or heard, and will be content to be of the Iurie with Captaine Dawtrey to giue my verdit whether this of yours be such or no.

In good faith (said Captaine Dawtrey) if I be the fore­man of the Iurie, as I haue bin the first to taste the wine, I will pronounce it to be indeed singular good, and well deseruing the title of Cos: for all three those qualities which you haue sayd wine is to be commended for.

If the wine be good (said I) you may be sure I am right glad, as well because I haue it to content such my good friends, as because I haue made my prouision for my self [Page 96] so well; whereby I hope you will all thinke me worthy to be a taster for the Queenes aduantage, and my office to be well bestowed vpon me, since I can taste a cuppe of wine so well; for it is indeed of mine owne choice.

Marry sir (said M. Dormer, who had euen then finished his draught) me thinkes it fareth not with you accor­ding to the common prouerbe, which saith, that none goeth worse shod then the shoomakers wife: for in good sooth this is a cup of wine fit to recommend your taste, and consequently your selfe to be employed in your of­fice. But since you asked my Lord Primate the meaning of vinum Cos: and withall said that you neuer heard that question answered to your contentment; let vs (I pray you) heare what is your conceit therein, and whether you can giue any more probable sence thereof then those which he hath told vs.

Nay in good faith, said I, that wil I not presume to do; for I am not so affected to mine owne conceits, as to pre­ferre them before other mens. A better interpretation I will not therefore offer vnto you: but if you will needs haue me tell you how I, among others, conceiue of that vinum Cos: which is read of, I thinke that it was so called for that the custome being in those dayes, that wheresoe­uer the Romane Consul came, when he went in his ior­ney towards his gouernment, or els within his prouince, they of the good townes or cities presented him with such dainties as the place affoorded, and specially with the choisest wines that were there to be had, thereupon the best and most excellent wine was termed vinum Consulare, to wit, such as of choise was taken for the Con­sul himselfe. And the common abbreuiation of Consul being written in all auncient authors with these three let­ters Cos: so commeth vinum Cos: to be vnderstood (as [Page 97] I haue said) for vinum Consulare, which was the best. And this is my opinion, which if it be worthy to be ad­mitted to go in companie with the rest, I will not desire it should go before them: and if you will be pleased to accept of this my interpretation of vinum Cos: together with the wine which you say is so good, and let the same supply the badnesse of your fare, (wherein my wife hath the greatest fault) I shal go the more cheerfully to the rest of my taske, which I am comforted by your speeches, you are so well disposed vnto, as it maketh you hasten to make an end of your bad dinner. Fruite therefore being brought, and the table taken vp, sir Robert Dillon said; It is an approoued opinion of all antiquitie, that after din­ner a man should sit a while, and after supper walk a mile: we must not therefore so suddenly rise from dinner to go to our rerebanket; yet may we gather vp some of the crums of yesterdayes feast, how full soeuer our bellies be with the good meate we haue eaten here. I remember then that the substance of a childs education, that was to be set in the right way to his ciuill felicitie, was yesterday declared by the example of the order held by the Kings of Persia, in the training of their sons, which were to suc­ceed them in their kingdome. Which order, though it were both pleasing and profitable to be vnderstood, and that with change of circumstances it might well serue for the direction of a priuate gentleman how to bring vp his child: yet I for my part thinke that it would haue bin very good that there had bin set downe a course more particu­larly, in what learning or study of the liberal arts the child should haue bin exercised. For I haue found by experi­ence, that the care and diligence of parents may aduance very much the forwardnesse of their children, so as some being well plied, shall not onely reade perfectly, but be [Page 98] also well forward in his Grammer, when the other of like wit and capacitie shall for lacke of plying drag and come very farre behind.

That is (said I) most true, and I can verifie it in my self; for such was my fathers care (who not onely in the edu­cation of his children, but also in the ordering of his houshold, was second to no man of his degree that euer I knew) as before I was full fiue yeares of age, I had gone through mine Accidence, & was sent to schoole to Tun­bridge, 20 miles frō London, and if either the aire of the place, or some other disposition of my body had not hin­dred my health by a quartaine ague that tooke me there, I might haue bin a forward scholer in my grāmer at 6 yeres old, and haue bin ready to haue accompanied my lear­ning with those corporall exercises which by some are set downe as fit to be vsed by children betweene the yeares of fiue and ten, as well to harden their bodies and to make them apt for the wars (if their disposition be there­unto) as for health. But by that vnhappie accident, not onely the health and strength of my body, but my lear­ning also met with a shrewd checke, which I could ne­uer sithens recouer sufficiently. Neuerthelesse as much as my father could performe, he omitted not to haue me trained both to my booke and to other exercises agree­able to his calling & abilitie, following (as I suppose) such precepts as he had found set downe by some worthy au­thors treating of that matter. The exact forme of which education perhaps is hard to be obserued, but by such as haue together with a fatherly and vigilant care, wealth and meanes answerable to finde in their owne houses schoole-masters to instruct and fashion their children ac­cording to those rules and precepts. For by them, before the child attaine the age of 14. yeares, he should not only [Page 99] haue learned his Grammer, but also Logike, Rhetorike, Musike, Poetrie, drawing and perspectiue, and be skilfull at his weapons, nimble to runne, to leape and to wrestle, as exercises necessary vpon all occasions where fortitude is to be employed for the defence of his countrey and Prince, his friends, and of his faith and religion. And this is that which I conceiue your meaning was, when you said, that you thought it had bin needfull there had bin some more particular course set downe for the dispen­sing of the childs time in his learning. All which Piccolo­mini hath so exactly set downe in his learned booke of Morall institution, written first in the Italian tongue, as it may seeme he rather proposed or set foorth a perfect child, as Cicero hath a perfect Orator, and Castiglione a per­fect Courtier, then that it were easie to bring vp or traine any in that sort or according to that patterne. And there­fore since that which our author hath sayd of the educa­tion of the Kings children of Persia, seemeth enough if it be fitly applied for the instruction of any children during their childhood, we may (if you please) now proceede to his second dialogue, treating of the instruction of a yong man from his childhood forward: for I haue made ready my papers, so as I hope without much interruptiō I may in English deliuer vnto you his mind, set downe in his owne language, though not with like smoothnesse of style. But since yesterday I heard you find no fault, I may the better be encouraged to go on this day with my plaine manner of penning, though it be vnpo­lished.

Yea marry, answered sir Robert Dillon, very willingly: and all the company assenting thereunto, I arose, intrea­ting them not to stirre, for that I would presently returne vnto them with my bookes.

[Page 100] Which being done, and euery man lending an atten­tiue eare, thus I began: As yesterday the infancy or child­hood of man was resembled vnto that part of the soule which giueth life, and is called vegetatiue, being the foun­dation of the other parts: so must youth now be likened to that part which giueth sense and feeling, and is named sensitiue. And as it is harder to rule two horses to guide a coach or charret then one: so is there farre greater dif­ficultie in guiding a yong man then a child: for he is stir­red much more with passions then the simple age of a child, and is more violently caried away with things that delight him; because he hath now the second power of the soule in force to draw him, which for the most part is much more contrary to reason then the first. For wheras that first coueted only that which was profitable, and which might nourish the bodie without any great regard of that which was honest, as whereof it had no knowledge at all; this other being wholy bent to delight, respecteth little any other thing: which delight hauing greatest force in yong mindes, draweth them sundry wayes, and by allurements maketh them so much the more greedy to attaine the things they take pleasure in, as the spurres wherewith they be pricked are more sharpe and poignant. This appeareth by their actions most ma­nifestly. For hunting egerly after pleasure, they are neuer quiet vntill they compasse their desires: and albeit that their desires be vehement in euery thing they fancie, yet do they most of all discouer themselues in the lusts of the flesh, which in them are firie, by reason of the abundance of blood and naturall heate that is in them, increasing those their disordinate desires beyond measure, yea they grow infinite in them, and variable, as themselues are in­constant misliking this day that, which yesterday they li­ked; [Page 101] which proceedeth onely because their said desires are not forged in that part of the mind where reason hath her firme seate, and proper dwelling. To this imperfectiō of lust, is also added the violent motion of anger, to which they are subiect, and thereby soone drawne from the course of reason and iustice. By this passion are they pro­uoked to enter in to debate and quarrels vpon euery light occasion, and as people desirous of honour and reputa­tion, as soone as they thinke they receiue any iniury, they feare no perill nor danger of their liues, but boldly and rashly vndertake to fight, led by a desire of reuenge, and hope to haue the victorie ouer their enemies. Of money or goods they make smal reckoning, through lacke of ex­perience, because of their youth, and want of prudence, which groweth from experience: and therefore little know they, how necessary the goods of fortune are to humane life, and into what inconueniences they fall that are without them. So as they spend and consume without discretion, not regarding the time to come, but supposing the world will alwayes be at one stay. They be easily deceiued, not knowing the saying of Epicarmus, that not to beleeue rashly was the sinewes of wisedome, And because they consider not how variable are the re­solutions of this world and humane affaires, they are e­uer full of good hope, seldome fearing that any thing may befall them other then wel: which hope layeth open the way to such as lie in waite to intrap them and deceiue them. They seeme likewise to haue a touch of magnani­mity, by reason of the heate of their youth, which stirreth them vp to vndertake great matters, but yet inconside­ratly, as folke moued rather by nature then by election: and so are they inclined rather to attempt things seeming honorable, then things profitable. They loue their friēds [Page 102] much more feruently then any other age, because they delight more in company, and measure not friendship by profit or by honestie, but onely by their delight, as they find them conformable to their appetites. They flie easily into that which is in all things vicious, that is, too much; which too much, is harmeful euen in iustice it self: whereupon is growne (I thinke) our English prouerbe, that too much of a mans mothers blessing is not good: not considering the precept of Chilo, who with three words taught the summe and effect of all vertue, Ne quid nimis. Whereby we may vnderstand, that vertue consi­steth in the meane betweene two extremes, which on ei­ther side are too much or too little, wherein yong men do most incline to that extreme of too much: for they loue too much, they hate too much, they hope too much, they feare too much, they trust too much, they spend too much, they beleeue too much, they presume too much: and by presuming too much, they build more then they ought to do vpon the vncertaine and variable chances of fortune, without setting before their eyes those good courses by which men through vertuous and commen­dable acts do attaine a happie life. And this is the cause why they giue so deafe an eare to friendly admonitions, and to wise & graue aduice & counsel. For they, not kno­wing their owne ignorance, thinke they know all things, such is the quicknesse and vehemencie of spirit which raigneth in them, and giueth them a certaine shadow of nobilitie of courage, by which they presume they are able to do all things of themselues well and commenda­bly; but they find themselues farre deceiued when they come to the triall. They do oftentimes iniury to others, rather vnaduisedly then maliciously of purpose to harme or offend. And hauing generally a good opinion of all [Page 103] men, simply measuring others words by their owne hart: they are soone moued to compassion and pittie. They delight exceedingly (as voide of care) to laugh, to sport, and to be merrie: and with quips and biting speeches to taunt their fellowes, and such as conuerse with them: and heare more willingly pleasant conceits and merrie tales, then graue sayings or auncient admonitions of wise and learned men.

In faith (said Captaine Norreis) you haue painted or described a yong man in so strange a figure, as to me it seemeth, I see a monster before mine eyes, with moe heads then the auncient Poets said that Hydra had, the same that gaue Hercules so much to do to ouercome her: and it is to be maruelled, that all yong men are not soone weary of that age, which bringeth with it such varietie of imperfections, and all contrary to reason and vertue. You make vs almost to conceiue an opinion, that there can be no Art nor prudence sufficient to deliuer vs from such a multitude of errors that enuiron vs on euery side.

If there were cause of complaint that youth should be thus described, said I, yet am not I the man you should complaine of, but rather of mine author, or of Aristotle, who long before described the same euē as he hath done: and of Horace in like sort, who taking the matter out of Aristotle, concluded it in substance much like, though in fewer words, saying:

The yong man on whose face no beard yet shewes,
When first he creepeth out of others charge,
Delights to haue both horse and hound at will,
With them to hunt, and beate the woods and fields,
Like waxe to vice is easie to be wrought,
And sowre to them that tell him of his fault:
Too late he learnes his profit for to know,
[Page 106] And in expence, aye too too lauish still,
His heart is high, and full of hote desires,
And soone he loathes that earst he loued deare.

And truly the nature of a young man is very perillous, and vnapt of it selfe to be ruled and directed to any good course; partly because of the ignorance accompanying that age, and partly for that following the vanities and delights which the worser part of the soule or mind doth set before him, he respecteth not that which is honest and vertuous, as a thing he neuer knew or tasted. And there­fore being intent onely to pleasures and delights, he con­sidereth not any thing but what is present before him. For wanting (as is said) experience, meete to foresee acci­dents to come, he beleeueth much more them that in­tice him & flatter him, by praising all he doth, then those men that reproue or check him for doing ill, or shew him the way to vertue, by telling him the truth. Neither is there any thing that more setteth a yong man astray from the course of vertue, then flattery: and specially are yong Princes to take heede thereof, about whom are continu­ally flatterers to winne their fauor, and by harming them with that subtil engin, to purchase to themselues as much gaine & profit as they can. These, who (as Aristotle saith) bend all their wits to euill, with continuall lying and soo­thing, make yong men beleeue that they are excellent in all things aboue course of nature; whereunto they (simple) giuing a readier eare then they should, become so blind and foolish, that they discerne not their owne good: but pricked forward with those false praises, apply themselues to that onely which is pleasant and delight­full, and become a prey vnto their flatterers, who like Pa­rasites affirme all that they heare their master say, and de­nie whatsoeuer he denieth. In which respect Diogenes [Page 107] did right well say, that flatterers were worse then crowes, who feed but on the carcasses of the dead, but these iolly companions deuoure the mindes of men aliue, making them become (as Seneca saith) foolish or mad. Frō whose conceit Epicarmus varied not much, who said, that crows pick out the eyes but of dead carcasses, but flatterers pick out the eyes of the mind, whiles men are yet aliue. And to say truly, this cursed generation, with their leasings and soothing, induce such as harken to them and beleeue them, to be their own foes, and to barre themselues from the attaining of true glory, whiles they make them glory in the false praises of wicked flatterers. Who to the end they may be the better beleeued when they flatter, vse all art possible to shew themselues affectioned (though counterfetly) to them, in whose harts they seeke to poure their poison. For they kill in them all seeds of vertue, and they take from them the knowledge of themselues, and of all truth: to which, flattery is a most pestilent and mor­tall enemie. And happy might indeed Princes thinke themselues, if they had about them men that would frankly and resolutely resist the attempts of flatterers, such as was Anaxarcus Eudemonicus about Alexander the Great. This Anaxarcus misliking that Alexāder throgh the flattery & false praises of such as magnified his acts, grew so prowd, as he wold needs be esteemed a God, & seeing on a time his Physition to bring him a potion to ease the griefe of his disease when he was sicke, said, Is it not a wo­full case, that the health of our God should consist in a draught of licour and drugs composed by a man? Words full wel be­seeming the sincere mind of a free harted man. As on the other side it was vile adulation which Demades the Athe­nian vsed, who being at an assembly of Councell, propo­sed a decree, by which he would haue had Alexander to be reputed for the thirteenth of the great Gods. But the [Page 108] people perceiuing his flattering purpose and small reue­rence to diuine things, condemned him in a fine of an hundred talents. If Princes, and such as manage States, would follow this example, and haue an eye to such fel­lowes, there would not be such store of Sycophants as now a dayes there are; and the vertues and merites of ho­nest men, worthy honour and fauour, would be better knowne and regarded then they are; and rewards and re­compences would be giuen to such men, and not to flat­terers, who seeke to put them besides themselues. This I say of such as suffer themselues to be seduced by these charmers, but not of wise Princes, who giue no more eare to their inchantments, then doth the serpent to the charmer; because they know that their praises and soo­things are but strāgling morsels smeared ouer with hony. Philip of Macedon, the father of Alexander, had a flatte­rer in his Court, called Cisofus (or as some say Cleophus) who did not onely affirme and deny all that Philip sayd or denied, but also on a time when Philip had a sore eye, and ware some band or scarfe before it, he in like manner came before the King with the like: and another time when Philip hauing hurt one of his legs, limped vpon it, and had clothes wrapped about it, the flatterer came like­wise with his leg so wrapped and halting into the Court; seeking thus not only by his words as other Parasites do, but also with his gestures and whole body to transforme the King, and put him beside himselfe. But although Phi­lip tooke delight in this skim of men, yet could they ne­uer draw him by their charming to incurre those vices which his sonne ranne into: who albeit he was of a most noble nature and mind, yet did he so much attribute to these bad companions, and was so caried away with their flattering praises, that he could not endure the truth that [Page 109] Calisthenes told him, but miserably slue him, spotting with so cruell and barbarous a fact, all that euer he did before or after, were it neuer so noble and worthy of glo­rie. But contrariwise, Agesilaus did so despise and hate all flatterers, that he wold neuer giue any man leaue to com­mend his vertues, but onely such as had authoritie to re­prehend his vices. Whereas Alexander was so distraught & rauished with the delight of such flatterers, that he not onely suffered himselfe to be perswaded by them that he was the sonne of Iupiter, but became also so foolish as to endure sacrifices to be made vnto him, and to be wor­shipped like a God. From which folly he could neuer be brought, vntill such time as he was grieuously wounded in an incounter with an arrow. Out of which his wound Deposippus the Athenian wrastler seeing the blood to run aboundantly, said, to taxe Alexanders vaine glory; Why then, do the Gods immortal bleed as we mortal men do? which his words Alexander hearing, and feeling the pain and smart of his wound, he perceiued himself to be mor­tall and no God; opening thereby in such sort the eyes of his mind, as whē Anaxander the Philosopher (though vnworthy that name because he was a flatterer) standing once by Alexander when it thundred, asked him, whether it were he that had caused that thunder-cracke, as the son of Iupiter? No, said he, mildly reiecting his flattery, I will cause no such terror vnto men. And another time when a medicine which he had taken troubled him grieuously in the working, and Nicesias had said vnto him, What shall we mortall men do, if ye Gods endure such paine and agonie? he looking angrily vpon him, answered, What Gods? I feare me rather that the Gods do hate vs. This noble King likewise, after sicknesse and hurts had made him know himselfe, did a worthy and noble act [Page 110] towards Aristobulus the Historiographer. For this Aristo­bulus hauing written a booke of the deeds of Alexander, and being with him in boate vpon the riuer Hidaspe in India, he besought leaue that he might reade his booke vnto him: which when he had obtained, and that Alex­ander perceiued, by the vntrue reports made in his praise beyond all measure, that he was a flatterer, and no Histo­riographer: despising his shamelesse flattery, he tooke the booke out of his hands, in a rage throwing it into the ri­uer, and fiercely turning to him, said, Thou wretch, thou hast thy selfe deserued to be throwne after thy booke, since thou hast not bin ashamed to set downe to the me­mory of posteritie the reports of my acts in such a false and flattering manner. By this, which we haue sayd, may easily be gathered, that they, who once giue eare to flattery, cannot discerne the harme and deceit of flatterers towards them, vntill some bitter storme or crosse of fro­ward fortune befall them, to open their eyes, and to giue them to vnderstand how they haue bin deceiued by such lying companions, and harmed more then by their mor­tall enemies. Which thing this wicked generation well considering, lest Princes should perceiue their flatterie, they neuer cease, as soone as they haue gotten trust and credit by their lies, to vse all meanes and deuices possible, to put into their disgrace and hatred all such as they think may be like to discouer their subtilties, and to make knowne the harme which they procure. To which pur­pose of inuenting false and colourable causes, they labor to remoue them from being about the Prince, that they may the better turne topsie-turuie all at their pleasure. By this meanes they so blind the eyes of those poore Princes whom they possesse, that whiles they are in prosperitie they not onely loue them and hold them deare, but also [Page 111] bestow vpon them offices, lands, and great Lordships. As by Philip before named it appeared, who made Thra­sideus the flatterer, Lord of his countrey, though other­wise he were a man of little worth and wisedome. And that Philip who was the last King of Macedon ouercome by the Romanes, had a flatterer in his Court, whose name was Proclides: who albeit he were a stranger (to wit, a Ta­rentine) and a very vaine fellow, yet crept he so farre into the said Kings fauour, that he was able to breede great broyles and troubles in the kingdome. These and such like inconueniences would not happen, if the ignorance of yong men (not discerning themselues) did not open the way to flattery, and leade her as it were by the hand into the presence of Princes, inducing them to delight in her. Hereof I haue spoken the more, because, the number of flatterers being infinite, and very many those that by them are blinded and seduced to esteeme them and raise them into reputation, all yong gentlemen, and Princes specially might be forewarned of the harme they may do vnto them, if before they offer their poison of lies and soothing praises, they be not armed to repulse their pra­ctises, and aduertised of their snares. Which thing the Thessalians considering, when they had takē a citie called Melia, they razed it, only because it bare the name of flat­tery in the Greeke language, so much did they hate and abhorre euen the name of so abhominable a vice. And where some Princes haply think themselues wise inough to take heed of such caterpillers, and therefore care not to rid their Courts of them: let them assure themselues that therein they do like men that will feede on hurtfull meates, and presume they shal not offend their stomacks. For these gallants can so cunningly watch and espie their times to worke their feate, that in the end they cast out [Page 112] their poison, and infect their minds with some fawning deuice or other before they be aware: so as there is no o­ther meanes to auoid this mischiefe, but onely to keepe it farre off, and not to suffer it to approch. True it is neuer­thelesse, that if Princes (hauing flatterers about them) would looke well into themselues, and learne the precept of Nosce teipsum (which onely precept is of such impor­tance, as without it no mā cā be happie) they might reape profit by their flattery: not by delighting in it, but by v­sing it as a rule or a square to examine their mindes and their actions by. For when they shall find themselues praised and magnified by any flatterer, they wil endeuor themselues to garnish their minds with those vertues, for which they were by him commended and extolled, and were not before in thē; to the end they might afterwards be truly and deseruingly praised for the same by men of vertue and honestie, whose propertie is to exalt and ce­lebrate the actions of worthy and famous men, and not to lie and flatter, to purchase fauour to themselues, and to draw ruine vpon the heads of those that they shal haue put besides their wit, as flatterers do. Diogenes was so great an enemy to flattery, that he chose rather to liue in his tub, then in the courts of mightie Princes, who offe­red him fauour and entertainment, disdaining to haue a­bundance of things gotten by so vile a vice. Contrariwise Aristippus, though he were one of the disciples of Socra­tes, did so degenerate from the doctrine and behauior of his master, that he became a parasite to Dionysius tyrant of Sicile, esteeming more the profit he got that way, thē the reputation he might haue won by the profession of Phi­losophie: and grew in the end to be of so base a mind, that although the Tyrant did spit in his face, yet would he not be angry; but being rebuked for enduring so vile [Page 113] a disgrace, he laughing at them that rebuked him, sayd: If fisher-men to take a small fish can be content to go to sea, and to be washed all ouer with the waues; shall not I endure that the King with a little spittle wet me, to the end I may catch a Whale? This same Aristippus seeing Diogenes on a day to wash a few herbes which he had ga­thered for his supper, he said to him: Go to sirra, if you would frame your selfe to follow the humor of Princes, you should not need to feed vpon herbes. Neither thou (said Diogenes) if thou knewest thy selfe to be (I will not say) a Philosopher, but a man, thou wouldst not be (as thou art) the dog of Dionysius. For dogs for their meate fawne vpon their masters; and so did this Philosopher shew how base and vile a thing it is to be a flatterer. Which, by this digression, my author hath in like sort laboured to make apparant by reasons and examples. But now returning to his former matter, because he hath ra­ther shewed the harme that comes by flattery, and how it increaseth vice in yong mens minds, then instructed them which way to roote it out, you shall heare how he goeth about to pull vp the ill weeds that choke the natu­rall good seeds in their minds, that by the increase of the good, they may haue sufficient store to furnish them in the way of their felicitie. It is already declared what bad qualities and conditions the two worser powers of the soule stirre vp in yong mens minds, for that they be migh­tie and vehement, and apt to oppose themselues against reason, and to resist her. And how reason in yong folkes is scarce felt or perceiued, such is the force of the two fore­said faculties, which draw them to lustfull appetites and disordinate passions. The cause whereof, Heraclitus ascri­beth to the humiditie, wherwith these two ages abound: for it seemed to him that drinesse was the cause of wise­dome, [Page 114] and therefore sayd, that the wisest mind was no­thing else but a drie light. To which opinion Galen lea­ning, thought the starres to be most wise because they be most drie. But leauing them with their opinions, and im­puting the cause onely to the worser powers or faculties of the soule, let vs follow our two first chosē guides, Ari­stotle & Plato. They say then, that the soule which giueth sense or feeling, and containeth in it the other that giueth life, is not yet so rebellious against reason, but that she maybe subdued, and brought to be obedient. So as you must not think, but that youth, though it be incombred with those passions and desires before mentioned, may neuerthelesse be directed to that good course which lea­deth man to his most perfect end in this life, and for which all vertues are put in action. For aboue or ouer these two powers or faculties, is placed a third, like a La­die or Queene to commaund if she be not hindred in the execution of her charge. And if these two vnruly and wild powers, which are the spring and fountaine head of all disordinate affections, be once wel tamed and broken, they do no lesse obey her cōmaundements, then the wel taught horses obey the coach-man. For we are all drawne as it were by two vnbridled colts in this life, by these two baser powers of the soule. Wherof the one sheweth it self in most vigour and strength in childhood, and the other in youth. Concerning the first of which, Aristotle and his master do disagree. But when they both are ioyned toge­ther, and strong, they become the more vnruly, vnlesse the former (as was said yesterday) be well tamed and made meeke by good instruction and diligent care of e­ducation. For if childhood be fashioned according to the good precepts of the learned; that first power com­meth humble & obedient to be coupled with the other, [Page 115] and thereby is there the lesse labor requisite for him that shall haue the guiding of them both in youth. But in youth described euen now, as you haue heard, in whom both these faculties are rude and vndisciplined, the passi­ons are altogether incited and ruled by the naturall pow­ers. For though nature (if she be not hindred) bring forth her effects perfectly in respect of their substances; yet are they often vnperfect in regard of the accidents. And for this cause is Art and industry needful to induce vertuous habits, to supply that wherin nature accidentally may be defectiue. Whereby it cometh to passe, that although the vertues and faculties of the soule haue all that which na­ture can giue vnto them; yet haue they need of mans wit and discipline to bring forth laudable and perfect opera­tions. And this is done by that part of Philosophie which is called Morall, because from it we do draw the forme of good manners, which being actually brought into the mind of a yong man, as well as by the doctrine and wise instruction of others: and so by long custome, conuerted into an habite, do breake and make supple those parts which by nature are rebellious to reason. And of so great importance is the well training vp of childhood, euen from the first, that it may be assuredly beleeued, that the youth succeeding such a childhood as was yesterday pre­scribed, must needs be ciuill and well disposed: and on the contrary side, that the life of such youths will be wic­ked and disordered, as hauing bin ill brought vp in their childhood, do enter into so hopelesse a course, as may be likely to be the foundation of all vice and wickednesse during the whole life to come. And hopelesse may they be thought indeed, who by ill doing beginne euen from their tender yeares to induce an ill habit into their minds: for from age to age after it increaseth and taketh roote [Page 116] in such sort, as it is almost impossible to be rooted out or taken away. Neither can there be any greater euil wi­shed to any man, then that he be ill-habituated, which thing by Aelianus report, the Cretans were wont to wish to their enemies whom they hated most extremely, and not without cause. For he that is fallen into an ill habite, is no lesse blind to vertuous actions, then he that wanteth his sight to things visible. And as the one is euer plunged in perpetual darknes: so doth the other liue in euerlasting night of vice, after he hath once hardned himselfe to euil. And this is the worst kind of youth that may be, which Aristotle aduised should be driuen out of the citie, when neither for honesties respect, nor for admonitions, nor shame, nor for loue of vertue or feare of lawes, they could possibly be reclaimed to vertuous life.

I pray you (said Captain Norreis) let me interrupt you a little, so shall you the better take breath in the meane while. I noted not long sithens a saying of your author, which me seemed somewhat strange, and that is, that the substance of the soule should be made perfect by the ac­cidents.

You say right, quoth I, but let not that seeme strange vnto you: for it ought rather to seeme strange vnto you if it were otherwise; because the substance of euery thing is so called, by reason that it is subiect vnto accidents; nei­ther can there be any accident (to which it is proper to be in some subiect) but it must fall into some substance: and hardly would the substance perhaps be discerned by sense, but that the accidents do make it to be knowne. Yet hath nature giuen to the substance all that she could giue to enable the same, to wit, that it might by nature be of it selfe alone, hauing no need of any other thing in respect of being; and that it should be so necessary to [Page 117] all things else that is not a substance, as without it they should be nothing. Therefore the nature of the soule is such, as the parts thereof haue their vertues and faculties perfect: but in that concerneth the directing of them to ciuill life, man cannot by nature onely compasse it, nor attaine to that end of which we treate.

Then said Captaine Norreis, If it be so, as by nature we cannot haue that wherewith we should compasse our felicitie, it must belike be in vs contrary to nature. And, all things contrary to nature, being violent, and of no conti­nuance; I cannot perceiue how this felicitie of ours may stand.

Sir (said I) it followeth not, that whatsoeuer is not by na­ture, must needs be contrary to nature. But most true it is that the meanes to guide vs to this felicitie; or our felicity it selfe, is in vs not by nature: for if it were so, all men should naturally be happy, and by nature haue the means to purchase the same, because all men should of necessitie worke after one sort. For things naturall, vnlesse they be forced or hindered, do alwayes bring foorth the same ef­fects, wheresoeuer they be; and the powers which nature bestoweth, are indifferently dispensed to all alike. Which thing is to be vnderstood by the vegetatiue part of the soule, which in plants and in creatures sensible attendeth onely by nature, without counsell or election, to nourish, to increase, to procreate, and to preserue: ne ceaseth at any time frō those offices, but alwaies produceth like effects in al things that haue life. And the sēsible soule euermore giueth the power and vertue of feeling to creatures sen­sible, and neuer altereth her operation, nor ceaseth to yeeld the same whiles life endureth, except by some strange accident she be forced. Seeing therefore the di­uersitie of mans will, the varietie of his operations, and [Page 118] how differently they vse the faculties of the soule, we must needes conclude, that in respect of ciuill life, they work not according to nature. But we must not therfore say, that their working to purchase their felicitie, and the end we speake of, is contrary to nature. For such things are properly said to be contrary to nature, as are violently forced to that which is not naturall, and whereunto they haue no aptnesse or disposition at all. As for example, if a stone (which is naturally heauy, and therfore coueteth to moue to the center of the earth) be cast vpward into the aire by force, it is to be said, that the motion of that stone so forced vpward is contrary to nature; because it hath no instinct or mouing from nature to go vpward: and though it were throwne vp ten thousand times, so often wold it fal downe again, if it were not retained otherwise frō falling. And if fire, which is light, & couets to ascend, should be forced downeward, that force would be con­trary to nature, and the force ceasing, it would by nature ascend again, because it hath not any vertue, or principle, or motion to descend, but onely to ascend, by which it striueth to come to the place which is proper to it by na­ture, as it is fire, and by which it is fire naturally. For the elements haue alwayes their essence most perfect, when they are nearest to the place assigned them by nature. But man being a creature capable of reason, and thereby apt to receiue those vertues, the seeds whereof nature hath sowne in his mind, it cannot be said, that the meanes (by which he is to be led to so noble an end as his felicitie) should be in him contrary to nature. For neuer any thing worketh contrary to nature, in which is the beginning of that operation that it is to do.

Why, said Captaine Norreis againe, since you say that the seeds of vertues are in our minds naturally, it seemeth [Page 119] strange to me that they should not bring forth generally in all men their fruite; as the seed which is cast into the earth, springeth, buddeth, flowreth, and lastly in due seasō yeeldeth fruite according to kind.

Marry (said I) and so they do. For if mans care and industry be not applied to manure the earth diligently, and to weed out the il weeds that spring among the good seed which is sowne, they would so choke the same as it would be quite lost. And euen so, if the seeds of vertue be not holpen with continuall culture, and care taken to pul vp the vices which spring therewith, and whereof the seeds are naturally as well in our mind, as those of vertue, they wil ouer-grow and choke them, as the weeds of the garden ouer-grow and choke the good herbes planted or sowne therein. For so grow vp the disordinate appe­tites, vnreasonable anger, ambitions, greedie desires of wealth, of honour, wanton lusts of the flesh, and such o­ther affections spoken of before, which haue their natu­rall rootes in those two baser parts of the soule deuoyde of reason. And as we see the earth, without manuring to bring forth wyld herbs and weeds more plentifully then other good seed, which by industry and labor is cast into the same: so do those passions, affects, and appetites of those baser parts of the soule, spring and grow vp thicker and faster then the vertues; whereby (for the more part) the fruit of those good seeds of vertue is lost, if the mind be not diligently cleaned frō them by the care of others. And these ill qualities are in yong men the worse, when they suffer themselues to be transported without regard of reason or honestie, and their right iudgement to be corrupted, and their crooked to preuaile. Which crooked iudgement is in effect the cause of all vices and ill affecti­ons, & turnes the braine, making them like drunken men, [Page 120] much like as coccle doth to them that feed thereupon. But this hapneth not vnto that youth which succeedeth a well fashioned childhood, such as yesterday was spoken of; though it be not sufficient to haue a childe either well brought vp or well instructed. For a new care must be ta­ken, and new diligence be vsed to cherish the growth of the good seeds bestowed & manured in the mind of the child: which made Aristotle say, that education onely was not enough to make a man vertuous. For though the child be so well bred as hath bin prescribed, yet vnlesse some care be had to bridle it (so vnpleasing a thing it is for youth to liue within the compasse of modestie and temperance) it is easily turned to that part, to which plea­sure and delight doth draw it. Neuertheles that first cul­ture bestowed vpon childhood, doth so much auaile, as the yong man that is disposed to hearken, to good admo­nitions, shall haue the lesse to do to liue vertuously, and to tame that sensitiue part which he hath onely to striue withall, and to make obedient to the rule of reason.

Captaine Carleil then said, I pray you (before you go any further) let me aske this one question, why vntil now your author hauing spoken of this moral science, hath all this while made no mention of the speculatiue sciences, wherein me thinketh a yong man hath special need to be instructed? for they also (I suppose) are necessary to hap­pinesse of life.

That doubt the author answereth thus, said I: Vertues are generally deuided into Speculatiue and Practike; or we may say, into Intellectiue and Actiue. The speculatiue habites are fiue in number, viz: Vnderstanding, called by the Latines Intellectus, Science, Wisedome, Art, and Pru­dence. And because hitherto he hath spoken onely how men in ciuill life may attaine to be good, or decline from [Page 121] being euill; and that the speculatiue sciences declare, but how wise, how learned, or how prudent they be, and not how good or vertuous they be: and that these two first ages are not of capacitie sufficient to embrace them, therefore he reserueth the treating thereof vntill a fitter time, which the course of our speech will leade vs vnto.

Yea but Aristotle saith (quoth the Lord Primate) that yong men may be Arithmeticians and Mathematicians, and finally therin wise, but yet he affirmeth that they can not be prudent.

That place of Aristotle (said I) is to be vnderstood, not of this first degree of youth, whereof the author hath spo­ken hitherto, but of the perfection and ripenesse that in time it may attaine, as after shall be declared when time doth serue.

That time (said Captaine Carleil) we will attend. But because we see both vertues and sciences are to be lear­ned, and that I haue heard question and doubt made of the manner of learning them, I pray let vs▪ heare whether your author say ought thereof, and specially whether our learning be but a rememorating of things which we knew formerly, or else a learning a new.

This is indeed (said I) no light question which mine author handleth also euen in this place: and there are on either side great and learned authors, as Plato and Aristo­tle first, whereof the one was accounted the God of Phi­losophers, and the other the master of all learned men: and ech hath his followers, who with forcible arguments seeke to defend and maintaine the part of their master and captaine. But before we enter into that matter, you must vnderstand that Plato and Aristotle haue held a seue­rall way each of them in their teaching. For Plato from [Page 122] things eternall, descended to mortall things, and thence returned (as it were by the same way) from the earth to heauen againe; rather affirming then proouing what he taught. But Aristotle from earthly things (as most mani­fest to our senses) raised himselfe, climing to heauenly things, vsing the meane of that knowledge which the sen­ses giue, frō which his opiniō was, that al humane know­ledge doth come. And where sensible reasons failed him, there failed his proofes also. Which thing, as it hapned to him in diuine matters, so did it likewise in the knowledge of the soule intellectiue (as some of his interpreters say): which being created by God to his owne likenesse, be hath written so obscurely thereof, that his resolute opi­nion in that matter cannot be picked out of his writings; but that reasons may be gathered out of them, in fauour of the one part and of the other: as though the treatie of a matter so important and necessary to our knowledge, were (as schoole-men say) a matter contingent, about which arguments probable may be gathered on both sides: yet had he before him his diuine master, who (as far as mans wit could stretch without grace) had taught him cleerly that which was true, that mans soule is by nature immortall, and partaker of diuinitie; howsoeuer some of the Peripatetikes seeme out of Aristotle to affirme that Plato was contrary to himself, as making the soule some­whiles immortall, and otherwhiles not: which in truth is not in Plato to be found, if he be rightly vnderstood. But to the purpose. The opinion of Aristotle was, that our soule did not only not record any thing, but that it shold be so wholy voyd of knowledge or science, as it might be resembled to a pure white paper: and therefore affirmed he, that our knowledge was altogether newly gotten; and that our soule had to that end need of sense; and that [Page 123] sense failing her, all science or knowledge should faile withall. Because the senses are as ministers to the mind, to receiue the images or formes particular of things: which being apprehended by the common sense, called sensus communis, bring foorth afterwards the vniuersals. Which common sense, is a power or facultie of the sen­sitiue soule, that distinguisheth betweene those things that the outward senses offer vnto it; and is therefore cal­led common, because it receiueth commonly the formes or images with the exteriour senses present vnto it, and hath power to distinguish the one from the other. But as those senses know not the nature of things; so is the same vnknowne also vnto the common sense, to whom they offer things sensible. Wherefore this commonsense being (as we haue said) a facultie of the sensitiue soule, of­fereth them to the facultie imaginatiue, which hath the same proportiō to the vertue intellectiue, as things sensible haue to the sense aforesaid. For it moueth the vnderstan­ding after it hath receiued the formes or images of things frō the outward senses, & layeth them vp materiall in the memory where they be kept. This done, Aristotle and his followers say, that then the part of the soule capable of reason, beginneth to vse her powers; and they are (as they affirme) two: the one intellectus possibilis, and the other intellectus agens: these latin words I must vse at this time, because they be easie enough to be vnderstood, and in English would seeme more harsh; whereof the first is as the matter to the second, and the second as forme to the first. Into that possible facultie of the vnderstanding, do the kinds or species of things passe, which the fantasie hath apprehended, yet free of any materiall condition: and this part is to the vnderstanding, as the hand is to the bo­die. For as the hand is apt to take hold of all instruments; [Page 124] so is this power or facultie apt to apprehend the formes of all things, from whence grow the vniuersals: which though they haue their being in the materiall particulars which the Latins cal indiuidua; yet are they not material, because they are not (according to Aristotle) yet in act. In which respect it is sayd, that sense is busied about things particular, and that onely things vniuersall are knowne, because they be comprehended by the vnder­standing, without matter. It is neuerthelesse to be vnder­stood, that the kindes of things are in this possible part thus separated from matter, but blind and obscure: euen as colours are stil in substances, though the light be taken away; which light appearing and making the ayre trans­parent which before was darkened, it giueth to things that illumination, by which they are comprehended and knowne to the eye, whose obiect properly colours are. And the Sunne being the fountaine of light, wise men haue said, that the same Sunne giueth colours to things; for that by meanes of his light they are seene with those visible colours which naturally they haue neuerthelesse in themselues, though without light they could not be discerned, and remaine there as if they were not at all. This part of the soule then, wherein reason is, worketh the same effect towards things intelligible that the Sun doth towards things visible; for it illumineth those kinds or formes which lie hidden in that part possible, dark and confused, deuoyde of place, time, and matter, because they are not particular. And hence it cometh that some haue said this possible vnderstanding (as we may terme it) to be such a thing, as out of it all things should be made, as if it were in stead of matter; and the other agent vn­derstanding to be the worker of all things, and as it were the forme, because this part which before was but in [Page 125] power to things intelligible, becometh through the ope­ration of the agent vnderstanding to be now in act. And for this cause also is it said, that the vnderstanding, and things vnderstood, become more properly and truly one selfe same thing, then of matter and forme it may be said. For it is credible, that both the formes of things and the vnderstanding being immateriall, they do the more per­fectly vnite themselues, and that the vnderstanding doth so make it selfe equall with the thing vnderstood, that they both become one. To which purpose Aristotle said very well, that the reasonable soule, whiles it vnderstan­deth things intelligible, becometh one selfe same thing with them. And this is that very act of truth, to wit, the certain science or knowledge of any thing: which know­ledge or science is in effect nought else then the thing so knowne. And this knowledge is not principally in man, but in the soule, wherin it remaineth as the forme therof. This is briefly the summe of the order or maner of know­ledge, which those that follow Aristotle do set downe: who therefore affirme that his sentence was, that who so would vnderstand any thing, had need of those formes and images which the senses offer to the fantasie. From which sentence some (not well aduised in my opinion) haue gone about to argue, that the soule of man should be mortal, because Aristotle assigned no proper operation vnto her, as if such had bin his opinion. But they consi­der not that Aristotle in his bookes de Anima, spake of the soule as she was naturall, and the forme to the body, per­forming her operations together with the body, and as she was the mouer of the body, and the body moued by her, but not as she was distinct or separate from the bo­die. And right true it is, that whiles she is tied to the bo­die, she cannot vnderstand but by the meanes of the sen­ses: [Page 126] but that being free and loosed from the body, she hath not her proper operations, that is most false. For then hath she no need at all of the senses, when being pure and simple, she may exercise her owne power and vertue proper to her, (which is the contemplation of God Almightie, the highest and onely true good) nor yet of any other instrument but her selfe. And in this re­spect, perchance the better sort of Peripatetikes following their masters opinion, haue said, that the soule separated from the body, is not the same she was whiles she was linked thereunto, as well because then she was a part of the whole, and was troubled with anger, desire, hatred, loue, & such like passions cōmon to her with the body; as because being imprisoned in the body, she had neede of the senses; but now that she was freed frō that imprison­ment, nor any way bound to the body, she might vse her selfe and her vertue much more nobly and worthily then before. And therefore Aristotle said, that the soule, separated frō the body, could no more be called a soule, but equiuocally. But here is to be noted, that it is one thing to speake of the intellectiue soule which is diuine and vncorruptible, and another thing to speake of the soule, simply. For doubtlesse, the vegetatiue and sensitiue soules, which cannot vse their vertues and operations but by meane of the body, die with the body. But the intellectiue soule, which is our onely true forme, not drawne from the materiall power, but created and sent into vs by the diuine maiestie, dieth not with the body, but remaineth immortal and euerlasting. And thus much touching the maner of our learning, according to Aristo­tles opinion may suffice. But Plato doubtlesse was of opi­nion that our soule, before it descended into vs, had the knowledge of all things; and that by comming into this [Page 127] mortall prison (which his followers haue termed the se­pulchre of the soule) she was plunged as it were into pro­found darknesse from a most cleere light, whereby she forgat all that erst she knew. And that afterwards by oc­casion of those things, which by meanes of the senses come before her, the memory of that she knew before being stirred vp and wakened, she came to resume her former knowledge, and in this sort by way of rememo­rating, and not of learning a new, she attained the know­ledge of sciences; so as we learned nothing, whereof be­fore we had not the knowledge. In conformitie of which their masters sentence, the Platonikes say, that since the body bringeth with it the seeds that appertaine vnto it by nature, it is to be beleeued, that the soule likewise, being much more perfect, should bring with it those seeds that appertaine to the mind. And to this reason they adde, that men euen from their first yeares desiring things that are good, true, honest and profitable: and since no man can desire a thing which he knoweth not after some sort, it may be cōcluded, that we haue the knowledge of those things before. But because it would be too long a matter to rehearse all the arguments which Plato his followers bring to proue this, by our desiring of things, by seeking them, by finding them, and by the discerning of them; it may suffice to referre you to what Plato hath left of this matter written vnder the person of Socrates, in his dia­logs intitled Menon and Phoedon, and diuers other places. And likewise to that which his expositors haue written, among whō Plotinus, though he be somewhat obscure, deserueth the chiefe place, as best expressing Plato his sence and meaning. But let our knowledge come how it will, either by learning anew, or by recording what the soule knew before; she hauing need (howsoeuer it be) of [Page 128] the ministery of the senses, and seeing it is almost neces­sary to passe through the same meanes from not know­ing to knowledge: we shall euer find the like difficulties, whether we rememorate or learne anew. For without much study, great diligence, and long trauel, are sciences no way to be attained. Which thing Socrates (who haply was the author of Plato his opinion) shewed vs plainely. For when the curtizan Theodota scoffing at him said, she was of greater skill then he: for she had drawne diuers of Socrates scholers from him to her loue, where Socrates could draw none of her louers to follow him: he answe­red, that he thereat maruelled nothing at all: for (said he) thou leadest them by a plaine smooth way to lust and wantonnesse; and I leade them to vertue by a rough and an vneasie path.

Here Captaine Norreis said, Though this controuersie betweene two so great Philosophers be not (for ought I see) yet decided, and that if we should take vpon vs to dis­cerne whose opinion were the better, it might be impu­ted to presumption: yet would I for my part be very glad to know what was the reason that induced Plato to say that our soule had the knowledge of all things before it came into the body; and I pray you, if your author speake any thing thereof, that you will therein satisfie my de­sire.

Yes marry doth he sir, said I, and your desire herein sheweth very well the excellencie of your wit, and your attention to that which hath bin said: and both may serue for a sufficient argument, what hope is to be conceiued of a gentleman so inclined and desirous to learne. Thus therefore he saith to your question. That whereas we ac­cording to truth beleeue, that our soules are by the diuine power of God, incontinently created and infused into [Page 129] our bodies, when we beginne to receiue life and sense in our mothers womb. Plato contrarily held, that they were long before the bodies created, and produced in a num­ber certaine by God, and that they were as particles de­scended from the Gods aboue into our bodies: and ther­fore he thought it nothing absurd, that they should haue the knowledge of al things that may be knowne. For that they being in heauen busied in the contemplation of the diuine nature, free from any impediment of the body: and that diuine nature containing in it (as he said) the es­sentiall Ideas of all things, which Ideas (according to his opinion) were separate and eternall natures remaining in the diuine minde of God, to the patterne of which, all things created were made, they might (said he) in an in­stant haue the knowledge of all that could be knowne.

If this opinion were true, said Captaine Norreis, hap­pie had it bin for vs, that our soules had continued stil, af­ter they were sent into our bodies, to be of that sort that they had bin in heauen, for then should we not haue nee­ded so much labour and paine in seeking that knowledge which before they had so perfectly. And being so perfect to what end did he say, they were sent into our bodies to become vnperfect?

His opinion (said I) was, that the soules were created in a certaine number, to the end they might informe so many bodies: and therfore if they should not haue come into those bodies, they should haue failed of the end for which they were created. In which bodies, the Platonikes say further, that they were to exercise themselues, and were giuen to the bodies, not onely because they should giue them power to moue, to see, to feele, and to do those other operations which are naturall; but to the end that they should in that which appertaineth to the mind, not [Page 130] suffer vs to be drowsie, and lie (as it were) asleepe, but ra­ther to waken and stirre vs vp to the knowledge of those things that are fit for vs to vnderstand: and this was the most accomplished operation (sayd they) that the soule could giue vnto the bodie whiles it was linked there­unto.

I cannot see (said the Lord Primate) how this hangeth together. For I haue read that these kind of Philosophers held an opinion, that our soules all the while they were tied to our bodies, did but sleepe: and that all, which they do or suffer in this life, was but as a dreame.

It is true (said I) that the Platonikes said so indeed; and that was, because they knew that whatsoeuer we do in this life is but a dreame, in comparison of that our soules shal do in the other world, when they shal be loosed from those bands which tie them to our bodies here: through which bands they are hindred from the knowledge of those things perfectly which here they learne. In regard whereof Carneades, Arcesilas, and others the authors of the new Accademie said constantly, that in this world there was no certaine knowledge of any thing. And Nau­sifanes affirmed, that of all those things which here seeme to vs to be, we know nothing so certainly as that they were not. Vnto which opinion Protagoras also agreed, saying, that men might dispute of any thing pro & contra; as if he should say, that nothing could be assuredly kno­wen to vs whiles we are here, as our soules shall know them whensoeuer they shall be freed from our bodies, and lie no more inwrapped in these mortall shadowes, because then they shall be wholy busied in the contem­plation of truth: neither shal they be deceiued by the sen­ses, as in this life they are oftentimes, who offer vnto them the images of things vncertainly, not through default [Page 131] of the senses, but by reason of the meanes whereby they apprehend the formes of things. For the sense by his owne nature (if he be not deceiued or hindred in recei­uing of things sensible) comprehendeth them perfectly, nay becometh one selfe same thing with them. And this is the cause why it is said, that our soules sleepe whiles they remaine in this life, and that our knowledge here is but as a dreame. According to which conceit, the in­amoured Poet, speaking of his Ladie Laura, said very properly vpon her death in this sort:

Thou hast (faire Damsell) slept but a short sleepe,
Now wak'd thou art among the heau'nly spirits,
Where blessed soules interne within their maker.

Shewing that our life here is but a slumber; and seeming to infer that she was now interned or become inward in the contemplation of her maker, being wakened frō her sleepe among those blessed spirits, as she had bin, before she was inclosed in this earthly prison. And likewise he seemed to leane to Plato his opinion in another place, when speaking of her also, he said she was returned to her fellow star. For Plato thought the number of soules crea­ted, was according to the number of the starres in hea­uen: and that euery soule had a proper starre to which it returned after this life. But as for our knowledge, in truth it is but a shadow in respect of the knowledge our soules shall haue by the contemplation of the diuine essence. Whereupon Socrates, one of the wisest and most learned mē that euer were, yet euermore affirmed resolutely, that the only thing he knew, was, that he knew nothing. And to say truly, this his knowing of nothing, might well be termed a learned ignorance.

Well (said the Lord Primate) captain Carleil and cap­taine Norreis haue by their demaunds ministred a very [Page 132] fit occasion vnto you, to discourse out of your author the considerations of the maner of our knowledge, and consequently of the soule of man, and to declare withall the opinions of two so excellent Philosophers and of their followers. But though both agree in this, that whether the soule learne of new, or by rememorating, she hath al­wayes need of the senses as her ministers to attain know­ledge: yet is it to be beleeued, and that assuredly, that the soule of man being created by God Almightie to his owne image and likenesse, she hath also some proper o­peration or action resembling his; to the accomplish­ment whereof, she hath no need of the senses. And that being dissolued from the body, or after, when he shall be re-united to the same in the resurrection, she hauing then the same image and likenesse of God still in her, she shall euerlastingly be wholy and onely intent to the contem­plation of his diuine maiestie, who is the onely true and perfect good and happinesse. The perfection of which diuine maiestie, is the knowledge of himselfe; and know­ing himselfe to know all things by him created and pro­duced. But it is time now for you to returne to the mat­ter you had in hand, when you were drawne by their de­maunds to make this digression.

And euen so will I, since you be so pleased, quoth I, and so proceeded in this maner. In the beginning of youth, the yong man is fitly to be resembled to a traueller that is arriued in his iourney to a place where the way is deuided into two parts, and standeth in doubt which of them he shall take: for in either of them he seeth a guide standing ready to leade him; whereof, the one inuiteth him to pleasure, and the other to vertue. The first propo­sing to him his delights and ease, and the other labour and trauell. And forasmuch as that age is inclined natu­rally [Page 133] to pleasures, and enemy to paine-taking and labour, it is greatly to be doubted that the yong man leauing the way that leades to vertue, wil betake himselfe to the other guide to follow the way that leadeth to delight. Where­fore if at any time it be needfull for the father to haue a watchfull eye vpon his sonne, it is then most important when his child is to make his passage from his childhood into his youth: and at that time to set before his eyes con­tinually instructions, wherby he may conceiue how ho­nestie and good behauiour, with ciuill conuersation, are the foundation of good and happie life: and this chiefly is he to do by his owne example. For though it be very good, that his son in those yeares, and at all other times, should see the whole family so ordered, as he may learne nothing therein but vertue and honesty; yet must he not thinke but that his sonne will better beleeue and follow what he shal see himselfe do or say, then all the family be­sides. And if Aristotle aduise masters to endeuour them­selues to giue good example to their seruants and slaues; how much more ought the father to be carefull to do the like to his owne children, who are dearer to him then his seruants, being his owne liuely images. For as it is the mothers care and office to breed and nourish her childe; so is it the fathers dutie to see him well instructed and taught in vertues and good behauiour: and the speeches and demeanour of the father in his houshold or family, are to his children as lawes in a citie to the citizens, and do assuredly enter into the mindes of children with farre greater force then men would think. Which made Xeno­crates to say, that the stopping of young mens eares was more needful then the arming of their bodies against the strokes of their enemies; because the danger was greater which they incurred by hearing an vnseemely speech, [Page 134] specially from their parents mouth, then that which they might feare by fighting with their enemies. The father therefore must be very circumspect that his sonne heare him not speake any word vndecent or dishonest: for na­ture with a certain hidden vertue perswadeth youth, suc­ceeding a weltaught childhood, to beare great reuerence and respect to the graue and ripe yeares of their parents, and of all aged persons; who euen in the first view repre­sent vnto them vertue, prudence, and all good and graue behauiour. And such is he to shew himselfe to his sonne, as euen in his countenance, gestures and words he may as in a table behold therein the lawes of honest life. And that his actions may be in all points to his son a patterne and example of ciuill conuersation and vertuous liuing.

It is a very necessary and important instruction and aduertisement (said M. Dormer) that you haue last men­tioned for fathers to obserue. But I would faine that you shold tel me, whether you haue not seen (as I oftentimes haue done) wicked children begotten of very good and honest parents.

Yes (quoth I) oftener then I would. Neither can it be denied, but that as there are some young men by nature and through their happie constellation wholy bent to vertuous and honest conditions; so are there others na­turally disposed to vice and lewd behauiour: yet since it seemeth not credible, that of good parents ill children should come; and that diligent care in bringing them vp should not plucke vp (if not wholy, yet in part) those euil weeds which choke the good seeds, so as the fruit might in due season be expected: seeking to finde the reason hereof, I haue called to mind the precept of Hippocrates giuen to the Physitions, to wit, that it is not sufficient for recouery of the sicke patient, that the Physition be well [Page 135] disposed to cure him, and employ his diligence to that effect: but that other things must likewise concurre for the recouery of his health, as the care and sollicitude of such as watch and tend him, with other exteriour things. For euen so me thinketh, that to the good proofe of a young man, besides the example of the father, and of the rest of the family, be it neuer so vertuous, there must also concurre the goodnesse of his conuersation abroade, to make his domesticall familiaritie worke due effect: since many times I haue seene it fall out, that the haunting of ill company from home, hath done a young man much more hurt, then all the good instructions or vertuous ex­amples domesticall could do him good. So soft and ten­der are the minds of yong men, and apt (as was formerly said) to be wrought like waxe to vice. And this cometh to passe, by reasō that the sensitiue part calling youth to de­light, and diuerting it from the trauell and paine which learning and vertue require, is hardly subdued and brought vnder the rule of reason, by which it esteemeth it selfe forced, when it is barred from that it desireth. And if by any exteriour occasion it be pricked forward, it fa­reth as we see it oftentimes do with young hard-headed colts, who take the bit in the mouth, and run away with the rider, carrying him, will he, nill he, whether they list. It ought therefore to be none of the least cares of the fa­ther to prouide, that the forraine conuersation of his son may be such as shall rather help then hinder his care and home-example. To which effect, it would be very good, if it might be possible, that the young man were neuer from his fathers side. But forasmuch as many occasions draw men to attend other waightier affaires, as well pub­like as priuat, wherby they are driuen to haue their minds busied about exterior things, and to neglect their childrē [Page 136] who are their owne bowels. Therefore is it their parts in such cases to appoint for their children, when they are past their childish yeares, some learned and honest man of vertuous behauiour to gouerne them and take care of them, whose precepts they may so obey, as they shall feare to do any thing that may breede reproch or blame vnto them. For such things are mortall poison to yong mens minds, and not only put them astray from the path that should leade them to vertue, but imprint in them al­so a vitious habit that maketh them vnruly and disobedi­ent to all wholesome admonitions and vertuous actions. This man so chosen to haue the charge of youth, must be carefull among other things to foresee, that his disciples may haue such companions, as the Persian Princes had, prouided for them, to wit, equall of age and like of con­ditions, with whom they may be conuersant & familiar. For such similitude of age and conditions doth cause them to loue and like one another, if some barre or impe­diment fall not betweene them. The auncient wise men assigned to youth the Plannet of Mercury, for no other cause (as I suppose) but for that Mercury being (as Astro­nomers say) either good or bad, according as he is accompanied with another plannet good or euil: euen so youth becommeth good or bad, as the companies to which it draweth or giueth it selfe. And therefore ought not yong men to haue libertie to haunt what companie they list, but to be kept vnder the discipline of wise men, and trai­ned vp in the companie of others of their age well bred, vntill it may be thought, or rather found by experience, that they be past danger, and become fit to guide them­selues: hauing brought their mind obedient to reason so farre, as it cannot any more draw him to any delights, but such as are honest and vertuous. This delight in vertue [Page 137] and honestie, is best induced into a yong mans mind by that true companiō of vertue that breedeth feare to do or say any thing vnseemely or dishonest: which companion Socrates sought to make familiar to his scholers, when he would tell them how they should endeuour themselues to purchase in their minds prudence, into their tongues truth with silence, and in their faces bashfulnesse, called by the Latins verecundia, deriuing it from the reuerence which yong men vse to beare to their elders. This we call shamefastnesse, and is that honest red colour or blushing which dieth a yong mans cheekes when he supposeth he hath done or said any thing vnseemely or vnfit for a ver­tuous mind, or that may offend his parents or betters: a certaine token of a generous mind, and well disciplined, of which great hope may be conceiued that it will proue godly and vertuous. For as a sure and firme friend to ho­nestie and vertue, like a watch or guard set for their secu­ritie, it is euer wakefull and carefull to keepe all disordi­nate concupiscences from the mind, whereby (though of it selfe it be rather an affect then a habit) neuerthelesse she induceth such a habite into a yong mans mind, that not onely in presence of others he blusheth, if he chance to do any thing not commendable, but euen of himselfe he is ashamed, if being alone he fall into any errour. For though some say, that two things chiefly keepe youth from euill, correction, and shame, and that chastisement rather then instruction draweth youth to do well; yet I for my part neuer think that yong man well bred or trai­ned vp, who for feare of punishment abstaineth from do­ing things shamefull or dishonest: punishment being ap­pointed but for them that are euill: which made the Poet say:

For vertues sake good men ill deeds refraine:
[Page 138] Ill men refraine them but for feare of paine.

For the wickednesse of men hath caused lawes to be de­uised and established for the conseruation of honest and vertuous societie, and ciuil life, whereunto man is borne: which lawes haue appointed penalties for the offenders, to the end that for feare thereof, as Xenocrates was wont to say, men might flie from ill doing, as dogs flie harme doing for feare of the whip. And because Plato formed his Common-weale of perfect and vertuous men, ther­fore set he downe no lawes in his bookes de Repub. be­cause he supposed the goodnesse of the men to be suffi­cient for the gouernement thereof without a law, either to commaund good order, or to punish offenders. Ne­uertheles the same diuine Philosopher considering how the imperfection of mans nature will not suffer any such Common-wealth to be found: he wrote also his bookes of lawes to serue for the imperfection of other Com­mon-weales, which were composed of men of all sorts, good and bad, meane or indifferent, in which both in­struction and punishment were needfull, as well to make the euill abstaine from vice, as to confirme the good, and to reduce those that were indifferent to greater perfecti­on. Lawes therefore haue appointed punishments, that vertue might be defended and maintained, ciuill societie and humane right preserued. But young men bred as our author would haue them, are by all meanes to be framed such, as for vertues sake, for feare of reproch, for loue and reuerence to honestie, and not for feare of punishment to be inflicted on them by the magistrates or their superi­ours for doing of euill, they may accustome themselues neuer to do any thing, for which they should neede to blush, no not to themselues alone. Which thing they shal the better performe, if they vse to forbeare the doing [Page 139] of any thing by themselues, which they would be asha­med of if they were in company. It is written, that a­mong the auncient Romanes one Iulius Drusus Publicola hauing his house seated so as his neighbours might looke into it, a certaine Architect offered him for the expence of fiue talents to make it so close as none of his neighbors should looke thereinto, or see what he was doing. But he made him answer againe, that he would rather giue him ten talents to make it so, as all the citie might see what he did in his house; because he was sure he did nothing within doores whereof he neede be ashamed abroade, though euery man should see him. For which answer he was highly cōmended. True it is that Xenophon estee­meth this blushng to a mans self, to be rather temperance then bashfulnes: but let it be named how it wil, it is surely the propertie of a gentle heart so to do. And therefore Petrarke said well:

Alone whereas I walkt mongs woods and hils,
I shamed at my selfe: for gentle heart
Thinkes that enough, no other spurre it wils.

Yet would I not neither, that our young man should be more bashfull then were fit, as one ouer-awed or doltish, not able to consider perils or dangers when they present themselues, not yet to loose his boldnesse of spirit. For Antipater the sonne of Cassander through the like quali­tie cast himselfe away, who hauing inuited Demetrius to supper with him at such a time, as their friendship was not sure but stood vpon doubtful termes, and he being come accordingly: when Demetrius afterwards as in requital of his kindnesse inuited Antipater likewise to supper, though he knew right well what perill he thrust himselfe into if he went, considering the wyly disposition of the said De­metrius: yet being ashamed that Demetrius should per­ceiue [Page 140] him to be so mistrustful, would needs go, and there was miserably slaine. This is a vice, named in the Greeke Disopia, and which we may in English call vnfruitfull shamefastnesse, wherewith we would not wish our yong man should be any way acquainted, but onely with that generous bashfulnesse that may serue him for a spurre to vertue, and for a bridle from vice. But because Plato saith, that though bashfulnesse be most properly fit for young men, yet that it is also seemly inough for men of al yeares. And that Aristotle contrariwise thinketh it not meete for men of riper years to blush: it may therefore be doubted to whether of these two great learned mens opinions we should incline. For cleering hereof, you must vnderstand that the Platonikes say two things among others are spe­cially giuen to for a diuine gift vnto man: Bashfulnesse the one, and Magnanimitie the other: the one to hold vs back from doing of any thing worthy blame & reproch: the other to put vs forward into the way of praise and vertue; whereby we might alwayes be ready to do well onely for vertues sake, to the good and benefit of others, and to our owne contentment and delight. Of which course, the end is honour in this world, and glory after death. But because the force of the Concupiscible appe­tite is so great, and setteth before vs pleasure in so many sundry shapes, as it is hard to shun the snares which these two enemies of reason set to intrap vs, and that the cold­nesse of old age cannot wholy extinguish the feruour of our appetites; for my part I think that as in all ages it is fit that Magnanimitie inuite vs to commendable actions; so also that we haue neede of shamefastnesse to correct vs whēsoeuer we shal go beyond the boūds or limits of rea­son in what yeares soeuer, and to check vs with the bridle of temperāce. For though Aristotle say, that shame ought [Page 141] to die red in a mans cheekes, but for voluntary actions only: yet Plato considering that none but God is perfect without fault; and that euery man, euen the most vertu­ous falleth sometimes through humane frailtie, thought (according to Christianitie) that ripenesse of yeares or wisedome should be no hinderance to make them asha­med, but rather make them the more bashfull whensoe­uer they should find in themselues, that they had run into any errour vndecent or vnfitting for men of their yeares and quality. Not intending yet thereby that the errors of the ancienter men were to be of that sort that yong mens faults commonly are, who through incontinencie runne oftentimes into sin wilfully: whereas men of riper yeares erre or ought to erre only through frailty of nature. Much better were it indeede for men of yeares not to do any thing of which they might be ashamed, if the condition of man would permit it, then after they had done it to blush thereat: and much more reprochfull is his fault, if he offend voluntarily then the young mans. But since no man (though he haue made a habite in wel-doing) can stand so assured of himselfe, but that sometime in his life he shal commit some error: it is much better (in what age soeuer it be) that blushing make him know his fault, then to passe it ouer impudently without shame. And ac­cordingly Saint Ambrose said in his booke of Offices, that shamefastnesse was meet for all ages, for all times, and for all places. And for the same cause perhaps haue wise men and religious held, that an Angell of heauen assisteth eue­ry man to call him backe from those euils, which the ill Angell with his sugred baite of delight and disordinate appetite inticeth him vnto, onely for his ruine. For they thought that our forces were not able to resist so mighty prouocations. As for Plato and Aristotle, seemeth they [Page 142] differed in opinion, for that, the one considered humane nature as it ought to be, and the other as it commonly is indeed. Which may the better be beleeued, because Ari­stotle in his booke of Rhetorike, restrained not this habite of shamefastnesse so precisely to young men, but that it may sometimes beseeme an aged mans cheekes also, though so farre as grace and wisedome may preuaile, it would best beseeme him neuer to do the thing whereof he need be ashamed, as before was sayd. And the same rule ought young men also to propose to themselues, whereby they shall deserue so much the more commen­dation, as the heate of their yeares beareth with them fie­rie appetites, and they the lesse apt to resist so sharpe and so intollerable prickes. The way to obserue that rule, is to striue in all their actions to master themselues, and to profit in vertue: whereunto will helpe them chiefly, that they endeuour themselues to bridle such desires as they find most to molest them, not suffering them to trans­port them beyond the limits of honestie. But because the day goeth away, and that to treate particularly of all that might be said concerning the direction of youth to vertue, which leadeth him to his felicitie, would require more time then is remaining, I wil briefly knit vp the rest that concerneth this matter. Young men haue naturall heate so much abounding in them, that they cannot rest, but be still in motion as well of body as of mind. The one with running, leaping, and other exercises, and when all they faile, the tongue ceaseth not, which by reason of their age is the more bold and ready. The other with pas­sing from one discourse to another, and from one passion to another; now louing, now hating, now boyling with anger and choler, now still and quiet, with such like mo­tions of the mind. And because the motions of the body, [Page 143] and the affections of the minde must haue their measure and their rule, and the one and the other conuenient ex­ercise and moderate rest: therefore did the auncient wise men deuise two speciall Arts, most apt and fit for both these purposes. Whereof, the one they called Gymnastica, which is a skilfull and moderate exercise of the body; and the other Musike, by which name it is well knowne in all languages. And when they had caused their youth to spend part of the day in learning those sciences and dis­ciplines which they thought fit for that age (for of all o­ther things they abhorred the training them vp in igno­rance, because seldome can an ignorant man be good, and that men without knowledge and learning are but figures of men, and images of death without soule or life) then would they draw them to honest exercises of the body by degrees. For they held it a thing most necessary for the wel-founding of a Common-wealth, to be con­tinually carefull of the framing youth both in body and mind; because they knew right well that good education maketh young men good: and that such are Common-wealths and States, as are the qualities and conditions of the men which they do breed. Touching the body ther­fore, they did deuise to strengthen and harden it with conuenient and temperate exercises: as the play at ball, leaping, running, dansing, riding, wrastling, throwing the barre, the stone or sledge, and such like. For the minde, they thought best to stay and settle it selfe with the har­monie of Musike: and from these two they resolued, that two great good effects did ensue: From the first, strength of body and boldnesse of spirit; and from the latter, modesty and temperance, inseparable companions for the most part vnto fortitude. For some of them were of opinion, that our soules were composed of harmonie; [Page 144] and beleeued that Musike was able so to temper our af­fects and passions, as they should not farre or discord a­mong themselues, but be so interlaced the one with the other in a sweet consent, as wel guided and ordered actiō should proceed from the same, euen as sweet and delight­full Musike proceedeth from the wel-tempering of tu­nable voices, or well consorted instruments. Neither would they haue the one to be exercised, and the other omitted: for that they thought, if yong men should giue themselues onely to the exercises of the body, they wold become too fierce and hardy; and so be rather hurtfull to their commonweales then otherwise. And if they should follow onely Musike, which is proper to rest and quiet­nes, and vsed as a recreation of the mind, as Aristotle saith, they would become soft minded and effeminate. But by ioyning both these faculties together in one, they sought to make a noble temper, and to induce a most excellent habite, as well in the mind as in the body. So that if valor were required for the defence of their countrey, or van­quishing of their enemies, they were made fit and apt thereunto by the exercises of the body; but with such measure and temper as should not exceed. Which mea­sure and temper, they obtained from that harmonie which Musike imprinted in their mindes: vnder which they comprehended not onely the ordering of the voice and sounds of instruments, but all other orderly and seemely motions of the body; which vpon their stages, or Scaenes in the acting of Tragedies, was chiefly to be discouered. And that all orderly motions were compre­hended vnder Musicke, was held so certaine by Pythago­ras, Archetas, Plato, Cicero, & other famous Philosophers, that they were of opinion, that the orderly course and motions of the heauens could not be such as it is, or con­tinue [Page 145] without harmony, though Aristotle do oppose him selfe to their opinion. And for this cause did Lycurgus de­uise that Musike should be conioyned with the military discipline of the Lacedemonians, not onely to temper the heate and furie of their minds in fight; but also to cause them to vse a certaine measure in that marching, and o­ther occasions of war. In which respect they were wont to battell without certaine pipes, according to the times whereof they vnderstood how to vse their bodies and weapons: from which respect also cometh our vsing of drums and trumpets to giue souldiers knowledge when to march, when to stand, when to assault, and when to retire: and consequently how to ioyne order and mea­sure with their valour against the enemy: and the Lans­knight and the Switzer vse also the fife at this day with the drum. And to say truth, great is the force of Musike skilfully vsed to stirre vp or to appease the mind. For we reade, that Pythagoras finding a wanton yong man enra­ged with lust, ready to force the doore of an honest wo­man, he so calmed his mind, onely by changing the Phri­gian tune and number into the Spondean, that he gaue ouer his wicked purpose. And Therpander, when a great sedition was raised among the Lacedemonians, he with his musike so quieted their mindes bent to fury, that he re­duced them to a perfect peace. It is also written of the great Alexander, that he was so moued by that tune and nūber of Musikes, which the greeks called Orthios nomos, which was a kind of haughtie tune to stirre men to battel, that he rose from the boord to arme himselfe, as if the trumpet had sounded the allarme. But what talke we of the auncient opinions concerning the force of Musike to moue mens minds, when we find they beleeued that their Gods were forced by the vertue of Musike to ap­pease [Page 146] their wrath? For, the Lacedemonians being infested with a great pestilence, Thales of Candia was said by mu­sike to haue mitigated their anger, and so to haue deliue­red them frō that mortality. The which thing Homer also signified, when he said, that the yongmen of Greece with their songs did appease Apollo his wrath, and caused the plague to cease which had infected their campe. And the Romanes likewise being annoied with a great pestilence, receiued then first the singing of Satires into the Citie though but rudely tuned then, as a remedy for that infe­ctiō. The force & efficacie of musike then being such as I haue declared, it is no maruel that the Aegiptiās, after they had once receiued it into their Commonwealth, as meet for the instruction of their youth, wold neuer after allow that it shold be altered or changed, but such as it was whē they first admitted it, such they continued it without al­tering the space of ten thousand yeres, according to their manner of contemplation, hauing a conceit or rather a firme opinion that they could not alter musike but with danger to their State. Which opinion the Lacedemoni­ans likewise so embraced, that when Timotheus an excel­lent Musition in Sparta, had presumed to adde but one string to the Cyther, they banished him out of the citie and territories, as a violater of lawes, and a corrupter of honest discipline. Albeit with Phrine they dealt more mildly, who hauing added to the Cyther two cords, one sharpe, and another graue or flat, they onely caused him to take them away againe, supposing that seuen strings were enough to temper the sound thereof, as a number comprehending all musike; and that the increasing therof was but superfluous and harmefull. These ancient exam­ples & considerations, are not sleightly to be passed ouer: for though many other occasions of corruption in our [Page 147] age may be assigned; yet one of the principall, in the iudgement of wise men, may wel be imputed to the qua­litie of that corrupted musike which is most vsed now a dayes; carrying with it nothing but a sensuall delight to the eare, without working any good to the mind at all. Nay, would God it did not greatly hurt and corrupt the mind. For as musike well vsed is a great help to moderate the disorderly affections of the minde: so being abused it expelleth all manly thoughts from the heart, and so ef­feminateth men, that they are little better then women: and in women breedeth such lasciuious and wanton thoughts, that oftentimes they forget their honestie, without which they cannot be worthy the name of wo­men. Not that I would hereby inferre, that musike ge­nerally were to be misliked, or vnfit for women also: but my meaning is of this wanton and lasciuious kind of mu­sike, which is now a dayes most pleasing, and resembleth the Lydian of old time, which Plato so abhorred, as he would not in any sort admit it into his Common-weale, lest it should infect the minds of men and women both. And from him may we learne what kinde of musike he would haue men to embrace, to stirre their mindes vp to vertue, and to purge the same from vice and errour. Like as also frō Aristotle in his 8. booke of Politikes, taken per­chance out of the writings of his master. But if that aun­cient kinde of musike, framed and composed wholy to grauitie, were now knowne and vsed, which kinde was then set forth with the learned and graue verses of excel­lent Poets, we should now also see magnificall and high desires stipped vp in the minds of the hearers. Which ver­ses contained the praises of excellent and heroicall perso­nages, and were vsed to be sung at the tables of great men and Princes, to the sound of the Lyra; whereby they in­flamed [Page 148] the mindes of the hearers to vertue and generous actions. For the force of Musike with Poesie, is such, as is of power to set the followers and louers thereof into the direct way that leadeth them to their felicitie. Socrates demaunding of the Oracle of Apollo, what he should do to make himselfe happie: he was willed to learne Musike; whereupon he gaue himselfe forthwith to the studie of Poesie, conceiuing with himselfe, that verses and Poeti­call numbers are the perfectest Musike, and that they en­ter like liuely sparkes into mens minds, to kindle in them desires of dignitie, greatnesse, honor, true praise and com­mendation, and to correct whatsoeuer is in them of base and vile affection. In auncient time therfore men caused their children to be instructed in Poesie before all other disciplines, for that they esteemed good Poets to be the fathers of wisedome, and the vndoubted true guides to ciuill life, and not without cause. For they raise mens thoughts from humble and base things, such as the vul­gar and common sort delight in, and make them bend their endeuours wholy to high, yea heauenly things. As who so list to attend diligently the excellencie of the Psalmes and Hymnes composed by the Kingly Prophet Dauid, and others called the singers of the Hebrew Church, shall easily discerne. But since our musike is gro­wen now to the fulnes of wantō and lasciuious passions, and the words so confusedly mingled with the notes, that a man can discerne nothing but the sound and tunes of the voices, but sence or sentence he can vnderstand none at all; euen as it were sundry birds chanting and chirping vpon the boughes of trees: yong men are much better in the iudgement of the wise, to abstaine from it altogether, then to spend their time about it. For as good disciplines are the true and proper nourishment of ver­tue: [Page 149] so are the euill the very poison of the same.

Then said Captaine Carleil, as concerning the diffe­rence between the auncient musike and ours in this age, I do easily agree with you, and wish it were otherwise, that we might see now a dayes those wonderfull effects of this excellent Art, which are written of it in auncient authors. But where you so highly extoll the studie of Po­esie, you make me not a little to maruel, considering how Plato, being so learned a man, did not onely make small e­stimation thereof, but banished it expresly from his com­mon-weale.

Let not that seeme strange vnto you, said I: for Plato condemned not Poesie, but onely those Poets that abu­sed so excellent a facultie, scribling either wanton toyes, or else by foolish imitation taking vpon them to expresse high conceirs which themselues vnderstood not. And specially did he reprehend those Poets, who in their ficti­ons did ascribe to the Gods such actions as would haue bin vnseemely for the most wanton and vicious men of the world: as the adultery of Mars and Venus, those of Iupiter with Semele, with Europa, with Danaë, with Calisto, and many moe. Though some haue vnder such fictions sought to teach morall and maruellous sences, which Pla­to likewise in his second Alcibiades declareth. But he bla­med not those Poets, who frame their verses and com­positions to the honor of God, and to good examples of modestie and vertue. For in his books of Lawes he intro­duceth Poets to sing Himnes to their Gods, and teacheth the maner of their Chori in their sacrifices, and to make prayers for the Common-weale. Howbeit, to say truth, though he so do, he would not haue it lawfull for euery man to publish any composition that he had made, with­out the allowance and view of some magistrate elected [Page 150] in the citie for that purpose. Which magistracy he would haue to be of no fewer in number then fiftie men of gra­uitie and wisedome: of such importance did he hold the compositions of Poets to be. Which regard if it were had now a dayes, we should not see so many idle and profane toyes spred abroade by some that think the preposterous turning of phrases, and making of rime with little reason, to be an excellent kinde of writing, and fit to breed them fame and reputation. Supposing (as men blinded in their owne conceits) that they exceed all other writers, and that from them only others that write in that kind shold take their rules and example. So drowning their corrup­ted iudgements in their ignorance, that where they be worthy blame, they esteeme themselues comparable to the most famous and excellent Poets that euer wrote, and that they ought to be partakers of their glory and greatest honors. But to men of iudgement, and able to discerne the difference betweene well writing and presumptuous scribling, they minister matter of scorne and laughter, when they consider their disioynted phrases, their mis­shapen figures, their shallow conceits lamely expressed, and disgraced, in stead of being adorned, with vnproper and vnfit metaphors, well declaring how vnworthy they be of the title of Poets. Such are they, who being them­selues ful of intemperance and wantonnes, write nothing but dishonest and lasciuious rimes and songs, apt to root out all honest and manly thoughts out of their mindes that are so foolish as to lose their time in reading of them. These indeed ought to be driuen out, and banished frō al Commonweales, as corrupters of manners, and infecters of young mens mindes: who may well be compared to rocks that lie hidden vnder water, amid the sea of this our life, on which, such yong men as chance to strike, are like [Page 151] to suffer shipwracke, and sinking in the gulfe of lust and wantonnesse, to be drowned and dead to all vertue. But true Poesie well vsed, is nothing else but the most ancient kind of Philosophie, compounded and interlaced with the sweetnesse of numbers and measured verses. A thing (as saith Musaeus) most sweet and pleasing to the mind, teaching vs vertue by a singular maner of instruction, and couering morall sences vnder fabulous fictions: to the end they might the sooner be receiued vnder that plea­sing forme, and yet not be vulgarly vnderstood, but by such onely as were worthy to tast the sweetnesse of their inuentions. For so did the Philosophers of old write their mysteries vnder similitudes, to the end they might not be straight comprehended by euery dul wit, and lose their reputation, by being common in the hands and mouth of euery simple fellow. This maner first began a­mong the wiser Aegiptians, and was afterwards followed by Pythagoras and Plato. And Aristotle, though he wrote not by similitudes and allegories, yet wrapt he vp his con­ceits in so darke a maner of speech and writing, as hardly were they to be vnderstood by those that heard himselfe teach and expound his writings. But to make an end with Poets, he that marketh those fictions which Homer hath written of their Gods, like as those of Virgil, and o­ther of the heathen Poets, though at the first they seeme strange and absurd; yet he shall find vnder them naturall and diuine knowledge hidden to those that are not wise and learned: which neither time nor occasion would, that I should here insist vpon. Let it suffice that yong men are to make great account of that part of Musike which bea­reth with it graue sentences, fit to compose the mind to good order by vertue of the numbers and sound; which part proceedeth from the Poets, whom Plato himself cal­led [Page 152] the fathers and guides of those that afterwards were called Philosophers. But this that by varietie of tunes, and warbling diuisions, confounds the words and sen­tences, and yeeldeth onely a delight to the exterior sense, and no fruit to the mind, I wish them to neglect and not to esteeme.

Indeed (said captain Carleil) I agree with you, that our musike is far different from the ancient musike, and that well may it serue to please the eare: but I yeeld that it ef­feminateth the minde, and rather diuerteth it from the way of blisse and felicitie, then helpeth him thereunto. But are there not other disciplines, besides these two which you haue specified last, wherein yong men are to be instructed to further them to the attaining of that end, about which all this our discourse is framed?

Yes marry (said I) and so far as youth is capable, it might well be wished that he had knowledge of them all. But of these our author hath first spoken, supposing that from Grammer, and such other the liberall Arts, as those first yeares could reach to vnderstand, he should be straight brought to the excercise of the body and to Musike. Ne­uertheles it is requisite withal, that, as his yeares increase, he should apply himselfe without losse of time to learne principally Geometry and Arithmetike, two liberal arts, and of great vse and necessitie for all humane actions in this life; because they teach vs measure and numbers, by which, all things mans life hath need of are ordered and ruled. For by them we measure land, we build, we deuise Arts, and set them forth, all things are directed by num­ber and measure, as occasions serue: and without the help of these two faculties, all would be confused and disorde­red. And therefore did the Aegyptians set their children carefully to learne them: for that by them they decided [Page 153] the discords and differences growing among the dwel­lers along the banks of the riuer of Nyle, which with her inundations, and breaking of their meares and limits did giue them often cause to fall at variance and strife among themselues. For nauigation likewise how needfull they are, all men do know, that know the necessitie of the vse thereof for humane life, since all that nature produ­ceth to all people and nations in the world particularly, is thereby made common to all, with the helpe of com­mutation and of coyne. From these two also cometh the exact knowledge, not onely of the earth and of the sea, but of the heauens likewise and of their motions, of the starres and course of time, of the rising and setting of the plannets: and to conclude all in few words, of the whole frame and order of nature, and of her skill, by which she knitteth and vniteth together in peace and amitie things in themselues most contrary. All done so cunningly by number and measure, as a whole yeares discourse would not serue to display the same at large. The Art of warre in like maner, so needful for States and Commonweales, to keepe in due obedience stubborne and rebellious sub­iects, and to repell the violence of forreine enemies, if it were not directed by measure and number: what would it be but a confusion, and a most dangerous and harmfull thing, which would soone fall from the reputation it hath and euer had. For these considerations therefore and o­thers, is youth, that bendeth his course to vertue, to exer­cise it selfe in Geometry and Arithmetike, which in anci­ent times men would acquaint their children withall, e­uen from their childhood: as Arts that haue more cer­tainty then any other. But they are not to be attained without Logike, because from it are gotten the instru­ments and the maner to deuide, to compound, to inuent [Page 154] and find out reasons and arguments; and finally to dis­cerne and iudge of truth and falshood. But here I must tel you, that he meaneth not of that Logike which is vsed now a dayes most in schooles, standing for the most part vpon brawlings and contentions, and propounding of friuolous questions, seruing to nought else but subtilties, and inextricable knots, fitter to nourish arguments then to teach or explane the truth. Which abuse Antisthenes misliking, said, it was meeter to instruct him that conten­ded, then by contention to ouercome him. For Logike being indeed the way and meane to instruct and teach, and (as before is said) the proper instrument of sciences, such as learne it onely to contend, forsake the right end and scope of that Art, and are as fruitlesse to their follow­ers or scholers, as myre is to the way faring man, which besides the defiling of his garments, doth oftentimes make him also to fall. Therfore Plato in his time cried out vpon the same, iudging it not without cause to be a meer folly that hindred the knowledge of truth, and the lear­ning of those things which the soundest and wisest Phi­losophers taught as well touching vertuous and ciuill ac­tions, as naturall and diuine sciences: from which, this vaine science putteth men astray, so long as it teacheth onely to argue and to contend. Whereby it commeth to passe, that whiles they are more intentiue to the words and circumstances then to the matter, the more they striue to seeme learned and subtill, the lesse they shew themselues to vnderstand. Next to Logike is Rhetorike to be placed, or the Art of Oratory, which Leontinus did preferre before all other, because it maketh it selfe Ladie ouer mens minds, not by force or violence, but by their owne consents and free-will. And as Zeno expressed the difference betweene these two Arts, by resembling the [Page 155] former to his hand closed, and the latter to his hand stret­ched out. So doth Rhetorike vse arguments with lesse force and efficacie then Logike; yet fetcheth them from Logike, as from a fountaine or well head, not to seek out the truth exactly, but only to perswade or disswade with them that, which he thinketh most profitable for the speaker, or the person for whom he speaketh. And of this Art, haue all publike and priuate actions appertaining to ciuill life need to perswade what is good and profitable, and to disswade what is hurtfull or vnprofitable, to ap­pease tumults and dissentions, to treate of leagues and peaces, to stirre vp the mindes of men to the defence of their friends, their parents, their Prince and country, and their Religion: to search out and inuestigate the truth of all things, to assist the innocent and oppressed in courts of iudgement, to accuse the faultie and offenders: and fi­nally to giue vnto vertue her due praise and commenda­tion; and vnto vice due blame and reproch. By these meanes and studies which we haue briefly touched, ra­ther then perfectly declared, ought a young man to be framed to ciuill conuersation, and instructed with all carefulnesse, that he may learne to bridle his concupisci­ble desires, his angry and disordinate motions, occasio­ned by the senses, and stirred vp by those two parts of the minde, which are rebellious and contrary to reason: whereby he may giue himselfe wholy to honest and ver­tuous endeuours. And because store of wealth oft times causeth young men (when they possesse it) to turne aside from vertue, because riches is the nurse of wantonnesse in those yeares, great regard is to be had, that as the fa­ther, so farre as his state requireth, is not to suffer his son to want any thing that is necessary for his calling; so must he take heede that he be not so fed with money, as fee­ding [Page 156] therby his lusts and sensuall appetites, he may aban­don the good thoughts of vertue, and receiue in steed of them the seeds of vnruly and disorderly affections, which of themselues are by nature in youth much more migh­tie then were fit, and need not to be holpen by plentie of riches. For to giue a yong man money at will, to dispose as he list (vnlesse the father find, as in some yong men it happeneth, that he hath preuented his yeares with staid­nesse and discretion) is euen as much as to put a sword into the hands of a furious or mad man.

By this the Sun was so farre declined towards our ho­rizon, as all the companie thought it time to depart, that they might before sun-set reach to the citie.

Wherfore sir Robert Dillon rising vp, said: Howsoeuer the latenes of the day call vs away, yet the desire to heare on further the discourse of so good a matter, hath drawne vs on in such sort, as we haue scarce perceiued how the time is past. And for your second feast, you haue right daintily and plenteously entertained vs. We must now expect the third, which to morow (God willing) we wil not faile to come and accept: in hope that though we be cōbersome & troublesome vnto you, yet as wel in regard of discharging your promise, as of accomplishing the de­sire of so many your friends, you will not thinke it much to affoord vs your patience and your breath in deliuering to vs the substance of your authors third dialogue of Ci­uil life; by which we may learne as much as he hath writ­ten of the Ethike part of Moral Philosophie, teaching the ready way for euery man in his priuate course of life to attaine his felicitie, and that end, of which all this dis­course of yours hath had his beginning. And so taking their leaue all together they departed.

The third dayes meeting, and discourse of Ciuill life.

I Was not yet fully apparelled on the next morrow, when looking out of my window towards the citie, I might perceiue the companie all in a troupe coming together, not as men walking softly to sport, or desirous to refresh themselues with the morning deaw, and the sweete pleasant ayre that then inuited all persons to leaue their sluggish nestes; but as men earnestly bent to their iorney, and that had their heads busied about some mat­ter of greater moment then their recreation. I therefore hasted to make me ready, that they might not find me in case to be taxed by them of drowsinesse, and was out of the doores before they came to the house: where saluting them, and they hauing courteously returned the good morrow vnto me; the Lord Primate asked me whether that company made me not afraide to see them come in such sort vpon me being but a poore Farmer: for though they came not armed like soldiers to be cessed vpon me, yet their purpose was to coynie vpon me, and to eate me out of house and home. To whom I answered, that as long as I saw Counsellers in the companie, I neede not feare that any such vnlawful exactiō as coynie should be required at my hand: for the lawes had sufficiently pro­uided for the abolishing thereof. And though I knew that among the Irishry it was not yet cleane taken away, yet among such as were ameynable to law, and ciuill, it was not vsed or exacted. As for souldiers, besides that their peaceable maner of coming freed me from doubt [Page 158] of cesse, thanked be God the state of the realme was such as there was no occasion of burthening the subiect with them, such had bin the wisedome, valour and foresight of our late Lord Deputie, not onely in subduing the re­bellious subiects, but also in ouercoming the forreine e­nemie: whereby the garrison being reduced to a small number, and they prouided for by her Maiestie of victu­al at reasonable rates, the poore husbandman might now eate the labors of his owne hands in peace and quietnes, without being disquieted or harried by the vnruly soul­dier.

We haue (said sir Robert Dillon) great cause indeed to thanke God of the present state of our country, and that the course holden now by our present Lord Deputie, doth promise vs a continuance, if not a bettering, of this our peace and quietnesse. My Lord Grey hath plowed and harrowed the rough ground to his hand: but you know that he that soweth the seede, whereby we hope for haruest according to the goodnesse of that which is cast into the earth, and the seasonablenesse of times, deserueth no lesse praise then he that manureth the land. God of his goodnesse graunt, that when he also hath fi­nished his worke, he may be pleased to send vs such ano­ther Bayly to ouersee and preserue their labours, that this poore countrey may by a wel-ordered and setled forme of gouernement, and by due and equall administration of iustice beginne to flourish as other Common-weales do. To which all saying Amen, we directed our course to walke vp the hill, where we had bene the day before; and sitting downe vpon the little mount awhile to rest the companie that had come from Dublin, we arose againe, and walked in the greene way, talking still of the great hope was conceiued of the quiet of the [Page 159] countrey, since the forreine enemie had so bin vanqui­shed, and the domesticall conspiracies discouered & met withall, and the rebels cleane rooted out, till one of the seruants came to call vs home to dinner. Where finding the table furnished we sate downe, and hauing seasoned our fare with pleasant and familiar discourses, as soone as the boord was taken vp, they sollicited me to fetch my papers that I might proceede to the finishing of my last discourse of the three by me proposed. But they being ready at hand in the dining chamber, I reached them, and layd them before me, and began as followeth. Hitherto hath bin discoursed of those two ages, which may for the causes before specified, be wel said to be void of election, and without iudgement, because of their want of expe­rience. For which cause haue they had others assigned to them, for guides to leade them to that end, which of themselues they were not able to attaine, that is, their fe­licitie in this life. And now being to speake of that age which succeeds the heate of youth; we must a litle touch the varietie of opinions concerning the same. Tully saith, that a citizen of Rome might be created Consul (which was the highest ordinary dignitie in that citie) when he was come to the age of 23. yeares. Plinie in his Panegyrike saith, that it was decreed lege Pompeia, that no man might haue any magistracie before he were thirtie yeeres old. And Vlpian, lege S. Digest. treating of honours, writeth, that vnder the age of 25. yeares no man was capable of a­ny magistracie. Among these three opinions, the last of the ciuill lawyer holdeth the medium, and is therefore the fittest to be followed: for then is a young mans mind set­led, and he is become fit (being bred and instructed as hath bin before declared) to be at his owne guiding and direction: and then doth the ciuill law allow him libertie [Page 160] to make contracts and bargaines for himselfe, which be­fore he could not do, being in pupillage and vnder a tu­tor. Howbeit our common law cutteth off foure yeeres of those, and enableth a yong man at 21. yeeres of age to enter into his land, and to be (as we terme it) out of his wardship. Which time being (I know not for what res­pect) assigned by our lawes, may well be held not so well considered of, as that which the ciuill law appointeth, if we marke how many of our yong men ouerthrow their estates by reason of their want of experience, and of the disordinate appetites which master them: all which in those other foure yeares from 21. to 25. do alter to better iudgement and discretion. Whereby they are the better able to order their affaires.

Why, said Captain Dawtry, I haue knowne, and know at this day some young men, who at 18. yeeres of age are of sounder iudgement and more setled behauiour, then many, not of 25. yeeres old onely, but of many moe, yea then some that are grey-headed with age.

Of such (said I) there are to be seene oftentimes as you say some, that beyond all expectation, and as it were for­cing the rules of nature, shew themselues stayed in beha­uiour, and discreete in their actions when they are very yong, to the shame of many elder men. Of which com­panie, I may well of mine owne knowledge, and by the consent I thinke of all men, name one as a rare example and a wonder of nature, and that is sir Philip Sidney; who being but seuenteene yeeres of age when he began to tra­uell, and coming to Paris, where he was ere long sworne Gentleman of the chamber to the French King, was so admired among the grauer sort of Courtiers, that when they could at any time haue him in their companie and conuersation, they would be very ioyfull, and no lesse [Page 161] delighted with his ready & witty answers, thē astonished to heare him speake the French language so wel, and apt­ly, hauing bin so short a while in the countrey. So was he likewise esteemed in all places else where he came in his trauell, as well in Germanie as in Italie. And the iudge­ment of her Maiestie employing him, when he was not yet full 22. yeeres old, in Embassage to congratulate with the Emperour that now is his comming to the Empire, may serue for a sufficient proofe, what excellencie of vn­derstanding, and what stayednesse was in him at those yeeres. Whereby may well be said of him the same that Cicero said of Scipio Africanus, to wit, that vertue was come faster vpon him then yeeres. Which Africanus was chosen Consull being absent in the warres, by an vniuer­sal consent of all the tribes of Rome, before he was of age capable to receiue that dignitie by the law. But these are rare examples, vpon which rules are not to be grounded: for Aristotle so long ago said, as we do now in our com­mon prouerbe, that one swallow makes not summer. A­mong young men there are some discreete, sober, quicke of wit, and ready of discourse, who shew themselues ripe of iudgment before their yeeres might seeme to yeeld it them: so are there among aged men on the other side some of shallow wit and little iudgement; of whom the wisest men of al ages haue esteemed, that to be old with a yong mans mind, is all one as to be yong in yeeres. For it is not grey haires or furrowes in the face, but prudence and wisedome that make men venerable when they are old: neither can there be any thing more vnseemly, then an old man to liue in such maner as if he begā but then to liue; which caused Aristotle to say, that it imported little whether a man were young of yeeres or of behauiour. Neuerthelesse, because dayly experience teacheth vs, [Page 162] that yeares commonly bring wisedome, by reason of the varietie of affaires that haue passed thorough old mens hands, and which they haue seene managed by other men: and that commonly youth hath neede of a guide and director, to take care of those things which himselfe cannot see or discerne. Therefore haue lawes prouided tutors for the ages before mentioned, vntill they had at­tained the yeers by them limited, & thenceforth left men to their owne direction, vnlesse in some particular cases accidentall, as when they be distraught of their wits, or else through extreme olde age they become children a­gaine, as sometimes it falleth out. Knowledge then is the thing that maketh a man meete to gouerne himselfe; and the same being attained but by long studie and practise, wise men haue therefore concluded, that youth cannot be prudent. For indeed the varietie of humane actions, by which, from many particular accidents, an vniuersall rule must be gathered; because (as Aristotle sayth) the knowledge of vniuersalities springeth from singulari­ties, maketh knowledge so hard to be gotten, that many yeares are required thereunto. And from this reason is it also concluded, that humane felicitie cannot be attained in yong yeares, since by the definition thereof it is a per­fect operation according to vertue in a perfect life: which perfection of life is not to be allowed but to many yeers. But the way vnto it is made opē by knowledge, and spe­cially by the knowledge of a mans selfe. To which good education hauing prepared him and made him apt, when he is come to riper iudgement by yeares, he may the bet­ter make choise of that way which shall leade him to the same, as the most perfect end and scope of all his actions. And this by cōsidering wel of his own nature, which ha­uing annexed vnto it a spark of diuinitie, he shal not only [Page 163] as a meere earthly creature, but also as partaker of a more diuine excellency, raise himself, & haue perfect light to see the ready way which leadeth to felicitie. To this know­ledge of himselfe, so necessary for the purchasing of hu­mane felicitie, is Philosophie a singular helpe, as being called the science of truth, the mother of sciences, and the instructor of all things appertaining to happie life: and therefore should yong men apply themselues to the stu­die thereof with all carefulnesse, that thereby they may refine their mindes and their iudgements, and find the knowledge of his wel-nigh diuine nature, so much the more easily. And as this knowledge is of all other things most properly appertaining to humane wisedome; so is the neglecting thereof the greatest and most harmefull folly of all others: for from the said knowledge (as from a fountaine or well head) spring all vertues and goodnes; euen as from the ignorance thereof slow all vices and e­uils that are among men. But herein is one special regard to be had, which is, that self loue cary not away the mind from the direct path to the same: for which cause Plato affirmed, that men ought earnestly to pray to God, that in seeking to know themselues, they might not be misled by their selfe loue, or by the ouer-weening of them­selues.

M. Spenser then said: If it be true that you say, by Phi­losophie we must learne to know our selues, how happe­ned it, that the Brachmani men of so great fame, as you know, in India, would admit none to be their schollers in Philosophy, if they had not first learned to know them selues: as if they had concluded, that such knowledge came not from Philosophie, but appertained to some o­ther skill or science.

Their opinion (said I) differeth not (as my author thin­keth) [Page 164] from the opinion of the wise men of Greece. But that the said Brachmani herein shewed the selfe same thing that Aristotle teacheth, which is, that a man ought to make some triall of himselfe before he determinate to follow any discipline, that he may discerne and iudge whether there be in him any disposition wherby he may be apt to learne the same or no. And to the same effect in another place he affirmeth, that there must be a custome of wel-doing in thē that wil learne to be vertuous, which may frame in them an aptnesse to learne, by making them loue what is honest and commendable, and to hate those things that are dishonest and reprochfull. For all men are not apt for all things: neither is it enough that the teacher be ready to instruct and skilfull, but the learner must also be apt of nature to apprehend and conceiue the instru­ctions that shall be giuen vnto him. And this knowledge of himselfe, is fit for euery man to haue before he vnder­take the studie of Philosophie, to wit, that he enter into himselfe to trie whether he can well frame himself to en­dure the discipline of this mother of sciences, and the pa­tience which is required in al those things besides, which appertaine to honestie and vertuous life. For he that will learne vertue in the schoole of Philosophie, must not bring a mind corrupted with false opinions, vices, wic­kednesse, disordinate appetites, ambitions, greedie de­sires of wealth, nor wanton lusts and longings, with such like, which will stop his eares that he shall not be able to heare the holy voice of Philosophie. Therefore Epictetus said very well, that they which were willing to study Philosophie, ought first to consider well whether their vessel be cleane and sweet, lest it should corrupt that which they meant to put into it. Declaring thereby withall, that lear­ning put into a vicious mind is dangerous. But this ma­ner [Page 165] of knowing a mans selfe, is not that which I spake of before, though it be that which the sayd Indian Philoso­phers meant, and is also very necessary and profitable. For to know a mans selfe perfectly, according to the for­mer maner, is a matter of greater importance then so. Which made Thales, when he was asked what was the hardest thing for a man to learne, answer, that it was, to know himselfe. For this knowledge stayeth not at the consideration of this exteriour masse of our body, which represents it selfe vnto our eyes, though euen therein also may well be discerned the maruellous and artificiall han­dy-work of Gods diuine Maiestie, but penetrateth to the examination of the true inward man, which is the intel­lectuall soule, to which this body is giuen but for an in­strument here in this life. And this knowledge is of so great importance, that man guided by the light of reason, knoweth that he is, as Trismegistus saith, a diuine miracle, and therefore not made (as bruite beasts are) to the belly and to death, but to vertue and to eternall life, that there­by he may vnite himselfe at the last with his Creator and maker of all things, when his soule shall be freed from these mortall bands and fetters of the flesh. Towards whom neuerthelesse, it is his part of raise himselfe with the wings of his thoughts euen whiles he is here in this world, soaring aboue mortall things, bending his mind to the contemplation of that diuine nature, the most cer­taine roote of all goodnesse, the infallible truth, and the assured beginning and foundation of all vertues. And therefore said Aristotle, that the science of the soule was profitable to the knowledge of all truth. Whereunto may be added that which Plato and his followers haue affirmed, to wit, that the soule knowing her self, knoweth also her maker; and disposeth her selfe not onely to obey [Page 166] him, but also to become like vnto him: whereof in a­nother place occasion of further speech will be mini­stred. Moreouer, a man by knowing himselfe, becom­meth in this life sage and prudent, and vnderstandeth that he is made not to liue onely, as other creatures are, but also to liue well. For they that haue not this know­ledge, are like vnto bruite beasts: and he seeth likewise, that nature, though she produceth man not learned, yet she hath framed vs to vertue, and apt to knowledge. And that a man is placed as a meane creature betweene bruite beasts and those diuine spirits aboue in heauen, hauing a disposition to decline (if he list) to the nature of those bruite beasts, and also to raise himselfe to a re­semblance of God himselfe. Which things he weigh­ing and considering, he reacheth not onely to the knowledge of himselfe, but of other men also. And by the guiding of Philosophie, to direct himselfe and others to the well gouerning of himselfe, of families, and Common-wealths, to the making of lawes and or­dinances for the maintaining of vertue and beating downe of vice; and finally to set men in the way to their felicitie, by giuing them to vnderstand, that they onely are happie which be wise and vertuous, and meete to be Lords and rulers ouer other men, and o­uer all things else created for the vse of mankind. Of all which things when they shall consider man onely to be the end, maruelling at his excellencie, they are dri­uen to acknowledge how much they are bound to the heauenly bountie and goodnesse, for creating him so noble a creature, and setting him so direct a course to e­uerlasting ioy and felicitie. Hence groweth a desire in them of what is good, beautifull, and honest, and of iu­stice, and to make themselues like vnto their maker: who [Page 167] (as the Platonikes say) is the centre, about which all soules capable of reason turne, euen as the line turneth about the mathematicall point to make a circle: and so by good and vertuous operations to purchase in this life praise and commendation, and in the life to come eternal hap­pinesse. These were the men whom the Lacedemonians accounted diuine, and the Platonikes called the images of God.

Then said Captain Carleil, this your discourse, where­by you haue shewed the importance and right meant of knowing our selues, hath bin very wise & fruitful, and fit to declare how we ought to frame our life in this world. But I make a doubt, whether all this that you haue layed before vs to be done, be in our power or no? for it see­meth strange, that, if it be in our power to giue our selues to a commendable life, there be any (as we see there are many) so peruerse, and of so crooked iudgement, as to bend themselues to wickednesse and naughtie life, who, when they might be vertuous, would rather chuse to be vicious. And this maketh me oftentimes to thinke that the doing of good or euill is not in our power; but that either destinie (which as Thales was wont to say) ruled and mastred all things, or the starres with their influences doth draw vs to do what we do.

To this demaund of yours, said I, you shal haue an an­swer, such as mine author maketh, who, as a Philosopher naturally discoursing of the actions of the soule, deliue­reth his minde according to the sentence of all Philoso­phers. But because some part of your question toucheth a point now in controuersie concerning Religion, it is good we haue a safe conduct of my Lord Primate, that his sence as a Philosopher may haue free passage with­out danger of his censure.

[Page 168] That shall you haue (said my Lord Primate) with a good will: for since we are here to discourse of Morall Philosophie, we wil for this time put Diuinitie to silence, so farre forth as your author say not any thing so repug­nant to the truth, as that it may breed any errour in the minds of the hearers.

Then (said I) the demaund of Captaine Carleil hath three seuerall points or articles: the one is, whether vertue and vertuous actions be in our power or no? Another, that it seemeth strange, if vice & vertue be in our power, that any man should be so senslesse as to apply himselfe to vice and forsake vertue. The last is, whether the good or euill we do, proceed frō the influence of the heauens, or from necessitie of destinie, and not from our owne free election. And my author beginneth with the last, which he affirmeth to be most contrary to truth, and to the excellencie of mans nature, proceeding thence to the second, and lastly to the first. Therefore he saith, that whosoeuer holdeth mans will and election to be subiect to the necessitie of destiny, destroyeth vtterly (according to Aristotles saying) all that appertaineth to humane pru­dence, either in the care of himselfe or of his family, or in the ordering of lawes, and the vniuersall gouernment of Kingdomes and Common-weales, as well in peace as in warre: for if it were so, what need haue men to do any thing, but idly to attend what his destinie is to giue him or to denie him, or to prouide for any of those things whereof our humane life hath neede. What difference were there betweene the wise man and the foole, the carefull and the rechlesse, the diligent and the negligent? The punishment of malefactors, and the rewarding of wel-doers, shold be vniust and needlesse. For euery thing being done by the order of fatall disposition, and not [Page 169] by election, no man could either deserue praise, or incurre blame. Besides, nature should in vaine haue giuen vs the vse of reason, to discourse or to consult, or the abilitie to will or chuse any thing; for whatsoeuer were appointed by destinie, should of necessitie come to passe; and if of necessitie, then neither prudence, counsell, nor election can haue any place. And the vse of free-will being so ta­ken from vs, we should be in worse state and condition then bruite beasts; for they guided by instinct of nature, bend themselues to those things whereunto their nature inclineth them: whereas we notwithstanding the vse of reason, should be like bond-slaues, tied to what the neces­sitie of destinie should bind vs vnto. This was the cause why Chrysippus was worthily condemned among all the auncient Philosophers, for that he held destinie to be a sempiternal and vneuitable necessitie and order of things which in maner of a chaine was linked orderly in it self, so as one succeeded another, and were fitly conioyned together. By which description of destinie appeereth, that he meant to tie all things to necessitie. For albeit he affirmed withall, that our mind had some working in the matter, yet did he put necessitie to be so necessary, that there could no way be found, whereby our mind might come to haue any part. For to say that our mind or will concurred, by willing or not willing whatsoeuer destinie drew vs vnto, was nought else but a taking away of free choice from our vnderstanding or will, since our mind like a bond-slaue was constrained to will, or not to will, as destinie did inuite it, or rather force it. And like to this were the opinions of Demetrius, of Parmenides, and of Heraclitus, who subiected all things to necessitie, and de­serued no lesse to be condemned then Chrysippus Prince of the Stoikes. Among which, some there were, who see­ing [Page 170] many things to happen by chance or fortune; where­by it appeared that it could not be true, that things came by necessitie, lest they should denie a thing so manifest to sense, they supposed the beginnings and the endings of things to be of necessitie, but the meanes and circum­stances they yeelded to be subiect to the changes and al­terations of fortune. And of this opinion was Virgil (as some thinke) in the conducting of Aeneas into Italie. For it should seeme that he departed his country to come in­to Italie by fatall disposition, that he might get Lauinia for his wife: but before he could arriue there, and winne her, he was mightily tossed and turmoyled by fortune; which neuerthelesse could neuer crosse him so much, but that in the end he obtained his purpose, which by desti­ny was appointed for him. But howsoeuer Virgil thought in that point, which here need not to be disputed, sure I am, that he in the greatest part of his excellent Poeme, is rather a Platonike then a Stoike. Howbeit some Platonikes (as I thinke) were not farre different in opinion from the Stoikes: for they say, that fortune with all her force was not able to resist fatall destinie. Though Plotinus thought otherwise, and indeed much better, who answering them that would needs haue the influence of starres to induce necessitie, prooued their reasons to be vaine onely by an ordinary thing in dayly experience: which is, that sundry persons borne vnder one self same constellation, are seene neuerthelesse to haue diuers ends and diuers successes, which they could not haue, if those influences did worke their effects of necessitie. And as for Epicures opinion, which was, that the falling of his motes or Atomi should breed necessitie in our actions; he rather laughed at, then confuted. Yea he was further of opinion, that not onely humane prudence, and our free election, was able to resist [Page 171] the influences of the starres, but that also our complexiō, our conuersation and change of place might do the like: meaning that the good admonitions, and faithfull aduice and counsell of friends, is sufficient to ouercome destinie, and to free our mindes from the necessitie of fatall dispo­sition. Wherefore though it be granted that there is a de­stinie, or that the starres and heauens, or the order of cau­ses, haue power ouer vs to incline or dispose vs more to one thing then to another; yet is it not to be allowed that they shall force vs to follow the same inclination or dis­position. For though the heauens be the vniuersall prin­ciple or beginning of all things, and by that vniuersalitie (as I may call it) the beginning of vs also according to naturall Philosophie; yet is it not the onely cause of our being and of our nature: for to the making man, a man must concurre, and so restraine this vniuersall cause to a more speciall. And as the heauen, or the order of higher causes, cannot ingender man without a man (speaking according to nature): so can they do nothing to bind the free election of man without his consent, who must vo­luntarily yeeld himselfe to accomplish that whereunto the heauen or the order of causes doth bend and incline him. And if we haue power to master our complexion, so, as being naturally inclined to lust, we may by heed and diligence become continent; and being couetous, be­come liberall (though Aristotle say, that couetise is as in­curable a disease of the mind, as the Dropsie or Ptisike is to the body): what a folly is it to beleeue that we cannot resist the inclinations of the stars, which are causes with­out vs, and not the onely causes of our being; but haue need of vs, if they will bring forth their effects in vs? The beginning of all our operation is vndoubtedly in our selues: and all those things that haue the beginning of [Page 172] their working in themselues, do worke freely and volun­tarily. And consequently we may by our free choise and voluntarily giue our selues to good or to euill, and master the inclination of the heauens, the starres, or destinie, which troubleth so much the braines of some, that in de­spite of nature they will needes make themselues bond being free: whom Ptolomie doth fitly reprehend, by say­ing, that the wise man ouer-ruleth the starres. For well may the heauens or the stars, being corporall substances, haue some power ouer our bodies, but ouer our mindes which are diuine, simple, and spirituall substances, can they haue none: for betweene the heauens & our minds is no such correspondence, that they may against our wils do ought at all in our minds which are wholy free from their influences, if any they haue. And therefore do the best of the Platonikes say very wel, that man must oppose himselfe against his destinie, fighting to ouercome the same with golden armes and weapons, to wit, vertues, which is (as Plato saith) the gold of the mind. For he that behaueth himselfe well, that is to say, ruleth wel his mind or soule, which is the true man indeed, as we haue for­merly shewed, shall neuer be abandoned to destinie or fortune: against which two powers mans counsell and wisedome resisteth in such sort, if he set himself resolutely thereunto, as it may wel appeere that he is Lord and ma­ster ouer his owne actions. Neither without cause did Tully say, that fatall destinie was but a name deuised by old wiues, who not knowing the causes of things, as soone as any thing fell out contrary to their expectation, straight imputed it to destinie; ioyning thereunto such a necessitie, as it must needs (forsooth) force mans counsell and prudence. A thing most false, as hath bin declared. Is it not said in the Scripture, that God created man, and [Page 173] left him in the power of his owne counsell? How then doth Menander say, that men did many euils compelled by necessitie? I meane not by necessitie, as commonly we do, want or pouertie, but by necessitie of destinie. We may then conclude, that our will and election is free, and that it is in our power to follow vice or vertue. Neuer­thelesse true it is that man may abuse this his libertie, and of a free man make himselfe bond if he will: and there­fore do the Platonike say, that a good and a wel-minded man doth all his actions freely; but that if he giue himself to do euill, forsaking the light of reason, he becommeth a bruite beast, and looseth the diuine gift of his libertie: for thenceforth doth he work no more freely of himself, but yeeldeth his minde, which ought to be the Lord of our libertie, slaue to the two basest parts of the soule, and then reigneth no more the reasonable soule, but the bru­tish, which maketh him abandon the care of the minde, and onely to attend the pleasures of the body, as brute beasts doe.

Hitherto (said my Lord Primate) I find nothing to be misliked in your discourse, which (as a Philosopher) is declared according to morall reason. But, as a Christian, what sayth your author to Gods predestination? Is it not necessary, that whatsoeuer God hath determined of vs from the beginning in his fore-knowledge (being the most certaine and true knower of all things) shall come to passe?

This is (said I) no small question to be fully answered, and being also not very pertinent to the matter we haue in hand (being meerely morall) my author medleth not with the particular points of the same: onely hereof he saith, that Euripides had little reason to say, that God had care of greater things, but that he left the care and gui­ding [Page 174] of the lesser to fortune. For we are bound by holy writ to beleeue (and some of the auncient Philosophers haue likewise so thought) that there moueth not a leafe vpon a tree, nor falleth a haire from our heads, but by the will of God. Whereupon the holy Prophet Dauid sayd, that God dwelleth on high, and beholdeth the things that are humble in heauen and in earth. And the Peripa­tetikes seemed to consent thereunto, when they sayd, that the heauenly prouidence foreseeing that the parti­culars were not apt to preserue themselues eternally, had therfore ordained that they should be continued in their vniuersalities, which are the seuerall kinds or species, con­taining vnder them the particulars, which of themselues are mortal and perishable, but are made perpetual in them through generation. He sayth also, that predestination is an ordinance or disposition of things in the mind of God from the beginning, of what shal be done by vs in this life through grace. But he thinks not that it tieth our free wil, but that they go both together; that our well doing is ac­ceptable and pleasing to God, and our euil deeds displea­sing and offensiue to his diuine Maiestie: and that for the good we shall receiue reward, and punishment for the euill. The further discussing whereof appertaining rather to Diuines then Morall Philosophers, he thinketh fit to referre vnto them, and to beleeue that this is one of those secrets which God hath layed vp in the treasury of his mind, whereunto no mortall eye or vnderstanding can reach or penetrate, humbling our selues to his holy will, without searching into that which we cannot approch vnto. And if Socrates in that time of darknesse and super­stition of the heathen could exhort men to assure them­selues, that God hauing created them, wold haue no lesse care of them, then a good and iust Prince would haue of [Page 175] his subiects: how much more are we to beleeue that our heauenly Lord and God Almightie, who hath sent his onely begotten Sonne to redeeme vs from the bondage of Sathan, doth dispose and ordaine of vs as is best for vs, and for the honor of his diuine Maiestie. For as they are to be commended that referre themselues humbly to whatsoeuer he hath determined of them, doing their best endeuours to purchase his grace and fauour: so are they to be misdoubted, who ouer-curiously will needes take vpon them the iudgment of Gods predestination or pre­science. And that sentence cannot but be very good, which sayeth, that he that made thee without thee, will not saue thee without thee. For were a man certaine to be dam­ned, yet ought he not to do otherwise then well, because he is borne to vertue and not to vice: which the very hea­then by the onely light of reason could well perceiue. Be­sides, it is thoght, that al they, that are signed with the cha­racter of Christ in baptisme, may stedfastly beleeue that they are predestinated and chosen to saluation: not that our predestinatiō giueth vs a necessitie of wel doing, but because we hauing the grace of God to assist vs, dispose our selues by the same grace to keep his cōmandements for our saluation, and for the honor and glory of his ma­iestie: whereas by doing otherwise it is our owne wic­kednesse that excludeth vs from that blisse. And further mine author saith not.

In good sooth (said sir Robert Dillon) this seemeth to me to be well and Christian like spoken. For he that ac­knowledgeth not so great a gift from God, being a speci­all marke or token by which we are distinguished from brute beasts, who wanting the vse of reason, can haue no free election, is not onely vnthankfull, but doth foolishly thrust himselfe into the number of vnreasonable crea­tures, [Page 176] while he will needs depriue himself of that he hath specially different from them. Neither doth the reuerent regard to Gods prouidence impeach our free wil: which prouidence the Platonikes partly vnderstanding, affirmed (as I haue heard) that it did not alter or change the na­ture of things, but guided and directed destinie: impo­sing no necessitie of doing good or euill vpon vs. And if any it did impose, it should be onely to good, and neuer to euill. For what is diuine must needes worke diuinely, and diuine working can produce none but good effects. Wherefore they concluded that our election was not constrained by Gods prouidence. This they confirmed by common experience. For (sayd they) if prouidence tie things to necessitie, then chance or fortune can haue no place in the actions of men. But we see dayly many things maturely debated, which should by the naturall and ordinary course of causes haue a determinate and certaine end, yet misse their effect whereunto they are ordained, and another produced which was neuer in­tended, which is the proper worke of fortune. I haue al­so heard some Diuines say, that it should seeme strange, if wise & prudent men in this world by their prouidence and foresight, seek euermore to bring perfection to those things which are vnder their gouernement, God contra­riwise (who is the fountaine of all wisdome & prudence, and the true and absolute preseruer and conseruer of all things by him produced) should not giue perfections and continuance through his prouidence to so singular a gift giuen vnto man aboue all other creatures of the earth, but shold suffer it to perish, to bind vs to seruitude. And that if his prouidence should tie our free will to ne­cessitie, he should do that which is contrary to his owne nature: for that therby he should take from vs the reward [Page 177] of vertue, since doing well by necessitie, we could de­serue neither praise nor recompence; he should also take from vs all counsell and deliberation, which is needlesse and superfluous in all things, that of necessitie must come to passe: and lastly iustice it selfe, whereby malefactors are punished, if constrained by necessitie they did wic­kedly, for then were their punishment vniust: which made S. Augustine say, that God would neuer damne a sinner, vnlesse he found that he had sinned voluntarily. We may therefore (as I think) conclude, that being crea­ted by God, and endowed with so excellent a gift, as free choice and election, which, besides the place of Scripture aboue mentioned, is confirmed by another, where it is said, that God set before man life and death, good and e­uill, that he might take whether he list to chuse; he by his diuine foresight doth rather giue perfection thereunto, then take it from vs. Yet the particular consideration and debating of this matter being fitter for Diuines then for vs, let vs leaue the scanning of it to them, and be content like men seeking by the rules of Morall Philosophie to find the ready way to humane felicitie in this life, to re­ferre our selues in that point to the mercifull goodnesse of Almightie God. And therefore (I pray you) proceed to the rest of your discourse, and shew vs the cause why so many giue themselues rather to vice then to vertue, when they may do otherwise, which your author said he would declare in the second place.

So shall I (quoth I) and for the resoluing of the same, you shal vnderstand that Plato was of opiniō, that no man willingly was wicked, because the habite of vice was not voluntarily receiued by any man. And for confirmation of this his opinion, this reason he made: as vertue (sayd he) is the health of the mind, so is vice the infirmitie of [Page 178] the same: and as the body receiueth willingly his health, and sicknesse against his will; euen so the mind receiueth willingly vertue as his health, and vice vnwillingly; know­ing that thereby it becometh sicke and infected. But Plo­tinus assigned another reason, not needfull here to be re­hearsed. Now Aristotle was of another mind, for he affir­med that man had free will by his owne choice and ele­ction.

How can man voluntarily embrace vice (said M. Dor­mer) which of all things is the worst, since the same au­thor saith, that al men couet what is good, and since with­out vertue there can be no good.

These two sayings (said I) are not contradictory: for the most wicked man aliue desireth what is good: and if vice should shew it selfe in his owne proper forme, he is so vgly and so horrible to behold, that euery man would flie from him: therefore knowing how deseruedly he should be hated and abhorred, if he were seene like him­selfe, he presents himselfe vnder the shape of goodnesse, and hiding all his il fauoured face, deceiueth the sensitiue appetite; which being intised by the false image of good­nes, is so seduced, and through the corruption of his mind and iudgement, by the ill habit, contracted from his child hood, he embraceth that which (if his iudgement were soūd) he wold neuer do. Wherfore Plato his meaning was (as it may be thought) that no mā was willingly vicious, since, euill couering it selfe vnder the cloke of goodnesse, he was induced to do euill, thinking to do good: and so the opinions of both Philosophers concurre. But Pytha­goras by the report of Aristotle, lib. 8. Ethicor. assigneth a­nother cause, to wit, that ill doing is an infinite thing, and that by a thousand wayes men are led to wickednes and vicious actions, all easie to be taken: but to vertue there is [Page 179] but one onely way, and the same so enuironed and cros­sed with the bypaths that guide men to vice, as it must needs be hard to keepe it without entring into some of the by-wayes leading to vice and errour. For the eye that is not made cleere sighted by Philosophie, is not able to discerne that way from the rest.

It shold seeme (said M. Dormer) by this, that ignorance is the cause of well doing, and not mans choice or electi­on: for where ignorance is, it may be said there is no ele­ction.

Not so (said I) if Aristotle be to be beleeued, who saith that ignorance so farre foorth as it concerneth mens acti­ons, is of two sorts: the one is, when a man doth ill, not through ignorance, but ignorantly: the other is, when he doth it of meere ignorance, because he neither knoweth nor might know that such an action was euill. In the first case, are those that are hastie & cholerike, and drunkards: for though they knew before, that hastinesse and drun­kennesse be euill, yet when the heate of choler, or the dis­ordinate appetite of wine blindeth them, they erre igno­rantly, but not of ignorance. In the latter are they that fall through meere ignorance, not knowing that what they do is euill. As if a Prince make a restraint or prohibi­tion, that no man vpon paine of death shall enter into his Forrest to hunt there, and a stranger not knowing this re­straint, cometh thither with his hounds to hunt, as in for­mer time haply he had done. This stranger breaketh the will of the Prince, and committeth a fault, but altogether through ignorance, because he had no knowledge of the prohibition. But if a hastie man knowing of the restraint, pursuing his enemy in his rage, or a drunken man, when wine hath made him not to discerne his way, entring in­to that forrest, haue his dog following him, and the dog [Page 180] kill a Deere; his fault though it be ignorantly committed should not be through ignorance. And as the stranger, being sorie for his offence, and thereby shewing that he meant not to breake the Princes commaundement, were worthy pardon: euen so the other were iustly to be puni­shed, since knowing the penaltie threatned to the offen­der, he would not bridle his furie, or abstaine from wine, but by following his passion or vnruly appetite, incurre the danger of the same. And as the one may well be iud­ged to haue made a fault against his wil; so may the other be deemed to haue wilfully broken the commandement. In which latter case of ignorance are all they that be vici­ous or wicked, who through the ill habite which they haue made in vice, do any act contrary to law and the ci­uill societie of men, for which they deserue to be adiud­ged wilfully euill, and by their owne free choice and ele­ction. For all men ought to know those things that ge­nerally are to be knowne, touching honest and ciuil con­uersation; and if they do not know them when they do il, it is because they chuse not to know that which is neces­sary for them to know. In which respect it is determi­ned, that who so for want of knowing this generalitie will do amisse, should be esteemed wicked by his owne free wil and election. Seneca said very fitly, that such men did in the mids of the cleere light make darknes to them­selues. And this is that ignorance which Plato calleth the defiling of the soul. Let vs suppose that there may be one that knoweth not adultery to be sin or vice, and that in ignorance committeth adultery; shal we say he deserueth to be excused? God forbid: for he is cause of his owne ignorance, since it is in his power and in the power of all reasonable men to know what is fit and honest for vertu­ous life; and that the same is made knowne, as well by [Page 181] Gods law, as by the ordinances and customes of man, to all those that will not wittingly hood-winke themselues. Wherefore it is a wilfull sin committed by free election, and worthy punishment as a voluntary offence. And S. Augustine sayed not without cause, that all ignorance was not worthy pardon, but onely that of such men as had no meanes to attaine knowledge or learning: but they that haue teachers to instruct them, and for want of studie and diligence abide in their ignorance, and so do euill, are not onely vnworthy excuse, but deserue also sharpe punishment. So in another place he sayth, that no man is punished for that which naturally he knowes not: as the child for that he cannot speake, or because he can­not reade. But when he will not set his mind to learne as he ought, being of yeeres, and vrged thereunto, he deser­ueth to be chastised, because it is in euery mans power to be able to learne all that is necessary for him to know how to liue well, and what things are to be embraced as good, and what to be eschewed as euill: and he that will not learne them, remaineth wilfully in his igno­rance.

Yea but if I should chance (said Captaine Dawtrey) to be abroade with my bow and arrowes, and perceiuing somewhat to stirre in a bush, should shoote thereat, sup­posing it to be a Deere or some other game, and should so kill my wife that were hidden there, as Cephalus did, should not my ignorance in that case excuse me?

This case (said I) appertaineth to the second part of ig­norance, already spoken of, which is about the circum­stances of the particular things, the ignorance whereof deserueth excuse, and so should this. But this ignorance should become wilfull wickednesse, if when you saw you had slaine your wife, intending to kill a Deere, you [Page 182] were not heartily sory therefore, but rather glad to be so rid of her: and so farre should you then be from excuse, that you should deserue to be seuerely punished for the fact. Much like to the case of Cephalus was that of Adra­stus, but more miserable, in slaying of Atys the sonne of Croesus King of Lidia. For Croesus hauing giuen in charge to Adrastus his sonne, and they being one day gone to hunt a great wild Bore that did great harme in the coun­trey, accompanied with many yong gentlemen of Lidia, whiles the Bore was rushing forth, Adrastus threw a dart at him, and Atys comming by chance in the way, the dart hit him and slew him. Now though Atys were the only sonne of Croesus, and were slaine by the hand of him that had him in charge; yet finding that it was done by meere mischance and through ignorance, and knowing how grieuously Adrastus sorrowed for the same, he not onely freed him of any punishment therefore, but frankly par­doned. him. And the repentance of the fact might haue sufficed the doer; but he ouercome with extreme griefe slew himselfe at the funerall of the dead young Prince, being vnable to beare with a stout courage the anguish and vexation of minde that his mishappe did breed him. But this shewed Adrastus to be rather faint-hearted and weake of minde, then otherwise: for the purchasing of death to auoyde griefe or any other annoyance of the mind, is not the part of a valorous and couragious man, as the best among the ancient Philosophers haue alwaies held. And because we know by the rule of Christ, that it is no matter disputable, it needeth not that thereof any further words be made.

You say well (said my Lord Primate) and I know that Aristotle is of minde, that it is a vile act for a man to kill himselfe to auoyde ignominie or afflictions. But to omit [Page 183] the iudgement of the auncient Romanes, who held it the part of a stout heart, for a man to kill himselfe rather then to suffer shame or seruitude, as we reade that Cato did, and Cassius and Brutus: yet it seemeth that Plato, whom your author determined to follow as well as Aristotle, ma­keth Socrates (in his dialogue intituled Phoedon) to say, that a Philosopher ought not to kill himselfe, vnlesse God lay a necessitie of doing it vpon him. Out of which words it may well be gathered, he thought that not onely the common sort, but euen Philosophers themselues, when necessitie constraineth them, might ridde themselues of their life.

That place (said I) is aduisedly to be examined: for Socrates there meant not that any man willingly should lay violent hands vpon himselfe; but if there be no remedy but that die he must, and that diuers kindes of deaths are proposed vnto him, he may chuse that kind which is lesse noysome to him or lesse grieuous: as Socra­tes chose to die with the iuice of hemlocks, and Seneca by the opening of his veines.

You may haply conster that meaning out of that place (said my Lord Primate): but what will you say to that which is in his bookes of the Common-weale, where he writeth, that a man sicke of any grieuous or long infirmi­tie, when he shall see himselfe out of hope to procure re­medie, he should then make an end of his life.

To that place I say (quoth I) that it is to be considered how Plato sought to frame his Common-wealth in such sort as it should be rather diuine then humane: and ther­fore as the citizens of the heauenly Common-wealth liue in continuall happinesse and contentment, without feeling any annoyance or molestation at all: euen so was his purpose, that the citizens of his Common-wealth [Page 184] should haue no grieuance, paine or molestation among them: but in an ordinary humane Common-wealth he would not haue set downe any such precept.

You haue salued that sore reasonable well also (sayed my Lord Primate) though there might be obiections made against your answer. But how will another place of his be defended, which is in his booke of Lawes, where he sayth, that whosoeuer hath committed any offence in the highest degree, and findeth, that he hath not power to abstaine from the like eftsoones, ought to rid himselfe out of the world.

The answer to that (said I) is easie: for Plato his mea­ning therein is, that whosoeuer is wickedly giuen, and of so euill example as there is no hope of his amendment, should rather kill himselfe, then by liuing inuite so many others to the like course of life: not vnlike to the opinion alreadie recited, that it is better one die for a people, then that his life should be the occasion of the death of many. For Plato aymed euermore at the purging of all cities frō such caterpillers; which appeereth manifestly by the pain he would haue inflicted vpon parricides. But that it was abhomination to him for a man to kill himselfe, he plainely sheweth in his ninth booke of Lawes, by the sen­tence he setteth downe against such men. Neuerthelesse this indeed may be found in Plato, that vice was so odi­ous vnto him, that he would rather haue a man to die, then to vndertake any vile & vicious action, which might breed him perpetuall infamie. And Aristotle in this point agreeth with his master (though in many he delight to carpe him) that a man ought to chuse rather to die then commit any abhominable or grieuous fact, or do that which might be for euer reprochful vnto him. And Plato his expresse sence of this matter, is to be vnderstood in [Page 185] the same dialogue which you first spake of, where Socrates is brought to say, that the Lord and Ruler of this whole world hauing sent vs into this life, we are not to desire to leaue it without his consent: and who so doth the con­trary, offends nature, offendeth God. And this is the my­stery of that precept of Philolaus, which forbiddeth a man to cleaue wood in the high way: meaning that a man should not seuer or deuide the soule frō the body, whiles he was in his way on this earthly pilgrimage; but should be content, that as God and nature had vnited and tied the soule to the bodie, so by them it might be vnloosed againe: therefore the Peripatetikes also thought, that they which die a violent death, cannot be thought to haue ended their dayes according to the course of time and nature. And with this my Lord Primate rested satisfied. I turned me to Captaine Carleil, and sayd: Now (sir) con­cerning your doubts proposed, you may haue percei­ued, that whatsoeuer destinie be, neither it, nor the di­uine prouidence of Almightie God imposeth any neces­sitie vpon vs: that vertue and vice are in our power, ver­tue growing in vs by the right vse of our free choice, and vice by the abuse of the same, when through corruption of the iudgement to do that is in apparance good, it chu­seth the euill: and lastly what kind of ignorance is excusa­ble, and which not.

Concerning my demaunds (sayd Captaine Carleil) I am resolued. But since I see our doings proceed from ele­ction, I would gladly know of you what maner of thing it is; for I cannot perceiue whether it be a desire, or an an­ger, or an opinion, or what I should call it.

None of all these (said I) but rather a voluntary deli­beration, following a mature and aduised counsel: which counsell by Plato was termed a diuine thing. For election [Page 186] is not made in a moment; but when a thing is proposed either to be accepted or refused, there must first be a counsell taken, respecting both the end of the action, and the meanes by which the same is to be compassed: so as there is required a time of consultation: and therefore it is said, that hast is enemie to counsell, and that oftentimes repentance followes them that resolue without discus­sing or debating of matters. Next vnto counsell cometh iudgement, and after iudgement followeth election, and from election issueth the action or the effects that are re­solued vpon, and accepted as the best. And because for­tune (though she be a cause rather by accident then of her selfe) hath no small part in most of our actions, the wisest men haue said, that counsel is the eye of the mind, by helpe whereof, men of prudence see how to defend themselues from the blind strokes of fortune, and eschu­ing that which may hurt them, take hold of that which is profitable.

Why then (said my Lord Primate) it shold seeme that our counsell were wholy in our power. But Xenophon is of a contrary opinion: for he sayeth, that good counsell cometh from the Gods immortall, and that their coun­sels prosper who haue them to be their friends, and theirs not, who haue them to be their enemies.

To haue God fauourable vnto vs (said I) in all our do­ings, is not onely desirable, but that it may please him to grant his grace so to be, ought all men to craue by hum­ble prayer at his hands. But that God is the author of our counsels otherwise then as an vniuersall cause, is to be doubted: not that the singular gift of the mind, and the power thereof to deliberate and consult, commeth not from him; for the not acknowledging thereof, were not onely a grosse ignorance, but also an expresse impietie, [Page 187] & an vnexcusable ingratitude. Howbeit since it hath plea­sed him to bestow vpon vs so great and liberal a gift as the mind, we may well beleeue that he will not take from vs the free vse therof. For to say that God were the imediate cause of our counsell, were as much as to take from vs the vse of reason, without which we are not any more men, as of late was sayd. And therfore besides Aristotles autho­ritie, grounded in that point vpon good reason, we find in the Scripture, that after God had made man, and giuen him (by breathing vpon him) the spirit of life, which is the soule of vnderstanding, he left him in the hand of his owne counsell. Whereby it appeereth, that counsel com­meth from our selues, and that election is the office of prudence, which is called the soule of the mind, and the Platonikes call the knowledge of good and euill: where­unto it seemed that Tullie agreed, when he said, that pru­dence was the science of things desirable, or to be eschu­ed: which sentence S. Augustine reporteth. And Fabius Maximus said, that the Gods through prudence and our vertues, did grant vs prosperous successes in our affaires: as if he should haue said, that though God (as an vniuer­sall cause) concurred to accomplish our deliberations; yet we were to endeuour our selues, and to sharpen our wits to consult on the best meanes to compasse our good purposes, if we desire to haue his fauour, and not to sit idle, expecting what will fall out. And to end the dis­course hereof, the auncient Philosophers of the best sort held, that the Gods seeing vs employ our vertues and fa­culties of the mind (which hath a resemblāce vnto them) well and wisely, become our friends, and the rather grant vs their helpe and fauour. According to which opinion Euripides sayed, that the Gods did helpe them that were wise. But because we shall haue occasion to speake more [Page 188] largely hereafter of Prudence, we will now returne to that which we left long sithens to speake of, by the inter­posing of the doubts moued: and that is the knowledge of our selues, as the thing that must guide vs to that best and most perfect end; the inquiry wherof is the occasion of all this discourse. And because we are not of a simple nature, but compounded of seuerall qualities, and (as we may say) liues, according to that which in our first dayes discourse was declared: it is also necessary that these pow­ers & faculties of the soule which are in vs, and by which we participate of the nature of all things liuing, should haue their ends and seuerall goods, as I may terme them: and that those ends should orderly answer ech to his se­uerall power or facultie of the soule, though Aristotle thinke otherwise. These ends or goods are first profite, which respecteth the vegetatiue power: next, delight or pleasure, peculiar to the sensitiue power: and lastly hone­stie, proper to the reasonable part or facultie of the soule. Wherefore Zeno may wel be thought to haue bin astray, when he assigned one onely end or good to nature, and the same to be honesty. For albeit I cannot, nor meane to denie, but that honestie is not onely a good, but also the greatest good among all those that concurre to our feli­citie; and without which, there can be no vertue: yet to say it is the onely good, I cannot be perswaded. For peru­sing euery thing that hath life, common sense it self shew­eth vs, that ech kind of life hath his peculiar and seuerall end and good; and that honestie is the only proper good of creatures capable of reason, and not of other sensible creatures, or of plants and vegetables. And because it is a greater good, and containeth both the other, therefore is it more to be prised and valued then they. And man be­ing the most perfect creature of the earth, is by nature fra­med [Page 189] to haue a desire and an instinct vnto them all, and to seeke to purchase them all three for the perfection of his felicitie in this life. Now forasmuch as all these three po­wers are in vs, to the end we may enioy the benefite that redoundeth from them, we cannot seuer them one from another,if we meane to be happie in this life: neither yet ought we so to apply our selues to any one, or two of thē lesse proper vnto vs, that therefore we forsake or neglect that other which is of most worth and proper to our na­ture; and that is honestie, which neuer can be seuered frō vertue. For that is it that giueth to vs dignitie and excel­lency, not suffering vs to do any thing vnseemely, but stil directing vs in all our actions, which proceed from rea­son. For he that stayeth himself only vpon profit, or vpon pleasure, or vpon them both, sheweth plainly that he kno­weth not himselfe: and therefore suffereth those things that are not proper to his nature, to master and ouer-rule him. And not knowing himselfe, he cannot vse himselfe, nor take hold of that which is his proper good and end. Thus following (through the not knowing of himselfe) that which is good to other natures, he looseth his owne good, and falleth into euill, by the desire of profit, or dis­ordinate appetite to pleasure. The consideration hereof perhaps caused some of the auncient Poets to faine, that men were turned into brute beasts, and into trees; to sig­nifie vnder that fictiō, that some proposing to themselues onely profite, some onely delight, without regard to rea­son and their owne proper good, had lost the excellent shape or forme of men, and were transformed into beasts or trees, hauing made the most excellent part of man, which is the mind and reasonable soule, subiect to the ba­sest and sensual parts and pleasures of the bodie. And this ignorance, concerning the knowledge of a mans selfe, is [Page 190] the cause that he cannot tell how to vse himself. For these vnreasonable affections do so darken the light of reason, that he is as a blind man, and giueth himselfe ouer to be guided, as one that hath lost the right way, to as blinde a guide as himselfe, and so wandreth astray which way so­euer his bad guide doth leade him. For he hath lost the knowledge of truth, which Plato sayeth, is the best guide of men to all goodnesse, and is comprehended by the mind onely, which (according to the saying of Epicar­mus) doth only see & heare, all the rest of the parts of man being blind and deafe. They then which follow profite only, liue the basest life of all, & may well be resembled to flies & gnats, the most imperfect among liuing creatures, or like to the shel-fishes that cleaue to the rockes, as these men do to their pelfe; and so hauing proposed to them­selues the basest end of all others, they may worthily be esteemed the basest sort of men.

Nay, in good faith sir (said Captaine Dawtry) not so, for I see them onely honored and esteemed that are rich; and I haue knowne, and yet know some of very base and abiect condition, who being become rich, are cherished and welcome in the best companies, & accepted among honorable personages: therefore (me thinketh) he spake aduisedly that said,

Honour and friends by riches are acquired,
But who is poore shall ech where be despised.

And I remember I haue read, that sometime there was a citizen in Rome, who was commonly held for a foole, and therefore in all companies his words were litle regar­ded, the rather because he was also poore; but after that by the death of a rich man to whom he was heire, he pos­sessed wealth, he grew to be had in great estimation, euen in the Senate, and his opinion euermore specially requi­red [Page 191] in matters of greatest moment.

Yea marry (said M. Dormer) and Aristotle also affir­meth, that the end of the father of a families care is, the purchasing of riches; which being so, they are not so sleightly to be regarded, as your author sayes.

Did I not tell you (said I) that truth being gone, the true light and knowledge of things is taken out of the world; for it is she only that giueth vs light to know, what and of what price all things are. And euen as if the Sunne were taken away from the earth, there would remaine nought but darknes and blindnesse among men: so truth being taken away, man is blinded from discerning any thing aright. This I say, because rich men onely for their wealth are esteemed worthy honour and dignity by such chiefly as want the light of truth, which is the vulgar sort, whose iudgement is so corrupt and crooked, that they cannot discerne what true honor and dignity is. For they being weake minded and imperfect, admire showes and shadowes, being dazeled with the bright glistring of gold and precious stones, and cannot distinguish betweene things necessary and superfluous. Which ignorance of theirs, Byas, one of the seuen sages of Greece, considering answered one of those base minded fellowes, who wold needes perswade him, that they were happie that could compasse great wealth: My friend (quoth he) much more happie are they that do not desire the same. The iudge­ment of the wiser sort, hath euer bin farre different from this vulgar opinion. For they vnderstand, that riches is none of those goods which alone make men happie; and that they do but go and come, as tides flow and ebbe, e­uen at the pleasure of fortune, who giueth and taketh them as she list. And therefore they are no otherwise to be esteemed, then as they are necessary for the sustaining [Page 192] of life, nature being content with little, and the desire of hauing being infinite; neuer content with what it hath, but euer coueting what it hath not. Therefore right wise men haue held that Alexander the Great was in truth poorer and needier then he that said

Let others hardly seeke to hoord vp wealth
For me I force not, though that pouertie
Chase from me idlenesse, and breed me health, &c.

For that mans desires had their determinate stint, wheras Alexanders increased stil, the more he enlarged his domi­nions, being grieued that he had not conquered one world, because he had heard say, that Democritus was of opinion there were many. And although Epicurus in ma­ny things hath deserued blame, because he placed the highest good of man in pleasures proceeding from the senses; yet deserued he praise in that he said, that they to whom a little seemeth not enough, a great deale wil seem but a litle. Much to the like effect Curius, hauing conque­red the Samnites, and for recompence of his great seruice the Romanes purposing to giue him a far larger portion of the conquered land, then to the rest of the souldiers: he who had taught his desires to be brideled, and could cut short the superfluitie of his appetites, would in no wise take any more then a like share or portion, as was allotted to the rest of the souldiers, that were waxen olde in the warres, for their liuing and maintenance; saying, that he that could not content himselfe to liue with that which sufficed others, could not be a good citizen. This worthy man made it appeere, that he indeede is to be accounted rich who desireth not to haue much: and that in respect of what is needfull for mans life, euery man may be rich; but in regard of our desires, euery man is poore, and can­not be rich, because they be infinite. Socrates (according [Page 193] to the saying of Byas before rehearsed) said that it was far better not to desire any thing, then to compas what a man desireth. For it was not vnknowne to that graue wise mā, that from immoderate desires cometh greedinesse of the mind, whereby it is made vnreasonable, and disposed to thinke a great deale to be but a little; whereas not to de­sire, maketh a little to seeme much. The way therefore to quiet the minde, is not to increase wealth, but to plucke from a mans desires, which otherwise will still increase as riches increaseth: for it is the honest and necessary vse of riches that causeth them to be had in consideration a­mong wise men, who esteeming them accordingly, are easily contented with a little; and where others admire those that haue their coffers full of golde and pelfe, they little regard them, but despising superfluities, turne their minds to better thoughts, meete to make them purchase that felicitie which none of them can haue, who amid great abundance of wealth & worldly riches, are voyd of vertue. For this respect did Crates the Philosopher (con­sidering how the great care of gathering them withdrew the minde, which of it owne nature is excelse and high, from the knowledge of sublime matters, sinking it into the depth of base and vile cogitations) gaue ouer his patri­mony, which was in value neere fifteen hundred pounds, and betooke himselfe to those studies which he thought were aptest to set him the right course of getting (in steed of exterior riches) the true gold of the mind, which is vertue. And in truth happie is that man that can get store of that gold, by meanes whereof he may compasse his felicitie, which the other can neuer purchase, and are not to be coueted but for humane necessitie, as being of no value, or litle among wise men in respect of happines. For to say truly, what happines can there be in any thing [Page 194] that alike disquieteth as well them that haue it, as them that haue it not. Since he that wants it, by desiring it, kee­peth his mind in continuall anguish and trouble; and he that hath it, is euermore tormented with feare of losse of it: and if he happen to loose it indeed, is miserably cruci­fied for the losse thereof. Which thing made Democritus to say, that man was in his estimation so farre from being made happie by his riches, as he could not in truth ac­count them to be to him any good at all. So Solon being with Croesus King of Persia who accounted himself of all men in the world the most happie, because of his exces­siue treasure; when the King had caused his treasury to be be shewed vnto him, seemed to make sleight estimation of the same: whereupon the King, as one dazeled with the glittering show of his gold, held him but for a foole. But foolish indeed was he himself, & not Solō, who knew very wel, that such things came to him by his great power and soueraignetie, not by his vertue, and therefore could they not make him happie. Neuerthelesse Croesus yet de­sirous to vnderstand what Solons opinion was touching happines, asked him if he euer knew any man more hap­pie then he: who answered him, yes; and among many, one named Pellus a citizen of Athens, who being a vertu­ous man, and hauing begotten children like himselfe, was dead in the field, fighting valiantly against the enemie in defence of his countrey, leauing after him an immortall fame of his valour. So much more did this wise man e­steeme vertue then riches, that he thought so mightie a Monark with all his treasure not comparable to a meane citizen of Athens furnished with vertue. For he held them as needlesse and superfluous to him that had them with­out vsing them, as to them that did admire them and could not enioy them. Let vs therefore conclude, that [Page 195] plentie of wealth makes not any man happie: and that they who hunt after profit to become rich, are of al others the most base and ignoble, though the vulgar sort deeme them otherwise. And when Aristotle sayd, that the end of Oeconomie (for so he calleth the orderly distributing of things for houshold) was riches, he spake according to the cōmon vnderstanding and phrase: for in his Ethikes he sheweth plainely, that riches is but a certaine aboun­dance of necessary instruments for the vse of a family. Whereby it may be vnderstood, that for themselues they are not desirable, but as they are directed to a better end, which end is humane felicitie. As for the Senator you spake of, whom the whole Senate grew to esteeme when he was growne rich: you may be sure that it was not for nought that Cicero scoffed at them, when he asked one day in the assembly, whose that inheritance was, which was called Wisedome. And thus much may suffice for such as follow profite onely. Now for those that apply themselues wholy to their pleasures and delights, it is to be held, that they neither can be accounted happie, be­cause forsaking their proper end and good, which is ho­nestie, they bend themselues to the sensitiue part onely which is common with them to brute beasts.

Here M. Dormer interrupting me, desired that I would stay a while to resolue him of one doubt, which my for­mer words had bred in his mind, which was, that hauing said riches were of small account among wise men, and could not make men happie, it might seeme that nature had in vaine produced them.

That followeth not (said I) of any thing which I haue spoken. For I haue not said, that they were not necessary for the vse of them: for common sence, experience, and the want of things behouefull to mans life, would say the [Page 196] contrary. Besides that, Aristotle in his tenth booke of E­thikes affirmeth, that not onely to the attaining of ciuill felicitie, but also for the contemplatiue life, these exterior goods are needfull, because a man may the better thereby contemplate when want distractetth not his minde: though among the Platonikes, some say the contrary; al­ledging that men are better disposed to contemplation without them, then with them. But thus much indeede I said, that they are not the true end or good of man, nor could yeeld him happinesse of themselues, or make him worthy honour. And that they, that bend their mindes onely to scrape and heape together mucke and pelfe, are of all others the basest and vnworthiest: yet being vsed as they ought to be, for the behoofe and maintenance of mans life, and not as an end, or the proper good of man, I do not only not discommend them, but do also esteeme them in their quality so far forth as the infirmity of mans nature hath neede of them; whereof, since we shall haue occasion to speake more hereafter, let vs in Gods name proceed to speake of the life of them that haue subiected their minds to that part of the soule which is wholy bent to sensualitie and delight. These men are like vnto brute beasts wanting reason, and worse: for brute beasts follo­wing their naturall instinct and appetite, passe not the bonds of nature, and though they get no praise thereby, yet incurre they not any blame in that behalfe. But man, who setting reason aside, chuseth vaine pleasures as his scope and end, and so plungeth his minde in them, that reason cannot performe her office and dutie, can in no wise escape from exceeding blame and reproch for the same. Of which sort of men, the Platonikes opinion was, that they were so far from being happie, as they were not to be reputed among the liuing, but the dead: not only [Page 197] in respect of the body, but of the soule likewise. For they held that the soule being drowned in delights, might wel be reckoned as dead, because beastly delight (like an ill weed) spreadeth it selfe in mans mind, till it ouergrow all goodnesse, and so taketh away the vse of reason, as it de­priueth him of the qualitie proper to man, and draweth him into the pure qualitie of vnreasonable creatures: which, how grieuous and hatefull a thing it is, neede not be declared. Aristotle resembleth them to wilde young Stiers, that must be tamed with the yoke. But to shew you how this disordinate or tickling itch of delight pro­ceedeth, in this sort it is: wheras man is composed of two principall parts, the body, and the soule or mind: the lat­ter to rule and commaund, the former to obey and serue. They, which propose to them their delight and pleasure, onely take a cleane contrary course, making the body to commaund and rule, and the minde to serue and obey. And as in a houshold or family, al wold go to wrack, if the master or father of the family being prudent and carefull, should be constrained to obey his sonne or seruant, who were foolish and negligent: euen so must it of necessitie be in him, that by vice maketh his mind subiect to the bo­die, making it serue onely for the delighting thereof, and neglecting that which he should most earnestly study to maintaine and cherish; whence cometh (as Socrates saith) all euill and ruines among men. For from these disordi­nate pleasures, which spring from the senses of the body, through that power which the facultie of the soule mini­streth vnto them, do all wicked affections take their be­ginning, as angers, furies, fond loues, hatreds, ambitions, lustes, suspicions, ielousies, ill speaking, backbiting, false ioyes, and true griefes; and finally the consuming of the body and goods, and the losse of honor and reputation. [Page 198] And oftentimes it is seene, that whiles a man spareth no­thing so as he may purchase the fulfilling of his appetites, how vnruly soeuer they be, he looseth by infirmitie or o­ther vnhappie accidents, his owne bodie, for whose plea­sures he so earnestly trauelled. For so it is writtē of Epicu­rus, who being growne ful of sicknes through his disordi­nate life, died miserably tormented with pains & griefes: the like wherof we may daily see in many, if we consider their life and end. In respect hereof, some wise men haue thought that pleasures are not in any wise to be accoun­ted among the goods that are requisite for the attaining of humane felicitie: and Antisthenes so hated them, that he wished he might rather become mad, then to be ouer mastered by his sensuall delight. And in very deed they are no otherwise to be esteemed then mad men, who set their delights and pleasures before them as their end, not caring what they do, so as they may compasse the same. Plato therfore not without good cause said, that pleasure was the baite which allured men to all euil. And Architas the Tarentine was of opinion, that the pestilence was a lesser euill among men then pleasure of the bodie: from whence came trecheries, and betraying of countries, de­structions of common-weales, murders, rapes, adulteries, and all other euils, euen as from a spring or fountain. The cause whereof Pythagoras desiring to find out, said, that delight first crept into cities, then satietie, next violence, and lastly the ruine and ouerthrow of the Common-wealth. And to this opinion Tullie in his first booke of Lawes seemeth to leane, where he sayth, that this coun­terfetter of goodnesse, and mother of all euils (meaning pleasure) intruding her selfe into our senses, suffered vs not to discerne those goods which are naturall and true goods indeed, and cary not with them such a scabbe and [Page 199] itch, which pleasure euermore hath about her; who fi­nally is the roote of those principall passions, from which (as from the maine roote) all the rest do spring, as hope and feare, sorrow and gladnesse. For we receiue not any pleasure, but that some molestation hath opened the way for it into our mindes: as no man taketh pleasure to eate vntill the molestation of hunger call him thereunto, nor yet to drinke, if the annoyance of thirst go not before: to shew that the vnnoblest and basest power of the minde must minister vnto vs the matter of those pleasures which we seek. And as we haue said that molestation goeth be­fore vaine and vnruly delight, so doth displeasure and griefe follow, as if it should finally resolue into his first principle and beginning. The feare whereof diminisheth part of the hope a man might haue to liue stil contented, & disturbeth the ioy which he feeleth in his vnruly plea­sures and delights. But to those pleasures and delights which accompany vertue, which are pleasures of such a kind as they neuer carry with them any displeasure or an­noyance at all: wheras the other that are vnruly, beginne with pleasure and end with bitter paine. And this moued Aristotle to say, that the right iudgment of those pleasures is to be made at their farewell, not at their comming; for that they leaue behind them euermore sadnes and repen­tance. So said Theocritus, that he that stroue to fulfill his pleasures and delights, prepared to himself matter of per­petual griefe and sorow. There was a Sophist called Ileus, who though he had spent his youth wantonly in plea­sures, yet he so called himselfe home when he was come to riper yeeres, that he neuer after suffered any vaine de­lights to tickle him, neither beauty of women, nor sweet­nes of meates, nor any other such pleasures to draw him from a sober and temperate life. To which sobrietie and [Page 200] temperance of life Licurgus being desirous to draw the Lacedemonians, by his lawes he forbad them all those things that might turne their minds frō manly thoughts, and make them soft and effeminate: for he said, that wan­ton pleasures were the flatterers of the mind. And as flat­terers by their deuices and arts, draw men that giue eare vnto them besides themselues, as hath bin already decla­red: so pleasures through their sweetnesse corrupt the sense, together with the mind to whom they are the mi­nisters. And Agesilaus being once asked what good the lawes of Lycurgus had done to Sparta: Marry (sayd he) they haue brought our men to despise those delights which might haue made them to be no men. There are so many wise and graue sayings to this purpose, that to re­peate them all, the day would be too short. It may there­fore suffice what is already sayed, and confirmed by the cōsent of all the wise mē in the world, to shew you mani­festly, that the true & proper end of man is not to be at­chieued by this sensual kind of life. And since that which is truly proper to any thing, cannot be common with any other (as to laugh is so proper to man, as no other creature can laugh but he) and pleasure is common to other crea­tures besides man, therefore it cannot in any wise be pro­per to him.

It cannot be gainesaid with any reason (said my Lord Primate) and therefore no doubt but euery man ought to apply himselfe to follow that which is most proper to his owne nature; for that is his best: and pittie it is, and maruell eke, to see such numbers, that neither for loue of vertue, nor feare of God, will frame themselues to a good and comendable course of life, but follow their vaine de­lights and pleasures insatiably.

Pittie indeed it is (said I) but no great maruell, because [Page 201] perfect iudgements are rare; and many there be, who though they know the truth of things, yet suffer them­selues to be caried away with apparances. For their de­light proposing to them certaine figures or images of what is good and faire, they are content to be deceiued, and to become bondslaues to their senses, or rather char­med by them, as by some witch or inchantresse, and by them to be guided. But this notwithstanding I must ad­uertise you, that I haue not so absolutely spoken against pleasures, that you should therefore inferre that vertues should be without their pleasures also. For albeit pleasure be not vertue, nor yet mans true good, yet doth it follow vertue, euen as the shadow followeth the bodie. And though vertues haue difficulties and trauels before they be gotten; yet when they are gotten, pleasure is the inse­parable companion vnto them; not such as keepeth com­pany with lasciuious and wanton affections, and is soone conuerted to griefe and repentance, but a delight that is permanent and stable: insomuch as some of very good iudgement, haue thought there is no pleasure worthy the name of delight, but that which proceedeth from vertue, and maketh our actions perfect. For this cause did Aristo­tle say, that most perfect was that delight which was comprehended by the most perfect part of the soule, which is the vnderstanding. And this delight is so per­fectly perfect in God, that he is far from any annoyance or molestation: for delight is not in God a passion, as in vs our delights are, which neuer come to vs without mo­lestation, it being (as hath bin said) the begining of them. Therfore the pleasures of the mind are esteemed so much the more perfect, as the vnderstanding is more perfect then the sense: which vnderstanding delighteth onely in that pleasure that is accompanied with honestie, and [Page 202] this pleasure he esteemed to be so excellēt, that he wished some new excellent name to be found for the same. But we hauing no other name to giue it, call it by similitude with that name which is fit for the delightfullest thing that the senses can yeeld vs: and therefore we call as well the imperfect delight of the senses, as that most perfect of the vnderstanding, by the name of pleasure, though the one of them consist in extremes which is vicious, and the other in the meane where vertues haue their place.

Here Captaine Norreis spake, saying; We haue heard you sundrie times say that vertues consist in the meane betweene two extremes, but how that meane is to be found, you haue not yet declared to vs: therefore (I pray you) let vs be made acquainted with the way to compas the same, that we may learne to take hold of vertue, and not be deceiued with the false semblance thereof to fall into vice.

This meane (said I) is found, when a man doth what he ought to do, when time serueth, in maner as he should, for such as becommeth him to do, and for causes honest and conueniet. And whosoeuer setteth this rule to himselfe in all his actions, which being so conditioned, shall be farre off from the extremes, and neere vnto vertue.

Yea (said Captaine Norreis) this is soone said, but not so soone done: for it is not so easie a matter to hitte vpon these conditions, but that a man may more easily misse them. But since by your words, neither delight alone, nor profit onely can worke humane felicitie, it should seeme (the qualitie and trade of the world considered) that it may well be gathered, that they which haue them both linked together, are worthy to be esteemed happie: since [Page 203] plenty of wealth may yeeld them all their desires, and ful­fill their delights. And this haply may be the cause why Kings and Princes are so accounted in this life.

Of the happinesse or vnhappinesse of Princes, this is no place to treate (said I) neither appertaineth it to our matter: onely thus much I may remember by the way, that Antigonus affirmed it to be but a kind of pleasing ser­uitude to be a King. And Phalaris the cruell tyrant con­sidering wel his estate, said likewise, that if he had knowne before he made himself tyrant of his country, what trou­ble, care and danger followed rule and Segnorie, he wold rather haue chosen any state of life then to be a King. Neuerthelesse no sort of men place their felicitie more in pleasure then Princes do, when they haue not due regard to their charge: for then they think that whatsoeuer may nourish their delight and pleasure, is lawfull for them to do. But miserable are the people ouer whom God hath set such to raigne, as put their pleasure or their profit on­ly, before all respects, as the end of their gouernement: though Almightie God who is the King ouer Kings, of­tentimes in his iustice plagueth them, euen with those things wherein they placed their greatest felicitie. Diony­sius the yonger being borne in wealth and plentie, setting all his thoughts vpon his pleasures, was therefore in the end driuen out of his kingdome. For he thinking it law­full for him to take all that he would haue, euen in his fa­thers life time began to defloure certain virgins of honest families: which thing his father vnderstanding sharpely reprehended him for the same; and among other things told him, that howsoeuer himselfe had taken vpon him by tyrannie the kingdome of Sicilie, yet he neuer had v­sed any such violences. But his wanton sonne made him this answer: It may well be (quoth he) for you were not [Page 204] the sonne of a King. At which word the father grieuing, replied vnto him; Neither art thou like to leaue thy sonne a King, vnles thou change thy conditions. Which prog­nostication was verified, in that the sonne following his lewd course of life, shortly after his fathers death was cha­sed out his kingdom by his subiects, and driuen to get his liuing by keeping a schoole in Corinth: where on a time one seeing him liue so poorely, asked him what he had learned of his schoole-master Plato, that he could no bet­ter behaue himselfe in his royaltie; taxing him that for not applying himself to Plato his doctrine, he had bin the cause of his owne ruine. But his answer was better then his former cariage, for he said, that he had learned more then haply he could imagine. And what is that (quoth the other) I pray you teach it me. I haue (said he) learned to beare this my aduerse fortune patiently, & with a frank courage. And had he learned to obserue that worthy sen­tence of Agesilaus, who was wont to say, that Kings and Princes ought to endeuor to exceed other mē in tempe­rance & fortitude, and not in wantonnes & pleasures, he had neuer brought his high estate to so base a fortune as to keepe a schoole. But omitting to speake of Kings, I wil tel you that they are greatly deceiued that think that pro­fite ioyned with delight may make men happie: for the more that profite and delight are knit together, the more doth wanton lust and vnruly desires swell and increase, if they be not tempered by the rule of reason. Which made Ouid to say,

From out the bowels of the earth is fet
That cursed pelfe, mens minds on ill to set.

And Plato in his books of lawes saith, that a very rich man is seldome seene very good. Which saying you know our Sauiour Christ confirmed when he sayed, it was harder [Page 205] for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heauen, then a ca­ble to passe through a needles eye. And though Aristotle in one place sayth, that riches are necessary to make vp a perfect humane felicitie: yet in another he calleth them but a foolish happinesse. Yea Plato affirmeth, that great ri­ches are as harmeful in a citie as great pouertie, by reason of the deliciousnes & wantonnes which they breed. For which reasons it may be very wel concluded, that neither wealth nor pleasure, nor yet they both together, ought to draw any man to propose them to himselfe for his end: but the more he hath of wealth, and vseth it but for his pleasure, the further he goeth astray from his felicitie and his proper end. And that riches in a wanton lasciuious mans possession, are like a sword in a mad mans hand. Pythagoras said, that as a horse cannot be ruled without a bit: so riches are hardly wel vsed without prudēce, which wil in no wise dwell with them, who abādon themselues wholy to vaine delights. If to the vulgar sort therefore such men seeme happie, yet are they in very truth most miserable and vnhappie. For these disordinate pleasures are intestine enemies, which neuer cease working til they ouerthrow a man, and breed him dishonour and shame: neither do they faile to bring him to an euill end, that suf­fers them to master him, and vseth hs wealth to the plea­sing of his appetites. As by Dionysius aforesayd may ap­peere, and also by Sardanapalus, who being a mightie Monarke, swimming in wealth and pleasures, and sparing nothing that might glut his lasciuious appetites, grew so effeminate thereby, that as soone as he was assaulted by contrary fortune, he was driuen to consume himselfe, his treasure, and all his filthy lustes at once in the fire. Which two examples among infinite moe that might be menti­oned, shall for this time suffice to verifie that which hath [Page 206] bin said, to wit, that Gods iudgements light for the most part vpon such Princes, as, forgetting the great care and charge which is layd vpon them, giue themselues to care for nothing but their owne vaine appetites and delights. To whō Antisthenes spake, when he said, that riches were no goods if they were not accompanied with vertue that might instruct men how to vse them well. And Chilo the Lacedemonian likewise, who was the first author of that graue sentence, Magistratus virum indicat, whereunto he added riches also, because they both together draw him the more easily to discouer himselfe. Socrates wisely wi­shed that he might haue the grace to esteem no man rich but him that was giuen to the studie of wisedome and knowledge: for such (he said) had the true gold, which is vertue, a thing much more precious then all the golde in the whole world, and that which leadeth man the right way to his felicitie.

Then, said Captaine Norreis, since by your discourse, all they are vnhappie that tread the steps which leade to either of those two ends before mentioned of profite or pleasure; or to them both ioined together: it must of force follow, that happy be they that direct their actions to that end which is proper to man, whereof I hope your next speech will be.

So must it (said I) for there remaineth nothing else to be treated of. And if mine author mistrusted his eloquēce (as he doth) in a matter meete to be set forth so effectually as this; what may I say of my selfe, that am tied to declare to you in our lāguage, inferior much to the Italian, al that he hath set downe touching the same? Sure it is, that if I were able to set before the eyes of your mindes a liuely image of this excellent end, you wold be so delighted therewith that in regard thereof you would contemne and set light [Page 207] by all other pleasures in the world. But howsoeuer my vtterance be, which I will do my best to fit as wel as I can to so high a subiect, you shall heare what he in substance saith therupon; and I assure my self that the quality of the matter will easily supply whatsoeuer defect you may find in my phrase or maner of speech. You are therefore to vn­derstand, that as they whose iudgements are corrupted, and minds informed with an il habite, to make them liue after the maner before mentioned, do swarue frō the na­ture of man so much, as they become like brute beasts or insensible plants voide of reason: euen so are they among men, as diuine creatures, who apply themselues to liue ac­cording to reason. And such haue aunciently bin called Heroes, because they approched in their actions neerer to God then others that liued not so. For they put all their endeuours to adorne and set foorth that part of man which maketh him like vnto the diuine nature, or rather partaker of the same; teacheth him what is good, comely, honest, and honorable; and inuiteth him continually to that which may conduct him to the highest and supreme good. This part is the minde, with the vse of reason pro­ceeding from it, as from a roote. But because two speciall offices appertaine to the vse of reason (so farre foorth as serueth to this purpose) the one contemplation, and the other action. Touching the first, it raiseth vs by the means of Arts and sciences (which purge the minde from base and corrupt affections) to the knowledge of those things that are vnchangeable, and still remaine the same, how­soeuer the heauens turne, time runne on, or fortune or any other cause rule things subiect vnto them. By means of which sciences, the minde climbing by degrees vp to the eternall causes, considereth the order & maner where­with things are knit together, & linked in a perpetual bād. [Page 208] And thence it comprehendeth the forme of regiment, which the Creator and mouer of all things vseth in the maintaining and keeping them euerlastingly in their se­uerall offices and duties. And out of the consideration hereof we learne, that he that directeth not his course of gouernment by this rule, as neere as he can, to guide him­selfe, his family, and the Common-wealth, can seldome or neuer attaine a good and happie end. Wherefore he draweth the celestiall gouernement to the vse of humane and ciuill things, so farre as mans frailtie will permit. As Socrates did, who was said to haue drawne Philosophie from heauen to the earth, to reforme the life and māners of men. Thus turning himselfe to the knowledge of his owne nature, and finding that he is composed of three se­uerall natures, whereof ech hath her seuerall end, yet see­keth he to draw the ends of the two lesse perfect, to the end of that which is most perfect and proper to him. But finding that continuall contemplation of higher things, would be profitable onely to himself and to none other, in that he should thereby purchase no happinesse to any but to himselfe. And because he knoweth that he is not borne to himselfe alone, but to ciuill societie and conuer­sation, and to the good of others as well as of himselfe, he therefore doth his endeuour with all care and diligence so to cary himselfe in words and in deeds, as he might be a patterne and example to others of seemly and vertuous speeches and honest actions, and do them all the good he could in reducing them to a good and commendable forme of life. For the performance whereof, he percei­ueth how requisite it is, that honestie and vertue be so v­nited with profite and pleasure, that by a iust and equall temper of them, both himselfe and others may attaine that end which is the summum bonum, and the thing [Page 209] wherupon all our discourse hath bin grounded. This end is not to be attained but by the meanes of morall vertues, which are the perfection of the minde, & setled habits in ruling the appetite which ariseth out of the vnreasonable parts of the soule: for vertues are grounded in those parts which are without reason, but yet are apt to be ruled by reason. He therefore seeing morall vertues are not gotten by knowing onely what they be, but through the long practise of many vertuous operations, whereby they fa­sten themselues so to the mind, as being conuerted once into an habite, it is very hard afterwards to lose the same: euen as of vicious actions on the other side the like ensu­eth: therefore with all carefulnesse and diligence possible he laboreth to embrace the one, and to eschue the other; euermore striuing to hold himselfe in the meane, and to auoide the approching of the extremes: to which, profite and delight vnder deceitful maskes of good, would entise and allure him.

I pray you (said Captain Norreis) tel vs (since you say that vertue is in the mids betweene two extremes) whe­ther that meane you speake of, wherin vertue sits, be so e­qually in the midst, as the extremes which be vicious, be alike distant from the same or no?

No (said I) they are not in that manner equidistant, for oftentimes vertue approcheth neerer to one of the extremes, then to the other. As for example, Fortitude, which consisteth in a meane betweene fearefulnesse and foole-hardinesse, hath yet a neerer resemblance to foole-hardinesse then to cowardise, and consequently is not a­like distant from them both, and is in this manner to be vnderstood, that albeit vertue consist in a meane between two extremes, whereof the one is a defect, and the other a superabundance, yet she is neither of them both, as by [Page 210] our example of Fortitude appeereth, which is neither foole-hardines, nor yet cowardise, but onely a commen­dable meane or temper betweene them both. And ther­fore Aristotle said right well that the meane of vertue be­tweene two extremes, was a Geometricall meane which hath a respect to proportion, and not an Arithmeticall meane which respecteth equall distance: so as you must vnderstand that vertue is not called a meane betweene two extremes, because she participateth of either of them both, but because she is neither the one nor the o­ther.

And why (said Captaine Norreis) is the Geometricall proportion rather to be obserued therein, then the Arith­meticall?

Because (said I) though vertues are in the meane, yet do they bend oftentimes towards one of the extremes more then to the other, as hath bin said already: and by proportion Geometricall they are in the middest, which by Arithmeticall would not be so. For thereby they must be in the iust middest, and equally distant from both the extremes. As for example, let vs suppose 6. to be the meane betweene 4. and 8; for 6. hath two more then 4, and so hath it two lesse then 8, and in respect of it selfe standeth iust in the midst betweene 4. and 8, and equally distant from them both. And this is your Arithmetical meane. But the Geometrical proportiō is after another ma­ner. For suppose 2. and 8. to be the extremes, and 4. to be the mean: here you see that 2. & 4. haue a double propor­tion, and so hath 4. and 8. the one to the other, and so 4. participateth of that double proportion as well with 8. as with 2, and yet is neerer to 2. then to 8; which it doth likewise in another respect: for if the two extremes be multiplied together, as 2. with 8. they make 16: and so [Page 211] much doth 4. likewise being multiplied in it self, for foure times 4. makes 16. And thus you see what difference is betweene Geometricall and Arithmeticall proportion. Now though euery vertue haue peculiar extremes be­tweene which it is placed: yet Philosophers say, that they consist all generally about matter of pleasure, or the con­trary.

How can that be (said M. Dormer) when you haue told vs already, that vertue is not pleasure?

It is (said I) one thing to say vertue is pleasure, and an other to say that it consisteth in matter of pleasure or an­noyance. And true it is that pleasure is not the matter of vertue, neither meant I so to say; but onely that vertue is busied about these two passions of pleasure and displea­sure, whereof the fittest example may be taken from tem­perance. For as the temperate man embraceth the delight of the mind, so taketh he pleasure to abstaine from the vnseemely delights of the body. And contrariwise, the intemperate man is sad, because he hath them not.

Well (said M. Dormer) that matter is soone answered: but because I haue heard the Stoikes were of opinion, that vertue was true felicitie, and that Plotinus said, that a man endued with vertue was sufficiētly furnished for his felicitie, as being possessed of all the good that could be a­mong men, I pray you what is your authors opinion in that point?

If I well remember (quoth I) it is a good while sithens I told you that mans felicitie is attained by vertue; but that vertue is his felicitie, that saith not mine author. And sure the opinion of Aristotle is better in that matter then that of the Stoikes. For reason it selfe telleth vs that those things which are ordained to an end, cannot be the end it selfe to which they be ordained. And since vertues are [Page 212] ordained for the attaining of mans felicitie, which is (as hath bin sayd) a perfect action according to vertue in a perfect life. It is plaine, that vertue cannot be felicitie, though he that is vertuous approcheth neere to his feli­citie.

You say true (sayd M. Dormer:) I remember you ex­pounded the clause of a perfect life to be intended a long life, yet the same Stoikes held that a yong man might be happie: alledging felicitie was not to be measured by quantitie, but by qualitie; and that not length of time, but perfection onely is to be respected, which (they say) may be as well in a yong man as in an old. And they giue the example of hunger and thirst: for suppose (say they) that two hungry or thirstie folke be called to eate or to drink, and the one to asswage his hunger or thirst be satisfied with a little, and the other require much meate or drink to be satiated, yet is he as well satisfied with the little whose nature requireth little, as he that requireth a great deale: euen so (say they) in humane felicitie, the length of time or number of yeeres is not to be respected, but hap­pinesse it selfe; and as happie is the young man who in a few yeeres hath attained his felicitie, as the olde man that hath bin many yeeres about it. For Plotinus saith, that the happie man cannot reckon vpon the yeeres past of his fe­licitie, but onely on the present.

The Stoikes held strange opinions (sayd I) in many things. But if experience be needfull (as hath bin former­ly sayd) and many actions, to make an habite in vertue, so as a man may by custome be brought to that passe as he shall not do any thing but according to vertue, then is length of life necessary for the attaining of vertue, which must first be gotten before a man can hope for any felici­tie. Moreouer, if Prudence be the very knot and band [Page 213] of all the morall vertues, and that the young man cannot be prudent, how can he then haue perfect vertue? Wher­fore the diffinitiō of humane felicitie to be a perfect ope­ration according to vertue, hath need of this addition in a perfect life, which must be long and haue a happie end. For though a man haue runne through many yeeres in continuall prosperitie, and afterwards fall into grieuous calamitie, though he cannot be thereby made miserable (which vice onely and not aduersitie may bring him vn­to) yet may he not be rightly intitled happie. Youth ther­fore hath this defect in it, that albeit man be the subiect of felicitie▪ yet a yong man cannot be properly and actually the subiect thereof, and the child much lesse, because he is furder off from prudence, and because neither of them can haue either perfect life or perfect vertue. And as for the opinion of Plotinus, he (as a Platonike) considered the soule simple and pure, freed from the other two powers that are rebellious to reason: and meant him onely to be happie, who separating the vertues of the mind from the senses, from worldly delights and concupiscences, did so interne himselfe with his thoughts in the contemplation of his Creator, as he despiseth riches, dignities, and ho­nors, with all transitorie and fraile commodities: still loo­king to that good which is the highest and perfectest a­mong all goods, which is God Omnipotent. And this he called the chiefe action of the vnderstanding, and highest felicitie. And because he supposed that the mind should neuer depart from that action, he sayd that the time past was not to be accounted of in mans felicitie. By which it may appeere, that he spake not in that place of humane or ciuil felicitie, wherof our discourse is now ac­cording to Aristotles opinion, neither doth the authoritie of Plotinus help the Stoikes any whit at al, whose opinion [Page 214] is in that point to be reiected.

Since we are resolued (said Capt. Carleil) that vertues are but the meane to purchase felicitie, and not felicitie it selfe, we would be glad to heare you declare how many they are, and of what qualitie, that we may know them, and make our selues happie by the purchase of them.

To answer you to this question (said I) according as I find the matter set downe by mine author, wold perhaps not satisfie you so fully as you would desire, or I could wish: for that (in my opinion) he hath treated of some of these morall vertues somewhat too briefly, and confusedly: I haue therefore to helpe mine owne vnder­standing had recourse to Picolomini when I came to this place, in whom hauing found a more plaine and easie method in the description of them, I haue for the more perspicuitie of the translation, added somewhat taken frō him, and (as well as I could) interlaced it with this dis­course, where mine author seemed to me too brief, or too obscure. And if it may worke the same effect in you, that it hath done in me, to make you the better vnderstand how many and of what qualitie those vertues are, I hope you will not mislike my attempt therein, but excuse me, though it be not so fully accomplished as I desire it were. There are then by the generall consent of all men foure principall vertues appertaining to ciuill life, which are, Fortitude, Temperance, Iustice, and Prudence; from which foure are also deriued (as branches frō their trees) sundry others to make vp the number of twelue, and they are these ensuing, Liberalitie, Magnificence, Magnanimi­tic, Mansuetude, Desire of honor, Veritie, Affability, and Vrbanitie: of euery of the which vertues, I will speake particularly, following chiefly mine author; but where need or occasion shall require, I wil for the cleerer vnder­standing [Page 215] of the matter, supply out of Picolomini what I think is wanting. And to begin first with Fortitude. This vertue standeth in the meane betweene foole-hardinesse and cowardise; which two passions may iustly be termed matter of Fortitude: and this vertue is exercised in things terrible and fearful, which are also difficult, causing griefe and paine, which the valiant man is willing to endure for vertues sake. For though his life be deere vnto him, as it ought to be to euery man of vertue, in respect of himself, of his friends, and of his countrey; and will not therefore vpon small occasions expose himselfe to perill: yet when time and occasion require it, and that any honest cause call him thereunto, he will vndertake cheerfully whatso­euer dangerous enterprise, and with a stout courage, and readily performe the same. Neither shall labour or trauel, hazard, nor death it self dismay him; but esteeming more his reputatiō then his life, he wil resolutely aduenter him self for honesties sake. But among all the actions of Forti­tude, to fight for our countrey, and (if need be) to die for defence of the same, deserueth the greatest praise & com­mendation: as on the other side, to quarrel, & put a mans life in danger vpon euery trifling occasion, is not the part of a valiant man, but of a foole-hardy. Cato the elder ther­fore said very wel, that to know a valiant man, it imported much, to vnderstand whether he made more account of his life or of his vertue, because not the aptnes to quarrell for euery occasion, but the venturing his life for vertue & honestie maketh a man to be accounted valiāt among wise mē, who hold such men to be fools & miserable that thrust thēselues rashly into quarels, as many do, through the corruptiō of our age, vpō fantasticall points of honor, as if they were weary of their liues. Neuertheles there are some kindes of death, which a vertuous man abhorreth, [Page 216] as to die by tempest at sea, by thunder, by earthquake, and such other violent deaths where vertue cā haue no place. All which deaths, though they cannot dismay a vertuous mind, yet he cānot but be sory that he is brought to such an end, as affoordeth him no meanes to make of his valor. There be sundry vices which haue a resemblance of this vertue: but because we haue in our first dayes discourse spokē of them sufficiētly, we shal not need at this time to say any more cōcerning the same. It is also to be conside­red, that this is a vertue as wel of the body as of the mind: for to the exercise of fortitude, a man must haue a strong body, & of a good complexion, his lims wel framed, and thereto a stout and a constant mind fitly coupled, that it may rule and guide the body prudently. For (as Isocrates sayd to Demonicus) vnlesse strength of body be matched with wisedom, it is doubtles harmfull to him that hath it. The mind must be so disposed & armed against fortune, be she froward or fauorable, it may stand alwayes inuin­cible against all misfortunes and aduersities, and yet not raise it selfe for prosperous successes. For it is as true a to­ken of a base mind to be proud & insolent in prosperitie, as to be daunted and faint-hearted in aduersitie and affli­ction. Amid which afflictions, that part of Fortitude which is called patience hath place, of which Plato hath written largely, and among other things this he sayth, that the valiant man hath gotten such a habit in his mind of Fortitude, that amid pleasures or amid calamities, he is alwayes the same man; resisting the assaults of fortune with the vertue of his minde. But the Christian writers haue much more extolled this vertue then any other; yet Aristotle toucheth it, where he sayth, that the vertue of Fortitude is cleerly discerned by the voluntary enduring of grieuous accidents, which in effect is that same habite [Page 217] whch we call patience. Alexander Mamea (as Herodian reporteth) was wont to say, that valiant men, and modest or temperate men, ought to wish for prosperous estate: but that if things fall out contrary to their desire, they are to beare them with an inuincible courage. And Plotinus defining the sayd vertue, sayd that it was a habite of the mind, which was not subiect to passions: as in another place he describeth the valiant man to be he, that is not moued from the vertuous habit of his mind, neither by pleasing or delightfull accidents, nor yet by grieuous or displeasant; yea he so abhorred that a man should be ma­stered by happie or vnhappie accidents, that he sticked not to affirme, that from this basenes of mind proceeded that opinion which wold take from vs our free election. For their cowardise, who suffer themselues to be ouer­come by such passions, perswades them that such things happen of necessitie, and through the immutable order of things: and so they make themselues wittingly slaues where they were free, wanting either will or power to vse that libertie of their mind, either in the one fortune or in the other. For who so is armed with true fortitude, out­ward things whatsoeuer they be, neither giue nor take ought frō thē. But they that cānot temper themselues in prosperitie, nor beare aduersitie stoutly, make it apparant that fortune mastreth them. Whereunto S. Ambrose allu­ding, saith to Simplician, that vertuous men become nei­ther greater nor meaner by the change of mortall succes­ses, because by this vertue they ouercome both fortunes. Such a man was Socrates, whose wife sayd of him, that whatsoeuer had befallen him, he neuer came home but with one and the selfe same countenance, neuer altered or changed. To the same effect Seneca sayd, that a wel dis­posed minde holdeth euermore one course howsoeuer [Page 218] the world fare; whether fortune bestow her gifts plenti­fully vpon him, or frowardly take them away. For the valiant man neuer grieueth at any thing that happeneth in this life to other men, Fortitude being a sure shield for humane weaknesse, which maketh all the darts of fortune how sharpe soeuer they be, to turne point againe, with­out once so much as rasing, much lesse entring thereinto. There is nothing in the world that ought to be more deere to a man then his children, who are his true and liuely images, and after a sort the ministers of his immor­talitie: wherefore the losse of them (especially when they are vertuous) should of all other things be most grieuous vnto him. Neuerthelesse Anaxagoras when newes was brought him that his onely sonne was dead, answered the messenger, It is no new thing that thou tellest me, for I hauing begotten him, know right wel that he was mor­tall. So well had Philosophie taught him to beare the freakes of fortune, and armed his minde in such sort, as it could not be surprised with any sudden passion. Our ve­ry birth hath death fastened vnto it: therefore the Poet sayd right well:

Whiles borne we are we die, so that our ending
From our first being taketh his beginning.

And to conclude touching this vertue, we must haue such an habit thereof in our mindes, and so accom­pany the same with Prudence, as Fortune either good or bad may not preuaile against vs; neuer thinking our vi­ctorie ouer her assured, vntil we haue cleane daunted and beaten her downe. Carneades in this behalfe aduised wel, that in time of prosperitie we should forethinke some ad­uersities, and suppose them to be already fallen vpon vs, whereby we might be the better prepared in minde to beare them if they came indeed. And Zeno when he re­ceiued [Page 219] aduertisement that a shippe wherein he had great wealth was wracked and cast away, shewed himself farre from being grieued thereat: for he thanked fortune, that by taking againe those goods which she had giuen him, he had gotten so good an occasion to forsake the care of inriching himself temporally, & to betake himself wholy to the study of Philosophie.

Next followeth the vertue of Temperance, whose sub­iect is that power of the soule whence cometh the concu­piscible appetite; and she is exercised specially about the senses of tasting and feeling, but chiefly about the wanton lusts of the flesh: for though the tast ill vsed, be a cause of intemperance, yet is it by the meane of the sense of fee­ling. In which respect it may be said, that the disordinate lust of the body that maketh men intemperate, is in the sense of feeling, not ouer all the body, but onely in those parts which serue for those delights. And they being most mightie, are by temperance to be restrained with the bridle of modestie, and kept within due termes. For which cause Plato called her the gardien or safe keeper of all humane vertues. For she with sober and aduised lan­guage telleth vs, that nothing is comely that is not ho­nest, nor nothing honest that is not comely: far from the disordinate appetites perswasion, which sayth, whatso­euer pleaseth is lawful, and that all is lawful that pleaseth. But Temperance with her wholesome aduertisements withdraweth vs from all that is vnfitting or vndecent, if we giue eare vnto her. Which vndecency or vnfittingnes cometh neither from the senses of seeing, nor yet of hea­ring or smelling. For men by delighting beyond measure in the obiects of those senses, are not called Intemperate, but runne into other lesser defects, not needful here to be spoken of. But Intemperance groweth principally (as [Page 220] we haue said) out of the tast and the feeling, two senses that make vs most like vnto brute beasts, if we suffer our selues to be led by them, following our delights as they do: for they corrupt mans prudence, put his mind astray, & take away frō him the light of reason, which frō other creatures they cannot take. I remember that among the Grecians it was reported, how vnder the images of Ana­carsis a most continent Philosopher was euer written, that temperance was to be vsed in the tongue, in the bel­ly, & in the priuie parts, thereby giuing vs to vnderstand in which senses principally Temperance should be vsed. And though all other creatures haue their exterior senses as well as man, yet none take delight in them, but ac­cidentally. For the hound delighteth not in the sent of the hare, but insomuch as he hopeth to feede vpon her: nor the wolfe delighteth in the bleating of a Lambe, but as he intendeth to deuoure it: neither doth the sight of a bullock please the Lion for any respect, but that he expe­cteth to slake his hunger on the carcasse of it. All their principall delight is in the tast and in the feeling: and be­cause they haue no light of reason, but are guided onely by naturall instinct, therefore they are not called tempe­rate or intemperate, as hauing no free choice, which pro­ceedeth from reason onely. But men who haue the gift of the mind from God, and are capable by their iudge­ment to discerne and chuse what is good, and to eschue what is euill, vnles they be misled by their appetite, de­serue, when they chuse that which is iust and reasonable, to be called temperate. And to such men Plotinus was wont to say, that delight of the senses was giuen for a re­freshing and lightning of the heauy burthen of cares and troubles, which this mortall life bringeth vpon vs. Shew­ing thereby that such delights are not in themselues euil, [Page 221] but onely when they be ill vsed. Which thing Aristotle before him signified, when he sayd, that euery man was not to be called intemperate, that sought for some plea­sure; but that to such only, as hunted after dishonest and vnlawfull delights, that name was to be applied: for ho­nest delights for recreation of the mind are not to be dis­allowed; ioyning therein with Anacarsis, who sayd, that the continuance of trauell, without intermission, was a thing impossible: wherefore it was requisite for men sometime to sport themselues, that they might returne the fresher to their honest labours. Whence Ouid tooke his verses, saying,

Long cannot last the labour that doth want
An interchangeable repose some-while:
For it restores the forces languishant,
And doth refresh the members spent with toile.

And Cicero the father and light of Romane eloquence, sayth, that games and sports were permitted for the re­freshing of the mind, euen as meate and drinke for the re­storing of the body; especially after the attending of graue and weightie affaires. But such as haue made an ill habit, and suffered their iudgements to be corrupted, ma­king choice of dishonest delights to follow their senses onely, are rightly called intemperate, because they pro­cure onely the pleasures of the body, without regard of the mind. And they are so much worse then incontinent men: as these feele yet sometimes a remorse of their ill actions, and thereby correct themselues; whereas the other perseuere in their ill choise (if we may properly cal that a choise which proceedeth from a corrupted iudge­ment) and care not to amend themselues; and are like to a man full of dropsie: for their viciousnesse is as hopelesse of recouery, as is the dropsie when it is ful growne within [Page 222] the body. And therfore they may well be accounted of a lost life, who haue contracted so ill an habit, that they still keepe reason subiect to their passions & appetites, which is called by Plotinus the infirmity of the mind. But where Temperance ruleth & bridleth the inordinate delights, it is not so: for this vertue which is the meane in all actions, and a seemlinesse in all things appertaining to ciuill life, doth increase mans praise and cōmendations, multiplieth honor vpon him, lengtheneth his life, and lightneth the burthen of all his troubles: finally it so fashioneth a man, as whether he be alone or in company, whether he be in publike or in priuat, he neuer vndertaketh any thing but that which carieth withall reputation, dignitie & honor. For it withholdeth him from all that is vnseemly, and lea­deth him to all that is honest and commendable. Neither is this vertue exercised only in things appertaining to the appetite, but (as Aristotle saith) she is the conseruer of pru­dence: and by Plato his opinion, she stretcheth her power to those actions that appertaine to Fortitude also. For she teacheth man to know the meane of fearfulnes in cases of danger apparant, & in what measure paine or trouble is to be endured. Pythagoras said she was the mean of al things: and therfore as the beauty of the body is a meet & seemly disposition of the members, breeding grateful sweetnes, and being tempered with fresh colours, draweth the eyes of men to behold it with wonder & delight: euen so this vertue causeth al the actions of a temperate man with her bright shining light to be admired and extolled; for she is called by Pythagoras the rule of al decency & comelines. Of her hath youth more need (according to Aristotle) then old age, because young men are much more stirred with concupiscence and vnruly affections then old men. And the Philosophers haue assigned her for companiōs, shamefastnes (which holdeth men from doing any filthy [Page 223] act) honestie, abstinence, continency (which bridleth the concupiscible passions that they ouer-rule not the will) mansuetude or mildnes (which tempereth the fury of an­ger) modestie (which is the rule of decent motions of the body) and to be short, al those gifts of the mind which ac­company seemlines and decency, of which we shal parti­cularly say somewhat as briefly as we may. And because this vertue stretcheth her branches so far, Plato said it was hard to define her, and more hard to vse her: the one be­cause she is hardly discerned frō other vertues: the other, because we bring with vs frō our mothers wōb the desire of delight, wherby we are norished, grow, & draw out the line of our life: for which cause Arist. said, that it was har­der for a mā to resist the pleasures of the body, then pain.

Next followes the excellent vertue of Liberality, which is busied about giuing and receiuing conueniently, and is placed between two extremes; the one Auarice, which taketh more or giueth lesse then is meet: the other Prodi­galitie, which giues more then is conuenient: and he that can cary himself euen between these two extremes, may iustly be called a liberall man; giuing where, whē, to such persons, and in such sort as is fit, for respect of honestie. Vnto liberality is ioyned magnificence, which is a vertue concerning riches also; which the magnificall man vseth in great things, and such as are to haue long continuance, & are done in respect of vertue, as sumptuous buildings, rich furnitures, and the like: therfore a poore man cannot actually attaine to be either magnificent or liberal. The li­liberall man is not magnificent, because magnificence is more then liberalitie: but the magnificent man is liberal.

Arme in arme with Magnificence goeth Magnanimity, waited vpō by Mansuetude, desire of honor, veritie, affa­blity & vrbanity. Al which vertues appertain to ciuil con­uersatiō, & are very profitable, breeding decēcy, honesty, [Page 224] dignitie and honour. And though honor be reckoned in the number of those things that are called exterior goods yet is it highly to be prised among all other, because it is the certaine token of vertuous life, and is the due reward of vertue. For vertue hath two sorts of rewards: the one that is outward, and that is honour (which cometh from others that honor vertue, and is not in the vertuous man himselfe): the other inward, which is felicitie, the true and perfectest end of all our vertuous actions whiles we are aliue. And man hauing all these vertuous habits in him, gotten by continuall wel doing, which consisteth in particulars: he hath also need of the conuersation of other men, lest the occasiō of doing vertuously shold faile him. For though a mā haue neuer so perfect a knowledge of al the vertues, vnles he put them in action, he can neuer be happie. And specially therfore is friendship necessary for him, which either is a vertue, or fast linked to vertue, and groweth out of the loue which men beare, first to their parents and kinsmen, next to their citizens or countrey­men, and lastly to strangers. For as concerning ciuill fe­licitie, man cannot, nor ought not to be alone: in which respect conuersation and friendship are necessary for the accomplishment of the same. Some therefore haue sayd, that it were as hurtfull to take the bright shining beames of the Sunne from the world, as to depriue men of the benefite of friendship: since without friends, a man is so farre from being happie, as it may be said, he cannot liue, or be at all. This friendship is a communion and knitting together of minds, which neither length of time, distance of place, great prosperitie, nor great aduersitie, ne yet any other grieuous accident may seuer or separate. And Plo­tinus, though all his drift were to raise man from all base affects of the mind, and to settle him in contemplation, [Page 225] yet he thought friendship necessary no lesse for the mind then for the body. Aristotle sayd, that he that liued alone could be none other then either a God or a brute beast. Solitarinesse then is euill for all sorts of men, but most of all for yong men, who wanting experience in them­selues, haue great neede of the good instructions and ad­monitions of others. Therefore Crates the Philosopher seeing a yong man alone, went vnto him, & asked of him what he was doing so all alone: and the young man an­swering, that he was discoursing with himselfe: take heed (said Crates then) that thou talk not with an il man. Con­sidering wisely, that a man void of prudence (as yong mē commonly are) is like to busie his head with ill thoughts, which will prouoke him to ill deeds also. Conuersation therfore and friendship are necessary for the accomplish­ment of ciuill felicitie, which without loue cannot be. And that friendship is firme and durable which groweth out of vertue, and from similitude of behauiour and con­ditiōs. Plato saith, that beauty beareth the greatest sway in friendship, but that is the beauty of the mind, which ver­tue brings forth: but if to the beauty of the mind, that of the body also be ioyned, they both do the sooner and the faster tie together the minds of vertuous men. For the ex­terior beauty of the body prepareth the way to the knowledge of the other inward of the mind, which (as hath bin sayd) is indeed the true man: but he that loueth but the body, loueth not the man, but that which nature hath gi­uen him for an instrument. And if this beauty of the bo­die happen to draw any man to loue a foule or dishonest mind, that loue cannot be termed rightly friendship, but a filthy and loathsome coniunction of two bodies, too much frequented by yong men with naughtie women, who are not onely vnworthy any loue, but ought of all [Page 226] men to be eschued as abhominable, and driuen out of all well ordered Common-weales. This friendship tieth (though with diuers respects) children to their parents, kinred to kinred, the husband to the wife, and the minds of men of valour & vertue fast together, as a thing agree­able to all the qualities which our soule containeth: but this friendship betweene men of valour and courage, springeth from that faculty of the mind, whence cometh reasonable anger, the heate whereof stirreth & inflameth the mindes of such men to valour and fortitude. And though this friendship be good and commendable, yet is that more firme & permanent which groweth out of the that part of the mind which is garnished with reason and vertuous habits: for it bindeth mens minds so fast toge­ther, and breedeth so firme a consent in them, that they become as one; in so much as it seemeth that one mind dwelleth in two bodies to guide and rule them. Which made Zeno say that his friend was another himself. Now albeit we see dayly friendships to be broken off vpon fleight occasions, yet is that not to be imputed to any imperfection in the nature of friendship.

It is maruel (said Captain Carleil) that friends should so easily break the bonds of friendship, if they were so fast knit as you haue sayd: the cause whereof were worth the knowing.

That shall I declare vnto you (said I:) Many apparan­ces of friendship there are, which be as farre from true friendship, as the painted image of a man is from a man indeed: for some are friends for profit, some for pleasure, and some for other respects: which respects failing, loue also quaileth; and so the foundation of friendship being gone, it must needs fall to the ground. Others first loue, and after beginne to iudge of the person: and when they [Page 227] find themselues deceiued in their expectation whatsoe­uer it were, they vntie the knot of friendship faster then they hasted to knit the same before. But if iudgement leade the daunce, as it ought to do, and that a man chuse to loue another, because he esteemeth him worthy for his vertues to be beloued; such friendship is sure and firme, neuer to be dissolued, nay not so much as a mislike can grow betweene such friends. For Aristotle holdeth, that discord cannot possibly dwell together with friendship. All other friendships are subiect to quarrels & dissentiōs, but especially that which is grounded vpō profit: wheras those friends whom vertue coupleth together, as they haue but one wil, so haue they all things common, accor­ding to the lawes of Pythagoras. Which lawes Plato allo­wed, and Aristotle likewise, though in the communion of goods he were contrary to Plato, affirming that where all things were common, it was not possible that the commonwealth could stand. The stedfastnesse of friend­ship therefore consisteth in the communion and equali­tie of minds, betweene which neither anger, dissention, nor ingratitude can grow; for true friends prouoke not one another with contention, anger or vnthankfulnesse. And in regard hereof, the opinion of Plato was, that plea­santnes and cheerfulnesse was fitter among friends then grauitie or seueritie.

But I pray you (sayd Captaine Norreis) tell vs whe­ther this friendship you speake of may be between many or no?

Sir (answered I) a man cannot in truth be friend to many at once, in this degree of friendship which we are treating of. For since the worker of this fast friendship, is the likenes of minds and conditions. As there is a variety of faces infinite, insomuch as it is a very rare thing [Page 228] to find two altogether like the one to the other: so falleth it out likewise in minds: and the saying is, that one mind ruleth two bodies, and not mo; according to which say­ing, friendship cannot be in perfection betweene many. The reason wherof may be, that loue and true affection being the most excellent thing among the effects of friendship, and things excellent being rare, therfore true friendship is so rare, as not onely in our age, but also in all ages past, we find scarce two or three couples of friends to be recorded. Neither can a man indeed deuide his loue into many shares, without impairing it; nor giue like helpe, vse like conuersation, or do other friendly offi­ces toward many, which are needfull, and required be­tweene two fast friends, such as we speake of.

I cannot tell (sayd sir Robert Dillon) why you make friendship so rare a matter, when dayly example sheweth vs, that there are many men who haue many friends. Let vs consider priuatly or publikely our owne acquaintan­ces, and we shall see so many kind offices of friendship stirring, as it may be thought, the auncient times brought forth men more sauage & vnfit for amity; or else that our times are happier in that point then theirs. I remember yet that I haue read of Epaminondas, how he was wont to say, that a man shold not come home from the pallace vntill he had purchased some friends. The like is written of Scipio the yonger, who affirmed that the firmest and most profitable possession that a man could haue in this world, was the hauing of many friends. Also the Empe­rour Traian was accustomed to say, that he accounted that day lost wherein he had not gotten one friend.

All this (said I) is true: but many are friends in name, who whē they be put to trial proue nothing so. And ther­fore was it said, that there were many apparances & sorts [Page 229] of friendship, which properly are not to be esteemed true friendship, but are rather to be termed ciuil beneuo­lence, or publike friendship; being a certaine generall loue, which the nature of man, and the communion of countries breedeth of it selfe. And this loue maketh one man courteous, gracious, and affable to another, if he de­generate not from his owne nature which hath framed him sociable; it maketh him apt to help, and ready to de­fend, and to vse all the offices of humanitie and beneuo­lence that become him towards all men: but specially to­wards such as either countrey, neighbourhood, likenesse of exercises or delights, or such like things haue vnited and knit together. All which breed rather an accidentall then a sound and true friendship. For among many such, few will be found that will expose themselues to perils or dangers for their friends, or in respect of their friends safetie will set light by their goods, yea their owne liues, as these few recorded in auncient writings haue done. This made Demetrius Falareus to say, that true friends went willingly to be partakers of their friends prosperity if they were called therunto: but that if aduersitie or mis­fortune did befal them, they taried not then to be called, but ran of themselues to offer their helpe and comfort. And Anacarsis esteemed one good friend worth many common & ordinary, such as we dayly see called friends, either for countries sake, or because they keepe company together in trauell by land or sea, or traffike, or serue to­gether in the warres, or such like occasions: all which are in truth but shadowes rather of friendship, then friend­ship indeed. A friend is not so easily to be discerned, but that a man must (as the prouerbe saith) eate a bushell of salt with him before he account him a true friend. Wher­upon followeth, that there can be no perfect friendship, [Page 230] but after long experience and conuersation. Plato respe­cting this, said, that friendship was an habit gotten by loue long time growne: and in another place, that it was an in­ueterate loue, which is all one; to wit, that it must be pur­chased, and confirmed by long tract of time. Neuerthe­les though loue be the meane to knit friendship, yet is it not friendship it selfe, but the roote rather of the same. And as without the root nothing can prosper nor grow: so without loue no friendship can prosper. Thus then you may vnderstand, that true friendship is not gotten by publike meetings, walkings or trading, nor in one day or two; and that all sorts of beneuolence or mutuall offi­ces of courtesie and ciuilitie, or euery shew of loue ma­keth not vp a friendship. For once againe I will tell you that friendship is so excellent a thing as it cannot be in perfection, but onely betweene two good and vertuous men of like commendable life and behauiour. That it is the greatest externall good that can be purchased in this life, and that it is the same which Aristotle said was more needfull then iustice, and therefore highly to be prised of the man that laboured for ciuill happinesse. Who al­though he haue all those exteriour goods which apper­taine to ciuil life, as wealth, health, children, and such like, without which Aristotle holdeth that no man can be per­fectly happie in this world, yet if he want friends, he lac­keth a principal instrument for his felicitie; not only in re­spect of the many benefits which friends bring with thē, but chiefly for the delight of his own vertuous operatiōs, and the exercise of the like with them, when they shall be induced by him to vertuous actions: which breedeth an vnspeakable contentment. Besides that, solitarinesse be­reaueth a man of the sweetest part of his life that is the conuersation among friends, increasing the contentation [Page 231] of a happie man, as he is to be a ciuill man: for of that o­ther solitarinesse which appertaineth to contemplation, this place serueth not to speake. Wee may therefore right well conclude, that without friendship a man can­not haue his ciuill felicitie accomplished. But if I should say all that might be said concerning friendship, I should be too long; neither would I haue said so much thereof, had it not bin to shew you, how solitarinesse cannot serue the turne of him that would be happie in this life. Wher­fore companie being necessary to felicitie, will mini­ster vnto the happie man occasions to vse his liberalitie: for sweete and pleasing conuersation, and to supply the wants & necessities of friends, is the true & comfortable sauce to friendship. It will make him to shew the greatnes of his courage in great things, guided alwayes by iudge­ment and reason, and to direct all his actions to the mark of honour, a thing esteemed (as we haue said) among all others the greatest externall good: not that he shal set ho­nor for his end (for that he knoweth would be vnfitting) but honorable and vertuous actions, contenting himselfe that honor be the reward of them, and vertue be the hire for her selfe. For to her, others will giue honour as to a di­uine thing, wheresoeuer they shall see her. But Magnani­mitie is not a vertue fit for euery man, but for such onely as are furnished with all other vertues, and among ver­tuous men are esteemed in the highest degree. And he that is not such a man, and will yet make a shew of Mag­nanimitie, will be but laughed at and scorned, because vice and Magnanimitie, for the contrarietie that is be­tweene them, cannot dwell together in any wise; the one deseruing all honour, and the other all reproch & blame. For Magnanimitie produceth effects agreeable to all the rest of the vertues, which is the cause that so singular a gift [Page 232] of the mind is not attained but with great difficultie: but the more trauell is taken in getting it, the greater is the praise to him that hath purchased the same. He that is a­dorned with this vertue, ioyeth when great honours fall vpon him, he little esteemeth any perill, when hone­stie inuiteth him thereunto, and not anger, nor fury, nor desire of reuenge, nor onely respect of honour. In matter of riches he alwayes obserueth a due temper as wel as the liberall man, whom he excelleth in this, that the Magna­nimous man exerciseth his vertue in high matters that beare with them dignitie and importance; whereas the liberall man is busied in things of lesse moment. He hath also a due regard concerning honours, in the purchase whereof he is not iniurious or threatning, nor puffed vp with pride or ambition, but knowing right well that who so offereth iniury to another, cannot be rightly cal­led Magnanimous, he abstaineth from doing any: and if any man haue offered him iniurie, he holdeth it for the greatest and honorablest reuenge to forgiue, though he haue the partie in his power, & may satisfie himselfe; and thinketh that the greatest displeasure he can worke to his enemy, is to shew himselfe euermore garnished with ver­tue. Moreouer, he is alwayes higher then his fortune, be it neuer so great, and be she neuer so contrary she cannot ouerthrow him. He will neuer refuse to spend his life (though it be deere vnto him, knowing his owne worth) for the defence of his countrey, of his friends, of his pa­rents, of his religion, or for Gods cause, with whom he is continually in thought, though he be bodily here below on earth conuersant among men, neuer busied in base conceits or imaginations. His reputation is so deere vnto him, as he wil sooner loose his life, then spot it by any vile act: wherefore if he be in the field with his armes for any [Page 233] the causes before said, he neuer turneth his backe to flie, but fighteth with a firme resolution, either to ouercome or die. He is much more ready to bestow a good turne or benefite then to receiue it; holding that it is more ho­norable for a man to part with his goods, then to take at any other mans hand: neuertheles if he chance to receiue any profite or commoditie by any other, he layeth it vp carefully in his remembrance, and neuer thinketh himself out of debt vntil he hath requited it double at the least. A propertie well becomming a diuine mind rather then an humane: for of al others Ingratitude is the vilest & abho­minablest vice, which among the Persians was seuerely punished. A vice that may be accounted not onely con­trary to honestie, but also a cruell beastlinesse. The Co­mike Poet saith, that wicked is the man that knoweth how to receiue a benefit, but not to recompēce the same. Which sentence is in effect also in Euripides, who sayth, that he who forgetteth benefits receiued, can neuer be re­puted of an honest or generous mind. Our Christian writers haue said, that it is enemie to grace, enemie to our saluation, to our life, & all ciuill societie. And accordingly Seneca was of opinion, that no vice was more contrary to humanitie, or did sooner dissolue the vnitie of mens minds then ingratitude, more abhominable before God, or more odious to al vertuous & honest minds. But amōg vngrateful wretches, he that sheweth ingratitude towards those that haue instructed him in learning and vertue, o­pening to him the gate by which he must enter to attain to his felicitie, is the most beastly of all others: for that to them he ought to haue more regard then to his owne fa­ther, from whom though he hath his being, yet from the other he hath his well being, and is made fit and capable of dignitie and honour by the meane of vertue. And as [Page 234] gratitude or thankfulnes is the ornament of all other ver­tues, from which proceedeth the loue between the child and the parent, betweene the scholer and his master, the charitie towards our countrey, the honor toward God, the friendship betweene men, and the reuerence towards our superiours: so no doubt ingratitude cannot be but di­rectly contrary to all these, and therefore the foulest of al other vices; from which all the euils in the world pro­ceed, to the perpetuall infamie of him that is vnthankful. Neither is it to be wondred, that such men (like infernall furies) cast behind them Religion, pietie, loue, faith, all goodnes, iustice, and humanitie it selfe, seeking like raue­nous wolues to liue and feed vpon the bloud of other men. Not onely from priuate houses therefore, but from Cities and Common-weales, ought this pestiferous ge­neration to be carefully banished, as an infection among people, & the ruine of al conuersatiō, lest their contagion spred that same euil ouer all the rest. Pythagoras, who was the first that euer was called a Philosopher (which is as much as to say, a louer of wisedome, and consequently of truth) did forbid all men to lodge an vnthankfull man vnder his roofe. And because the Swallow (as Plutarke saith) betokeneth ingratitude, he would not haue them to be suffered to nestle in a house. And to say truly, such men are worse then the most sauage and cruell beasts of the field: for of the gratitude of some of them, euen the fiercest, many most notable examples haue bin recorded; namely this: One Elpi a dweller in the Ile of Samos, who traded into Afrike, comming with his ship on that coast, went a shore, where he met a Lion, in whose teeth a bone of some beast stucke in such sort as he could not close his mouth, or make any shift to eate: Elpi pittying the beast, who seemed to craue at his hands releefe, tooke out the [Page 235] bone, and so deliuered him of that mischiefe. But this thankfull Lion failed not euery day after so long as his ship lay there at rode to bring him duly his share of what prey soeuer he tooke, which was sufficient to feed him and all his company. Yea euen among serpents we reade examples of thankfulnesse: for it is written, that a certaine child brought vp a young serpent, and fed it familiarly a long time; but when it was growne great, one day fol­lowing the instinct of nature, it left the child and went to the woods. It happened that some while after that child being become now meete to trauell, passing thorough a wood was assaulted by robbers, who hauing taken him were purposed to haue slaine him: but he with pittifull voice intreating and crying to them that they should spare his life, the same serpent (who by chance was then neere at hand) heard his crie, and knowing his voice, came suddenly out with such fury vpon the theeues, that they were glad to take their heeles, and to leaue the yong man there to saue themselues, who by the thankfulnesse of the serpent was thus saued. But because you may hap­ly make doubt of these histories, supposing them to be old and fabulous, giue me leaue (besides mine author) to recite vnto you a strange example of gratitude in a beast, which I haue vnderstood from a person of such credite, as I dare auouch it for a truth, since himselfe affirmed that he knew the gentleman in the west country of England, to whom the thing happened euen of late yeeres. This gentleman had a mastiffe, which he made much account of because he was very faire and hardie, and therefore cherished him so as as his neighbours tooke knowledge of his affection to the dogge: in respect whereof, though they receiued harme from him (for I must tel you he had a qualitie to worry sheepe by night) yet sought they no [Page 236] redresse, but by complaint to the master, who in no case could be induced to beleeue that his dogge had that qua­litie, so cunning was he to take his times and to hide his fault. Howbeit vpon the renewing of complaints he cau­sed a muzzle to be made, and euery night to be put on his dogs head; supposing thereby to be not onely assured himself, but to satisfie his neighbours also, that it was not he that committed those outrages. But for all this, neither the harme nor the complaints were stopped; for this dog had gotten the knack with his feet to pull off his muzzle, and then going abroade to do his feate, at his returne he would thrust his head into the muzzle againe, in such sort as any man would haue freed him of any such fact. Yet no other dogge being neere to do the like but he, and still the harme being freshly done, his master once resolued to watch his dogge a whole night to satisfie himselfe and his neighbours of the truth: which thing he did so dis­creetly, as he discouered his dogs subtiltie, and saw him vnmuzzle himselfe, go abroade, and returne so cleaned as no spot of bloud could be discerned about him, and thrusting his head into his muzzle to lie him downe as if he had bin free from any such offence. The gentleman thus resolued of his dogges conditions, went to bed, and slept the rest of the night; and the next morning coming downe, he found his dogge lying in the hall, and looking somewhat angerly vpon him, he spoke these words, Ah thou sheepbiter, thou sheepbiter, thou must be hanged; and so indeed had purposed with himselfe to haue had him executed. But whiles he was busied in some house­hold affaires, the dog stole out of doores and ran away; so as when his master gaue order how he should be han­ged, he was no where to be found. And these circumstan­ces of the tale I haue the rather related, that you may [Page 237] wonder at the vnderstanding of this beast. Now for his gratitude, thus it fell out: Some two yeeres after or lesse that he was thus runne away to escape hanging, it was the gentlemans chance vpon some occasions to trauell on foote through the countrey, and in a certaine wood fit for such purposes, he met two tinkers that set vpon him suddenly to rob him: these two tinkers had with them a mastiffe that caried their packes, as many in England do; which dog when in the fight (for the gentleman defen­ded himselfe manfully) he had knowne either by his voice or otherwise his old master, he ranged himselfe to his partie, and set vpon his latter masters so fiercely, that they lost their courages, and being wounded ran away: and then the gentleman also refigured his old seruant, by whose meanes he was deliuered from so great a danger; and so tooke home his dog again, who had in the meane time forgone his naughtie qualitie, and was euer after much made of by his master as he right well deserued. How shamefull a thing is it therefore to man, that brute beasts should giue him examples of gratitude; and he cōtrariwise, on whom God hath bestowed so great a gift as reason to discerne the good from the bad, should ra­ther follow the example of the worst sort of beasts in do­ing ill, then of such as by naturall instinct shew him the way to goodnesse? For the vngratefull man is of the na­ture of the wolfe, of whom it is written, that being suck­led when it was yong by an Ewe; when it grew great, in recompence of his nourishment he deuoured her: decla­ring that the wickednes of the vnthankfull person cannot be ouercome by any benefits, be they neuer so great. But of this abhominable vice we haue said enough, and more then needed, but that I was willing to giue you to vnder­stand, how farre it ought to be from him that is vertuous, [Page 238] and would be raysed to the reputation of a magnani­mous man: of whom returning to speake, thus much is to be added, that he vseth himselfe and all his abilitie euermore with greatnesse of courage, spending when occasion serueth magnifically, in workes worthy admi­ration, and in helping of others honorably. Towards all men he is courteous, gentle, and affable, neuer gi­uing occasion of offence or mislike in his conuersation: such due regard he hath to place, time, persons, and o­ther circumstances, so as he neuer doth anything vn­seemely or vnworthy himselfe. And so he tempereth pleasantnesse with grauitie, benignitie with dignitie, that to the humble he neuer seemeth proud, nor to the great ones neuer base or demisse: but valewing him neither more nor lesse then he is worth, insisteth still vpon truth, discouering himselfe modestly and decently as he is in­deed a man of vertue, and with graue, yet gentle speeches giuing satisfaction to all persons of what degree soeuer. And finally in all his actions and behauior he taketh great heed that he commit not any thing whereby he may haue cause to die his cheeke with the purple blush; but euermore deserue of all men praise and commendation.

If I should not interrupt, or prolong your discourse too much, I would be glad (said Captaine Norreis) to learne what is the cause that shamefastnesse maketh the red co­lour come into a mans face, and that feare doth make him pale?

The reason is (said I) because shamefastnes springeth in vs for some thing that we thinke blame-worthy: and the minde finding that what is to be reprehended in vs, commeth from abroade, it seeketh to hide the fault com­mitted, and to auoide the reproch thereof, by setting that colour on our face as a maske to defend vs withall. And [Page 239] albeit that shamefastnesse or blushing seeme to be a cer­taine still confession of the fault, yet it carieth with it such a grace, as passeth not without commendation, spe­cially in youth, as hath bin said. But feare which procee­deth from imagination of some euill to come, and is at hand, maketh the mind which conceiueth it to startle, and looking about for meanes of defence, it calleth al the bloud into the innermost parts, specially to the heart, as the chiefe fort or castle; whereby the exterior parts being abandoned and depriued of heate, and of that colour which it had from the bloud and the spirits, there remai­neth nothing but palenesse. And hereof it commeth to passe, that we see such men as are surprised with feare, to be not only pale, but to tremble also, as if their members would shake off from their bodies: euen as the leaues fall from the tree as soone as the the cold wether causeth the sappe to be called from the branches to the roote, for the preseruation of the vertue vegetatiue. But such feare is vnseemly, and a token of a cowardly mind, and is seldom seene in men of valour. For they are neuer so suddenly o­uertaken by any humane accident, but that they are ar­med, and know that their vertue is to be made knowne in fearfull and terrible occasions, which are the very mat­ter and subiect of their glory. Neither doth fortune with her smiling, so assure thē, but that they look for her frow­ning countenance to follow: and therefore in prosperity prepare thēselues for aduersity; whereby when others fal vnder her strokes, they not only feare her not, but coura­giously fight against her, & ouercome her. Yet you must vnderstand that euery sort of feare is not reprochfull: for that feare which withholdeth men from doing euill, or things that may breed them shame, is worthy cōmenda­tiō: which made Xenophon to say that he was most fearful [Page 240] to do any thing that was dishonest. And much more commendable is that feare which groweth from the re­uerence and respect we beare to God, to our parents, and our superiours: for that leades a man to goodnes, where­as the other bringeth a man to all euill and wickednesse. And now hauing satisfied your demaund, let me briefly runne through the rest of the vertues before mentioned in their order. Next therefore to Magnanimitie cometh the goodly vertue of Mansuetude, being a meane be­tweene wrathfulnesse with desire of reuenge, stirred vp in the irascible appetite in respect of some iniury done or supposed to be done, and coldnesse or lacke of feeling of wrongs when they are offered: which coldnesse or in­sensibilitie of wrongs, is by this vertue kindled or stirred vp to feele and mislike the iniuries which vnruly persons do oftentimes offer to men of vertue. For as it is necessa­ry vpon many occasions to be angry, not with intention to offend others, but for the defence of a mans selfe, and of those to whom he is tyed, and specially of his reputati­on, lest by being too dull and carelesse in regarding iniu­ries done vnto him, he become apt to be ridden and de­pressed by euery ruffling companion: so to be either too sudden or outragious in anger, and thereby to be incited to do any act contrary to reason, cannot in any sort agree with vertue, or become a gentleman. For to speak of that bearing which is vndertaken for Christian humilitie, or feare of offending God, appertaineth not to this place. This vertue then of Mansuetude, is she that holdeth the reines in her hand, to bridle the vehemency of anger, shewing when, where, with whom, for what cause, how farre foorth, and how long it is fit and conuenient to be angry; and likewise to let them loose, and to spurre for­ward the mind that is restie or slow in apprehending the [Page 241] iust causes of wrath, with regard of like circumstances: directing the particular actions of the vertuous man in such cases according to reason; to whom she, as all other the vertues, is to haue a continuall eye and regard in eue­ry thing.

Desire of Honor succeedeth next, and is a vertue that is busied about the same subiect with Magnanimitie. For as the magnanimous man respecteth onely great and excessiue honors: so doth this vertue teach the meane in purchasing of smaller honours or dignities, such as ciuill men of all sorts are to be employed in. For as there are some that seeke by all meanes possible to catch at euery shew of honor, at euery office or degree that is to be got­ten, and spare not to vndergo any indignity, or to try any base or vnlawfull meanes to compasse the same, heauing and shouing like men in a throng to come to be formost, though they deserue to be far behind: so are there others so scrupulous and so addicted to their ease and quiet, that they cannot endure to take vpon them any paines, or any place that may bring them either trouble or hazard; ab­solutely refusing in that respect, and despising al dignities and offices, together with the honor they might purchase by the same. The first sort of men are called ambitious: the other insensible and carelesse of their reputation. Be­tweene which two extremes this vertue hath her place, to keepe the first from seeking, not by vertue, but by cor­ruptiō, deceit, or other vnfit meanes to compasse honors, dignities, or authoritie, as many do, slandering and back­biting such as are competitors with them; or else most basely flattering, and with cappe and knee crouching to those that they thinke may yeeld them helpe, or fauour them in their purchase, which they seeke and beg to sup­ply their owne vnworthinesse: and to quicken the other, [Page 242] whose mindes haue no care of their credit & reputation, but liue in base companies, and estrange themselues from all ciuill conuersation, like brute and sauage beasts. And in this respect is she worthy high estimation, and necessa­ry for all them that esteeme true honour (as they ought) to be the most excellent good among exteriour things: who neuerthelesse temper themselues from ambition, so as they are not drawne to commit any vile or base act for the atchieuing of the same, but striue euermore by ver­tue to purchase their honor & reputation. Neither is this vertue all one with Magnanimitie, because it requireth not so excellent an habit as doth Magnanimitie, though they both be busied about the same subiect: for between them is the like difference as is betweene Magnificence and Liberalitie, whereof we haue already spoken.

Veritie is the vertue which followeth in order, by which a man in all his conuersation, in all his actions, and in al his words sheweth himselfe sincere and ful of truth, making his words and his deeds alwayes to agree, so as he neuer sayeth one thing for another, but still affirmeth those things that are, and denieth those that are not. The two extremes of this vertue, are on the one side dissimu­lation or iesting, called in Greeke Ironia, and on the other side boasting. For some there are that seeke by this vice to purchase reputation and credit, or profit; or else euen for foolish delight giue themselues to vanting and telling such strange things of themselues, as though they be in­credible, yet wil they needs haue men forsooth to beleeue them. Others for the same respects dissemble the good parts that haply are in them, & seeme willing to make mē beleeue that their good qualities are not so great as they are; with a counterfeit modestie faining alwayes to abase themselues in such sort as men may easily discouer them [Page 243] to be plaine hypocrites, and that vnder pretence of hu­militie they labour to set pride on horsebacke: yea some euen of meriment, or by long custome of lying, thinke it sport sufficient neuer to tell any thing but exorbitant and strange lies, insomuch as in fine, though they wittingly speak no truth, yet themselues fal to beleeuing what they say to be most true. Betweene these two vices sitteth this bright-shining vertue of Truth (as she is a morall vertue) by which men vse the benefit of their speech to that true vse for which it is bestowed vpon them by God, and pur­chase to themselues not onely honour and praise, but also trust and credit with all men, so as their words are obser­ued as oracles: whereas of the others, no man maketh more account then of the sound of bels, or of old wiues tales. This is that excellent vertue that is of all others the best fitting a Gentleman, and maketh him respected and welcom in all companies: which made Pythagoras to say, that next vnto God, truth in man was most to be reue­renced: whose contrary likewise is of all other things the most vnfitting, the very destroier of humane conuersatiō the mother of scandals, and the deadly enemy of friend­ship: the odiousnesse whereof may be discerned by this, that albeit we stick not sometimes to confesse our faults, though they be very great, to our friends, yet we are asha­med to let them know that we haue told a lie.

The vertue of Affabilitie which succeedeth, is a cer­taine meane, by which men seeke to liue and conuerse with others, so as they may purchase the fauor and good liking of all men, not forgetting their owne grauitie and reputation. And because there are some that thinke with pleasing speeches and pleasant conceits to be welcom in­to all companies, they giue themselues to flatter, to com­mend and extoll euery man, to sooth all that they heare [Page 244] spoken, and still to smile or laugh in euery mans face; pur­chasing thereby in the end to be esteemed but as ridicu­lous sycophants or base flatterers: and others, holding a contrary course, neuer speake word that may be gratefull or pleasing to any man, supposing thereby to be held for graue and wise men, euermore opposing themselues to what others say, dispraising al mens doings, and finally with frowning countenance making themselues odious in all companies. Therefore is this excellent vertue set as a meane to direct men how to vse their words and beha­uiour in honest and ciuill conuersation, that they may be gratefull. For thereby they know how to distinguish the degrees and qualities of persons, of times, of places, and by discreete cariage to make themselues welcome euery where, without touch of flattery. And Affabilitie resem­bleth very much friendship in the particular actions ther­of, both hauing a purpose to please, & neuer to displease. But betweene them there is this difference, that friend­ship doth all things with a speciall feruent affection inter­changeably borne; whereas Affabilitie respecteth not the mutual affection, but only a desire to be generally accep­table and pleasing to all good men, to euery one in their seuerall degrees and qualities, and without regard of the conditions before specified. In the exercise of which ver­tue, among other obseruations, this is one principall, ne­uer to let passe a word out of the mouth before it be con­sidered and examined whether it may offend any man or no. For many men through lack of this consideration haue let slip words that they would afterwards haue re­deemed at a high rate, but could not; whence arise often­times great mischiefes, as dayly experience sheweth vs. Lastly, as the body hath need of rest after trauell, so hath the mind (ouerwearied with study or affaires) need of re­creation, [Page 245] that it may return the fresher to be busied again. And this recreation is best found in certaine pastimes or sports, vsed by gentlemen when they meete to be merry together, wherein no basenesse or vnseemlinesse is seene: and therefore are these sports properly called, recreations of the mind. But because in such meetings where men come to passe the time together, they faile in their con­uersation two wayes by excesse, the one contrary to the other; therefore is the meane which teacheth the tempe­ring of those excesses, called the vertue of Vrbanitie, a La­tine name, which in English we cannot better, and there­fore must giue it passe to be denizened among vs. The one excesse of too much, is, when men seeke in such as­semblies or meetings onely to make the company laugh, and so they laugh, care not whether the occasion be giuē of any wantō speech or scurrilitie, or ouerbitter taunting, without respect of persons, and if they may breake a iest vpon any man, either present or absent, they will not for­beare it to shew their wit, though it be neuer so much to the shame and ignominie of the partie; yea and they will laugh thereat themselues so exceedingly, that they will make others of force to laugh at their laughter, though they mislike their speech. And such men may be iustly termed iesters, or knauish fooles, specially if to their words they adde gestures and countenances vndecent for ciuill men, not sparing also ribald speeches euen in the presence of sober and modest gentlewomen. A thing that among honest and vertuous men is most odious, whose conuer­sation ought to be farre from vncleannesse or malice. Op­posite to these are certaine persons, who in all companies neuer let fall any wittie speech themselues, or any merry conceit; nor yet when they heare them proceed from o­thers, will once affoord to grace them with so much as a [Page 246] smile: but rather bend the browes thereat, or seeme not to know or to conceiue any delight therein, behauing themselues like rude clownes which want capacitie to comprehend the substance of a pithy & pleasant speech. These Aristotle calleth harsh and rustike fellowes. Now betweene this rusticity and this foolish iesting is this ver­tue of Vrbanitie the meane, which the Greeks call Eutra­pelia, and teacheth a man to frame all his speeches in as­semblies and meetings where he chaunceth to be for the reuiuing or recreating of his spirits, so as they may be sharpe and wittie, and yet not bitter or ouerbiting to of­fend, nor yet to taxe or reproue any man so, as he may haue iust cause to complaine: though (to say truth) a dis­creet or wittie iest cannot be much worth, or moue men to laugh, vnles it haue a certaine deceit or offence inten­ded towards some body, who neuerthelesse must not be so pricked, as he may haue cause to be grieued thereat, but rather be merry at the conceit. For since words and gestures are the true tokens commonly of the qualitie of the mind, he, that in his conuersation causeth not the sweetnes of his mind and the candor of his noblest part to shine through all his actions, words and gestures, can­not be esteemed a man of worth and vertue. He must continually haue great regard to the time, place, persons, and other circumstances, according to which he is so to order his pleasant conceits and merry iests, not onely to moue meriment and laughter, but that withall he may keepe his grauitie & dignitie, and eschue aboue all things licentious & wanton speeches, which in no wise become a man that is desirous to beare vp his reputation & credit as a ciuill man. And thus hauing giuen you a tast of euery of the vertues assigned to wait vpon Magnanimity some­what more amply then mine author, who hath (in my o­pinion) [Page 247] a little too briefly touched them in the descriptiō of a magnanimous man: I will now returne to his dis­course again, by which I am come to treate of Iustice; the efficacie and power wherof is such, that some sages haue held her only to be vertue, as if she should containe in her al other vertues: and that the rest that are seuerally named should be but as parts of her, diuersly intituled in respect of the diuers obiects, about which they are exercised. It is therefore to be considered, that this vertue is to be taken two waies; the one when she is generally considered, and then is she alone al the vertues: in which respect Agesilaus was wont to say, that where Iustice was, there needed no Fortitude. And Antisthenes and Plato likewise were of o­pinion, that he that was iust needed no lawes, because this vertue was sufficient to keep him within the cōpasse of liuing wel and vertuously. The other way is, when she is taken for one of the foure principall vertues, and so is she a habit, whereby is knowne what is iust, and the same is accordingly desired and done. This is that incorrupted virgin, which the auncients so termed, because she is such a friend to bashfulnes and modesty, by which men are made worthy reuerence, by which they learne the mea­sure of distributions and commutations, giuing recom­pence to vertue as much as it deserueth, not by equality of number, but by equality of measure: to much vertue great reward, to meane vertue meaner recompence: and this is the Geometrical proportion which Aristotle speaks of. For where much desert is, though much be giuen, and lesse, where lesse is deserued, and the rewards com­pared together be vnequall; yet as they haue seuerally de­serued, they are equally rewarded. With some example we shall make the thing more plaine. Suppose here be two vessels, the one greater then the other, and that you [Page 248] fill them both with wine or other liquor, the lesser shall neuertheles be as well full as the greater: and if they both had speech and vnderstanding, neither could the one complaine for hauing too much, nor the other too little, both being full according to their capacitie, and so recei­uing his due. In this sort doth Iustice distribute to euery one that which is his due. She produceth lawes, by which vertue is rewarded, and vice punished. She correcteth faults and errours according to their qualitie. She setteth vs in the direct way that leadeth to felicitie. She teacheth rulers and magistrates to commaund, and subiects to o­bey: and therefore she is the true rule which sheweth the inferiour powers and faculties of the soule how to obey Reason, as their Queene and mistris. Which commaund of Reason, Plotinus esteemed to be so important to be ex­ercised ouer the passions, as he esteemed them only to be worthily called wise men, who subiected their passions in such sort to reason, that they should neuer arise to op­pose themselues against her. She instructeth man to rule, not onely himselfe, but his wife, his children, and his fa­mily also. She preserueth and maintaineth States and Common-weales, by setting an euen course of cariage betweene Princes and their subiects. She maketh men vnderstand, how the doing of iniury is contrary to the nature of mā, who is borne to be mild, benigne & gentle; and not to be (as wild beasts are) furious, fierce and cruel: for such they are that hurt others wittingly. And when iniuries happen to be done, she distinguisheth them, she seeketh to make them equall, or to diminish them, or to take them cleane away: euermore teaching vs this lesson, that it is better to receiue an iniury then to do it. It is she that maketh those things that are seuerally produced for the good of sundry nations, common to all, by the meane [Page 249] of commutation, of buying and selling, and hauing in­uented coine, hath set it to be a law, or rather a iudge in cases of inequalitie, to see that euery man haue his due and no more. Finally she tempereth with equitie (which may be termed a kind of clemency ioyned to iustice) things seuerely established by law, to the end that exact iustice may not p [...]oue to be exact wrong. And where as lawes not tempered by discreet Iudges, are like tyrants o­uer men: this equitie was held by Plato to be of such im­portance, that when the Arcadians sent vnto him, desi­ring him to set them downe lawes to be ruled by, he vn­derstanding that they were a people not capable of equi­tie, refused flatly to make them any lawes at all. Agesi­laus said, that to be too iust, was not onely farre from hu­manitie, but euē crueltie it self. And Traian the Emperor wished Princes to link equitie & iustice together, saying, that dominions were otherwise inhumanely gouerned. The Aegyptians also to shew that lawes are to be admini­stred with equitie, expressed iustice in their Hieroglifikes by a left hand opē, meaning, that as the left hand is slower and weaker then the right: so that iustice ought to be ad­uisedly administred, and not with force or fury. And the opinion of some was, that the axes and rods which were accustomably borne before the Romane Consuls, were bound about with bands; to declare, that as there must be a time to vnbind the axes before they could be vsed to the death of any man: so ought there to be a time to de­liberate for them that execute the law; wherein they may consider whether that which the rigor of law commaun­deth may not without impeachment of Iustice be tem­pered and reduced to benignitie and equitie. To con­clude, Iustice is she that maintaineth common vtilitie, that giueth the rule, the order, the measure and manner [Page 250] of all things both publike and priuate, the band of hu­mane conuersation and friendship. She it is that maketh man resemble God, and so farre extendeth her power in the coniunction of mens minds, that she not onely knit­teth honest men together in ciuill societie, but euen wic­ked men and theeues, whose companies could not conti­nue, if among their iniustices Iustice had not some place. She is of so rare goodnesse and sinceritie, that she maketh man, not onely to abstaine from taking anothers goods, but also from coueting the same.

Indeed (said M. Dormer) if Iustice be such a vertue as you haue described, me thinke that we haue smal need of other vertues; for she comprehendeth them all within herselfe.

So doth she (answered I) if she be generally considered as before hath bin said. But if we call her to the company of the other vertues, as here we place her, she hath as much need of them as they of her, if she shall produce those effects which we haue spoken of. For as one vice draweth another after it, as do the linkes of a chaine the one the other: euen so are the vertues much more happily linked together in such sort as they cannot be se­uered. But though a man be endued with them all, yet is he called a iust man, a valiant, a prudent, or a temperate man, according as he inclineth more to this then to that, or in his actions maketh more shew of the one then of the other: for our naturall imperfection wil not suffer any one man to excel in them all; which made me say a while sithens, that it is so hard a thing to be magnanimous, since the vertue of Magnanimity must be grounded vpon all the rest. But to excell in iustice, is a thing most glorious; for it is said of her, that neither the morning starre nor the euening star shineth as she doth. And Hesiodus called her [Page 251] the daughter of Iupiter. Wherupon Plato supposing, that who so embraced Iustice contracted parentage with Iu­piter the King of Gods and men, accounted the iust man had gotten a place very neere vnto God.

Verily (said M. Dormer) and not without cause. For it behoueth him that will be iust to be voide of all vice, and furnished with all other vertues. And therefore me thin­keth, he that said Iustice might wel be without Prudēce, considered ill what belonged to Iustice. For Prudence is most necessary to discerne what is iust frō what is vniust; and a good iudgment therin can no man haue that wan­teth Prudence: without which iudgment, Iustice can ne­uer rule wel those things that are vnder her gouernment. And as Agesilaus said of Fortitude, so thinke I of Iustice, that if she be not guided by Prudence (which is aptly cal­led the eie of the mind) she works more harme thē good.

You thinke truly (said I) and of this vertue the course of our author draweth me to treate, & to declare of what importance she is to humane things, and how beneficial. But let me first put you in mind that hitherto hath bin spoken but of those vertues which haue their foundatiō in the vnreasonable parts of the mind: of which mind they are the habits, consisting in the meane betwixt two extremes, and busied about the affects & actions of men. Likewise hath bin declared how the affects come from the powers or appetites of the soule, to wit, the concu­piscible and the irascible, and how all commendable acti­ons proceed from election, before which Counsell must go. And albeit we made mention there of Prudence, yet it was then referred to a fitter place to talke thereof more largely, when the drift of our discourse should bring vs thither. Now therefore being come to that place which is proper to her, I am to speake of therof. But before I pro­ceed [Page 252] any further, you must vnderstand that there be two sorts of vertues: for some are morall, concerning man­ners, of which we haue discoursed hitherto, and shewed how they are grounded in those parts of the mind that are deuoide of reason. Others are of the mind or vnder­standing, in which respect they are called Intellectiue; and of them henceforth must be our speech. But you must remember, that though it was said, that those morall vertues were founded in those parts of the mind wan­ting reason, yet were they guided by the light of reason. And this light of reason (as much as concerneth mens a­ctions) is nothing else but Prudence, which is a vertue of the vnderstanding, and the rule and measure of all the morall vertues concerning our actions and affects: euen as sapience or wisedome is the guide and gouernesse of speculation. And forsomuch as reason is capable of two intellectiue vertues, whereof the one is actiue, and the o­ther speculatiue, this latter intendeth alwaies the know­ledge of truth: & the first is busied about the knowledge of what is good. Which good, when it is come to the height of his perfectiō in our actions, is the end of them; and then haue we attained that furthest and absolute terme or bound, vnto which we haue directed all our ci­uill actions. Hereupon Plotinus said, that there were in vs two principles or originall causes of doing; whereof the one is the mind, which cals vs to contemplatiō: the other is reason, guiding vs to ciuill actions; and from her doth that which is good & faire neuer depart. And though it may be obiected, that both these intellectiue vertues are exercised in or about the knowledge of truth, as indeed they be; yet is it to be aduertised, that it is in diuers re­spects that they be so exercised. For that part which is ex­ercised in contemplatiō, is busied about truth simply; that [Page 253] is to say, about those things that neuer change, and are al­wayes the same; as God first of all; then all the vniuersall things which nature hath produced: about which Pru­dence hath nothing to do to busie her selfe, because they are not subiect to mans counsell, nor to his election: and of such things properly is truth the subiect: which truth (as Plato said) is the guide to lead men to al goodnes. But Prudence worketh properly about such things as are sub­iect to change; and may be & not be; may be done or not done; and (when al is said) are fortunable: of which there is no certaine and infallible truth, as is of things eternall. Neuertheles Prudence in this inconstancie of things sen­sible, seeketh alwayes to apply it self to that which is most likely to happen, and doth seeme most probable to the discourse of reason. And this also is that truth about which she discourseth, seeking still to chuse that which is or seemeth to her best and most faire. Without Prudence can no vertuous operation be brought to passe. For she onely foreseeth and knoweth what is conuenient and seemely: and withholdeth a man at all times from vice or any voluntary wicked action: so that he that is not ho­nest cannot be prudent. It is neither art nor science, but an habit of the mind, neuer seuered from reason, in the discoursing of those things about which man is to vse reason, for priuate or publike benefit. So as it may well be said, that in respect of the subiect it is all one with that science which is called Ciuil: but in respect of the reason of the one & of the other, they be differēt. For Prudence is in the prudent man principally for his priuat good and profit, and next for the publike weale: but the ciuil or po­litike man considereth that which is profitable to the Common-wealth. And though both be busied about the benefit of mankind according to reason, yet so farre [Page 254] forth as the prudent man respecteth his priuat good, it is called in him Prudence. But when it is applied to the vni­uersal cōmoditie of the Cōmonweal, it is called the ciuil facultie or science. Which facultie without prudence wil be of smal effect in gouernment: the rule wherof it fetch­eth frō Temperance, which is called the preseruer of Pru­dence. Neuertheles the prudēt man may at once prouide both for his priuate affaires & for the publike, though his office be rather to cōmand others to execute things then to do himself. And albeit in that point Socrates was decei­ued, saying that Prudēce was all the vertues together, yet is she so inseparable a companiō vnto them all, as if she be taken frō them, they remaine os smal valew or effect. The office of this vertue, is to consider what is profitable, and to apprehend it: and likewise to eschew all that is hurtful. And to discourse of things sensible and vsuall, thereby to shew what is fit to be chosen, and what to be forsaken. In regard wherof Plato said that Prudenee guided vs to hap­pines of life, and imprudence made vs miserable and vn­happie: affirming that she onely directed vs to do all our affaires wel, yea & to know our selues. Among the repre­sentations of vertues, Prudence is commonly set with a looking-glas in her hand: which by all likelihood is done to giue vs to vnderstād, that as the glasse being cleere she­weth a man his face; so Prudence wel vsed shewes to him himself, making him to know what he is, and to what end created. The knowledge wherof works in him, that as he trauels to attain for himself profit & goodnes; so acknow­ledging himselfe to be borne for the good also of others, endeuoreth to direct the affaires also of his parēts, friends and Cōmon-weale to the same end of profit & goodnes. Now although it hath bin said, that Pudence is a science of good and euil, yet is it to be vnderstood that she is not properly termed a science; but is (as was said euē now) so [Page 255] far frō it, that she is busied about things casual which may happen and not happen, wherof there can be no certaine science: wheras Science laboreth about things certaine & eternal. Prudence considereth what is profitable & good; Science searcheth out truth simply. And as these two be different the one frō the other: so is there difference be­tween the wise man & the prudent. For the wise man be­ing stil busied about the causes of things, and the maruel­lous effects which they produce by the meanes of Gods goodnes, is as it were out of the world, litle respecting any profit, which the prudent hath still regard vnto. For the wise mā hath his mind alwaies raised to the contēplation of sublime things, whereby these baser of the earth seeme to him worthy no estimation, the rather because he kno­weth right well that nature hath need of very little to su­staine her. And although Plato say that those men are cal­led wise, who by the light of reason, know what is profi­table, not onely for themselues and particular persons, but generally for the commonweale, he there vseth the name of a wise man according to the cōmon maner of speech, and not properly. But that you may the better vnderstād my authors meaning, you must giue me leaue to enlarge a litle the ground of this his distinction. You are therfore to consider, that there be three seueral things in vs, to wit, sense and feeling, vnderstanding and appetite. Of which the first is the beginning of no action properly, because it is common to vs with brute beasts, who are not said to do any action, for that they want iudgement and election. The appetite, so farre forth as it is obedient to reason, ei­ther followeth or eschueth things presented thereunto: and in this part Counsell hath place and election, as hath bin formerly said: which election is the inducement to action, for thereby we worke either good or euil; and it is prouoked by the appetite, though reason brideling the [Page 256] concupiscible desire be the minister of good electiō. But the vnderstanding stretcheth furder then so. For it trauels about things eternal, necessary, and so true as they neuer change, nor can be any other then as by nature they haue bin framed. But it is busied about this truth two manner of wayes; for either it seeketh the knowledge of princi­ples, from whence true conclusions are drawne; or else of principles that be the orig [...]ne of things. If we consider the vnderstanding according to the first manner, it bree­deth science in vs, which commeth from the knowledge of true principles, which are the grounds of true conclu­sions. And in this sort do we know all things naturall and corporall, yet eternall and immutable, as causes naturall, nature her selfe, time, place, the elements, heauen, the first mouer, so farre forth as he is applied to a moueable body (for so far forth as he is a simple substance, vnmoueable, indiuisible, free from all change: and as he is alone by him selfe infinite, neither body, nor vertue contained in a bo­die, the first of all things naturally moued, yea before the matter it selfe, & al other the properties attributed to that simple, pure and diuine nature, it is a thing not appertai­ning to the naturall Philosopher to treate of him) and ge­nerally all other things natural. But taking the vnderstan­ding according to the second way, it raiseth vs vp to the knowledge of that diuine power, from which all things great and small, mortall and immortall, haue their begin­ning: and this knowledge is called wisedome: which, to­gether with vertue, we attaine by the meanes of Philoso­phie, the only school-mistris of humane and diuine lear­ning, and the true guide to commendable life and vertu­ous actions, being indeed the greatest gift that God gi­ueth to man in this transitory life. Now as these vertues before specified direct vs to that perfectest end that man [Page 257] in this world can attaine vnto by his vertuous deeds: so doth this habit, called wisedome, conduct him to a farre more excellent end then this ciuill or politike end. And if that which vertue guideth vs vnto, be worthy to be cal­led perfect in this world, this other (which wisedome leadeth vs vnto) may well be termed most perfect: be­cause this diuine habit addresseth vs to the knowledge of the most pure, simple, and excellentest nature, which is God eternall and immortall, the fountaine of all good­nesse, and infallible truth, the onely and absolute rest and quiet of our soules & minds. For which cause Plato said, that humane things, if they were compared to diuine, were vnworthy the employing any study in them, as be­ing of no price or estimation at all: for they are rather sha­dowes of things then things indeed, euermore fleeting and slippery, as dayly experience teacheth vs. But being as we are among men, and set to liue and conuerse with them ciuilly, the ciuill man must not giue himself to con­templation, to stay vpon it as wisedome would perswade him, vntill he haue first employed his wit and prudence to the good and profit as well of others as of himselfe. Giuing them to vnderstand, how man is the perfection of all creatures vnder heauen, and placed as the center be­tweene things diuine and mortall: and shewing to them how great is the perfection of mans mind, make them know how vnworthy & vnfit it is for a mā to suffer those parts that he hath common with brute beasts to master and ouer-rule those by which he is made not much infe­riour to diuine creatures: and causing them to lift vp their minds to this consideration, instruct them so to dis­pose and rule through vertuous habits those parts which of themselues are rebellious to reason, as they may be forced to obey her no otherwise then their Queene and [Page 258] mistris: and through Fortitude, Temperance, Iustice, and Prudence, with the rest of the vertues that spring from them, frame their behauiour, and direct all their a­ctions to that end which we haue intituled by the name of ciuill felicitie, to wit, that perfect action or operation according to vertue in a perfect life, whereof hath for­merly bin largely discoursed. Which felicitie once attai­ned, is of that nature, that no man which is possessed thereof can become miserable or vnhappie. For vice only can reduce man to be miserable, and that is euermore ba­nished from felicitie, whose conuersation is onely with vertue: to whom she is so fast linked and tied in the mind of man, that he hath no power to dissolue or seuer the same. And this felicitie is not only a degree, but euen the very foundation of that other, which we may attaine by the meane of wisedome. For after we haue once setled and gounded our selues in the morall vertues, and done well in respect of our selues, and also holpen others as much as we could, we may then raise our thoughts to a higher consideration, and examining more inwardly our owne estate, find that this most excellent gift of vn­derstanding hath bin giuen vs to a further end and pur­pose then this humane felicitie: and therfore bend all our wits to a better vse of our selues, which is to take the way of that other felicitie, so to place our selues, not onely a­boue the ordinary ranke of men, but euen to approch (as neere as our frailtie will permit) to God himselfe, the last end of all our thoughts and actions. From this per­fect knowledge of our selues we ascend by degrees to such a height, as leauing all worldly cares, we apply al our studies to the searching of diuine things, to the end that by attaining the vnderstanding and knowledge of our maker, and the Creator of all things, we may plainely [Page 259] discerne that whatsoeuer is here among vs on earth, is but smoke and dust: and that to be euen glutted with all the good that this life can affoord, is but a possession of smoke, and a shadow of the true good which is aboue. And so knowing that the mind is the true man, giuen vnto vs of speciall grace to guide the body, we may turne our selues to that happinesse which maketh vs immortal, by raising the mind to the height of that heauenly felici­tie: the sweetnesse and delight whereof, is so much grea­ter then that of humane felicitie, (though without this the other cannot be) as the habit of that excellent power of the vertue intellectiue, is employed about a more no­ble obiect, then that which the vertue actiue doth intend. For it is euermore busied about things eternall and vni­uersal, and about the contemplation of the most high and gracious God. Of this excellent degree of felicitie hath Aristotle spoken in his first and tenth books of Ethikes, declaring how it ought to be the finall end of all our ope­rations, and hath attributed this excellent kind of faculty to those men only who are properly called Sages or wise men: because they, by the meanes of actions and of sci­ences, finding that these mortall things are not able to bring a man to full and perfect happinesse, do so raise themselues from these baser cogitations, as they apply their mind and vnderstanding wholy to the knowledge of diuine essences. And such men (saith he) as haue attai­ned that degree, are rather to be esteemed diuine then humane. For whiles they liue in contemplation, they are not like men liuing among men, composed of body and soule, but as diuine creatures freed from mortall affecti­ons arising from the body, and bent onely to that which may purchase the neuer-ending felicitie of the soule; which according to Plato and Aristotle, is the true man. [Page 260] And to this opinion did our Sauiour Christ (who is the infallible veritie) giue authoritie and confirmation, when he said, that we ought to haue such care of that soule which is in vs according to the image of God, that we should esteeme nothing (how great or precious soeuer the world esteemed it) at so high a rate, as for the purcha­sing thereof we should hurt or loose the same: for his words are, What auaileth it a man to gaine all the world and loose his owne soule? By this opinion of these two Philoso­phers, we may plainly vnderstand, that euen in that dark­nesse of auncient superstition, God had yet giuen such light of reason to the mindes of men to illumine them withall, that they saw how through sciences and wise­dome they were to seeke the way that should leade them to their perfect felicitie, that is, to God Almightie him­selfe, who is such an end as no other end can be supposed beyond him; but to him all other ends are directed, as to the true and most happie terme, bound or limit of all ver­tues and vertuous actions, and of ciuill felicitie it selfe. But because that diuine part of the Intellectiue soule which is in vs, is to haue consideration not onely of our present state of life, but also to that eternitie, wherein our immortall mindes, made to the likenesse of God, are to liue with him eternally. Therfore did Aristotle fitly teach, that men ought to bend and frame their minds wholy to that true and absolute end: for that the minde being di­uine, it is his proper office to seeke to vnite it selfe to his first principle or beginning, which is God. Neither hath his diuine Maiestie of his aboundant grace bestowed the vertue intellectiue vpon man to any other end, then that he might know it to be his speciall dutie to raise himselfe to him, as to the author and free giuer of all goodnesse: and as he hath bestowed on him a soule made to his own [Page 261] likenes, so he should therewith bend his endeuour to be like him in all his actions, as farre as the corruption con­tracted by the communion of the bodie will permit. Which thing the Platonikes considering, haue spoken much more largely thereof then Aristotle, following therein the steps of their master. But some will say, that Aristotle spake the lesse thereof, thinking that the soule of man, euen concerning the vnderstanding, was not im­mortall; because it seemeth to them, that when the soule hath no more the senses of the bodie to serue her as in­struments whereby she vnderstandeth and knoweth, she should no longer liue. For since nature cannot suffer any thing to be idle in the world, and the soule wanting the bodie can haue no operation, therefore they thinke it is to be concluded, that with the bodie she must needs fall and die: for that if she should happen to remaine after she were separated from the bodie, yet she should not haue any operation, insomuch as hauing the vnderstanding for her proper operatiō, and seeing she cannot vnderstand but by the ministery of the senses, from which she can haue no helpe when she is loosed from the bodie, it fol­loweth that she hath no operation, and then must she be idle in nature, which is in no sort to be allowed. But my author (as afore is said) doth thinke, that these men mis­take Aristotle, not considering that he, speaking as a na­tural Philosopher of the soule, was not to treate there­of but naturally; and in so doing, was to restraine him­selfe within the bounds of nature: according to which, he is not to consider any forme separate from the matter, from which we (as all other natural things) haue our bo­dies. This Aristotle considering and knowing, that as a na­tural Philosopher he was not to speake of the Intellectiue soule, said, that vnderstanding being separated from the [Page 262] other powers of the minde, as a thing eternall, seuered from the corruptible part, it appertained not to him to treate thereof in that place, where he spake of the soule as she was the actor of the bodie, and vsed it as her in­strument. For he saw wel inough, that though the vnder­standing tooke beginning with the bodie, because it was the forme thereof; yet was it not the actor of the body, so as it should vse any member thereof as an instrument: but was onely aforme that was to exercise all the other powers of the other soules. For it is likewise Aristotles opinion, that where the vnderstanding is in things cor­ruptible, there hath it also the faculties of all the other soules within it selfe. Which thing he shewed more cleerely in his first booke de Partibus Animalium, say­ing, that to speake of the Intellectiue soule all that might be sayd, was not the office of a naturall Philosopher. And this for two reasons. The one is, that the Intel­lectiue soule is no actor of the bodie, because she hath in her no part of motion, either of her selfe, or acciden­tally. For she neither increaseth nor diminisheth the bodie, she nourisheth it not, nor maintaineth it; for these are functions appertaining to the vegetatiue soule; shee chaungeth it not, nor mooueth it from place to place; for that is the office of the sensitiue soule: and these be the motions which the bodie can haue from the soule (sauing generation and corruption, which are changes made in an instant): therefore inas­much as she is intellectiue, she is not subiect to the con­sideration of the naturall Philosopher. The other rea­son is, for that the naturall Philosopher considereth not the substances separated from the matter, and therefore his office is not to consider the excellencie of the Intel­lectiue soule, which is not the actor of the bodie, though [Page 263] she be the forme thereof. And therefore Aristotle telleth vs in his second booke of Physikes, that the terme or bound of the naturall Philosphers consideration, is the Intellectiue soule. For albeit he may consider the soule so farre as she moueth and is not moued; as he may also the first mouer: yet doth he not consider her essence, nor the essence of the first mouer: for this appertaineth to the Metaphysike, who considereth of the substances separated and immortall. And hence commeth it that Aristotle treating in his booke of Physikes of nature, as she is the beginning of all mouings and of rest; when he is come to the first mouer who is immoueable, yet moueth all that is moued in the world, proceeded not any further to shew his nature: vnderstanding right well, that the naturall Philosophers office was not, to consider any thing that is simply immoueable, as well in respect of the whole, as of the parts, as the first mouer is. But let vs (without questioning further thereupon) hold this for certaine, not onely by that which Chri­stian Religion teacheth vs, but also by that which Ari­stotle hath held, that our soules are immorall. For if it were otherwise, we should be of all other creatures that nature produceth the most vnhappie: and in vaine should that desire of immortalitie (which all men haue) be giuen vnto vs. Besides that, man, as man, that is to say, as a creature intellectiue, should not haue that end which is ordained for him, which is contemplatiue fe­licitie. Neither is it to the purpose to say, that such fe­licitie is not attained by morall vertues, but by wise­dome only, or that there be but few so wise as to seek this excellent felicitie, and infinite the number of those that thinke but little vpon it: for all men are borne apt vnto it, if they will apply their minds vnto the same. [Page 264] And though among all generations of men there should be but three or foure that bent their endeuour to attaine it, they onely were sufficient to proue our intention, be­cause it is most certaine, that the number of foolish men is infinite, who not knowing themselues, cannot tell how to vse themselues, & direct their endeuours to that which is the proper end of man. Of whom it is said, People on whom night commeth before Sunne-set. A wicked gene­ration, whose whole life-time flieth from them vnprofi­tably, in such sort, as they can scarce perceiue that they haue liued. For although there be infinitely more such in this world then of quicke and eleuated spirits, yet ought not we to endure, that their negligence, who know not themselues to be men, should preiudice the mindes of such as know what they are, and raise their thoughts carefully to diuine things. And therefore leauing their o­pinions that will needs say, that Aristole impiously and madly hath held the contrary, it shall be best to proceed in our discourse of the felicitie that is to be attained by contemplation.

I pray you (said Captaine Carleil) since there is a con­trarietie of opinions amōg Philosophers, concerning the immortalitie of the soule, and that the knowledge therof appertaineth to the better vnderstanding of this contem­platiue felicitie, let vs heare, if your author giue any furder light thereunto, since such good fellowes seeke to cast so darke a mist before our eyes, vnder the cloke of Aristotles opinion. For albeit you spake somewhat of it yesterday, so farre as concerned our maner of learning according to Aristotle, yet was it but by the way, and not as it concer­ned this felicitie: and if such a matter as this were twise repeated, it could not but be profitable to vs, though it be somewhat troublesome to you.

[Page 265] Whereupon I said: that which my author was not wil­ling to vndertake, you presse me vnto, as if you were the same persons, and had the same sence that those introdu­ced by him had: and therefore since you also will haue it so, I am content to close vp this your feast with this last dish; notwithstanding that the euening draw on, and that to speake thereof at large would aske a long time. But knitting vp, as well as I can, a great volume in a little roome, I will deliuer vnto you that which the shortnesse of our time wil permit, and pray with mine author his di­uine Maiestie, who hath giuen vs an immortall soule, that he wil vouchsafe vs his grace to say so much and no more of this matter, as may be to his glory, and to all our com­forts. Know ye then that these men, that out of Aristotles writings gather our intellectiue soule to be mortall, take for their foundation and ground this; that the soule is the actor of the bodie, and vseth it but after the maner before mentioned. And to maintaine this their opinion, they wrest diuers places of his vntruly, and contrary to the mind of this great Philosopher, as shall be declared vnto you. True it is, that while the intellectiue soule is the forme of the body, she hath some need of him to vnder­stand. For without the fantasie we can vnderstand no­thing in this life, since from the senses the formes of all things are represented vnto vs, as yesterday was declared. And this did Aristotle meane to teach vs, when contrary to the opinion of some former Philosophers he said, that sense and vnderstanding was not all one, although there be some similitude betweene them. And because the es­sences of things are knowne by their operations, accor­ding to Aristotle; and that the intellectiue soule vnder­standeth (which is a spiritual operatiō;) it followeth that simply of her owne nature she is all spirit, and therefore [Page 266] immortall, for else to vnderstand, would not be her pro­pertie. Whereunto also Aristotle agreeth, in saying, that some parts of the soule are not conioyned to the bodie, and therefore are separable: and that the vnderstanding and the cōtemplatiue power was another kind of soule, and not drawne from the power of matter, as the other two are, whose operations were ordained for the In­tellectiue soule, insomuch as she is the forme of the bo­die: which sheweth plainely that she is eternall and im­mortall. And in the twelfth of his Metaphysikes, making a doubt, whether any forme remaine after the extingui­shing of the matter, he sayd doubtfully of the other two, that not euery soule, but the Intellectiue onely remai­ned. And here is to be noted, that his opinion was not (though some would haue it so) that the fantasie was the forme of the bodie, for that dieth with the bodie, as shall be shewed hereafter: but he considered the vnderstan­ding it selfe, as a soule, and as the forme of the bodie; and not as a separable intelligence, the lowest of all others, and common to all men, as Theophrastus and Themistius (though diuersly) haue thought. Neither yet that it was God Almightie, as Alexander supposeth: for God is not the forme of our bodies, nor hath any man euer doubted whether God were immortall. So as our vnderstanding is neither God, nor yet a separate intelligence, cōmon to all mē, like those that gouerne an vniuersal spheare, as they aboue mentioned haue thought, & as some of our Chri­stians haue dreamed; who being raised to Ecclesiasticall dignitie, haue chosen rather to follow the Greeks vanity and the Arabians, then fauour the religious and true in­terpreters of Aristotles mind. Whereas they ought rather to haue rooted such opinions out of mens mindes, as apt to draw them to perdition, and not to maske them [Page 267] with the vizard of naturall Philosophers: as if things na­turall, that may seeme contrary to Christianitie, were to be set before men in writing, to be confirmed by natu­rall reasons apparant at least, though not true, to per­swade their mindes amisse. But Iohannes Gramaticus a­mong the Greekes hath declared Aristotles mind aright; and so hath he that is called the Angelicall Doctour in sundry places as a most excellent spirit and a religious man, whatsoeuer Scotus write against him. And what better testimonie neede we haue of the vanitie of these mens interpretations, then Aristotle himselfe? who most effectually sheweth the same, where he sayth, that the waxing old of man proceedeth not from the Intellectiue soule, but from the bodie wherein she is (which neuer­thelesse is to be vnderstood as she is the forme thereof:) and in so saying, declareth, that euery man hath his Intel­lectiue soule: which soule is a meane betwixt separated substances and corporall; and therefore partly she com­municateth with the bodie to informe the same, and partly she vseth (as proper to her) the vertue of the sepa­rated substances (as much as her nature may beare) in the vse of vnderstanding. And since it is cleere, that in nature the most perfect things containe the lesse perfect, I can­not conceiue from whence proceedeth the frensie of these men, that will rather draw the soule Intellectiue to be mortall then immortal; seeing that to vnderstand is the most singular operation that the soule hath, and to whom the powers of the other soules are referred, as to the better end, and obey as hand-maides to their mi­stresse, in such as propose to themselues to liue like men. Neither doth the reason alledged by some serue, who say, that because there is great imperfection in the Intel­lectiue soule in comparison of the separate intelligences, [Page 268] it sheweth the same to be mortall. For if this reason were true, they might as well by the same conclude, that the separate intelligences were also mortall. For since Aristotle sayth, that onely the first intelligence (who in his phrase is the first mouer) is perfect; and that all the other compared to him are vnperfect, (im­perfection being in these mens fancie the cause of mor­talnesse) it must follow, that as imperfect, they should be mortall: which is as contrary to Aristotles mind, as any thing can be. Wherefore we must not say, that im­perfection in the intellectiue soule (in respect of the in­telligences separated) causeth the same to die with the bodie, since her office dependeth not on the bodie: but it is onely to be sayd, that she ceaseth to informe the bo­die through the defect thereof, & not of her self; who be­ing freed from the bodie, remaineth neuerthelesse per­fect in her being. For albeit she haue some respect to the bodie whiles she informeth the same, yet hath she not her absolute being from it. And therefore sayd Ari­stotle, that the vertue of the sense is not equall to the vertue of the vnderstanding; for that a mightie or strong Sensible, weakeneth, and oftentimes corrupteth the sense; whereas from an excellent Intelligible, the vn­derstanding gathereth greater vertue: which thing could not be sayd, if the vnderstanding were as these people suppose, a separate intelligence, wherof the par­ticulars did participate. Wherefore we must needs say he meant of the vnderstanding of euery particular man, as of the forme of this man, and that man: for he spake of the vnderstanding of particular men, and not of intelligences, as those men haue belike dreamed. And this sheweth (howsoeuer any thinke the contrary) that as well the Agent vnderstanding and the possible also [Page 269] (whereof this is ordained as matter to that, and both necessary to vnderstand) are essentiall parts of the soule, and not two separate intelligences, as Themistius would haue them. The reason likewise which some alledge, is not good, when they argue, that the soule being the forme of the bodie, should euer haue a desire, after she were separated from the same, to reunite her selfe againe thereunto: but the bodie being rotten and corrupted, her desire in that behalfe should be vaine. For I say, that since the soule hath informed the body, she hath done as much as to her appertained, neither is she to desire any further (to speake naturally) then she hath accompli­shed: and therefore she remaineth as a separate intelli­gence. Which hath made the Peripatetikes to affirme, that the soule separated from the bodie, is not the same that she was, when she was in the bodie; because that ioyned to the bodie she was the forme thereof, but sepa­rated she can no more be so. But this difficultie, which naturall Philosophers haue not knowne how to resolue as they ought, our blessed Sauiour the Sonne of God hath fully resolued, by rising againe the third day (not to say any thing of others raised by him) and promising to vs the like resurrection.

This (said my Lord Primate) all true Christians be­leeue: but since we are debating of Aristotles opinions, where he saith, that the passible vnderstanding dieth, and some of his Interpreters say, that it is the possible vnder­standing, how shall we make this to agree with the im­mortalitie of the soule?

Well inough (sayd I:) for they that so interpret him deceiue thēselues: for there is as great difference (as Ari­stotle himselfe teacheth) betweene the passible soule and the possible soule, as betweene that which is eternall and [Page 270] that which is corruptible. The passible vnderstanding ac­cording to Aristotle is the fantasie, or the imaginatiue or cogitatiue power, call it how you please, the which Auer­roes sayd was taken at large, but not properly for the vnderstanding; and as an inward sense depending vpon the bodie, receiueth the sensible kindes from the com­mon sense, and presenteth them to the possible vnder­standing, which is the place of the intelligible kindes or formes, as Aristotle in sundrie places declareth. And who so shall well consider Themistius, where he speaketh of the multiplication of the vnderstanding, shall finde that he supposed it not as our Christian writers doe, but tooke the vertue fantastike for the vnderstanding, mul­tiplied in particular persons. And therefore she being mingled with the bodie, faileth also with the same: and this is that interiour thing which Aristotle saith is cor­rupted, whereby the vnderstanding loseth his ver­tue (as shall be shewed) which happeneth not to the possible vnderstanding, because it is an essential part of the Intellectiue soule, not mingled with the bodie, and free from any passion, as a diuine substance. Of which bodie she vseth no part for her instrument to vnder­stand, though she haue neede of the fantasie to receiue the Intelligible formes whiles she is the forme of the bo­die. And this necessitie, which the vnderstanding hath of the fantasie to vnderstand, sheweth the contrarie of that which these fellowes inferre, who hold the vnder­standing to be mortall in that respect. For by this it ap­peareth, that the vnderstanding proceedeth not from the power of the matter: for if so it were, it should haue no neede of the fantasie, but should it selfe be the fantasie: and therefore Aristotle right well perceiuing that our vn­derstanding was not fantasie, nor vsed anie part of the [Page 271] body for an instrument, sayd, that the vnderstanding came from abroad, as shall be declared. It is therefore no good consequence to say, that because the passible soule dieth, therefore the possible soule likewise is mortall.

Yea but (said M. Spencer) we haue frō Aristotle, that the possible vnderstanding suffreth in the act of vnder­standing: and to suffer importeth corruption; by which reason it should be mortall as is the passible.

Neither is that reason (quoth I) sufficient: for al­though the name of suffering agree with the possible vnderstanding, and with the passible▪ (leauing the dif­ference betweene Alexander and Aristotle in that point) the reason and manner in them is different. For the suf­fering of the passible vnderstanding tendeth to the de­struction thereof, whereas the suffering of the possible is to the greater perfection of the same. And for this cause Aristotle telleth vs, that the suffering of the senses, and that of the vnderstanding are not both of one na­ture: because the first breedes destruction, and the la­ter perfection; and that therefore an excellent Intelligi­ble giueth perfection to the vnderstanding, whereas an excellent Sensible corrupteth the sense. But not ha­uing any other word meete to expresse this suffering of the vnderstanding, whiles it is in that act, we vse the same that agreeth to the passible, though the reason of them both be verie diuerse. The possible vnderstanding (as hath bene sayd alreadie) being the place of the Intel­ligible formes, standeth in respect of the Agent vnder­standing, as the matter in respect of the forme: for the first is but in power (for which respect Auerroes called it the materiall vnderstanding:) and this later is in act. And this Agent vnderstanding, by illumining the formes which are in him as blind (euen as colours are in things [Page 272] before they be made apparent to the eye by the illumi­nation of light) vnderstandeth the kinds of things, and vnderstanding them vnderstandeth it selfe. For in spiri­tuall things, that which vnderstandeth and that which is vnderstood, become all one thing: and turning it selfe a­bout the vniuersall kinds, vnderstandeth withall, things particular. And this is that which the possible vnderstan­ding suffereth from the Agent, receiuing thereby that perfection which you haue heard.

Why (said Maister Spenser) doth it not seeme, that Aristotle when he saith, that after death we haue no me­morie, that he meant that this our vnderstanding was mortall? For if it were not so, man should not lose the remembrance of things done in this life.

Nay (answered I) what a sillie part had it bene of Aristotle rather, if he had thought the intellectiue soule to be mortall, to say that we remembred nothing after this life, when nothing of vs should haue remained? And therefore it may serue to proue the immortalitie of the soule, and not the corruption, as you surmise (onely for arguments sake) that truth may be sifted out. But our not remembring then, commeth from the corruptible part, which is the vertue of the fantasie: which being a power of the sensitiue soule, that keepeth in store the remem­brance of materiall things, that vertue which should re­present them failing in vs, we cannot remember them after death. For the memorie is no part of the vnder­standing, but of the sensitiue soule: and therefore Aristo­tle said, that memorie came from sense, insomuch as crea­tures wanting reason haue memorie, though they haue not rememorating as man hath: for thereto is discourse required; which according to Aristotle is nothing else but an action of the vnderstanding in the vertue imagi­natiue. [Page 273] Which thing neither in those creatures deuoid of reason, nor yet in separated intelligences can haue place, because those want discourse, and these are pure acts (as Philosophers call them.)

Doth not Aristotle (sayd my Lord Primate) in his E­thikes say, that the contentmēts and the troubles of those which liue, appertaine vnto the dead, and breede them griefe or delight? And how is it then that he should say, we haue no memorie after this life?

Aristotle in that place (sayd I) spake in reproofe of Solon, who had sayd, that no man could be accounted happie till after his death: and meant there to shew, that although it were graunted that man had memorie after his death, of things done in this life, yet could he not be happie when he was dead, by reason of the strange acci­dents which this life bringeth foorth: and therefore he said not simply that we remember; but that supposing we did, yet could we not be happie when we were dead, so making good his opinion against Solon by naturall rea­son.

Yet (sayd Maister Spenser) let me aske you this que­stion; if the vnderstanding be immortall, and multiplied still to the number of all the men, that haue bene, are, and shall be, how can it stand with that which Aristotle tel­leth vs of multiplication, which (saith he) proceedeth from the matter; and things materiall are alwayes cor­ruptible?

Marrie (Sir said I) this is to be vnderstood of mate­riall things, and not of Intelligible and spirituall, such as is the vnderstanding. And that the vnderstanding might remaine after the matter were gone, as the forme of the bodie, he hath (as before is said) declared in his Metaphysikes, affirming the Intellectiue soule to be per­petuall, [Page 274] though it be separated from the bodie, whose forme it was.

But how cometh it to passe (replied Maister Spenser that the soule being immortall and impassible, yet by ex­perience we see dayly, that she is troubled with Lethar­gies, Phrensies, Melancholie, drunkennesse, and such o­ther passions, by which we see her ouercome, and to be debarred from her office and function.

These (quoth I) are passions of the vertue cogitatiue, fantastike, or imaginatiue, called by Aristotle (as I haue said alreadie) the passible vnderstanding; and not of the Intellectiue soule. Which passible vnderstanding being an inward sense, and therefore tyed to the bodie, feeleth the passions of the same; whereby it is offended, and can­not performe his office towards the other, but runneth into such inconueniences by reason of his infirmity, and for want of reasons direction. And whereas Hippocrates saith that they that being sicke in minde, and touched with anie corporall disease, haue little or no feeling of paine; it sheweth plainely that it is as I haue said. For if you marke it well, this word feele explaneth the whole, since feeling is a propertie of the Sensitiue soule, and the vnderstanding feeleth not. And in like manner are the words of Aristotle to be vnderstood, where he saith, that such whose flesh is soft are apt to learne, and they that are melancholy to be wise. For that the Sensitiue vertue taketh more easily the formes or kindes of things in such subiects according to their nature, and represen­teth them to the vnderstāding, from whence knowledge and vnderstanding proceedeth, as yesterday was sayd. And this happeneth not onely in these passions, but also in all other alterations, as of gladnesse, of sorow, of hope and of feare, with such like which appertaine not to the [Page 275] vnderstanding, to which (sayd Aristotle) who would ascribe such affects, might as well say that the vnder­standing layed bricke to build, or cast a loome to weaue.

Why, (say M. Spencer) doth your author meane (as some haue not sticked euen in our dayes to affirme) that there are in vs two seuerall soules, the one sensitiue and mortall, and the other Intellectiue and Di­uine?

Nothing lesse (said I) for that I hold were manifest heresie as well in Philosophie as in Christianitie. For Aristotle teacheth vs, that the Vegetatiue and Sensitiue soule, or their powers, were in the soule Intellectiue, as the triangle is in the square: which could not be if the sensitiue were separated from the Intellectiue. And spea­king of the varietie of soules, and of their powers, he sayth, that the Sensitiue could not be without the Ve­getatiue, but that this latter might well be without the former: and that all the other vertues of all the three soules are in those creatures that haue reason and vnder­standing. It cannot therefore be sayd (according to Ari­stotle) that the Sensitiue soule in man is seuered from the Intellectiue. And because man participateth (as hath bene sayd) of all the three faculties of the soules, I see not why these fellowes that mention two, speake not of all three as well, seeing that in man are the operations of all three. For if they say that it sufficeth to speake of the Sensitiue, by which man is a liuing creature, and con­taineth the Vegetatiue; why should they not as well say, that the Intellectiue alone includeth both the other? and then is there no need of seuering at all. By which it may appeere, that this frantike opinion gathered from the As­sirians, is not onely contrary to Aristotle, but to reason [Page 276] it selfe. For Aristotle saith, that all things haue their be­ing from their formes; and that in naturall things, the more perfect containe the lesse perfect, when the lesser is ordained for the more: and that therefore onely the Intellectiue soule which containeth within it the natures of both the others, is the onely and true forme of man, malgre all such dolts as would haue man to be (by rea­son of diuers formes) both a brute and a reasona­ble creature, who seeke to set men astray from the right way with such fanaticall deuices. Let vs therefore con­clude with Aristotle, that both the passible and the possi­ble vnderstandings are vertues of the Intellectiue soule, insomuch as she is the particular and proper forme of e­uery man, and that as a humane soule she is euerlasting, impassible, not mingled with the bodie, but seuered from the same, simple and diuine, not drawne from a­ny power of matter, but infused into vs from abroade, not ingendred by seede: which being once freed from the bodie (because nature admitteth nothing that is idle) is altogether bent and intent to contemplation, being then (as Philosophers call it) actus purus, a pure vnder­standing, not needing the bodie either as an obiect, or as a subiect. In consideration whereof Aristotle sayd, that man through contemplation became diuine; and that the true man (which both he and his diuine ma­ster agreed to be the minde) did enioy thereby (not as a mortall man liuing in the world, but as a diuine crea­ture) that high felicitie, to which, ciuill felicitie was or­dained; and attained to wisedome & science, after the ex­ercise of the morall vertues, as meanes to guide and con­duct him to the same. And not impertinently haue the Platonikes (following their master in that point) sayd, that nature had giuen vs sense, not because we should [Page 277] stay thereupon, but to the end that thereby might grow in vs imagination, from imagination discourse, from discourse intelligence, and from intelligence gladnesse vnspeakable, which might raise vs (as diuine, and freed from the bands of the flesh) to the knowledge of God, who is the beginning and the end of all good­nesse, towards whom we ought with all endeuour to lift vp our minds, as to our chiefe and most perfect good: for he onely is our summum bonum. For to them it see­med that the man whom contemplation had raised to such a degree of felicitie, became all wholy vnderstan­ding by that light which God imparteth to the spirits that are so purged through the exercise of morall ver­tues; which vertues are termed by Plato the purgers of the mind: stirring vp therein a most ardent desire to for­sake this mortall bodie, and to vnite it selfe with him. And this is that contemplation of death which the Phi­losophie of Plato calleth vs vnto. For he that is come to this degree of perfection, is as dead to the world and worldly pleasures, because he considereth that God is the center of al perfections, & that about him al our thoughts & desires are to be turned & employed. Such doth God draw vnto himselfe, and afterwards maketh them par­takers of his ioyes euerlasting: giuing them in the meane while a most sweet tast euen in this life of that other life most happie, and those exceeding delights, beyond which no desire can extend, nor yet reach vnto the same. So as being full of this excellent felicitie, they thinke e­uery minute of an houre to be a long time that debar­reth them from issuing out of this mortall prison, to re­turne into their heauenly countrey; where, with that vertue which is proper to the soule alone, they may a­mong the blessed spirits enioy their maker: whose Ma­iestie [Page 278] and power all the parts of the world declare, the heauens, the earth, the sea, the day, the night: whereat the infernall spirits tremble and shake; euen as good men on earth bow downe and worship the same with con­tinuall himnes and praises; and in heauen no lesse, all the orders and blessed companie of Saints and Angels do the like world without end.

This (loe) is as much as mine author hath discoursed vpon this subiect, which I haue Englished for my exer­cise in both languages, and haue at your intreaties com­municated vnto you: I will not say, being betrayed by M. Spencer, but surely cunningly thrust in, to take vp this taske, whereby he might shift himselfe from that trouble. But howsoeuer it be, if it haue liked you as it is, I shall thinke my time well spent, both in the translating of it at the first, and in the relating of it vpon this occasion in this manner. For as I sayd before I began, that I would not tye my selfe to the strict lawes of an interpreter: so haue I in some places omitted here and there haply some sentences (with­out which this our Discourse might be complete e­nough, because they are rather points of subtiller in­uestigation then our speech required, though the Au­thor therein perhaps aymed at the commendation of a great reader or absolute Philosopher:) and in the de­scriptions of some of the morall vertues, added some­what out of others. And what hath beene sayd con­cerning ciuill felicitie by him, and deliuered in sub­stance by me, I thinke you will allow to be sufficient. Since therefore my taske is done, and that it groweth late, with this onely petition, that you will be content to beare with the roughnesse of my speech in reporting that vnto you, which in his language our Author hath [Page 279] eloquently set downe, I end.

Here all the companie arose, and giuing me great thankes, seemed to rest very well satisfied, as well with the manner as with the matter, at the least so of their courtesie they protested. And taking their leaues departed towards the Citie.

FINIS.

ERRATA.

PAge 12. line 17. climbing. pag. 16. lin. 32 auoyde. pag. 68. lin. 14. speake of. pag. 81. lin. 4. meere. pag. 82. lin. 1. Politikes. pag. 95. lin. 10. men. pag. 109. lin. 15. Dioxippus. pag. 140. lin. 15. leaue out to. pag. 143. lin 13. supposing that &c▪ pag. 145. lin. 6. their marching. pag. eadē. lin. 7. they ne­uer went. pag. 163. lin. 17. flow. pag. 164. lin. 4. determine. pag. 168. lin. 25. hath man. pag. 173. lin. 9. Platonikes. pag. 199. lin. 17. leaue out to. pag. ib. lin. 18. leaue out vvhich pag. 216. lin. 5. make shew of. pag. ibid. lin. 18. that she be. Pag. 238. lin. 14. himselfe.

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