CHAPTER I. Of the frame or formation of Man.

IT is twofold and to be considered after a twofold maner, the first and originall, once immediately by God in his super­naturall creation, the second and ordi­nary in his naturall generation. Accor­ding to that description which Moyses setteth downe touching the workman­ship and creation of the world (the bol­dest 1 Man made last. Gen. 1. 2. &c. and richest peece of worke that euer man brought vnto light, I meane the historie of the nine first chapters of Ge­nesis, which is of the world newly borne and reborne) man [Page 8] was made of God not onely after all other creatures as the most perfect, the master and superintendent of all, Vt praesit piscibus maris, volatilibus coeli, be stijs terrae. And in the selfe same day wherein the fowre-footed beasts of the earth that come neerest vnto him were created (although those two that re­semble him most are for the inward parts the Swine, for the outward the Ape) but also after all was done and ended, as the closing vp, seale, and signe of his workes, he hath also there imprinted his armes, and his pourtrait, Exemplumque Dei quisquis est in imagine parua. Signatum est super nos lumen vultus tui, As a Summary recapitulation of all things, and an Epitome of the world, which is all in man, but gathered into a small volume, whereby he is called the little world, as the whole vniuers may be called the great man: as the tie and ligament of Angels and beasts, things heauenly and earthly spirituall and corporall: and in one word, as the last hand, the accomplishment, the perfection of the worke, the honor and miracle of Nature. The reason is because God hauing made him with deliberation, counsell and preparation, & dixit faci­amus hominem ad imaginem & similitudinem nostram, he rested. And this rest also was made for man, Sabbathum propter homi­nem, non contra. And afterwards he had nothing to make new, but to make himselfe man, and that he did likewise for the loue of man, propter nos homines & proter nostram salutem. Whereby wee see that in all things God hath aimed at man, finally in him and by him, breui manu, to accommodate all vnto himselfe, the beginning and end of all.

Secondly, he was created all naked, because more beauti­full 2 Naked. than the rest, being pure, neat, and delicate, by reason of his thin humours well tempered and seasoned.

Thirdly vpright, but little touching the earth, his head 3 Vpright. directly tending vnto heauen, whereon he gazeth, and sees and knowes himselfe as in a glasse, quite opposite vnto the plant, which hath it head and root within the earth, so that man is a diuine plant that flourisheth & growes vp vnto hea­uen: a beast as in the middle betwixt a man and a plant, goes as it were athwart hauing his two extreames towards the bounds or extremities of the Horizon more or lesse. The cause of this vprightnesse in man besides the will of his Master­workman, [Page 9] is not properly the reasonable soule, as we see in those that are crookbacked, crupshouldered, lame, nor in the straight line of the back-bone, which is likewise in serpents, nor in the naturall or vitall heat, which is equalled or rather greater in diuers beasts, although all these may perhaps serue to some purpose; but this vpright gate is due and belong­ing to man, both as he is man the holiest & diuinest creature, ‘Sanctius his animal mentis (que) capacius altae:’ and as king in this lower region. To small and particular roialties there belong certaine markes of Maiesty, as we see in the crowned Dolphin, the Crocadile, the Lion with his col­ler, the colour of his haire, and his eies; in the Eagle, the king of the Bees: so man the vniuersall king of these lower parts walketh with an vpright countenance as a master in his house ruling, and by loue or force taming euery thing.

His body was first framed of virgin earth, and red, from whence he tooke his proper name, Adam for the appellatiue 4 How fra­med. Gen. 2. was Is: And that being not yet moistned with raine, but with the water of the fountaine

By reason the body is the first born or elder than the soule, as the matter than the forme; the house must bee made and trimmed before it be inhabited, the shoppe before the work­man can vse it. Afterwards the Soule was by diuine inspirati­on infused, and so the body by the soule made a liuing crea­ture, inspirauit infaciem eius spiraculum vitae &c.

In that ordinary and naturall generation and formation, which is made of the seed in the wombe of the woman, the 5 He is made in the ma­trix. selfe same order is obserued: The body is first formed as well by the elementary force of the Enargie and forming vertue which is in the seed, aiding in some sort the heat of the ma­trix, as the celestiall, which is the influence and vertue of the Sunne, Sol & homo generant hominem, In such order that the Conceiued of coagulated seed. seuen first daies the seed of the father and mother do mingle, vnite, and curdle together like creame, and are made one bo­dy, which is the conception, Nonne sicut lac mulsisti me, & sicut caseum me coagulasti. The next seuen daies this seed is conco­cted, Changed. thickned, and changed into a masse of flesh and indi­gested [Page 10] formlesse blood, which is the proper matter of a hu­mane bodie. The third seuen dayes following, of this masse or lumpe is made and fashioned the bodie in grosse; so that Formed in grosse. about the twentieth day are brought foorth the three noble and heroicall parts, the Liuer, Heart, Braine, distant an ouall length, or as the Hebrewes say, holding themselues by thin commisures or ioynts, which afterwards fill themselues with flesh after the fashion of an ant, where there are three grosser parts ioyned by two thin. The fourth seuen dayes which end neere thirtie, the whole body is ended, perfected, ioyn­ted, organized; and so it beginnes to be no more an Embrion, Iointed, or­ganized. First furni­shed with fit instruments for sense. that is, vnperfect in shape, but capable, as a matter prepared to it forme, to receiue the soule; which faileth not to insinu­ate and inuest it selfe into the bodie towards the seuen and thirtieth or fortieth day after the fiue weeks ended. Dou­bling this terme, that is to say, at the third moneth, this in­fant indowed with a soule, hath motion and sense, the haire Indowed with soule, motion. Brought forth. and nailes begin to come. Tripling this terme, which is at the ninth moneth, he commeth foorth, and is brought into the light. These termes or times are not so iustly prefixed, but that they may either be hastened or prolonged according to the force or feeblenesse of the heat both of the seed and of the matrix; for being strong it hasteneth, being weake it slow­eth: whereby that seed that hath lesse heat and more moi­sture, where of women for the most part are conceiued, re­quireth longer time, and is not endowed with a soule vntill the fortieth day or after, and mooueth not till the fourth moneth, which is neere by a quarter more late than that of the male children.

CHAP. II. The first and generall distinction of man.

MAn as a prodigious creature is made of parts quite con­trarie 1 The diuision of man in two parts. and enemies to themselues. The soule is a little god, the bodie as a beast, as a dunghill. Neuerthelesse, these two parts are in such sort coupled together, haue such need the one of the other to performe their functions, Alterius sic altera poscit opem res, & coniurat amicè, and do so with all their [Page 11] complaints embrace ech other, that they neither can conti­nue together without warres, nor separate themselues with­out griefe and torment; and as holding the Woolfe by the eares, ech may say to other, I can neither liue with thee nor without thee, Nec tecum nec sine te.

But againe, forasmuch as there are in this soule two parts 2 very different, the high, pure, intellectuall, and diuine, where­in the beast hath no part, and the base, sensitiue, and brutish, which hath bodie and matter, and is as an indifferent meane betwixt the intellectuall part and bodie; a man may by a di­stinction more morall and politike, note three parts and de­grees Into three parts. in man: The Spirit, the Soule, the Flesh: where the Spi­rit and Flesh holde the place of the two extreames, as heauen and earth; the Soule the middle region, where are ingendred the Metheors, tumults and tempests. The Spirit the highest and most heroicall part, a diminutiue, a sparke, an image, and deaw of the Diuinitie, is in man as a King in his Common­weale, it breatheth nothing but good, and heauen to which it tendeth; the Flesh contrariwise as the dregs of a people be­sotted and common sinke of man tendeth alwaies to the mat­ter and to the earth; the Soule in the middle, as the principall of the people betwixt the best and the worst, good and euill, is continually sollicited by the spirit and the flesh, and accor­ding vnto that part towards which it applieth it selfe, it is ei­ther spirituall and good, or carnall and euill. Heere are lod­ged all those naturall affections, which are neither vertuous nor vicious, as the loue of our parents and friends, feare of shame, compassion towards the afflicted, desire of good re­putation.

This distinction will helpe much to the knowledge of 3 The vtilitie thereof. man, and to discerne his actions, that he mistake not himselfe as it is the maner to doe, iudging by the barke and outward appearance, thinking that to be of the Spirit which is of the Soule, nay, of the flesh; attributing vnto vertue that which is due vnto nature, nay, vnto vice. How many good and ex­cellent actions haue beene produced by passion, or at least by a naturall inclination, Vt seruiant genio, & suo indulgeant animo?

CHAP. III. Of the bodie, and first of all the parts thereof and their places.

THe body of man consisteth of a number of parts inward 1 The diuision of the body. and outward, which are all for the most part round and orbicular, or comming neere vnto that figure.

The inward are of two sorts: the one in number and quan­titie 2 Inward and many. spread thorow the whole body, as the bones, which are as the bases and vpholding pillars of the whole building, and within them for their nourishment the marow; the muscles for motion and strength; the veines issuing from the liuer as chanels of the first and naturall blood; the arteries comming from the heart as conduits of the second blood more subtile and vitall. These two mounting higher than the liuer and the heart their originall sources, are more strait than those that go downwards, to the end they should helpe to mount the bloud, for that narrownesse more straitned, serues to raise the humours, the sinewes proceeding by couples, as instru­ments of sense, motion, and strength of body, and conduits of the animall spirits, whereof some are soft, of which there are seuen paires which serue the senses of the head, Sight, Hearing, Taste, Speech; the other are hard, whereof there are thirtie couples, proceeding from the reines of the backe to the muscles; The Tendrels, Ligaments, Gristels; The foure Humours, Blood, Choler which worketh, prouoketh, pene­trateth, hindreth obstructions, casteth forth the excrements, bringeth cheerefulnesse; Melancholy which prouoketh an appetite to euery thing, moderateth sudden motions; Fleame which sweetneth the force of the two Cholers, and all other heats; The Spirits which are as it were the fumigations that arise from the naturall heat and radicall humor, and they are in three degrees of excellencie, the Naturall, Vitall, Animall; The Fat which is the thickest and grossest part of blood.

The other are singular (saue the kidneys and stones, which are double) and assigned to a certaine place. Now there are 3 Singular. Foure regi­ons of the bodie. foure places or regions, as degrees of the bodie, shops of na­ture, where she exerciseth her faculties and powers. The first and lowest is for generation, in which are the priuy parts 1 [Page 13] seruing thereunto. The second neere vnto that, in which are 2 the intralles, viscera, that is to say, the stomacke yeelding more to the left side, round, straiter in the bottome than at top, ha­uing two orifices or mouthes, the one aboue to receiue, the other beneath, which answereth the bowels, to cast forth and discharge it selfe. It receiueth, gathereth together, mingleth, concocteth the victuals and turnes them into Chyle, that is to say, a kinde of white Suc fit for the nourishment of the bo­die, which is likewise wrought within the Meseraique veines by which it passeth vnto the Liuer. The Liuer hot and moist inclining towards the right side, the store-house of blood, the chiefe or rather fountaine of the veines, the seat of the na­turall nourishing faculty, or vegetatiue soule, made and in­gendred of the blood of that Chyle, which it draweth from the Meseraique veines, and receiueth into it lap by the vena porta, which entreth into the concauities thereof, and after­wards is sent and distributed thorow the whole body by the helpe of the great vena caua, which ariseth from the bunch and branches thereof, which are in great number as the ri­uers of a fountaine. The Spleene towards the left side which receiueth the discharge and excrements of the Liuer: The Reines, the Entralles which though they are all in one, yet are distinguished by six differences and names, equalling seuen times the length of a man, as the length of a man is equalled by seuen foot. In these two first parts or degrees which some take to be but one (although there are two faculties very dif­ferent, the one generatiue for the continuance of the kinde, the other nutritiue for euery particular person, and they make it to answer to the lowest and elementary part of the world, the place of generation and corruption) is the concupiscible soule.

The third degree compared to the Aetherian region, se­parated 3 from the former by the Diaphragma or Midrife, and from that aboue by the narrownesse of the throat; in which is the irascible soule, and the pectorall parts Praecordia, that is to say, the Heart, very hot, placed about the fift rib, hauing his point vnder the left pap or dug, the originall fountaine of the Arteries, which are alwayes mooued, and cause the Pulse to beat, by which as by channels it sendeth and distri­buteth [Page 14] thorow the whole bodie the vitall blood which it hath concocted, and by it the spirit and vertue vitall. The Lungs, of substance very soft and spongeous, supple to draw to and inforce forth like a paire of bellowes, instruments both of respiration whereby the heart is refreshed, drawing vnto it the blood, the spirits, the aire, and disburthening it selfe of those fumes and excrements which oppresse it, and of the voice by meane of the rough Arterie.

The fourth and highest, which answereth to the celestiall region, is the head which conteineth the Braine, colde and 4 spongeous, wrapped within two skinnes, the one more hard and thicke which toucheth the brainpan, Dura mater; the other more easie and thin which includeth the Braine, Pia mater: from it do issue & are deriued the Smowes and marow that descendeth and falleth downe into the reines of the backe. This Braine is the seat of the reasonable soule, the source of sense and motion, and of the most noble animall spi­rits, composed of the vitall, which being raised from the heart by the Arteries vnto the braine are concocted and re­concocted, elaborated and made subtile by the helpe of the multiplicitie of small Arteries, as fillets diuersly wouen and interlaced by many turnings and windings, like a labyrinth or double net, Rete mirabile; within which this vitall spirit being retained and soiourning, often times passing and repas­sing, is refined and perfected, and becomes a creature, spiri­tuall in an excellent degree.

The outward and visible parts, if they be single, are in the middle as the Nose which serueth for respiration, smell, 3 Outward parts sin­gular. and the comfort of the braine, and the disburthening there­of, in such sort that by it the aire entereth and issueth both downe into the lungs and vp into the braines. The Mouth which serueth to eat and to speake, and therefore hath many parts seruice-able thereunto; without, the lips; within, the tongue soft and very subtile which iudgeth of sauors; the Teeth which bruise and grinde the victuals; the Nauell, the two sinks or wayes to ease and disburden the bodie.

If they be double and alike, they are collaterals and equall, as the two eyes, planted in the highest stage as centinels, com­posed 4 Double and equall. of many and diuers parts; three humors, seuen tunicles, [Page 15] seuen muscles, diuers colours, of many fashions and much art. These are the first and most noble outward parts of the bo­die, in beautie, vtilitie, mobilitie, actiuitie, yea in the action of loue [...], they are to the visage that which the visage is to the bodie, they are the face of the face: and because they are tender, delicate and precious, they are fen­ced and rampaired on all parts with skinnes, lids, browes, haire. The eares in the selfe same height that the eyes are, as the scouts of the body, Porters of the spirit, the Receiuers and Iudgers of sounds which alwayes ascend; they haue their entrance oblique and crooked, to the end the aire and the sound should not enter at once, whereby the sense of hearing might be hindered and iudge the woorse. The armes and hands, the worke-masters of all things and vniuersall instru­ments. The legs and feet, the props and pillars of the whole building.

CHAP. IIII. Of the singular properties of the body of man.

THe body of man hath many singularities, and some pe­culiar 1 Peculiar properties in the body of man. and proper vnto themselues, not common with o­ther creatures. The first and principall are speech, vpright stature, the forme or feature, the port or cariage, whereof the wise, yea the Stoicks themselues made such account, that they were wont to say, That it was better to be a foole in a humane shape, than wise in the forme of a beast. The hand is a miracle (that of the Ape is not to be termed a hand.) His naturall nakednesse, laughter, crying. The Sense of tickling, haire on the lower lid of the eye, a visible nauell, the point of the heart on the left side. The toes of the feet not so long as the fingers of the hand. Bleeding at nose, a strange thing considering that he carieth his head vpright, and a beast downwards. To blush for shame, wax pale for feare. To be an ambidexter; disposed at all times to the sports of Venus. Not to moue the eares, which bewrayeth in beasts the inward af­fections, but man doth sufficiently make them knowen, by his blushing, palenesse, motion of the eyes and nose.

The other properties are likewise peculiar vnto man, but 2 Peculiar properties by way of excellency. not wholly but by way of excellencie; for they are also in [Page 16] beasts, but in a lesse degree, that is to say, multitude of mus­cles and haire in the head. The pliant facility of the body and the parts thereof to all motion and euery sense. The ele­uation of the breasts. The great abundance of the braine. The greatnesse of the bladder. The forme of the foot long forward, short backward. The quantity and pure subtility of the blood. The mobility and agility of the tongue. The multitude and variety of dreames, insomuch that he seemeth the only dreamer. Sneesing. And to be short, the many mo­tions of the eyes, the nose, the lips.

There are also habits proper and peculiar, but different; some are gestures, motions, and artificiall and affected coun­tenances 3 Diuers ha­bits.; others are so proper and naturall, that they that haue them neither feele them nor know them in themselues, as to go stooping: but all haue that which proceedeth not so much from reason, as a pure, naturall and ready impulsion, that is, to put forth a mans hands before him when he falleth.

CHAP. V. Of the goods of the bodie: Health, Beautie, &c:

THe goods of the body are Health, Beauty, Cheerfulnes, 1 The praise of Health. Srength, Vigor, a prompt readinesse and disposition: but of all these Health is the first, and passeth all the rest. Health is the most beautifull and rich present that Nature can bestow vpon vs, and aboue all other things to be preferred, not only Science, Nobility, Riches, but Wisdome it selfe, which the austerest amongst the wise doe affirme. It is the only thing that deserueth our whole imploiment, yea our life it selfe to attaine vnto it; for without it life is no life, but a death, vertue and wisdome grow weake and faint. What comfort can all the wisdome of the world bring to the great­est man that is, if he be thorowly stricken with an Apoplexie? Doubtlesse there is nothing to be preferred before this bodi­ly health, but Honestie which is the health of the Soule. Now it is common vnto vs with beasts, yea many times it is grea­ter and far more excellent in them than in vs: and notwith­standing it be a gift of Nature, gaudeant bene nati, giuen in the first formation, yet that which afterward followeth, The [Page 17] milke, Good gouernment, which consisteth in sobrietie and moderate exercises, lightnesse of heart, and a continuall auoi­dance of all passions do preserue it much. Griefe and sicke­nesse are the contraries vnto it, which are the greatest if not the only euils that follow man, whereof we shall speake here­after. But in the preseruation hereof, beasts likewise simply following nature which hath giuen them health do farre ex­ceed men, they often times forgetting themselues, though afterwards they pay dearly for it.

Next followeth Beautie, a good of great account in the so­ciety 2 Beautie. of men. It is the first meane of reconciling or vniting one to another, and it is very likely that the first distinction that hath beene of one man from another, and the first consi­deration that giueth preheminence to one aboue another, hath beene the aduantage of beauty. It is likewise a power­full quality, there is none that surmounteth it in credit, or that hath so great a part in the societie of men; for there is none so barbarous, none so resolute, that hath not been beaten by it. It presenteth it selfe vnto the view, it seduceth and preoc­cupateth the iudgement, it makes deepe impressions, and presseth a man with great authority; and therefore Socrates called it a short tyranny, and Plato the priuiledge of Nature: for it seemeth that he that carieth in his countenance the fa­uours of Nature imprinted in a rare and excellent beautie, hath a kinde of lawfull power ouer vs, and that we turning our eies towards him, he likewise turneth our affections, and enthrawleth them in despight of our selues. Aristotle sayth that it apperteineth to those that are beautifull to command; that they are venerable next to the gods themselues; that there are none, but such as are blinde, but are touched with it. Cyrus, Alexander, Caesar, three great Commanders, haue made great vse thereof in their greatest affaires, yea Scipio the best of them all. Faire and good are neere neighbours, and are expressed by the selfe same words both in Greeke and in the Scriptures. Many great Philosophers haue attained to their wisdome, by the assistance of their beauty. It is like­wise considerable and much required in beasts themselues. 3 The distin­ction of Beauty.

There are in Beauty diuers things to be considered: That of men is properly the forme and feature of the bodie, as for [Page 18] other beauties they belong vnto women. There are two sorts of beauties, the one setled which moueth not at all, and it consisteth in the due proportion and colour of the mem­bers, a body that is not swolne or puffed vp, wherein the si­newes and veines appeare not from far, nor the bones presse not the skin, but full of bloud and spirits, and in good state, hauing the muscles eleuated, the skin smooth, the colour ver­million: the other moueable, which is called a good grace, and is the true guiding or cariage of the motion of the mem­bers, and aboue all, the eyes. The former beauty of it selfe is as it were dead, this actiue and full of life. There are beau­ties that are rude, fierce, sowre, others that are sweet, yea though they be fading.

Beauty is properly to be considered in the visage. There 4 Of the vi­sage. is nothing more beautifull in man than his soule; and in the body of man than his visage, which is as it were the soule abreuiated, that is, the paterne or image of the soule, that is, her Escuchion with many quarters, representing the colle­ction of all her titles of honour, planted and placed in the gate and forefront, to the end that men may know that heere is her abode and her palace. By the countenance it is that we know the person of a man; and therefore arte which imi­tateth nature, takes no care to represent the person of man, but only to paint or carue the visage.

There are many speciall singularities in the visage of man, which are not in beasts (for to say the truth they haue no vi­sage) 5 Seuen singu­larities in the visage of man. nor in the rest of the body of man; As the number and diuersitie of the parts and formes of them, in beasts there is neither chin, nor cheeks, nor forehead, much lesse any forme or fashion of them. Variety of colours, as in the eye onely 1 there is blacke, white, greene, blew, red, crystaline. Propor­tion, 2 for the senses are there double, answering the one to the 3 other, and in such a maner, that the greatnesse of the eye is the greatnesse of the mouth, the largenesse of the forehead the length of the nose, the length of the nose that of the chin and lips. An admirable diuersitie of countenances, and such, that there are hardly found two faces in all respects like one 4 another: this is a chiefe point of workmanship, which in no other thing can be found. This variety is very profitable, [Page 19] yea necessary for humane society; first to know one another, for infinite euils, yea the dissipation of humane kinde must needs follow, if a man should mistake himselfe by the sem­blance and similitude of diuers visages, yea it would be a confusion worse than that of Babel. A man would take his daughter for his sister, for a stranger, his enemy for his friend. If our faces were all alike, we should not discerne a man from a beast; and if they were not all vnlike one another, we could not know how to discerne a man from a man. Besides, it was an excellent arte of Nature to place in this part some secret that might giue contentment to one another thorow the whole world: for by reason of this varietie of faces, there is not a person that in some part is not beautifull. The dignity and honour of it round figure, forme vpright and eleuated 5 on high, naked and vncouered without haire, feathers, scales, as in other creatures, looking vp vnto heauen. Grace, sweet­nesse, 6 a pleasant and decent comlinesse, euen to the giuing vp of a mans Soule, and the rauishing of his will, as hath beene shewed before. To be briefe, the visage is the throne of beau­tie and loue; the seat of laughter and kissing, two things very proper and agreeable vnto man, the true and most significant symboles of amitie and good discretion. Finally, it is apt for 7 all alterations, to declare the inward motions and passions of the soule, as Ioy, Heauinesse, Loue, Hatred, Enuie, Malice, Shame, choler, Iealousie, & so forth. It is as the hand of a diall, which noteth the houres and moments of time, the wheeles and motions themselues being hid within. And as the aire which receiueth all the colours & changes of the time, shew­eth what the weather is, so saith one, the aire of a mans coun­tenance. Corpus animum tegit & detegit, in facie legitur homo.

The beauty of the face consisteth in a large, square, well 6 A descripti­on of the beautie of the face. extended and cleere front, eye-browes well ranged, thin and subtile, the eye well diuided, cheerefull, sparkling: as for the colour I leaue it doubtfull, the nose leane, the mouth little, the lips coraline, the chinne short and dimpled, the cheekes somewhat rising and in the middle the pleasant gelasin, the eares round and well compact, the whole countenance with a liuely tincture white and vermilion. Neuerthelesse, this description of Beauty is not generally receiued, the opinions [Page 20] of Beauty are different according to the diuersity of nations. With the Indians the greatest Beautie consisteth in that which we account the greatest deformitie, that is, in a tawny colour, thicke and swollen lips, a flat and large nose, teeth spotted with blacke or red, great eares and hanging, a little low forehead, dugs great and pendant, to the end they may giue their little ones sucke ouer their shoulders, and to at­taine to this forme of beautie, they vse all maner of arte. But not to wander so farre, in Spaine the chiefest beautie is leane and neatly compt; in Italie fat, corpulent and solid: the soft, and delicate, and flattering please the one; the strong, vigo­rous, fierce, and commanding the other.

The Beauty of the body, especially the visage, should in 7 The beautie of the soule and body. all reason demonstrate and witnesse the beauty of the soule, (which is a qualitie and rule of opinions and iudgements, with a certaine stedfastnesse and constancie) for there is no­thing that hath a truer resemblance, than the conformity and relation of the body to the spirit: and when this is not, wee must needs thinke, that there is some accident that hath in­terrupted the ordinary course, as it comes to passe, and wee often times see it: for the milke of the Nurse, the first institu­tion, conuersation bring great alterations to the originall na­ture of the soule, whether in good or euill. Socrates confessed that the deformitie of his bodie did iustly accuse the naturall deformitie of his soule, but that by industrie and institution he had corrected that of the soule. This outward counte­nance is a weake and dangerous suretie, but they that belie their owne physiognomie, are rather to be punished than o­thers, because they falsifie and betray that good promise that Nature hath planted in their front, and deceiue the world.

CHAP. VI. Of the vestments of the Bodie.

THere is great likelihood that the custome or fashion of Nakednesse is naturall. going naked, as yet continued in a great part of the world, was the first and originall amongst men, and that of couering and adorning the bodie with garments was artifici­all, and inuented to helpe and inlarge nature, as they which [Page 21] by artificiall light goe about to increase the light of the day: for Nature hauing sufficiently prouided for all other crea­tures a couering, it is not to be beleeued that she hath hand­led man worse than the rest, and left him only indigent, and in such a state that he could not helpe himselfe without for­ren succours, and therefore those reproches that are made a­gainst Nature as a stepmother, are vniust. If men from the beginning had beene clothed, it is not likely that they would euer haue disrobed themselues and gone naked, both in re­gard of their health, which could not but be much offended with that change, and shame it selfe: and neuerthelesse, it is done and obserued amongst many nations. Neither can it be alledged that we clothe our selues either to couer our naked­nesse or priuy parts, or to defend vs against colde (for these are the two reasons pretended; for against heat there is no ap­pearance of reason) because Nature hath not taught vs, that there is any thing in our nakednesse that we should be asha­med of; it is we that by our owne fault and fale haue tolde it our selues: Quis indicauit tibi quod nudus esses, nisi quod ex lig­no quod praeceperam tibi ne comederes comedisti: and Nature hath already sufficiently hid them, put them farre from our eies, and couered them. And therefore it is lesse needfull to couer those parts only, as some doe in those countreys where they goe all naked, and ordinarily are not couered: for why should he that is the lord of all other creatures, not daring to shew himselfe naked vnto the world, hide himselfe vnder the spoiles of another, nay adorne himselfe? As for colde and other particular and locall necessities, wee know that vnder the selfe same aire, the selfe same heauen, one goes naked, an­other apparelled; and we haue all the most delicate part vn­couered: and therefore a wandring person being asked, How he could go so naked in Winter, answered, That our faces are alwayes naked, and he was all face: Yea, many great perso­nages haue euer gone with their heads vncouered, Massi­nissa, Caesar, Hanibal, Seuerus, and many nations there are, which go to the warres and fight all naked: and the counsell that Plato giueth for the continuance of health is, neuer to co­uer either head or feet. And Varro sayth, That when it was first ordained that men should vncouer their heads in the [Page 22] presence of the gods and of the magistrate, that it was rather for healths sake, and to harden themselues against the iniu­ries of the times, than for reuerence. Lastly, the inuention of couers and houses against the iniuries of heauen and men, is more ancient, more naturall, more vniuersall, than of gar­ments, and common with many creatures, but an industri­ous search for victuall more naturall than either. Of the vse of garmens and aliment heereafter. Lib. 3. c. 43.

CHAP. VII. Of the Soule in generall.

BEholde here a matter of all others most difficult, handled The Pre­face. and discoursed by the wisest of all Nations, especially Egyptians, Greeks, Arabians and Latines, by our latter Writers more shallowly as all other Philosophy, but with great diuer­sitie of opinions, according to the diuersitie of Nations, Reli­gions, Professions, without any certaine accord or resolution. The generall knowledge and discourse thereof may be refer­red to these ten points: The Definition, Essence or Nature, Faculties and Actions, Vnitie or Pluralitie, Source, Entrance into the bodie, Residence therein, Seat, Sufficiencie to exer­cise her functions, the End and Separation from the bodie.

It is first very hard to define, or truly to say what the soule 1 The Defini­tion verie difficult. is, as generally all other formes because they are things rela­tiue which subsist not of themselues, but are parts of a whole: and this is the reason why there is such and so great diuersity of definitions of them, whereof there is not any receiued without contradiction. Aristotle hath confuted twelue that were before him, and could hardly make good his owne.

It is easie to say what it is not: That it is not Fire, Aire, 2 Easie to say what it is not. Water; Nor the temperature of the foure Elements, or quali­ties, or humors, which is alwaies changeable, without which a creature is and liues; and besides that, this is an accident, the Soule a substance. Againe, Mettals and things inanimate haue likewise a temperature of the foure Elements and first qualities. Neither is it blood, (for there are many things ani­mate and liuing without blood, and many creatures die with­out the shedding of a drop of blood.) Nor the beginning and [Page 23] cause of motion (for diuers things inanimate mooue, as the adamant moues the iron, amber or iet straw; medicins and roots of trees being cut and dried draw and moue.) Neither is it the act, or life, or Enargie, or perfection (for that word Entelechia is diuersly taken and interpreted) of a liuing body: for all this is but the effect or action of the Soule, and not the Soule it selfe, as to liue, to see, to vnderstand is the action of the Soule. And it would likewise follow, that the Soule should be an accident not a substance, and could not subsist without that bodie whereof it is the act and perfection, no more than the couer of an house may be without the house, and a rela­tiue without his correlatiue. To be briefe, it is to say what the soule doth and is to another, not what it is in it selfe.

But to say what the Soule is, is very difficult: A man may 3 Hard to say what it is. simply say that it is an essentiall quickning forme, which gi­ueth to the plant the vegetatiue or growing life; to a beast a sensible life, which comprehendeth the vegetatiue; to a man an intellectuall life, which comprehendeth the other two, as in numbers the greater conteines the lesse, and in figures the Pentagone conteines the Tetragone, & this the Trigone. I call it the intellectiue soule rather than the reasonable, which is comprehended in the intellectiue as the lesse in the great: for the reasonable in some sense and measure, according to the opinion of the greatest Philosophers and experience it selfe, is likewise in beasts, but not the intellectiue as being more high. Sicut equus & mulus in quibus non est intellectus. The Soule then is not the beginning or source, that word doth properly belong to the soueraigne first author, but an inward cause of life, motion, sense, vnderstanding. It moueth the bo­dy, & it selfe is not moued; as contrarily, the body is moued, and moueth not at al: it moueth I say the body, & not it selfe, for nothing but God moueth it selfe; and whatsoeuer moueth it selfe is eternall and Lord of it selfe: and in that it mooueth the bodie it hath it not of it selfe, but from an higher cause.

Concerning the nature and essence of the Soule, I meane a humane Soule (for the Soule of a beast is without all doubt 4 The nature and essence of the soule. corporall, materiall, bred and borne with the matter, and with it corruptible) there is a question of greater importance than it seemeth: for some affirme it to be corporall, some in­corporall: [Page 24] and this is very agreeable to reason, if a man be not opinatiue. That it is corporall, see what the grounds are; Spirits and Diuels, good and ill, which are wholly separated from all matter are corporall, according to the opinion of all Philosophers and our greatest Diuines, Tertulltan, Origen, S. In homil. l. de spir. l 3. de lib. arb. Hom. de Epith. Basil, Gregorie, Augustine, Damascene; how much more the Soule of man, which hath societie and is vnited to a matter? Their resolution is, that whatsoeuer is created, being compa­red vnto God, is grosse, corporall, materiall, and only God is incorporall; that euery spirit is a bodie and hath a bodily na­ture. Next vnto authoritie almost vniuersall the reason is ir­refragable. Whatsoeuer is included in this finite world is fi­nite, limited both in vertue and substance, bounded with a superficies, inclosed and circumscribed in a place, which are the true and naturall conditions of a bodie: for there is no­thing but a bodie which hath a superficiall part, and is bar­red and fastened in a place. God only is wholly infinite, in­corporall, the ordinarie distinctions, circumscriptiuè, defini­tiuè, effectiuè, are but verball, and in nothing either helpe or hurt the cause: for it alwayes stands good that spirits are in such sort in a place, that at the selfe same time that they are in a place they can not be elswhere; and they are not in a place either infinite, or very great, or very little, but equall to their limited and finited substance and superficies. And if it were not so, spirits could not change their place, nor ascend or descend, as the Scripture affirmeth that they doe: and so they should be immooueable, indiuisible, indifferently in all. Now if it appeare that they change their place, the change conuicteth that they are mooueable, diuisible, subiect vnto time and to the succession thereof, required in the motion and passage from one place to another, which are all the quali­ties of a bodie. But because many simple men vnder this word corporall, do imagine visible, palpable, and thinke not that the pure aire, or fire without the flame or coale are bo­dies, haue therefore likewise affirmed, That spirits both sepa­rated and humane are not corporall, as in trueth they are not in that sense: for they are of an inuisible substance, whether airie as the greatest part of Philosophers and Diuines affirm, or celestiall as some Hebrewes and Arabiques teach, calling [Page 25] by the selfe same name both the heauen and the spirit an es­sence proper to immortalitie; or whether (if they will haue it so) of a substance more subtile and delicate, yet they are al­wayes corporall, since limited by place, mooueable, subiect to motion and to times. Finally, if they were not corporall, they should not be passible and capable of suffering as they are: the humane receiueth from his bodie pleasure and dis­pleasure, sorrow and delight in his turne, as the bodie from the spirit and his passions many good qualities, many bad, vertues, vices, affections, which are all accidents: and all as well the spirits separated and Diuels, as humane, are subiect to punishment and torments. They are therefore corporall: for there is nothing passible, that is not corporall, and it is only proper vnto bodies to be subiect to accidents.

Now the Soule hath a great number of vertues and facul­ties, as many almost as the body hath members: There are 3 The facul­ties and a­ctions of the Soule. some in plants, more in beasts, most in man, to know, to liue, to feele, to mooue, to desire, to allure, to assemble, to retaine, to concoct, to digest, to nourish, to grow, to reiect, to see, to heare, to taste, to smell, to speake, to breath, to ingender, to thinke, to reason, to contemplate, to consent, dissent, to re­member, iudge; all which are no parts of the Soule: for so it should be diuisible, and should consist vpon accidents, but they are her naturall qualities. The actions come after and follow the faculties, and so there are three degrees, according to the doctrine of great S. Denys followed of all, that is, we must consider in spirituall creatures three things, Essence, Fa­cultie, Operation: By the latter which is the action we know the facultie, and by it the essence. The actions may be hin­dred and wholly cease without any preiudice at all vnto the soule, and her faculties, as the Science and facultie of Paint­ing remaineth entire in the Painter, although his hands be bound, and so be made vnable to paint: But if the faculties themselues perish, the Soule must needs be gone, no other­wise then Fire is no longer fire hauing lost the facultie of warming.

The essence and nature of the Soule being after a sort ex­plicated, The vnitie of the soule. one of the busiest questions that belongeth vnto the Soule offereth it selfe to our consideration, that is, whether [Page 26] there be in a creature especially in man one soule or manie? Touching which point there are diuers opinions, but may be reduced into three. Some of the Greekes, and almost all the Arabiques imitating them, haue thought (not onely in euery particular man, but generally in all men) that there was but one immortall Soule. The Egyptians for the most part held an opinion quite contrarie, that there was a pluralitie of soules in euery creature, all diuers and distinct, two in euerie beast, and three in man, two mortal, the vegetatiue & sensible, and the third intellectiue, immortall. The third opinion as the meane betwixt the two former, and most followed, be­ing held by many of all nations is, that there is but one Soule in euery creature, not more. In euery of these opinions there is some difficultie. I leaue the first as being already sufficient­ly confuted and reiected. The pluralitie of soules in euerie creature and man, on the one side seemeth verie strange and absurd in Philosophie, for that were to giue many formes to one and the same thing, and to say that there are many sub­stances and subiects in one, two beasts in one, three men in one; on the other side it giueth credit and helpeth much our beleefe touching the immortalitie of the intellectuall Soule; for there being three soules, there can follow no inconueni­ence, that two of them should die, and the third continue immortall. The vnitie of the Soule seemeth to resist the im­mortalitie thereof; for how can one and the same indiuisible, be in a mortall part and an immortall? as neuerthelesse Ari­stotle would haue it. Doubtlesse it seemeth that of necessitie the Soule must be either altogether mortall, or altogether im­mortall, which are two very foule absurdities. The first abo­lisheth all religion and sound Philosophy: the second maketh beasts likewise immortall. Neuerthelesse it seemes to be more true that there is but one Soule in euery creature, for the pluralitie and diuersitie of faculties, instruments, actions, neither derogateth any thing at all, nor multiplieth in any thing this vnitie, no more than the diuersitie of riuers the vni­tie of one spring or fountaine, nor the diuersitie of effects in the Sunne, to heat, to enlighten, to melt, to drie, to whiten, to make blacke, do dissipate the vnitie and simpli­citie of the Sunne; for should they, there would be a great [Page 27] number of soules in one man and Sunnes in one world. Nei­ther doth this essentiall vnitie of the Soule any thing hinder the immortalitie of the humane Soule in her essence, not­withstanding the vegetatiue and sensitiue faculties, which are but accidents, die, that is to say, cannot be exercised with­out the body, the Soule not hauing a subiect or instrument whereby to doe it, but the third intellectuall Soule is alwaies well, because for it there is no need of the bodie, though whilest it is within it, it make vse thereof to exercise it selfe; insomuch that if it did returne vnto the bodie, it were onely againe to exercise hir vegetatiue and sensitiue faculties, as we see in those that are raised vnto life to liue heere below, not in those that are raised to liue elsewhere, for such bodies need not to liue by the exercise of such faculties: Euen as there is no want or decay in the Sunne, but it continueth in it selfe wholly the same, though during a whole ecclips it neither shine nor warme, nor performe his other effects in those pla­ces that are subiect vnto it.

Hauing shewed the vnitie of the soule in euery subiect, let The source of the soule. vs see from whence it commeth, and how it entreth into the body. The originall beginning of soules is not held to be the same of all, I meane of humane soules; for the vegetatiue and sensitiue, of Plants and Beasts, is by the opinion of all, altogether materiall, and in the seed, for which cause it is likewise mortall. But concerning the Soule of man there are foure celebrated opinions. According to the first which is of the Stoicks, held by Philo Iudeus, and afterward by the Ma­niches, Priscilianists, and others, it is transferred and brought foorth as a part or parcell of the substance of God, who in­spireth it into the bodie, alleaging to their best aduantage the words of Moyses, Inspirauit in faciem eius spiraculum vitae: The second opinion, held by Tertullian, Apollinaris, the Lu­ciferians and other Christians, affirmeth that the Soule pro­ceedeth and is deriued from the soules of our parents with the seed, as the Soule of a beast. The third opinion which is that of the Pythagorians and Platonists held by many Rabins and Doctors of the Iewes, and afterwards by Origen and other Doctors, teacheth that the soules of men haue beene from the beginning all created of God, made of nothing and [Page 28] reserued in heauen, afterwards to be sent into the lower parts, as need should require, and that the bodies of men are for­med and disposed to receiue them; and from hence did spring the opinion of those that thought that the soules of men heere below, were either well or ill handled, and lodged in bodies either sound or sicke, according to that life which they had led aboue in heauen, before they were incorporate. And truely the master of Wisdome himselfe sheweth, that the Soule, of the two, was the elder, and before the bodie, Eram puer, bonam indolem sortitus, imo bonus cum essem, cor­pus incontaminatum reperi. The fourth opinion receiued and held through all Christendome is, that they are all created of God, and infused into bodies prepared, in such maner that the creation and infusion is done at one and the same in­stant. These foure opinions are all affirmatiue, but there is a fift much reteined which determineth nothing, and is con­tent to say, that it is a secret vnknowen vnto men; of which opinion was S. Austin, Greg. and others, who neuerthelesse De orig. Epl. 28. 157. thought the two latter affirmatiue opinions more like to be true than the former.

Let vs now see when and how the Soule entreth into the 6 The entrāce of the soule into the bo­die. bodie, whether altogether at one instant, or successiuely; I meane the humane Soule: for of that of a beast there is no doubt, since it is naturall in the seed, according to Aristotle (whom most do follow) that is by succession of times and by degrees, as an artificiall forme which a man maketh by pie­ces, the one after the other; the head, afterwards the throat, the bellie, the legs: insomuch that the vegetatiue and sensi­tiue Soule altogether materiall and corporall, is in the seed, and with the descent of the parents, which fashioneth the bo­die in the matrix: and that done, the reasonable Soule arriueth from without. And therefore there are neither two nor three soules; neither together nor successiuely, neither is the vege­tatiue corrupted by the arriuall of the sensitiue, nor the sensi­tiue by the arriuall of the intellectuall; but it is but one Soule which is made, finished and perfected in that time which na­ture hath prescribed. Others are of opinion, that the soule entreth with all her faculties at one instant, that is to say then, when all the bodie is furnished with organs, formed, and [Page 29] wholly finished, and that vntill then there was no Soule, but only a naturall vertue and Enargie, an essentiall forme of the seed, which working by the spirits which are in the sayd seed, with the heat of the matrix and materiall blood, as with instruments, do forme and build vp the body, prepare all the members, nourish, mooue, and increase them: which being done, this Enargie and seminall forme vanisheth, and is quite lost, so that the seed ceaseth to be seed, losing it forme, by the arriuall of another more noble, which is the humane Soule, which causeth that which was seed, or an Embryon, that is, a substance without shape, to be no longer seed but a man.

The Soule being entred into the bodie, we are likewise to 7 The resi­dence of the Soule in the Bodie. know what kinde of existence therein it hath, and how it is there resident. Some Philosophers not knowing what to say, or how to ioyne and vnite the Soule with the bodie, make it to abide and reside therein, as a Master in his house, a Pilot in his ship, a Coach-man in his coach: but this were to destroy all, for so the Soule should not be the forme, nor inward and essentiall part of a creature, or of a man, it should haue no need of the members of the bodie to abide there, nor any fee­ling at all of the contagion of the bodie, but it should be a sub­stance wholly distinct from the bodie, of it selfe subsisting, which at it pleasure might come and goe, and separate it selfe from the body, without the distinction, and diminution of all the functions thereof, which are all absurdities. The Soule is in the bodie as the forme in the matter, extended and spred thorowout the body, giuing life, motion, sense to all the parts thereof, and both of them together make but one Hypostasis, one intire subiect, which is the creature, and there is no mean or middle that doth vnite and knit them together: for be­twixt the matter and the forme, there is no middle, according to all Philosophie. The Soule then is all, in all the bodie; I adde not (though it be commonly sayd) and all in euery part of the bodie: for that implieth a contradiction, and diuideth the Soule.

Now notwithstanding the Soule, as it is sayd, be diffused 8 The seat & instruments of the soule. and spred thorow the whole bodie, yet neuerthelesse, to ex­cite and exercise it faculties, it is more specially and expresly in some parts of the bodie, than in others; in which it is sayd [Page 30] to haue place, yet not to be wholly there, lest the rest should be without Soule without forme. And as it hath foure prin­cipall and chiefe faculties, so men giue it foure seats, that is, those foure regions, which we haue noted before in the com­position of the body, the foure first principall instruments of the soule, the rest referre themselues vnto them, as also all the faculties to these, that is to say, the engendring faculty to the ingendring parts, the naturall to the liuer, the vitall to the heart, the animall and intellectuall to the braine.

We are now come to speake in generall of the exercise of 9 The suffici­ency of the Soule for the exercise of hir faculties. the faculties of the Soule, whereunto the soule of it selfe is wise and sufficient, insomuch that it faileth not to produce that which it knoweth, & to exercise it functions, as it ought, if it be not hindered, and that the instruments thereof be well disposed. And therefore it was well and truly said of the wise, that Nature is wise, discreet, industrious, a sufficient mistrisse which maketh a man apt to all things: Insita sunt nobis omnium artium, ac virtutum semina, magisterque ex occulto Deus produ­cit ingenium: which is easily shewed by induction. The ve­getatiue soule without instruction formeth the body in the matrix with excellent arte, afterwards it nourisheth it, and makes it grow, drawing the victuall vnto it, retaining and concocting it, afterwards casting out the excrements, it in­gendreth and reformeth the parts that faile; these are things that are seene in plants, beasts, and men. The sensitiue Soule of it selfe without instruction, maketh both beasts and men to moue their feet, their hands, and other members, to stretch, to rub, to shake, to moue the lips, to presse the dug, to crie, to laugh. The reasonable of it selfe, not according to the opini­on of Plato by the remembrance of that which it knew before it entred into the body, nor according to Aristotle by recep­tion and acquisition, comming from without by the senses, being of it selfe, as a white paper void of impression, although that serue to good purpose, but of it selfe without instruction, imagineth, vnderstandeth, retaineth, reasoneth, discourseth. But because this of the reasonable Soule seemeth to be more difficult than the other, and woundeth in some sort Aristotle himselfe, it shall be handled again in his place, in the discourse of the intellectuall Soule.

[Page 31] It remaineth that wee speake of the last point, that is, of 10 The sepa­ration of the body two­fold. the separation of the Soule from the body, which is after a diuers sort and maner; the one, and the ordinarie is naturall by death, and this not the same in beasts and men: for by the death of beasts, the Soule dieth, and is annihilated, áccording vnto that rule, by the corruption of the subiect the forme pe­risheth, 1. Naturall and ordina­ry. the matter remaineth: by the death of man the Soule is separated from the body, but is not lost, but remaineth in­asmuch as it is immortall.

The immortalitie of the Soule is a thing vniuersally, religi­ously, 2. The im­mortalitie of the Soule. (for it is the principall foundation of all religion) and peaceably receiued and concluded vpon throughout the world, I meane by an outward and publique profession; se­riously and inwardly, not so, witnesse so many Epicures, Li­bertines, and mockers in the world: yea the Saduces, the greatest Lordes of the Iewes, did not sticke with open mouth to denie it; though a thing profitable to be beleeued, and in some sort proued by many naturall and humane reasons, but properly and better established by the authority of religion than any other way. It seemeth that there is in a man a kinde of inclination and disposition of nature to beleeue it, for man desireth naturally to continue and perpetuate his being, from whence likewise proceedeth that great, yea furious care and loue of our posterity and succession. Againe two things there are that giue strength thereunto, and make it more plausible, the one is the hope of glory and reputation, and the desire of the immortalitie of our name, which how vaine soeuer it be, carrieth a great credit in the world: the other is an impressi­on, that vice which robbeth a man of the view and know­ledge of humane iustice, remaining alwaies opposite to the diuine iustice, must thereby be chastised, yea after death: so that besides that a man is altogether carried and disposed by nature to desire it, and consequently to beleeue it, the Iustice of God doth conclude it.

From hence we are to learne that there are three differen­ces 3 The proofe. and degrees of Soules, an order required euen to the per­fection of the vniuerse. Two extreames, the one is that which being altogether materiall, is plunged, and ouerwhel­med in the matter, and inseparable from it, and therewithall [Page 32] corruptible, which is the Soule of a beast: the other quite contrary, is that which hath not any commerce, or societie with the matter or body, as the soule of immortall Angels or Diuels. In the middle as the meane betwixt these two, is the humane soule, which is neither wholly tied to the matter, nor altogether without it, but is ioyned with it, and may likewise subsist and liue without it. This order and distinction is an excellent argument of immortalitie; for it were a vacuum, a defect, a deformitie too absurd in nature, dishonourable to the authour, and a kinde of ruine to the world, that betwixt two extreames, the corruptible and incorruptible, there should be no middle; that is, partly the one and partly the other: there must needs be one that ties and ioynes the two ends or extreames together, and that can be none but man. Below the lowest and wholly materiall, is that which hath no Soule at all, as stones; aboue the highest and immortall, is the eternall only God.

The other separation not naturall nor ordinary, and which 4 2. Not na­turall. is done by strange impulsions and at times, is very difficult to vnderstand, and perplex. It is that which is done by extasies and rauishments, which is diuers and done by different meanes: for there is a separation that is diuine, such as the Scripture reporteth vnto vs, of Daniel, Zachary, Esdras, Eze­chiel, S. Paul. There is another that is demoniacall, procu­red by diuels, and good spirits and bad, as we reade of many, as of Iohn D'vns, called Lescot, who being in his extasie a long time held for dead, was carried into the aire, and cast downe vpon the earth; but so soone as he felt the blow that he receiued by the fall, he came to himselfe: but by reason of the great store of blood which he lost, his head being bro­ken, he died outright. Cardan telleth it of himselfe, and of his father, and it continueth autentiquely verified in many and diuers parts of the world, of many, and those for the most part of the vulgar sort, weake and women possessed, whose bodies remaine not only without motion, and the beating of the heart and arteries, but also without any sense or feeling of the greatest blowes, either with iron or fire, that could be gi­uen them, and afterwards their soules being returned they haue felt great paine in their limmes, and recounted that [Page 33] which they haue seene and done in places far distant. Third­ly, there is a humane separation, which proceedeth either from that maladie which Hipocrates calleth Sacer, commonly called The falling sicknes, Morbus comitialis, the signe where­of is a foming at the mouth, which is not in those that are pos­sessed; but in stead thereof they haue a stinking sauor, or it is occasioned by stiptickes, stupifying and benumming medi­cines; or ariseth from the force of imagination, which enfor­cing and bending it selfe with too deepe an attention about a thing, carrieth away the whole strength and power of the Soule. Now in these three kindes of extasies or rauishments, Diuine, Diabolicall, Humane, the question is, Whether the Soule be truely and really separated from the body; or if re­maining in it, it be in such sort employed and busied about some outward thing which is foorth of the bodie, that it for­getteth it owne bodie; whereby followeth a kinde of inter­mission and vacation of the actions and exercise of the functi­ons thereof. Touching the diuine extasie, the Apostle speak­ing of himselfe and his owne act; dares not define any thing, Si in corpore vel extra corpus nescio, Deusscit. An instruction that may serue for all others, and for other separations of lesse qualitie. Touching the Demoniacall extasie, as not to feele a blow be it neuer so great, to report what hath been done two or three hundred leagues off, are two great and violent con­iectures of a true separation from the bodie, but not altoge­ther necessarie: for the diuell can so alienate and occupie the soule within the body, that it shall not seeme to haue any acti­on or commerce with the bodie for some certaine time, and in that time so beforteth the soule by presenting things vnto the imagination that haue beene done afarre off, that a man may speake and discourse thereof: for to affirme that cer­tainly the Soule doth wholly depart and abandon the bodie, Nature is too bolde and foole-hardie: to say that it doth not wholly depart, but that the imaginatiue or intellectuall is ca­ried out, and that the vegetatiue soule remaineth, were more to intangle our selues; for so the Soule in it essence should be diuided, or the accident only should be carried out, and not the substance. Touching the humane extasie, doubt­lesse there is no separation of the Soule, but only a suspen­sion [Page 34] of the patent and outward actions thereof.

What becomes of the Soule, and what the state thereof is 11 The estate of the Soule after death. after the naturall separation by death, diuers men thinke di­uersly: and this point belongeth not to the subiect of this booke. The Metempsychose and transanimation of Pythagoras hath in some sort been embraced by the Academicks, Stoicks, Aegyptians, and others; but yet not of all in the same sense: for some doe admit it only for the punishment of the wicked, as we reade of Nebuchadnezar, who was changed into a beast by the iudgement of God. Others, and some great, haue thought that good soules, being separated, become Angels, the wicked, Diuels. It had beene more pleasing to haue sayd Like vnto them; Non nubent, sed erunt sicut Angeli. Some haue affirmed, that the soules of the wicked, at the end of a certaine time, were reduced to nothing. But the trueth of all this we must learne from Religion and Diuines, who speake heereof more cleerely.

CHAP. VIII. Of the Soule in particular; and first of the vege­tatiue facultie.

AFter this generall description of the Soule, in these ten points we must speake thereof more particularly, ac­cording 1 The facul­ties of the Soule. to the order of the faculties thereof, beginning at the basest, that is, the Vegetatiue, Sensitiue, Apprehensible or Imaginatiue, Appetible, Intellectiue, which is the soueraign Soule and truly humane. Vnder euery one of these there are diuers others which are subiect vnto them, and as parts of them, as we shall see, handling them in their ranke.

Of the vegetable and basest Soule, which is euen in plants, I will not speake much; it is the proper subiect of Physiti­ans, 2 Of the vege­table & her subalternals. of health and sicknesse. Let me only say, that vnder this there are conteined other three great faculties, which follow one the other: for the first serueth the second, and the second the third; but the third neither of the former. The first then is the nourishing facultie, for the conseruation of the Indiui­duum or particular person, which diuers others doe serue, as the Attractiue of the victuall, the Concoctiue, the Digestiue, [Page 35] separating the good & proper, from the naught and hurtfull; the Retentiue and the Expulsiue of superfluities: The second, the increasing or growing facultie, for the perfection and due quantitie of the Indiuiduum: The third, is the Generatiue, for the conseruation of the kinde. Whereby we see, that the two first are for the Indiuiduum, and worke within in the bodie; the third is for the kinde, and hath it effect and operation without in another bodie, and therefore is more worthy than the other, and commeth neerer to a faculty more high, which is the Sensitiue. This is a great height of perfection, to make another thing like it selfe.

CHAP. IX. Of the Sensitiue facultie.

IN the exercise of this facultie and function of the Senses Six things required to the exercise of this fa­cultie. these six things do concurre, whereof foure are within and two without. That is to say, the Soule, as the first efficient cause. The facultie of Sense (which is a qualitie of the Soule, and not the Soule it selfe) that is, of perceiuing and apprehen­ding 1 outward things; which is done after a fiue-folde maner, 2 which we call The fiue Senses (of this number we shall speake hereafter) that is to say, Hearing, Seeing, Smelling, Tasting, Touching. The corporall instrument of the Sense, whereof 3 there are fiue, according to the number of the Senses; the Eye, the Eare, the high concauitie of the Nose, which is the entrance to the first ventricles of the braine, the Tongue, the whole Skin of the bodie. The Spirit which ariseth from the 4 braine the fountaine of the sensitiue Soule, by certaine sinewes in the sayd instruments, by which spirit and instrument the soule exerciseth her facultie. The sensible Species, or obiect 5 offered vnto the instruments, which is different according to the diuersitie of the sense. The obiect of the eye or sight ac­cording to the common opinion is colour, which is an adhe­rent quality in bodies, whereof there are six simple, as White, Yellow, Red, Purple, Greene and Blew; some adde a seuenth, which is blacke; but to say the trueth, that is no colour, but a priuation, being like vnto darkenesse, as the other colours more or lesse vnto the light. Of compound colours the num­ber [Page 36] is infinite: but to speake more truely, the true obiect is light, which is neuer without colour, and without which the colours are inuisible. Now the light is a qualitie which com­meth forth of a luminous body, which makes both it selfe vi­sible and all things els; and if it be terminated and limited by some solide bodie, it reboundeth and redoubleth it beames: otherwise if it passe without any stop or termination, it can not be seene except it be in the root of that light or luminous bodie from whence it came, nor make any thing els to be seene. Of the Eare or Hearing, the obiect is a sound, which is a noise proceeding from the encounter of two bodies, and it is diuers: the pleasant and melodious sweeteneth and ap­peaseth the spirit, and for it sake the bodie too, and driues a­way maladies from them both: the sharpe and penetrant doth contrariwise trouble and wound the spirit. Of Tasting, the obiect is a fauour or smacke, whereof there are six diuers simple kindes, Sweet, Sowre, Sharpe, Tart, Salt, Bitter; but there are many compounds. Of Smell, the obiect is an odour or sent, which is a fume rising from an odoriferous obiect ascending by the nose to the first ventricles of the braine: the strong and violent hurteth the braine, as an ill sound the eare: the temperate and good doth contrariwise reioyce, delight and comfort. Of the sense of Touching, the obiect is heat, colde, drouth, moisture either pleasant and polite, or sharpe and smarting, motion, rest, tickling.

The middle or space betwixt the obiect and the instru­ment, 6 which is the Aire neither altered nor corrupted, but such as it ought to be.

So that sense is made, when the sensible species presen­teth 2 it selfe by the middle to an instrument sound and well disposed, and that therein the spirit assisting, receiueth it and apprehendeth it in such sort, that there is there both action and passion; and the senses are not purely passiue: for not­withstanding they receiue, and are stricken by the obiect, yet neuerthelesse in some sense and measure they doe worke or react in apprehending the species and image of the obiect proposed.

In former times and before Aristotle, they did make a dif­ference betwixt the sense of Seeing and the rest of the senses, 3 [Page 37] and they all held, that the sight was actiue, and was made by emitting or sending forth of the eye, the beames thereof vnto the outward obiects, and that the other senses were passiue, receiuing the sensible obiect: but after Aristotle, they are made all alike, and all passiue, receiuing in the organ or instru­ment, the kindes and images of things, and the reasons of the Ancients to the contrary are easily answered. There is more and more excellent matter to be deliuered of the senses here­after.

Now besides these fiue particular senses which are with­out, 4 there is within, the common sense; where all the diuers obiects apprehended by it, are assembled and gathered to­gether, to the end they may afterward be compared, distin­guished, and discerned the one from the other, which the particular senses could not doe, being euery one attentiue to his proper obiect, and not able to take knowledge thereof, of his companion.

CHAP. X. Of the senses of Nature.

ALl knowledge is begun in vs by the senses; so say our 1 The impor­tance of the naturall senses. Schoole-men: but it is not altogether true, as we shall see heereafter. They are our first masters: it beginneth by them, and endeth with them: they are the beginning and end of all. It is not possible to recoile farther backe: euery one of them is a captaine and soueraigne lord in his order, and hath a great command, carrying with it infinite knowledges. The one dependeth not, or hath need of the other, so are they equally great, although the one haue a farre greater extent, and traine, and affaires, than the other, as a little king is as well a soueraigne in his little narrow command, as a great in his great estate.

It is an opinion amongst vs, that there are but fiue senses of Nature, because wee marke but fiue in vs; but yet there 2 The number. may very well be more, and it is greatly to be doubted that there are; but it is impossible for vs to know them, to affirme them, or to denie them, because a man shall neuer know the want of that sense which he hath neuer had. There are many [Page 38] beasts which liue a full and perfect life, which want some one of our fiue senses; and a creature may liue without the fiue senses, saue the sense of Feeling, which is only necessary vn­to life. We liue very commodiously with fiue, and yet per­haps we do want one, or two, or three, and yet it can not be knowen. One sense can not discouer another: and if a man want one by nature, yet he knowes not which way to affirme it. A man borne blinde can neuer conceiue that he seeth not, nor desire to see, nor delight in his sight: it may be he will say that he would see, but that is because he hath heard say and learned of others, that it is to be desired: the reason is be­cause the senses are the first gates, and entrances to know­ledge. So man not being able to imagine more than the fiue that he hath, he can not know how to iudge whether there be more in Nature; yet he may haue more. Who knoweth whether the difficulties that we finde in many of the works of Nature, and the effects of creatures, which we can not vn­derstand, doe proceed from the want of some sense that wee haue not? Of the hidden properties which we see in many things, a man may say that there are sensible faculties in Na­ture proper to iudge and apprehend them; but yet he must confesse that we haue them not, and that the ignorance of such things proceedeth from our owne default. Who know­eth whether it be some particular sense, that discouereth in the Cocke the houre of mid-night and morning, and that moues him to crow? Who taught some beasts to chuse cer­taine herbes for their cure, and many such like woonders as these are? No man can affirme or denie, say this it is, or that it is.

Some haue assayed to giue a reason of this number of the fiue senses, and to prooue the sufficiencie of them, by distin­guishing 3 Their suffi­ciencie. and diuersly comparing their outward obiects; which are, either all neere the bodie or distant from it: if neere but yet remaining without, it is the sense of Touching; if they enter, it is Taste; if they be more distant and present by a right line, it is the Sight; if oblique and by reflexion, it is the Hearing. A man might better haue sayd thus, That these fiue senses being appointed for the seruice of an entire man, some are entirely for the bodie, that is to say, Taste and [Page 39] Touching; that, in that it entreth; this, in that it remaines without. Others first and principally for the soule, as sight and hearing: the Sight for inuention, the Hearing for acqui­sition and communication, and one in the middle, for the mid­dle spirits, and ties of the soule and body, which is the Smell. Againe, they answer to the foure Elements, and their quali­ties: The sense of Feeling to the earth; of Hearing to the aire; of Taste to the water and moisture; the Smell to the fire. The Sight is a compound, and partakes both of water and fire, by reason of the bright splendor of the eie. Againe they say that there are so many senses, as there are kinds of sensible things, which are colour, sound, odour, taste or sauour, and the fift which hath no proper name, the obiect of Feeling, which is heat, cold, rough, plaine, and so foorth. But men deceiue themselues, for the number of the senses is not to be iudged by the number of sensible things, which are no cause that there are so many. By this reason there should bee many more, and one and the same sense should receiue many diuers heads of obiects, and one and the same obiect be apprehen­ded by diuers senses: so that the tickling of a feather, and the pleasures of Venus are distinguished from the fiue Senses, and by some comprehended in the sense of Feeling: But the cause is rather, for that the spirit hath no power to attaine to the knowledge of things, but by the fiue Sences, and that Nature hath giuen it so many, because it was necessary for it end and benefit.

Their comparisons are diuers in dignity and nobility. The 4 Comparison. Sense of Seeing excelleth all the rest in fiue things: It appre­hendeth farther off, and extendeth it selfe euen to the fixed starres. It hath more variety of obiects, for to all things & ge­nerally in all there is light and colour the obiects of the eie. It is more exquisit, exact and particular euen in the least and fi­nest things that are. It is more prompt and sudden, apprehen­ding euen in a moment and without motion, euen the heauens themselues: in the other senses there is a motion that requireth time. It is more diuine, and the markes of Diuinity are many. Liberty incomparable aboue others, whereby the eie seeth, or seeth not, and therefore it hath lids ready to open and to shut: power not to turmoile it selfe, and not to suffer it selfe to bee [Page 40] seene; Actiuitie and abilitie to please or displease, to signifie and insinuate our thoughts, willes and affections: for the eye speaketh and striketh, it serueth for a tongue and a hand; the other Senses are purely passiue. But that which is most no­ble in this Sense is, that the priuation of the obiect thereof, which is darknesse, brings feare, and that naturally; and the reason is, because a man findeth himselfe robbed of so excel­lent a guide: and therefore whereas a man desireth company for his solace, the Sight in the light is in place of companie. The sense of Hearing hath many excellent singularities, it is more spirituall, and the seruice thereof more inward. But the particular comparison of these two, which are of the rest the more noble, and of speech, shall be spoken in the Chapter following. As for pleasure or displeasure, though all the Senses are capable thereof, yet the Sense of Feeling receiueth greatest griefe, and almost no pleasure; and contrarily the Taste great delight, and almost no griefe. In the organ and instrument, the Touch is vniuersall, spred thorow the whole bodie, to the end the bodie should feele heat and colde; the organs of the rest are assigned to a certaine place & member.

From the weaknesse and incertitude of our senses comes ignorance, errour and mistakings: for sithens that by their 5 The weake­nesse and vncertain­nesse of the Senses. meanes and mixture we attaine to all knowledge, if they de­ceiue vs in their report, we haue no other helpe to sticke vn­to. But who can say, or accuse them, that they do deceiue vs, considering that by them we begin to learne and to know? Some haue assirmed that they do neuer deceiue vs, and when they seeme to doe it, the fault proceedeth from some thing els; and that wee must rather attribute it to any other thing than to the senses. Others haue sayd cleane contrarie, that they are all false, and can teach vs nothing that is certaine. But the middle opinion is the more true.

Now whether the Senses be false or not, at the least it is 6 The mutuall deceit of the spirit and senses. certaine that they deceiue, yea ordinarily enforce the dis­course, the reason, and in exchange are againe mocked by it. Do then but consider what kinde of knowledge and certain­tie a man may haue, when that within, and that without is full of deceit and weakenesse, and that the principall parts thereof, the essentiall instruments of science do deceiue one [Page 41] another. That the senses doe deceiue and enforce the vnder­standing, it is plaine in those senses whereof some do kindle with furie, others delight & sweeten, others tickle the Soule. And why doe they that cause themselues to be let blood, lan­ced, cauterised and burnt, turne away their eies, but that they do well know that great authoritie that the Senses haue ouer their reason? The sight of some bottomlesse depth, or preci­pitate downfall, astonisheth euen him that is setled in a firme and sure place: and to conclude, doth not the Sense vanquish and quite ouercome all the beautifull resolutions of vertue, and patience? So on the other side, the senses are likewise de­ceiued by the vnderstanding, which appeareth by this, that the Soule being stirred with Choler, Loue, Hatred, or any other passion, our senses doe see, and heare euery thing o­thers then they are, yea sometimes our senses are altogether dulled by the passions of the Soule, and it seemeth that the Soule retireth and shutteth vp the operation of the Senses, and that the spirit being otherwise employed, the eie discer­neth not that which is before it, and which it seeth: yea the sight and the reason iudge diuersly of the greatnesse of the Sunne, the starres, nay of the figure of a staffe any thing di­stant.

In the Senses of Nature the beasts haue as well part, as we, 7 The senses common to man and beast, but diuersly. and sometimes excell vs: for some haue their hearing more quicke than man, some their sight, others their smell, others their taste: and it is held, that in the sense of Hearing, the Hart excelleth all others; of Sight, the Eagle; of Smell, the Dogge; of Taste, the Ape; of Feeling, the Tortuis: neuer­thelesse, the preheminence of that sense of Touch is giuen vnto man, which of all the rest is the most brutish. Now if the Senses are the meanes to attaine vnto knowledge, and that beasts haue a part therein, yea somtimes the better part, why should not they haue knowledge?

But the Senses are not the only instruments of knowledge, 8 The iudge­ment of the Senses hard and dange­rous. neither are our Senses alone to be consulted or beleeued: for if beasts by their Senses iudge otherwise of things than we by ours, as doubtlesse they do; who must be beleeued? Our spettle cleanseth and drieth our wounds, it killeth the Ser­pent; What then is the true qualitie of our spettle? To dire [Page 42] and to cleanse, or to kill? To iudge well of the operation of the senses, we must be at some agreement with the beasts, nay with our selues: for the eie pressed downe and shut, seeth otherwise than in it ordinary state; the eare stopt, receiueth the obiects otherwise than when it is open: an infant seeth, heareth, tasteth, otherwise than a man; a man than an olde man; a sound than a sicke; a wise than a foole. In this great diuersitie and contrarietie what shall we holde for certaine? Seeing that one sense belieth another, a picture seemeth to be held vp to the view, and the hands are folded together.

CHAP. XI. Of Sight, Hearing and Speech.

THese are the three most rich and excellent iewels of all those that are in this muster, and of whose preheminen­cie 1 A compari­son of the three. it is disputed. Touching their Organes, that of the Sight in it composition and forme is admirable, and of a liuely and shining beautie, by reason of the great varietie and subtiltie of so many small parts or pieces; and therefore it is sayd that the eye is one of those parts of the bodie which doe first be­gin to be formed, and the last that is finished: and for this ve­rie cause it is so delicate, and said to be subiect to six score maladies. Afterwards comes that of Speech, which helpeth the sense of Hearing to many great aduantages. For the ser­uice of the bodie, the Sight is most necessarie, and therefore doth more import a beast than Hearing. But for the spirit, the Hearing challengeth the vpper place. The Sight ser­ueth well for the inuention of things, which by it haue almost all beene discouered, but it bringeth nothing to perfection. Againe, the Sight is not capable but of corporall things and particular, and that only of their crust or superficiall part, it is the instrument of ignorant men and vnlearned, qui mouen­tur ad id quod adest, quodque praesens est.

The Eare is a spirituall Sense, it is the Intermedler, and A­gent 2 The prehe­minencie of hearing. of the vnderstanding, the instrument of wise and spiri­tuall men, capable not only of the secrets and inward parts of particular bodies, whereunto the Sight arriueth not, but also of the generall kindes, and of all spirituall things and diuine, [Page 43] in which the Sight serueth rather to disturbe than to helpe: and therefore we see not only many blinde, great and wise, but some also that are depriued of their sight to become great Philosophers: but of such as are deafe we neuer heard of any. This is the way by which a man entreth the for­tresse, and makes himselfe master of the place, and imploieth his spirit in good or ill; witnesse the wife of King Agamem­non, who was conteined in her dutie of chastitie by the sound of a Harpe: and Dauid by the selfe same meane chased away the euill spirit from Saul, and restored him to health: and that skilfull player on the Flute, that sweetned the voice of that great Oratour Gracchus. To be briefe, Science, Trueth, and Vertue haue no other entrance into the Soule, but by the Eare: Christianitie it selfe teacheth that faith and saluation commeth by Hearing, and that the Sight doth rather hurt, than helpe thereunto; that faith is the beliefe of those things that are not seene, which beliefe is acquired by hearing; and it calleth such as are apprentices or nouices therein, Auditors, [...], catechised. Let me adde this one word, that the Hearing giueth succour and comfort in darknesse, and to such as are asleepe, that by the sound they may be awaked, and so prouide for their preseruation. For all these reasons haue the wisest so much commended Hearing, the pure and virgin gardian from all corruption, for the health of the inward man, as for the safetie of a Citie, the gates and walles are gar­ded that the enemie enter not.

Speech is peculiarly giuen vnto man, an excellent present and very necessary, in regard of him from whom it procee­deth 3 The force & authoritie of Speech.: it is the interpreter and image of the soule, animi index, & speculum, the messenger of the heart, the gate by which all that is within issueth foorth, and committeth itselfe to the view, all things come foorth of darknesse and secret corners into the light, and the spirit itselfe makes it selfe visible: and therefore an ancient Philosopher said once to a child, Speake that I may see thee, that is to say, the inside of thee. As ves­sels are knowen whether they be broken or whole, full or emptie, by the sound, and mettals by the touch; so man by his speech. Of all the visible parts of the body which shew themselues outward, that which is neerest the heart is the [Page 44] tongue by the root thereof; so that which comes neerest vn­to our thought, is our speech: for from the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh. In regard of him which receiueth it, it is a powerfull master, an imperious commander, which entreth the fortresse, possesseth it selfe of the possessor, stir­reth him vp, animateth, exasperateth, appeaseth him, ma­keth him sad, merrie, imprinteth in him whatsoeuer passion, it handleth and feedeth the Soule of the hearer, and makes it pliable to euery sense; it makes him blush, waxpale, laugh, crie, tremble for feare, mad with choler, to leape for ioy, and pierceth him thorow with passion. In regard of all, Speech is the hand of the spirit, wherewith, as the bodie by his, it ta­keth and giueth, it asketh counsell and succour and giueth it. It is the great Intermedler and Huckster: by it we trafficke, Merx a Mercurio peace is handled, affaires are managed, Sciences and the goods of the spirit are distributed, it is the band and cement of humane society (so that it be vnderstood: For, saith one, a man were better to be in the companie of a dog that he knoweth, than in the companie of a man whose language he knoweth not, vt externus alieno, non sit hominis vice.) To be briefe, it is the instrument of whatsoeuer is good or ill, vita & mors in manibus linguae: there is nothing better, Of a good & euill tongue. nothing worse than the tongue. The tongue of a wise man is the doore of a royall Cabinet, which is no sooner opened, but incontinently a thousand diuersities present themselues to the eie, euery one more beautifull than other, come from the Indies, Peru, Arabia; So a wise man produceth and rangeth them in good order, sentences, and Aphorismes of Philoso­phie, similitudes, examples, histories, wise sayings drawen from all the mines, and treasuries olde and new, qui profert de thesauro suo noua & vetera, which serue for a rule of good maners, of policie, and all the parts both of life and of death, which being applied in their times and to good purpose, bring with it great delight, great beautie and vtilitie, mala au­rea in lectis argenteis, verba in tempore suo. The mouth of a wicked man is a stincking and contagious pit, a slanderous Prouerb. tongue murdereth the honour of another, it is a sea and Vni­uersitie of euils, woorse than fetters, fire, poison, death, hell, Vniuersitas iniquitatis, malum inquietum, venenum mortiferum, [Page 45] ignis incendens omnia, mors illius nequissima, vtilis potius infernus quàm illa.

Now these two, Hearing and Speach answer and are ac­commodated the one to the other, there is a great alliance be­twixt 4 The corres­pondency of Hearing and Speach. them, the one is nothing without the other, as also by nature in one and the same subiect, the one is not without the other. They are the two great gates, by which the soule doth trafficke, and hath her intelligence: By these two, the soules are powred the one into the other, as vessels when the mouth of the one is applied to the enterie of the other: So that if these two gates be shut, as in those that are deafe and dumbe, the spirit remaineth solitary and miserable: Hearing is the gate to enter, by it the spirit receiueth all things from with­out, and conceiueth as the female: Speech is the gate to goe foorth, by it the spirit acteth and bringeth foorth as the male. From the communication of these two, as from the stroke of two flints or irons together, there comes foorth the sacred fire of truth, for they rubbing and polishing the one the other, they shake off their rust, and purifie and cleanse themselues, and all maner of knowledge comes to perfection. But Hea­ring is the first, for there can nothing come foorth of the soule, but that which first entered, and therefore he that by nature is altogether deafe, is likewise dumbe. It is necessary that first the spirit be furnished with moueables and vtinseles, by the sense of Hearing, to the end it may by speach distri­bute them, so that the good and ill of the tongue and almost of the whole man, dependeth vpon the eare: He that heares well, speakes well, and he that heares ill speakes ill. Of the vse and gouernment of the tongue heereafter. Lib. 3. Chap. 43.

CHAP. XII. Of the other faculties, Imaginatiue, Memo­ratiue, Appetitiue.

THE fantasticke or imaginatiue facultie, hauing recolle­cted, and withdrawne the kindes and images apprehen­ded by the senses, retaineth and reserueth them; in such sort that the obiects being absent and far distant, yea a man sleep­ing, and his senses being bound and shut vp, it presenteth [Page 46] them to the spirit and thought, Phantasmata idola, seu imagi­nes dicuntur, and doth almost worke that within in the vnder­standing, which the obiect doth without in the sense.

The memoratiue faculty is the Gardian and Register of all 2 the species or kindes and images, apprehended by the sense, retired and sealed vp by the imagination.

The Appetitiue faculty seeketh and pursueth those things, which seeme good and conuenient. 3

CHAP. XIII. Of the Intellectiue faculty and truly humaine.

TWO things are to be knowen, before we enter into this discourse, the seat or instrument of this intellectiue facul­ty, 1 and the Action. The seate of the reasonable soule, vbi se­det pro tribunali, is the braine and not the heart, as before Pla­to and Hippocrates it was commonly thought, for the heart The seate and instru­ment of the reasonable Soule. hauing feeling and motion, is not capable of wisdome.

Now the braine which is farre greater in man then in all other creatures, if it be well and in such maner made and dis­posed, that the reasonable, soule may worke and exercise it powers, it must come neere vnto the forme of a ship, and must not be round, nor too great nor too little, although the grea­ter be lesse vitious. It must be composed of a substance and parts subtile, delicate and delicious, well ioyned and vnited without separation, hauing foure little chambers or ventri­cles, whereof three are in the middle, ranged in front, and col­laterals betweene and behinde them, drawing towards the hinder part of the head; the fourth is alone, wherein is framed the preparation and coniunction of the vitall spirits, after­wards to be made animall and caried to the three ventricles before, wherein the reasonable soule doth exercise it faculties, which are three, Vnderstanding, Memory, Imagination, which doe not exercise their powers apart and distinctly, each one in each ventricle, as some haue commonly thought, but in common all three together in all three, and in euery of them, according to the maner of the outward senses, which are double and haue two ventricles, in each of which the senses [Page 47] do wholly worke; whereby it comes to passe that hee that is wounded in one or two of these ventricles (as he that hath the palsie) ceaseth not neuerthelesse to exercise all the three; though more weakly, which he could not doe, if euery facul­tie had his chamber or ventricle apart.

Some haue thought that the reasonable Soule was not or­ganicall, 2 The reaso­nable Soule is organi­call. that is, had no need of any corporall instrument to exercise it functions, thinking thereby the better to proue the immortality of the Soule: But not to enter into a labyrinth of discourse, ocular and ordinarie experience disproueth this opinion, and conuinceth the contrary; For it is well knowen that all men vnderstand not, nor reason not alike and after one maner, but with great diuersitie; yea one and the same man, may bee so changed, that at one time hee may reason better than at another; in one age, one estate and disposition better than in another; such a one better in health than in sicknesse, and another better in sickenesse than in health; one and the same man, at one and the same time, may bee strong in iudgement and weake in imagination. From whence can these diuersities and alterations proceed, but from the change and alteration of the state of the organ or instrument? From whence commeth it that drunkennes, the bite of a mad dog, a burning feuer, a blow on the head, a fume rising from the stomacke, and other accidents peruert and turne topsie tur­uy the iudgement, intellectuall spirit, and all the wisedome of Greece, yea constraine the Soule to dislodge from the body? These accidents being purely corporall cannot touch nor ariue to this high spirituall facultie of the reasonable soule, but only to the organs or instruments, which being corrup­ted, the Soule cannot well and regularly act & exercise it fun­ctions, & being violently inforced, is constraind either to ab­sent it selfe, or depart from the body. Againe, that the reason­able soule should haue need of the seruice of the instruments, doth no way preiudice the immortality thereof: for God ma­keth vse therof, & accommodates his actions; & as according to the diuersitie of the aire, region and climate, God brings foorth men very diuers in spirit and naturall sufficiency, as in Greece and Italy men more ingenious, than in Muscouy and Tartarie: So the spirit according to the diuersitie of the or­ganicall [Page 48] dispositions, and corporall instruments, discourseth better or worse. Now the instrument of the reasonable Soule, is the braine, and the temperature thereof, whereof wee are to speake.

Temperature is the mixture and proportion of the foure first qualities, Hot, Cold, Dry, Moist, and it may be a fift be­sides, 3 Of the Tem­perature of the braine, and the fa­culties there­of. which is the Harmonie of these foure. Now from the Temperature of the braine proceedeth all the state and acti­on of the reasonable Soule, but that which is the cause of great misery vnto man, is, that the three faculties of the rea­sonable Soule, Vnderstanding, Memorie, Imagination, do re­quire and exercise themselues by contrarie temperatures. The temperature which serueth, and is proper to the vnder­standing is drie, whereby it comes to passe that they that The vnder­standing dry. Old age. are striken in yeeres, doe excell those in their vnderstanding that are yoong, because in the braine as yeeres increase, so moisture decreaseth. So likewise melancholicke men, such as are afflicted with want, and fast much (for heauinesse and fasting are driers) are wise and ingenious, Splendor ficcus, ani­mus saptentissimus, vexatio dat intellectum: And beasts that are of a drie temperature, as Ants, Bees, Elephants, are wise and ingenious, as they that are of a moist temperature are stupid and without spirit, as Swine: And the Southerne peo­ple Southernes. of the world are drie, and moderate in the inward heat of the braine, by reason of their violent outward heat.

The temperature of the memorie is moist, whereof it is 2 The Memo­rie moist. Infancie. Septentrio­nals. that infants haue better memorie than old men, and the mor­ning after that humidity that is gotten by sleepe in the night, is more apt for memorie, which is likewise more vigorous in Northerne people. I heere vnderstand a moisture that is not waterish or distilling, wherein no impression may bee made, but airie, viscous, fat, and oilly, which easily recei­ueth, and strongly retaineth, as it is seene in pictures wrought in oile.

The temperature of the imagination is hot, from whence it commeth that franticke men, and such as are sicke of bur­ning 3 The imagi­nation hot Youth. maladies, are excellent in that that belongs to imagina­tion, as Poetry, Diuination, and that it hath greatest force in yoong men, and of middle yeeres (Poets and Prophets haue [Page 49] flourished in this age) and in the middle parts betwixt North The middle region. and South.

By this diuersitie of temperatures it commeth to passe, 4 A compari­son of the tempera­tures. that a man may be indifferent in all the three faculties, but not excellent; and that he that is excellent in any one of the three, is but weake in the rest: that the temperatures of the memorie and vnderstanding are very different and contrary, it is cleere, as drie and moist; as for the imagination, it seem­th not to be so contrary from the others, because heat is not incompatible with drouth and moisture: and yet notwith­standing experience sheweth, that they that excell in imagi­nation, are sicke in vnderstanding and memorie, and held for fooles and madde men: but the reason thereof is, because the great heat that serueth the imagination, consumeth both the moisture which serueth the memorie, and the subtilitie of the spirits and figures which should be in that drinesse which ser­ueth the vnderstanding, and so it is contrary, and destroyeth the other two.

By that which hath beene spoken it appeareth, that there 5 Three only tempera­tures. are but three principall temperatures, which serue and cause the reasonable Soule to worke, and distinguish the spirits, that is to say, Heat, Drinesse, Moisture: Colde is not actiue, nor serueth to any purpose, but to hinder all the motions and fun­ctions of the Soule: and when we finde in some authors, that Colde serueth the vnderstanding, and that they that haue colde braines, as Melancholike men and the Southerne, are wise and ingenious; there Colde is taken not simply, but for a great moderation of heat: for there is nothing more con­trary to the vnderstanding and to wisdome, than great heat, which contrariwise serueth the imagination. According to the three temperatures, there are three faculties of the rea­sonable Soule; but as the temperatures, so the faculties re­ceiue diuers degrees, subdiuisions and distinctions.

There are three principall offices and differences of vnder­standing, 6 Subdiuision of the fa­culties. to Infer, to Distinguish, to Chase: these Sciences which appertaine to the vnderstanding, are Schoole-Diuini­tie, the Theorike of Physicke, Logicke, Philosophie naturall and morall. There are three kindes of differences of memo­rie, easily to receiue and lose the figures, easily to receiue and [Page 50] hardly to lose, hardly to receiue and easily to lose. The Sci­ences of the memory are Grammar, the Theorike of the Law, Positiue Diuinitie, Cosmographie, Arithmeticke. Of the imagination there are many differences, and a farre greater number than either of the memorie or vnderstanding: to it doe properly appertaine, Inuentions, Merry-conceits and Iests, Tricks of subtilty, Fictions and Lies, Figures and com­parisons, Neatnesse, Elegancie, Gentilitie: because to it ap­pertaine, Poetrie, Eloquence, Musicke, and generally what­soeuer consisteth in Figure, Correspondencie, Harmonie and Proportion.

Hereby it appeareth that the viuacitie, subtiltie, prompti­tude, and that which the common sort call wit, belongs to a 7 The proprie­tie of the fa­culties and their order. hot imagination; soliditie, maturitie, veritie, to a drie vn­derstanding. The imagination is actiue and stirring, it is it that vndertaketh all, and sets all the rest a worke: the vnder­standing is dull and cloudie: the memorie is purely passiue, and see how: The imagination first gathereth the kinds and figures of things both present, by the seruice of the fiue sen­ses, and absent by the benefit of the common sense: after­wards it presenteth them, if it will, to the vnderstanding, which considereth of them, examineth, ruminateth, and iud­geth; afterwards it puts them to the safe custodie of the me­morie, as a Scriuener to his booke, to the end he may againe, if need shall require, draw them forth (which men common­ly call Reminiscentia, Remembrance) or els, if it will, it com­mits them to the memorie before it presents them to the vn­derstanding: for to recollect, represent to the vnderstanding, commit vnto memorie, and to draw them foorth againe, are all works of the imagination; so that to it are referred, the common Sense, the Fantasie, the Remembrance, and they are not powers separated from it, as some would haue it, to the end they may make more than three faculties of the rea­sonable Soule.

The common sort of people, who neuer iudge aright, doe 8 Their com­parison in dignitie. more esteeme of memorie, and delight more in it, than in the other two, because they haue much vse of counting, and it makes greater shew and stirre in the world; and they thinke, that to haue a good memorie is to be wise, esteeming more of [Page 51] Science than of Wisdome; but yet of the three it is the least, being such as may be euen in fooles themselues: for very sel­dome is an excellent memorie ioyned with vnderstanding and wisdome, because their temperatures are contrary. From this error of the common people comes that ill course, which euery where we see, in the instruction of our youth, who are alwayes taught to learne by heart (so they terme it) that which they reade in their books, to the end they may after­wards See of this lib. 3. c. 14. be able to repeat it; and so they fill and charge the me­morie with the good of another, and take no care to awaken and direct the vnderstanding, and to forme the iudgement, whereby he may be made able to make vse of his owne pro­per good, and his naturall faculties, which may make him wise and apt to all things: so that wee see that the greatest scholars, that haue all Aristotle and Cicero in their heads, are the veriest sots, and most vnskilfull in publike affaires, and the world is gouerned by those that know nothing. It is the opinion of all the wisest, that the vnderstanding is the first, the most excellent and principall piece of harnesse: if that speed well, all goes well, and a man is wise; and contrariwise, if that miscarrie, all goes acrosse. In the second place is the imagination: the memorie is the last.

All these differences, it may be, will be better vnderstood 9 An image of the three fa­culties of the Soule. by this similitude, which is a picture or imitation of the rea­sonable Soule. In euery Court of iustice there are three or­ders or degrees; the highest are the Iudges, with whom there is little stirre but great action, for without the mouing or stir­ring of themselues, they iudge, decide, order, determine of all things: this is the image of iudgement the highest part of the Soule. The second are the Aduocates and Procters, in whom there is great stirre and much adoe, without action, for it lies not in their power to dispatch or order any thing, only they hatch and prepare the businesse: this is the picture of the imagination, an vndertaking, vnquiet facultie, which neuer resteth, no not in the profoundest sleepe; and it makes a noise in the braine, like a pot that seetheth, but neuer set­leth. The third and last degree is the Scribe or Register of the Court, with whom there is no stirre nor action, but pure [Page 52] passion, as the Gardian or Custos of all things: and this re­presenteth the memorie.

The action of the reasonable Soule is the knowledge and 10 The action of the reaso­nable Soule. vnderstanding of all things: The Spirit of man is capable of vnderstanding all things, visible, muisible, vniuersall, par­ticular, sensible, insensible, intellectus est omnia: but it selfe ei­ther it vnderstands not at all, as some are of opinion (witnesse so great and almost infinite diuersitie of opinions thereof, as wee haue seene before by those doubts and obiections that haue alwayes crossed it) or very darkly, imperfectly, and in­directly, by reflexion of the knowledge of things vpon themselues, by which it perceiueth and knoweth that it vn­derstandeth, and hath power and facultie to vnderstand: this is the maner whereby the spirit knowes it selfe. The first so­ueraigne Spirit, GOD, doth first know himselfe, and after­wards in himselfe all things; the latter Spirit, Man, quite con­trarie, all other things rather than himselfe, and is in them as the eye in a glasse: how then should it act or worke in it selfe without meane, and by a strait line?

But the question is concerning the meane whereby it 11 The meane whereby it worketh. knoweth and vnderstandeth things. The common receiued opinion that came from Aristotle himselfe is, that the Spirit knoweth and vnderstandeth by the helpe and seruice of the Senses; that it is of it selfe as a white emptie paper, that no­thing commeth to the vnderstanding, which doth not first passe the Senses, Nil est in intellectu, quod non fuerit prius in sensu. But this opinion is false: first because (as all the wisest haue affirmed, and hath beene before touched) the seeds of all sciences and vertues are naturally dispersed and insinuated into our spirits, so that they may be rich and merry with their owne: and though they want that tillage that is fit, yet then they sufficiently abound. Besides it is iniurious both to God and Nature: for this were to make the state of the reasonable Soule worse than that of other things, than that of the vege­tatiue and sensitiue, which of themselues are wise enough to exercise their functions, as hath beene sayd; for beasts with­out the discipline of the senses know many things, the vni­uersals by the particulars, by the fight of one man they know [Page 53] all men, and are taught to auoid the danger of things hurt­full, and to seeke and to follow after that which is fit for them and their little ones. And it were a thing shamefull and ab­surd, that this so high and so diuine a facultie should begge it good of things so vile and corruptible as the senses, which do apprehend only the simple accidents, and not the formes, natures, essence of things, much lesse things vniuersall, the secrets of Nature, and all things insensible. Againe, if the Soule were made wise, by the aide of the senses, it would fol­low, that they that haue their senses most perfect and quicke, should be most wittie, most wise; whereas many times we see the cleane contrary, that their spirits are more dull, and more vnapt, and that many haue of purpose depriued them­selues of the vse of some of them, to the end the soule might better, and more freely execute it owne affaires. And if any man shall obiect, that the soule being wise by nature, and without the helpe of the senses, all men must necessarilie be wise, and alwayes vnderstand and reason alike: which being so, how commeth it about that there are so many dull pates in the world, and that they that vnderstand, exercise their functions more weakly at one time than at another, the vege­tatiue soule farre more strongly in youth, the reasonable soule more weakly than in olde age, and in a certaine state of health or sicknesse than at another time? I may answer, that the ar­gument is not good: for as touching the first, that is, That all men must be wise: I say that the facultie and vertue of vn­derstanding is not giuen alike vnto all, but with great inequa­litie, and therefore it is a saying as ancient as honorable, euen of the wisest, that the acting vnderstanding was giuen but to few; and this inequalitie proueth that Science comes not of sense: for as it hath been sayd, they that excell others in their senses, come short of others in their vnderstanding and Sci­ence. Touching the second, The reason why a man doth not exercise his functions alwayes after one maner, is because the instruments whereby the Soule must necessarily worke, can not alwayes be disposed as they should; and if they be for some speciall kinde of faculties or functions, yet not for o­thers. The temperature of the braine, by which the Soule worketh, is diuers and changeable; being hot and moist, in [Page 54] youth it is good for the vegetatiue, naught for the reasonable; and contrarily, being colde and drie, in olde age it is good for the reasonable, ill for the vegetatiue. The braine by a hot and burning maladie being heated and purified, is more fit for inuention and diuination, vnfit for maturitie and sound­nesse of iudgement and wisdome. By that which hath beene spoken let no man thinke, that I affirme that the spirit hath no seruice from the senses, which I confesse to be great espe­cially in the beginning, in the discouerie and inuention of things: but I say in the defence of the honor of the spirit, that it is false that it dependeth vpon the senses, and that we can not know any thing, vnderstand, reason, discourse without the sense: for contrariwise all knowledge comes from it, and the senses can do nothing without it.

The Spirit in this vnderstanding facultie proceedeth di­uersly, 12 and by order: It vnderstandeth at the first instant, simply and directly a Lion to be a Lion, afterwards by con­sequents that hee is strong: for seeing the effects of his strength, it concludeth that he is strong. By diuision or nega­tiue, it vnderstandeth a Hare to be fearefull; for seeing it flie and hide it selfe, it concludeth that a Hare is not strong, be­cause fearefull. It knoweth some by similitude, others by a collection of many things together.

CHAP. XIIII. Of the humane Spirit, the parts, functions, qualities, reason, inuention, veritie thereof.

THis humane Spirit, and Oeconomie of this great and high intellectuall part of the soule, is a depth of obscuritie, full of creeks and hidden corners, a confused and inuolued laby­rinth, and bottomlesse pit, consisting of many parts, facul­ties, actions, diuers motions, hauing many names, doubts and difficulties.

The first office thereof, is simply to receiue and apprehend the images and kindes of things, which is a kinde of passion 1 and impression of the Soule, occasioned by the obiects and the presence of them: this is imagination and apprehension.

The force and power thereof, to feed, to handle, to stirre, 2 [Page 55] to concoct, to digest the things receiued by the imagination, this is reason, [...].

The action and office, or exercise of this force and power, 3 which is to assemble, conioyne, separate, diuide the things receiued, and to adde likewise others: this is discourse, rea­soning, [...], quasi [...].

The subtile facilitie, and cheerefull readinesse to doe all 4 these things, and to penetrate into them, is called Spirit, In­genium; and therefore to be ingenious, sharpe, subtile, pier­cing, is all one.

The repetition and action of ruminating, reconcocting, 5 trying by the whetstone of reason, and reworking of it, to frame a resolution more solide: this is iudgement.

The effect in the end of the vnderstanding: this is know­ledge, 6 intelligence, resolution.

The action that followeth this knowledge and resolution, 7 which is to extend it selfe, to put forward, and to aduance the thing knowen: this is will. Intellectus extensus & pro­motus.

Wherefore all these things, Vnderstanding, Imagination, 8 Reason, Discourse, Spirit, Iudgement, Intelligence, Will, are one and the same Essence, but all diuers in force, vertue and acti­on: for a man may be excellent in one of them, and weake in another: and many times he that excelleth in Spirit and sub­tiltie, may be weake in iudgement and soliditie.

I let no man to sing, and set forth the praises and greatnesse 2 The generall description & commen­dation of the Spirit. of the Spirit of man, the capacitie, viuacitie, quickenesse thereof: let it be called the image of the liuing God, a taste of the immortall substance, a streame of the Diuinitie, a cele­stiall ray, whereunto God hath giuen reason, as an animated sterne to moue it by rule and measure, and that it is an instru­ment of a compleat harmonie; that by it there is a kinde of kindred betwixt God and man, and that he might often re­member him, he hath turned the root towards the heauens, to the end he should alwayes looke towards the place of his natiuitie: to be briefe, that there is nothing great vpon the earth but man, nothing great in man but his spirit: if a man ascend to it, he ascendeth aboue the heauens. These are all pleasing and plausible words whereof the Schooles do ring.

[Page 56] But I desire that after all this we come to sound and to stu­dy 3 The dis­praise. how to know this spirit, for wee shall finde after all this, that it is both to it selfe and to another a dangerous instru­ment, a ferret that is to be feared, a little trouble-feast, a te­dious and importune parasite, and which as a Iugler & plai­er at fast and loose, vnder the shadow of some gentle motion, subtile and smiling, forgeth, inuenteth, and causeth all the mis­chiefs of the world: & the truth is, without it there are none.

There is farre greater diuersitie of spirits than of bo­dies, 4 Diuersitie of distinctions of the spirit. See hereof more Chap. 39. so is there likewise a larger field to enter into, more parts and more formes or fashions to be spoken of: we may make three classes or formes, wherof each one hath many degrees: The first which is the lowest are those weake, base, and al­most brutish spirits, neere neighbours to beasts themselues, whether by reason of the first temper, that is to say, of the seede and temperature of the braine, either too cold or too moist, as amongst other creatures fishes are the lowest, or by reason that they haue not been in some sort remoued and re­viewed, but suffered to rust, and grow dull and stupid. Of these wee make no great account, as being vnfit to be order­ed and setled into any certaine and constant societie; because both for their owne particular they cannot possibly endure it, and it were necessary they should alwaies be vnder the tu­ition of another, this is the common and base people, qui vi­gilans stertit; mortua cui vita est; prope iam viuo atque videnti; which vnderstands not, iudgeth not it selfe. The second which is the highest, are those great and rare spirits, rather diuels than ordinary men, spirits well borne, strong and vi­gorous. Of these kinde of people, there was neuer age yet could tell how to build a common-weale. The third which is the middle, are all those indifferent spirits, whereof there are infinite degrees: of these almost is the whole world com­posed. Of this distinction and others, heereafter more at large. But we are to touch more particularly the conditions and nature of this spirit, as hard to be knowne, as a counte­nance 5 The particu­lar descrip­tion. Agent per­petuall. to be counterfeited to the life, which is alwaies in mo­tion.

First therefore it is a perpetuall agent, for the spirit cannot be without action, but rather then it will, it forgeth false and [Page 57] phantasticall subiects, in earnest deceiuing it selfe, euen to it owne discredit. As idle and vnmannured grounds, if they be fat and fertile, abound with a thousand kinds of wilde and vn. profitable hearbs, vntill they be sowed with other seeds; and women alone without the company of men, bring foorth sometimes great abundance of vnformed, indigested lumps of flesh: so the Spirit, if it be not busied about some certaine obiect, it runnes riot into a world of imaginations, and there is no folly nor vanity that it produceth not; and if it haue not a setled limit, it wandreth and loseth it selfe. For to be eue­ry where is to be no where. Motion and agitation is the true life and grace of the Spirit, but yet it must proceed from else­where, than from it selfe. If it be solitary, and wanteth a sub­iect to worke on, it creepeth along and languisheth; but yet it must not be enforced. For too great a contention and inten­tion of the Spirit ouer bent, and strained, deceiueth and trou­bleth the Spirit.

It is likewise vniuersall, it medleth and mingleth it selfe with all, it hath no limited subiect or iurisdiction. There is 6 Vniuersall. not any thing wherewith it plaieth not his part, as well to vaine subiects and of no account, as high and weighty, as well to those we can vnderstand, as those we vnderstand not: For to know that we cannot vnderstand, or pierce into the marrow or pith of a thing, but that we must sticke in the bone and barke thereof, is an excellent signe of iudgement; for sci­ence, yea truth it selfe, may lodge nere vs without iudgement, and iudgement without them, yea to know our owne igno­rance, is a faire testimony of iudgement.

Thirdly, it is prompt and speedy running in a moment 7 prompt and sudden. from the one end of the world to the other, without stay or rest, stirring it selfe and penetrating through euery thing, Nobilis & inquieta mens homini data est, nunquam se tenet; spar­gitur vaga, quiet is impatiens, nouitate rerum laetissima. Non mi­rum ex illo caelesti spiritu descendit, caelestium autem naturasemper in motuest. This great speed and quicknesse, this agility, this twinkling of the eie, as it is admirable, and one of the greatest wonders that are in the spirit, so it is a thing very dangerous, a great disposition and propension vnto folly and madnesse, as presently you shall heare.

[Page 58] By reason of these three conditions of the spirit, that is, a perpetuall agent without repose, vniuersall, prompt and sud­den, it hath beene accounted immortall, and to haue in it selfe some marke, and sparkle of diuinitie.

The action of the Spirit is alwayes to search, ferret, con­triue 8 The action of the Spi­rit. without intermission; like one famished for want of knowledge, to enquire and seeke, and therefore Homer calles men [...]. There is no end of our inquisitions: the pur­suites of the spirit of man are without limits, without forme: the food thereof is double ambiguitie; it is a perpetuall mo­tion without rest, without bound. The world is a schoole of inquisition; agitation and hunting is it proper dish: to take, or to faile of the pray, is another thing.

But it worketh and pursueth it enterprices, rashly, and irre­gularly, without order, and without measure, it is a wandring 9 It worketh rashly. instrument, mooueable, diuersly turning; it is an instrument of leade and of wax, it boweth and straitneth, applieth it selfe to all, more supple and facill than the water, the aire, flexibilis omni humore obsequentior, & vt spiritus qui omni materia facili­or vt tenuior; it is the shoo of Theramenes, fit for all. The cun­ning is to finde where it is, for it goes alwayes athwart, and crosse, as wel with a lie, as with a truth: it sporteth it selfe and findeth a seeming reason for euery thing; for it maketh that 10 Reason hath diuers faces. which is impious, vniust, abominable in one place, pietie, iu­stice and honour in another: neither can we name any law or custome, or condition, that is either generally receiued of all, or reiected; the marriage of those that are neere of blood, the murther of infants, parents, is condemned in one place, law­full in another. Plato refused an embrodered and perfumed robe offered him by Dionysius, saying that he was a man, and therefore would not adorne himselfe like a woman. Aristip­pus accepted of that robe, saying the outward acoutrement can not corrupt a chaste minde. Diogenes washing his cole­warts and seeing Aristippus passe by, sayd vnto him, If thou knewest how to liue with colewarts, thou wouldest neuer fol­low the Court of a Tyrant. Aristippus answered him, If thou knewest how to liue with Kings, thou wouldest neuer wash colewarts. One perswaded Solon to cease from the bewailing the death of his sonnes, because his teares did neither profit [Page 59] nor helpe him. Yea therefore, sayth he, are my teares iust, and I haue reason to weepe. The wife of Socrates redoubled her griefe, because the Iudges put her husband to death vn­iustly: What, saith he, wouldest thou rather I were iustly condemned? There is no good, sayth a wise man, but that, to the losse whereof a man is alwayes prepared, In aequo enim est dolor amissae rei, & timor amittendae. Quite contrary, faith an­other, we embrace and locke vp that good a great deale the more carefully, which we see lesse sure, and alwaies feare will be taken from vs. A Cynique Philosopher demanded of An­tigonus the King, a dram of siluer. That, sayth he, is no gift fit for a King. Why then giue me a talent, sayth the Philoso­pher. And that, saith the King, is no gift fit for a Cynique. One sayd of a King of Sparta that was gentle and debonaire, Hee is a good man euen to the wicked. How should hee be good vnto the wicked, saith another, if he be not wicked with the wicked. So that we see that the reason of man hath many visages: it is a two-edged sword, a staffe with two pikes, Ogni medaglia ha il suo riuerso. There is no reason but hath a con­trary reason, sayth the soundest and surest Philosopher.

Now this volubilitie and flexibilitie proceedeth from ma­ny 11 causes; from the perpetuall alteration and motion of the bodie, which is neuer twice in a mans life in one and the same estate; from the obiects which are infinite, the aire it selfe, and the serenitie of the heauen,

and all outward things: inwardly from those shakings and tremblings which the Soule giues vnto it selfe by the agitati­on, and stirreth vp by the passions thereof: insomuch that it beholdeth things with diuers countenances; for whatsoeuer is in the world hath diuers lustures, diuers considerations. Epictetus sayd it was a pot with two hands. He might better haue sayd with many.

The reason heereof is, because it entangleth it selfe in it 12 The reason of this in­tanglement. owne worke like the Silke-worme: for as it thinketh to note from farre, I know not what appearance of light, and imagi­narie truth, and flies vnto it: there are many difficulties that [Page 60] crosse the way, new sents that inebriate and bring it forth of the way.

The end at which it aimeth is twofold, the one more com­mon and naturall, which is Trueth, which it searcheth and 13 The end is verity which it can nei­ther attaine nor finde. pursueth; for there is no desire more naturall than to know the trueth: we assay all the meanes we can to attaine vnto it, but in the end all our endeuours come short; for Truth is not an ordinarie bootie, or thing that will suffer it selfe to be got­ten and handled, much lesse to be possessed by any humane Spirit. It lodgeth within the bosom of God, that is her cham­ber, Reade before Chap. 9. her retiring place. Man knoweth not, vnderstandeth not any thing aright, in puritie and in trueth as he ought: appea­rances doe alwayes compasse him on euery side, which are as well in those things that are false as true. We are borne to search the truth, but to possesse it, belongeth to a higher and greater power. Truth is not his that thrusts himselfe into it, but his that runnes the fairest course towards the marke. When it falles out that he hits vpon a trueth, it is by chance and hazzard, he knowes not how to holde it, to possesse it, to distinguish it from a lie. Errours are receiued into our soule, by the selfe same way and conduit that the truth is; the spirit hath no meanes either to distinguish or to chuse: and as well may he play the sot, that telles a trueth as a lie. The meanes that it vseth for the discouerie of the truth, are reason and ex­perience, both of them very weake, vncertaine, diuers, waue­ring. The greatest argument of truth, is the generall consent of the world: now the number of fooles doth farre exceed the number of the wise, and therefore how should that gene­rall consent be agreed vpon, but by corruption and an ap­plause giuen without iudgement and knowledge of the cause, and by the imitation of some one that first began the dance.

The other end lesse naturall, but more ambitious, is Inuen­tion, 14 The second end Inuen­tion. vnto which it tendeth as to the highest point of honor, to the end it may raise it selfe and preuaile the more: this is that which is in so high account, that it seemeth to be an i­mage of the Diuinitie. From the sufficiencie of this inuenti­on, haue proceeded all those works, which haue rauished the whole world with admiration; which if they be such as are [Page 61] for the publike benefit, they haue deified their Authours. Those works that shew rather finenesse of wit than bring profit with them, are painting, caruing, Architecture, the art Perspectiue, as the vine of Zeuxis, the Venus of Apelles, the image of Memnon, the horse of A [...]ain, the woodden pi­geon of Architas, the cow of Myron, the flie and the eagle of Montroyall, the spheare of Sapor King of the Persians, and that of Archimides with his other engins. Now art and inuen­tion The praise of inuen­tion. seeme not onely to imitate Nature, but to excell it, and that not only in the indiuiduum or particular (for there is not any bodie either of man or beast, so vniuersally well made, as by art may be shewed) but also many things are done by art, which are not done by nature: I meane besides those compo­sitions and mixtures, which are the true diet, and proper sub­iect of art, those distillations of waters and oiles, made of sim­ples, which Nature frameth not. But in all this there is no such cause of admiration as we thinke; and to speake proper­ly and truly, there is no inuention but that which God reuea­leth: for such as we account and call so, are but obseruations of naturall things, arguments and conclusions drawen from them, as Painting and the art Opticke from shadowes, Sun­dials from the shadowes of trees, the grauing of seales from precious stones.

By all this that hath before beene spoken, it is easie to see 15 The Spirit very dan­gerous. how rash and dangerous the spirit of man is, especially if it be quicke and vigorous: for being so industrious, so free and vniuersall, making it motions so irregularly, vsing it libertie so boldly in all things, not tying it selfe to any thing; it easi­ly shaketh the common opinions, and all those rules where­by it should be bridled and restrained as an vniust tyranny: it will vndertake to examine all things, to iudge the greatest part of things plausibly receiued in the world, to be ridicu­lous and absurd; and finding for all an appearance of reason, will defend it selfe against all, whereby it is to be feared that it wandreth out of the way and loseth it selfe: and we can not but see that they that haue any extraordinary viuacity and rare excellency (as they that are in the highest roofe of that middle Classis before spoken of) are for the most part law­lesse both in opinions and maners. There are very few of [Page 62] whose guide and conduct a man may trust, and in the liber­tie of whose iudgements a man may wade without temeritie, beyond the common opinion. It is a miracle to finde a great and liuely spirit, well ruled and gouerned: it is a dangerous sword which a man knowes not well how to guide; for from whence come all those disorders, reuolts, heresies and trou­bles in the world, but for this? Magni errores non nisi ex ma­gnis ingenijs: nihil sapientiae o diosius acumine nimio. Doubtlesse that man liues a better time, and a longer life, is more happie and farre more fit for the gouernment of a Common-wealth, sayth Thucydides, that hath an indifferent spirit, or some­what beneath a mediocritie, than he that hath a spirit so ele­uated and transcendent, that it serues not for any thing but the torment of himselfe and others. From the firmest friend­ships do spring the greatest enmities, and from the soundest health the deadliest maladies: and euen so, from the rarest and quickest agitation of our soules the most desperate reso­lutions and disorderly frensies. Wisdome and follie are neere neighbors; there is but a halfe turne betwixt the one and the other; which we may easily see in the actions of madde men. Philosophie teacheth, that Melancholy is proper to them both. Whereof is framed the finest follie, but of the finest wit? And therefore, sayth Aristotle, there is no great spirit without some mixture of follie. And Plato telleth vs, that in vaine a temperate and sound spirit knocketh at the doore of Poetrie. And in this sense it is, that the wisest and best Poets doe loue sometimes to play the foole, and to leape out of the hindges. Insanire iucundum est, dulce desipere in loco: non potest grande & sublime quidquam nisi mota mens, & quamdiu apud se est.

And this is the cause why man hath good reason to keepe it within narrow bounds, to bridle and binde it with Religi­ons, 16 It must be bridled, & why., Lawes, Customes, Sciences, Precepts, Threatnings, Pro­mises mortall and immortall, which notwithstanding yet we see, that by a lawlesse kinde of libertie it freeth it selfe, and escapeth all these; so vnruly is it by nature, so fierce, so opi­natiue: and therefore it is to be led by art, since by force it can not. Natura contumax est animus humanus, in contrarium at (que) arduum nitens, sequitur (que) faciliùs quam ducitur, vt generosi Seneca. [Page 63] & nobiles equi melius facili fraeno reguntur. It is a surer way gently to tutor it, and to lay it asleepe, than to suffer it to wan­der at it owne pleasure: for if it be not well and orderly go­uerned, (as they of the highest classis which before we spake of) or weake, and soft and pliant (as those of the lower ranke) it will lose it selfe in the libertie of it owne iudgement: and therefore it is necessary that it be by some meanes or other held backe, as hauing more need of lead than wings, of a bri­dle than of a spurre; which the great Lawyers and Founders of States did especially regard, as well knowing, that people of an indifferent spirit, liued in more quiet and content, than the ouer-quicke and ingenious. There haue been more trou­bles and seditions in ten yeeres in the only citie of Florence, than in fiue hundred yeeres in the countreys of the Helueti­ans and the Retians. And to say the trueth, men of a common sufficiencie are more honest, better citizens, more pliant, and willing to submit themselues to the yoke of the lawes, their superiours, reason it selfe, than those quicke and cleere sight­ed men, that can not keepe themselues within their owne skinnes. The finest wits are not the wisest men.

The Spirit hath it maladies, defects, tares or refuse as well 17 The defect of the spirit. as the body and much more, more dangerous and more incu­rable: but that wee may the better know them, we must di­stinguish them: Some are accidentall, and which come from Accidentall proceeding from three causes. elsewhere, and those arise from three causes; the disposition of the bodie, for it is manifest that the bodily maladie which alter the temperature thereof, do likewise alter the spirit and iudgement; or from the ill composition of the substance of 1. The body. the braine, and organs of the reasonable Soule, whether it be by reason of their first formation, as in those that haue their heads ill made, either too round, or too long, or too little, or by accident of some blow or wound. The second is the vni­uersall contagion of vulgar and erroneous opinions in the 2. The world. world, wherewith the Spirit being preoccupated, tainted, and ouercome, or which is worse, made drunken, and mana­cled with certain fantasticall opinions, it euer afterwards fol­loweth & iudgeth according to them, without regard either of farther enquiry, or recoiling backe: from which danger­ous [Page 64] deluge all spirits haue not force and strength to defend themselues.

The third much more neere, is the maladie and corrupti­on 3. The passi­ons. of the will, and the force of the passions, this is a world turned topsie turuy: the wil is made to follow the vnderstan­ding as a guide and lampe vnto it; but being corrupted and seased on by the force of the passions (or rather by the fall of our first father Adam) doth likewise perhaps corrupt the vn­derstanding, and so from hence come the greatest part of our erroneous iudgements: Enuie, Malice, Hatred, Loue, Feare, make vs to respect, to iudge, to take things others than they are, & quite otherwise than we ought, from whence commeth that common crie, Iudge without passion. From hence it is that the beautifull and generous actions of another man are obscured by vile and base misconstructions, that vaine and wicked causes & occasions are feined. This is a great vice and a proofe of a malignant nature and sicke iudgement, in which there is neither great subtiltie nor sufficiencie, but malice e­nough. This proceedeth either from the enuy they beare to the glorie of another man, or because they iudge of others ac­cording to themselues, or because they haue their taste alter­ed and their sight so troubled, that they cannot discerne the cleere splendour of vertue in it natiue purity. From this selfe same cause and source it commeth, that we make the vertues and vices of another man to preuaile so much, and extend them farther than we ought, that from particularities wee draw consequents and generall conclusions: if he be a friend, all sits well about him, his vices shall be vertues: if he be an enemie or of a contrary faction, there is nothing good in him: insomuch that we shame our owne iudgement, to smooth vp our owne passions. But this rests not heere, but goeth yet far­ther; for the greatest part of those impieties, heresies, errours in our faith and religion, if we looke well into it, is sprung from our wicked and corrupt willes, from a violent and vo­luptuous Exod. 31. 2. Paral. 15. 3. Reg. 15. August. lib. 2. De ciui­tate Dei. passion, which afterwards draweth vnto it the vn­derstanding it selfe, Sedit populus manducare & bibere &c. quod vult non quod est credit, qui cupit errare: in such sort that what was done in the beginning with some scruple and doubt, hath [Page 65] beene afterwards held and maintained for a veritie and reue­lation from heauen: that which was onely in the sensualitie, hath taken place in the highest part of the vnderstanding: that which was nothing els but a passion and a pleasure, hath beene made a religious matter and an article of faith: so strong and dangerous is the contagion of the faculties of the Soule amongst themselues. These are the three outward cau­ses of the faults and miscariages of the Spirit, iudgement and vnderstanding of man, The body, especially the head, sicke, or wounded, or ill fashioned; The world with the anticipated opinions and suppositions thereof; The ill estate of the other faculties of the reasonable Soule, which are all inferiour vnto it. The first are pitifull, and some of them to be cured, some not: the second are excusable and pardonable: the third are accusable and punishable for suffring such a disorder so neere them as this is; those that should obey the law, to take vpon them to giue the law.

There are other defects of the Spirit, which are more natu­rall vnto it, and in it. The greatest and the root of all the rest 18 Naturall. is pride and presumption (the first and originall fault of all the world, the plague of all spirits, and the cause of all euils) by which a man is only content with himselfe, will not giue place to another, disdaineth his counsels, reposeth himselfe in his owne opinions, takes vpon him to iudge and condemne o­thers, yea euen that which he vnderstands not. It is truly said, that the best and happiest distribution that God euer made, is of iudgement, because euery man is content with his owne, and thinkes he hath inough. Now this malady proceedeth from the ignorance of our selues. We neuer vnderstand suffi­ciently and truly the weaknesse of our spirit: but the greatest disease of the spirit is ignorance, not of Arts and Sciences, and what is included in the writings of others, but of it selfe, for which cause this first booke hath beene written.

CHAP. XV. Of Memory.

MEmory is many times taken by the vulgar sort for the sense and vnderstanding, but not so truly and proper­ly: [Page 66] for both by reason (as hath beene said) and by experi­ence, the excellency of the one is ordinarily accompanied with the weaknesse of the other, and to say the truth it is a fa­culty very profitable for the world, but yet comes far short of the vnderstanding and of all the parts of the Soule is the more delicate, and most fraile. The excellency thereof is not very requisite, but to three sorts of people: Merchants or men of Trade, great talkers, (for the storehouse of the memory is more full and furnished, than that of inuention, for hee that wants it comes short, and must be faine to frame his speech out of the forge of his owne inuention) and liars, mendacem o­portet esse memorem. From the want of memory proceed these commodities: to lie seldome, to talke little, to forget offences. An indifferent memory sufficeth for all.

CHAP. XVI. Of the imagination and opinion.

THe imagination is a thing very strong and powerfull, it 1 is it that makes all the stirre, all the clarter, yea the per­turbation of the world proceeds from it (as we haue sayd be­fore, it is either the onely, or at least the most actiue and stir­ring The effects of the ima­gination maruellous. facultie of the Soule). The effects thereof are maruel­lous and strange: it worketh not only in it owne proper bo­die and Soule, but in that of another man, yea it produceth contrary effects: it makes a man blush, wax pale, tremble, dote, to wauer; these are the least and the best: it takes away the power and vse of the ingendring parts, yea when there is most need of them, and is the cause why men are more sharpe and austere, not only towards themselues but others, witnesse those ties and bands whereof the world is full, which are for the most part impressions of the apprehension and of feare. And contrariwise, without endeuor, without obiect, & euen in sleepe it satisfieth the amorous desires, yea changeth the sex, witnesse Lucius Cossitius, whom Pliny affirmeth to haue seene to be changed from a woman to a man, the day of his mariag; and diuers the like: it marketh sometimes ignomi­niously, yea it killeth and makes abortiue the fruit within the wombe; it takes away a mans speech, and giues it to him that [Page 67] neuer had it, as to the sonne of Croesus: it taketh away moti­on, sense, respiration. Thus we see how it worketh in the bo­die. Touching the Soule: it makes a man to lose his vnder­standing, his knowledge, iudgement; it turnes him foole and mad-man, witnesse Gallus Vibius, who hauing ouer-bent his spirits in comprehending the essence and motions offollie, so dislodged and disiointed his owne iudgement, that he could neuer settle it againe: it inspireth a man with the foreknow­ledge of things secret and to come, and causeth those inspira­tions, praedictions, and maruellous inuentions, yea it rauisheth with extasies: it killeth not seemingly but in good earnest, witnesse that man whose eyes being couered to receiue his death, and vncouered againe to the end he might reade his pardon, was found starke dead vpon the scaffold. To be briefe, from hence spring the greatest part of those things which the common sort of people call miracles, visions, en­chantments. It is not alwayes the diuell, or a familiar spirit, as now adaies the ignorant people thinke, when they can not finde the reason of that they see; nor alwayes the spirit of God (for these supernaturall motions we speake not of heere) but for the most part it is the effect of the imagination, or long of the agent who sayth & doth such things; or of the patient and spectator, who thinks he seeth that he seeth not. It is an excellent thing and necessary in such a case, to know wisely how to discerne the reason thereof, whether it be naturall or supernaturall, false or true, Discretio spirituum, and not to pre­cipitate our iudgements, as the most part of the common people do by the want thereof.

In this part and facultie of the soule doth opinion lodge, which is a vaine, light, crude and imperfect iudgement of things drawen from the outward senses, and common re­port, setling and holding it selfe to be good in the imaginati­on, and neuer arriuing to the vnderstanding, there to be exa­mined, sifted, and laboured; and to be made reason, which is a true, perfect and solide iudgement of things: and there­fore it is vncertaine, inconstant, fleeting, deceitfull, a very ill and dangerous guide, which makes head against reason, whereof it is a shadow and image, though vaine and vntrue. It is the mother of all mischiefs, confusions, disorders: from [Page 68] it spring all passions, all troubles. It is the guide of fooles, sots, the vulgar sort, as reason of the wise and dexterious.

It is not the trueth and nature of things which doth thus 3 The world is lead by opi­nion. stirre and molest our soules, it is opinion, according to that ancient saying; Men are tormented by the opinions that they haue of things, not by the things themselues. Opinione saepiùs, quàm re laboramus: plura sunt quae nos tenent, quàm quae pre­munt. The veritie and Essence of things entreth not into vs, nor lodgeth neere vs of it selfe, by it owne proper strength and authoritie: for were it so, all things should be receiued of all, all alike, and after the same fashion; all should be of like credit, and truth it selfe, which is neuer but one and vniforme, should be embraced thorowout the whole world. Now for­asmuch as there is so great a varietie, yea contrarietie of opi­nions in the world, and there is not any thing concerning which all doe generally accord, no not the wisest and best borne and bred; it giueth vs to vnderstand, that things enter into vs by composition, yeelding themselues to our mercie and deuotion, and lodging themselues neere vnto vs, accor­ding to our pleasure, and humour and temper of our soules. That which I beleeue, I can not make my companion be­leeue; but, which is more, what I doe firmly beleeue to day, I can not assure my selfe that I shall beleeue to morrow: yea it is certaine that at another time I shall iudge quite other­wise. Doubtlesse euery thing taketh in vs such place, such a taste, such a colour, as wee thinke best to giue vnto it, and such as the inward constitution of the soule is, omnia munda mundis, immunda immundis. As our apparell and accoutre­ments do as well warme vs, not by reason of their heat, but our owne, which they preserue, as likewise nourish the cold­nesse of the ice and snow; we doe first warme them with our heat, and they in recompence thereof preserue our heat.

Almost all the opinions that wee haue, wee haue not but from authoritie: we beleeue, we iudge, we worke, we liue, we die and all vpon credit, euen as the publike vse and cu­stome teacheth vs; and we doe well therein: for we are too weake to iudge and chuse of our selues; no the wise do it not, Lib. 1. chap. 1. & 2. as shall be spoken.

CHAP. XVII.

CHAP. XVIII.

CHAP. XIX. Of Loue in generall.

THe first and chiefe mistresse of all the passions is Loue, The distin­ction of loue and compa­rison. which consisteth of diuers subiects, and whereof there are diuers sorts and degrees. There are three principall kinds vnto which all the rest are referred (we speake of the vitious and passionate loue, for of the vertuous, which is Amitie, Charitie, Dilection, we will speake in the vertue of Iustice) Lib. 3. that is to say, Ambition or Pride, which is the loue of great­nesse and honour; Couetousnesse, the loue of riches; and vo­luptuous or carnall loue. Beholde heere the three gulfes, and precipitate steepes, from which, few there are that can de­fend themselues: the three plagues and infections of all that we haue in hand, the minde, bodie and goods: the armories of those three captaine enemies of the health and quiet of mankinde, the Diuell, the flesh, the world. These are in truth three powers, the most common and vniuersall passions: and therefore the Apostle hath diuided into these three, whatsoe­uer is in the world, Quicquid est in mundo, est concupiscentia oculorum, aut carnis, aut superbia vitae. Ambition, as more spi­rituall, so it is more high and noble than the others. Volup­tuous loue, as more naturall and vniuersall (for it is euen in beasts themselues, where the rest are not) so it is more vio­lent, [Page 76] and lesse vitious: I say simply violent, for sometimes Ambition excelles it: but this is some particular maladie. Couetousnesse of all the rest is the sickest and most sottish.

CHAP. XX. Of Ambition.

AMbition (which is a thirst after honour and glorie, a 1 The descrip­tion. gluttonous and excessiue desire of greatnesse) is a sweet and pleasing passion, which distilleth easily into generous spirits, but is not without paine got forth againe. We thinke it is our dueties to embrace what is good, and amongst those good things, we account of honour more than them all. See heere the reason, why with all our strength wee run vnto it. An ambitious man will alwayes be the first, he neuer lookes backward, but still forward to those that are before him: and it is a greater griefe vnto him to suffer one to go beyond him, than it is pleasure vnto him, to leaue a thousand behind him. Habet hoc vitium omnis ambitio, non respicit. It is twofolde: Seneca. the one of glory and honor, the other of greatnesse and com­mand: that is profitable to the world, and in some sense per­mitted, as shall be proued: this pernitious.

The seed and root of ambition is naturall in vs. There is a 2 It is natural. prouerbe that saith, That Nature is content with a little: and another quite contrarie, That Nature is neuer satisfied, neuer content: but it still desireth, hath a will to mount higher, and to enrich it selfe, and it goeth not a slow pace neither, but with a loose bridle it runneth headlong to greatnesse and glorie. Natura nostra imperij est auida, & ad implendum cupidi­tatem praeceps. And with such force and violence doe some men runne, that they breake their owne necks, as many great men haue done, euen at the dawning as it were, and vpon the point of entrance and full fruition of that greatnesse which hath cost them so deare. It is a naturall and very powerfull passion, and in the end is the last that leaueth vs: and there­fore one calleth it, The shirt of the soule: because it is the last vice it putteth off. Etiam sapientibus cupido gloriae nouissima Tacitus. exuitur.

Ambition, as it is the strongest and most powerfull passion 3 [Page 77] that is, so is it the most noble and haughty; the force and pu­issance The force and primacy thereof. thereof is shewed, in that it mastereth and surmount­eth all other things, euen the strongest of the world, yea all o­ther passions and affections, euen loue it selfe, which seemeth neuerthelesse to contend with it for the Primacy. As we may see in all the great men of the world, Alexander, Scipio, Pom­pey, and many other, who haue couragiously refused to touch the most beautifull damosels, that were in their power, bur­ning neuerthelesse with ambition; yea that victory they had ouer loue, serued their ambition, especially in Caesar: For ne­uer was there a man more giuen to amorous delights, euen of all sexes, and all sorts of people, witnesse so many exploits both at Rome and in strange countries, nor more carefull and curious in adorning his person; yet ambition did alwaies so carry him, that for his amorous pleasures hee neuer lost an houre of time which he might employ to the inlargement of his greatnesse, for ambition had the soueraigne place in him, and did fully possesse him. We see on the other side that in Marcus Antonius and others, the force of loue hath made them to forget the care and conduct of their affaires. But yet both of them being weighed in equall ballance, ambition carieth away the price. They that hold that loue is the stron­ger, say that both the soule and the body, the whole man, is possessed by it, yea that health it selfe dependeth thereup­on. But contrariwise it seemeth that ambition is the stronger, because it is altogether spirituall. And in as much as loue pos­sesseth the body, it is therefore the more weake, because it is subiect to saciety, and therefore capable of remedies, both corporall, naturall and strange, as experience sheweth of ma­ny, who by diuers meanes haue alaied, yea quite extinguished the force and fury of this passion; but ambition is not capable of saciety, yea it is sharpned by the fruition of that it desireth, and there is no way to extinguish it, being altogether in the soule it selfe and in the reason.

It doth likewise vanquish loue and robbeth it, not onlie of it health and tranquillity (for glory & tranquillity are things 4 The care of life. that cannot lodge together) but also of it owne proper life, as Agrippina the mother of Nero doth plainly proue, who desi­ring and consulting with others to make hir sonne Emperour, [Page 78] and vnderstanding that it could not bee done, but with the losse of her owne life, she answered, as if ambition it selfe had spoken it, Occidar modò imperet.

Thirdly, Ambition enforceth all the lawes, and conscience it selfe; the learned haue said of ambition, that it is the part 5 The lawes. of euery honest man alwaies to obey the lawes, except it bee in a case of soueraignty for a kingdome which only deserueth a dispensation, being so dainty a morsell, that it cannot but breake a mans fast, Si violandum est ius, regnandi caussa vio­landum est, in caeteris pietatem colas.

It likewise trampleth vnder foote and contemneth the re­uerence 6 Religion. & respect of religion, witnesse Ieroboam, Mahumet, who neuer tooke thought for religion, but tolerated all reli­gions so he might raigne: and all those arch-hereticks who haue liked better to be chiefe leaders in errours and lies with a thousand disorders, than to be disciples of the trueth: and therfore saith the Apostle, that they that suffer themselues to 1. Tim. 6. bee puffed vp with this passion and affection, make ship­wracke, and wander from the faith, piercing themselues tho­row with many sorowes.

To be short, it offereth violence euen to the lawes of Na­ture it selfe. This hath beene the cause of so many murders 7 It enforceth Nature. of parents, infants, brothers; witnesse Absalon, Abimelech, Athalias, Romulus, Sei King of the Persians, who killed both his father and brother, Soliman the Great Turke his two bro­thers. So that nothing is able to resist the force of ambition, it beats all to the ground, so high and haughtie is it. It lod­geth only in great mindes, euen in the Angels themselues.

Ambition is not the vice or passion of base companions, 8 It is a lofty passion. nor of common or small attempts, and dayly enterprises: Renowne and glorie doth not prostitute it selfe to so base a price; it pursueth not those things that are simply and solely good and profitable, but those that are rare, high, difficult, strange and vnusuall. That great thirst after honour and re­putation, that casts downe a man, and makes him a begger, and to ducke and stoop to all sorts of people, & by all means, yea the most abiect, at what base price soeuer, is vile and dis­honourable: it is a shame and dishonour so to be honoured. A man must not be greedie of greater glorie than he is capa­ble [Page 79] of; and to swell and to be puffed vp for euery good and profitable action, is to shew his taile while hee lifts vp his head.

Ambition hath many and diuers waies, and is practised by diuers meanes: there is one way strait and open, such as 9 It hath di­uers waies. Alexander, Caesar, Themistocles tooke; there is another ob­lique and hidden, which many philosophers and professors of pietie haue taken, who goe forwards by going backward, goe before others by going behind them, not vnlike to wier­drawers, who draw and goe backward; they would faine be glorious by contemning glory. And to say the trueth, there is greater glory in refusing and trampling glory vnder foot, than in the desire and fruition thereof, as Plato told Diogenes. And ambition is neuer better caried, better guided, than by wandering, and vnusuall wayes.

Ambition is a follie and a vanitie, for it is as much as if a 10 It is a folly. man should run to catch the smoake in stead of the light, the shadow in stead of the bodie, to fasten the contentment of his minde vpon the opinion of the vulgar sort, voluntarily to re­nounce his owne libertie, to follow the passions of others, to enforce himselfe to displease himselfe; for the pleasure of the beholders, to let his owne affections depend vpon the eyes of another; so farre foorth to loue vertue as may be to the li­king of the common sort; to doe good not for the loue of good, but reputation. This is to be like vnto vessels when they are pierced, a man can draw nothing foorth before hee giue thm a vent.

Ambition hath no limits, it is a gulfe that hath neither 11 It is insati­able. brinke nor bottome; it is that vacuitie which the Philoso­phers could neuer finde in Nature; a fire which encreaseth by that nourishment that is giuen vnto it. Wherein it truly pai­eth his master: for ambition is only iust in this, that it suffi­ceth for his owne punishment, and is executioner to it selfe. The wheele of Ixion is the motion of his desires, which turne and returne vp and downe, neuer giuing rest vnto his minde.

They that will flatter ambition, say it is a seruant or helpe vnto vertue, and a spurre to beautifull actions; for it quitteth 12 The excuses of ambition vaine. a man of all other sinnes, and in the end, of himselfe too; and all for vertue: but it is so farre from this, that it hideth some­times [Page 80] our vices, but it takes them not away, but it couereth or rather hatcheth them for a time vnder the deceitfull cin­ders of a malicious hypocrisie, with hope to set them on fire altogether, when they haue gotten authoritie sufficient to raigne publikely and with impietie. Serpents lose not their venim, though they be frozen with colde, nor an ambitious man his vices though with a colde dissimulation hee couer them: for when he is arriued to that pitch of height that he desired, he then makes them feele what he is. And though ambition quit a man of all other vices, yet it neuer taketh a­way it selfe. An ambitious man putteth himselfe foorth to great and honourable actions, the profit whereof returneth to the publike good, but yet he is neuer the better man that performes them, because they are not the actions of vertue but of passion, no though that saying be often in his mouth, We are not borne for our selues but the weale publike. The meanes men vse to mount themselues to high estate, and their carriages in their states and charges, when they are arriued thereunto, do sufficiently shew what men they are, and their owne consciences telles the most that follow that dance, that howsoeuer the publike good be their outward colour, yet their owne particular is that they intend.

Particular aduisements and remedies against this euill you shall finde Lib. 3. cap. 42.

CHAP. XXI. Of Couetousnesse and her counter-passion.

TO loue and affect riches is couetousnesse; not only the 1 What it is. loue and affection, but also euery ouer-curious care and industrie about riches; yea their dispensations themselues and libertie, with art and too much attention procured, haue a sent of couetousnesse: for they are not woorthie an earnest care and attention.

The desire of goods and the pleasure we take in possessing 2 The force thereof. of them is grounded only vpon opinion. The immoderate desire to get riches is a gangreene in our soule, which with a venimous heat consumeth our naturall affections, to the end it might fill vs with virulent humours. So soone as it is lod­ged [Page 81] in our hearts, all honest and naturall affection which we owe either to our parents or friends, or our selues, vanisheth away. All the rest in respect of our profit seemeth nothing, yea we forget in the end, and contemne our selues, our bo­dies, our mindes, for this transitory trash, and as the Prouerbe is, We sell our horse to get vs hay.

Couetousnesse is the vile and base passion of vulgar fooles, 3 The follie & miserie of couetousnesse in fine points who account riches the principall good of man, and feare pouertie as the greatest euill; and not contenting themselues with necessarie meanes, which are forbidden no man, weigh that is good in a Goldsmiths ballance, when nature hath taught vs to measure it by the ell of necessitie. For what grea­ter follie can there be, than to adore that which Nature it selfe hath put vnder our feet, and hidden in the bowels of the earth as vnworthy to be seene, yea rather to be contemned, and trampled vnder foot? This is that that the only sinne of man hath torne out of the intrailes of the earth, and brought vnto light, to kill himselfe. In lucem propter quae pugnaremus excutimus: nonerube scimus summa apud nos haberi, quae fue­runt ima terrarum. Nature seemeth euen in the first birth of golde, and wombe from whence it proceedeth, after a sort to haue presaged the miserie of those that are in loue with it: for it hath so ordered the matter, that in those countreys where it groweth, there growes with it neither grasse, nor plant, nor other thing that is woorth any thing, as giuing vs to vnder­stand thereby, that in those mindes where the desire of this mettall growes, there can not remaine so much as a sparke of true honour and vertue: for what thing can be more base, than for a man to disgrade, and to make himselfe a seruant and a slaue to that, which should be subiect vnto him? Apud sapientem diuitiae sunt in seruitute, apud stultum in imperio. For a couetous man serues his riches, not they him, and he is sayd to haue goods as he hath a feuer, which holdeth and tyran­niseth ouer a man, not he ouer it. What thing more vile than to loue that which is not good, neither can make a good man, yea is common, and in the possession of the most wicked of the world, which many times peruert good maners, but ne­uer amend them? Without which so many wise men haue made themselues happy, and by which many wicked men [Page 82] haue come to a miserable end. To be briefe, what thing more miserable than to binde the liuing vnto the dead, as Mezen­tius did, to the end their death might be languishing and the more cruell; to tie the spirit to the excrement and scumme of the earth; to pierce throw his owne soule with a thousand torments, which this amourous passion of riches brings with it; and to intangle himselfe with the ties and cords of this malignant thing, as the Scripture calleth them, which doth likewise terme them thornes, and theeues which steale away the heart of man, snares of the Diuell, idolatrie, and the root of all euill. And truly he that shall see the Catalogue of those enuies and molestations which riches ingender within the heart of man, as their proper thunder-bolt and lightning, they would be more hated than they are now loued. Desunt inopiae multa, auaritiae omnia: in nullum auarus bonus est, in se pessimus.

There is another contrary passion to this, and vicious, to hate riches, and to spend them prodigally; this is to refuse 4 The counter­passion to co­uetousnesse. the meanes to doe well, to put in practise many vertues, and to flie that labour which is farre greater in the true command and vse of riches, than in not hauing them at all; to gouerne himselfe better in abundance than in pouertie. In this there is but one kinde of vertue, which is, not to faint in courage, but to continue firme and constant. In abundance there are many, Temperance, Moderation, Liberalitie, Diligence, Pru­dence, and so forth. There, more is not expressed, but that he looke to himselfe: heere, that he attend first himselfe, and then the good of others. He that is spoiled of his goods hath the more libertie to attend the more weightie affaires of the spirit: and for this cause many, both Philosophers and Chri­stians, out of the greatnesse of their courage, haue put it in practise. He doth likewise discharge himselfe of many duties and difficulties that are required in the good and honest go­uernment of our riches, in their acquisition, conseruation, distribution, vse and emploiment: but he that quitteth him­selfe of his riches for this reason, slieth the labour and busi­nesse that belongs vnto them; and quite contrary doth it not out of courage, but cowardize: and a man may tell him, that he shakes off his riches, not because they are not profitable, [Page 83] but because he knoweth not how to make vse of them, how to vse them. And not to be able to endure riches, is rather weaknesse ofminde, than wisdome, sayth Seneca.

CHAP. XXII. Of carnall Loue.

CArnall Loue is a feuer and furious passion, and very dan­gerous 1 It is strong, naturall and common. vnto him that suffereth himselfe to be carried by it: For what becomes of him? He is no more himselfe; his bodie endureth a thousand labours in the search of his plea­sure; his minde a thousand helles to satisfie his desires, and desire it selfe increasing, growes into furie. As it is naturall, so is it violent and common to all, and therefore in the action thereof it equalleth and coupleth fooles and wise men, men and beasts together. It maketh all the wisdome, resolution, contemplation & operation of the soule beastly and brutish. Hereby, as likewise by sleepe, Alexander knew himselfe to be a mortall man, because both these suppresse the faculties of the soule.

Philosophie speaketh freely of all things, that it may the better finde out their causes, gouerne and iudge of them; so 2 Why igno­minious. doth Diuinitie, which is yet more chaste and more strait. And why not, since that all things belong vnto the iurisdicti­on and knowledge thereof? The Sunne shines on the dung­hill, and is neither infected, nor annoyed therewith. To be offended with words is a token either of great weaknesse, or some touch or guilt of the same maladie. Thus much be spo­ken for that which followeth, or the like if it shall happen. Nature on the one side with violence thrusteth vs forward vnto this action; all the motion of the world resolueth and yeeldeth to this copulation of the male and female: on the o­ther side it causeth vs to accuse, to hide our selues, to blush for shame, as if it were a thing ignominious and dishonest. We call it a shamefull act, and the parts that serue thereunto our shamefull parts. But why shamefull, since naturall, and (kee­ping it selfe within it owne bounds) iust, lawfull, and necessa­rie? Yea, why are beasts exempted from this shame? Is it because the countenance seemes foule and deformed? Why [Page 80] [...] [Page 81] [...] [Page 82] [...] [Page 83] [...] [Page 84] foule, since naturall? In crying, laughing, champing, gaping, the visage is more distorted: Is it to the end it may serue as a bridle and a stay to such a kinde of violence? Why then doth Nature cause such a violence? Or contrariwise: Is it because shame serueth as a spurre, and as sulfure; or that the instru­ments thereof mooue without our consent, yea against our willes? By this reason beasts likewise should be bashfull: and many other things moue of themselues in vs without our consent, which are neither vicious nor shamefull; not only inward and hidden (as the pulse & motion of the heart, arte­ries, lungs, the instruments and parts that serue the appetite, of eating, drinking, discharging the braine, the bellie, and their shuttings and openings, are besides, nay many times, against our willes, (witnesse those sneesings, yawnings, teares, hoquets and fluxions, that are not in our owne power, and this of the bodie: the spirit forgetteth, remembreth, belee­ueth, misbeleeueth, and the will it selfe, which many times willeth that which we would it willed not) but outward and apparant: the visage blusheth, waxeth pale, wanne, the bo­die groweth fat, leane, the haire turneth gray, blacke, white, growes, stands on end, without and against our consent. Is it that hereby the pouertie and weaknesse of man may be the more truely shewed? That is as well seene in our eating and drinking, our griefs, wearinesse, the disburdening of our bo­dies, death, whereof a man is not ashamed. Whatsoeuer the reason be, the action in it selfe and by nature is no way shamefull, it is truely naturall; so is not shame: witnesse the beasts. Why say I beasts? The nature of man, sayth Diuini­tie, mainteining it selfe in it first originall state, had neuer knowen what shame was, as now it doth; for from whence commeth shame but from weaknesse, and weaknesse but from sinne, there being nothing in nature of it selfe shame­full? The cause then of this shame not being in nature, we must seeke it elswhere. It is therefore artificiall. It is an in­uention forged in the closet of Venus to giue the greater prise to the businesse, and to inkindle the desire thereof the more. This is with a little water to make the fire burne the cleerer, as Smithes vse to doe, to inflame the desire to see what it is that is hidden; to heare and know what it is that is muttered [Page 85] and whispered. For to handle things darkly as if they were mysteries, and with respect and shame, giueth taste and esti­mation vnto them. Contrariwise, a loose, free and open per­mission and commoditie, derogateth from the worth, and ta­keth away the true relish and delight thereof.

This action then in it selfe, and simply taken, is neither 3 In what sense vi­tious. shamefull nor vitious, since it is naturall and corporall, no more than other the like actions are: yea, if it be well orde­red, it is iust, profitable, necessarie, at the least, as it is to eat and drinke. But that which doth so much discredit it, is, that moderation is seldome kept therein; and that to attaine there­unto, we make great stirres; and many times vse bad meanes, whereby it draweth after it, if it go not before, many euils all worse than the action it selfe. The charge riseth aboue the principall, and this is to fish (as it is sayd) with threeds of golde and purple. And all this is purely humane. Beasts that follow simple nature, are quit from all these troubles. But the art of man on the one side sets a strait gard about it, planteth at the gate shame to giue it a relish: on the other side (ô the cousinage of men!) it inflameth and sharpneth the desire, it deuiseth, remoueth, troubleth, turneth all topsie turuie to at­taine vnto it, (witnesse Poetrie, which sportteh not it selfe in any thing so much as in this subiect) and findeth euery en­trance vnto it to be better, than by the gate, and the lawfull way, and followeth euery wandring way, rather than the common way of marriage.

CHAP. XXIII. Desires, Concupiscence.

THere arise not so many billowes and waues in the sea, as 1 The bottom­lesse depth of desire. desires in the heart of man: it is a bottomlesse depth, it is infinite, diuers, inconstant, confused, and irresolute, yea ma­ny times horrible and detestable, but ordinarily vaine, and ri­diculous in it owne desires.

But first it shall not be amisse to distinguish them. Some 2 Their distin­ction. Naturall ne­cessarie. lib. 2. cap. 6. are naturall, and they are iust and lawfull: they are likewise in beasts, they haue their limits and bounds, a man may see the end of them; and liuing according to those, there is no [Page 86] man a begger. Of these shall be spoken heereafter more at large: for (to say the trueth) these are not passions. Others Not natu­rall. are besides nature proceeding from our opinion and fantasie, artificiall, superfluous, which we may, for distinctions sake, call Concupiscences or Lusts. These are purely humane, beasts know not what they are, only man is immoderate in his appetites: these are without limits, without end, and are naught els but confusion. Desideria naturalia finita sunt, ex falsa opinione nascentia, vbi desinant non habent. Nullus enim Seneca. terminus falso est: via eunti aliquid extremum est error immen­sus est. And therefore liuing according to these, there is no man can be rch and contented. Of these it is properly that wee haue spoken in the beginning of this Chapter, and that we farther intend in this matter of the passions. It is for these that a man sweats, and trauels, ad superuacua sudatur, that a man iourneyeth by sea and by land, goeth to warre, killes himselfe, drownes, betrayes, loseth himselfe: and therefore it was well sayd, That concupiscence is the root of all euill. Now it falleth out many times (a iust punishment) that when a man seeketh how to satisfie his desires, and to glut himselfe with the goods and pleasures of Fortune, he loseth and is de­priued of those of Nature: and therefore Diogenes hauing re­fused that money that Alexander offered him, desired him to giue him that he had taken from him, to go out of the Sunne.

CHAP. XXIIII. Hope, Despaire.

OVr desires and concupiscences gather heat and redou­ble their force by hope, which inflameth with the soft and gentle aire thereof our foolish desires, kindleth in our mindes a fire, from whence ariseth a thicke smoake, which blindeth our vnderstanding; carrieth with it our thoughts, holds them hanging in the clouds, makes vs dreame waking. So long as our hopes endure, or desires endure with them: it is a play-game wherewith Nature busieth our mindes. Contrariwise, when despaire is once lodged neere vs, it tor­menteth our soules in such sort, with an opinion of neuer ob­teining that we desire, that all businesse besides must yeeld [Page 87] vnto it. And for the loue of that which wee thinke neuer to obteine, wee lose euen the rest of whatsoeuer wee possesse. This passion is like vnto little children, who to be reuenged of him that hath taken one of their play-games from them, cast the rest into the fire. It is angry with it selfe, and requi­reth of it selfe the punishment of it owne follie and infelicitie. After those passions that respect the apparent good, come we to those that respect the euill.

CHAP. XXV. Of Choler.

CHoler is a foolish passion which putteth vs wholly out 1 The descrip­tion. of our selues, and with seeking the meanes to withstand and beat backe the euill which it threatneth vs, or hath alrea­dy procured vs, maketh the blood to boile in our hearts, and stirreth vp furious vapors in our spirits, which blinde vs and cast vs headlong to whatsoeuer may satisfie the desire which we haue of reuenge. It is a short furie, a way to madnesse: by the prompt and readie impetuositie and violence thereof, it carrieth and furmounteth all passions. Repentina & vis vni­uersa eius est.

The causes that dispose and mooue vnto choler are first 2 The causes thereof. weaknesse of spirit, as we see by experience in women, olde men, infants, scke men, who are commonly more cholericke than others. Inualidum omne, natura quaerulum est. A man 1 deceiueth himselfe to thinke that there is courage where there is violence: violent motions are like the endeuours of children and olde men, who runne when they thinke to goe: for there is nothing more weake than an immoderate motion: and a great imbecillitie is it in a man to be cholericke. Se­condly, 2 the maladie of the minde, whereby it is made ouer­tender to beare blowes, as the vlcerate parts of the bodie, where the sound being interessed therein, are astonished and wounded with light matters. Nusquam sine quaerela aegra tan­guntur. The losse of a penie, or the omission of a gaine, puts into choler a couetous man; a laughter or glance of his wife stirres this passion in a iealous man. Thirdly, lust, vaine nice­nesse, selfe-loue, which makes a man anxious and angry, puts 3 [Page 88] him into choler for the least cause that may be. Nulla res ma­gis iracundiam alit quam luxuria. This loue of trisles, of a glasse, a dogge, a bird, is a kinde of follie that troubleth vs much, and stirres vp this cholericke passion in vs. Fourthly, too much curiositie, qui nimis inquirit, seipsum inquietat. This 4 is to seeke occasions, and out of the lightnesse of the heart to cast a man into choler, not attending any cause thereof. Saepe ad nos ira venit, saepius nos ad illam. Fiftly, lightnesse in belee­uing what comes first to the eare. But the principall and for­mall 5 cause is, an opinion of contempt and misusage, either by 6 word, deed, countenance. These are the reasons whereby we pretend to iustifie our choler.

The signes and symptomes are very manifest, and more than of any other passion; and so strange, that they alter and 3 The signes. change the whole estate of man, they transforme and disfi­gure him, vt sit difficile vtrum magis detestabile vitium, aut de­forme. Some of them are outward, the face red and deform­ed, the eyes firie, the looks furious, the eare deafe, the mouth foaming, the heart panting, the pulse beating, the veines swollen, the tongue stammering, the teeth gnashing, the voice loud and hoarse, the speech imperfect, and to be briefe, it puts the whole body into a fire and a feuer. Some haue bro­ken their veines, supprest their vrine, whereby present death hath ensued. What then can the estate of the spirit be with­in, when it causeth so great a disorder without. Choler at the first blow driueth away and banisheth reason and iudge­ment, to the end it may wholly possesse the place; after­wards it filles all with fire, and smoake, and darknesse, and noise, like vnto him that puts the master out of the house, and then sets fire and burnes himselfe aliue within; or like vnto a ship, that hath neither sterne, nor Pilot, nor sailes, nor oares, which commits it fortune to the mercie of the waues, windes, and tempest in the middest of a furious sea.

The effects thereof are great, many times miserable and lamentable. Choler first enforceth vs to iniustice, for it is kind­led 4 The effects. and sharpned by a iust opposition, and by the knowledge that a man hath of the little reason he hath to be angry. Hee that is moued to anger vpon a false occasion, if a man yeeld him any good reason why he should not be angry, he is pre­sently [Page 89] more incensed euen against the truth and innocency it selfe, Pertinaciores nos facit iniquitas irae, quasi argumentū sit iustè irascendigrauiter irasci. The example of Piso is very notable and prooues this true, who excelling otherwise in vertue (the history is very well knowen) being mooued to choler, did vniustly put three to death, and by a subtile accusation cau­sed them to be found guilty, only because they acquited one as vnguilty whom hee by his former sentence had condem­ned. It is likewise sharpned by silence and cold replie, as ga­thering thereby that it proceedeth out of a contempt both of him and his choler; which is proper vnto women, who many times are angrie to the end they may stirre vp that passion in another, and increase their choler euen to fury, when they see that a man vouchsafeth not to nourish that humour in them, by chiding with them. So that Choler sheweth it selfe to bee more sauage than a beast, since neither by defence or excuse, nor by silence and patience without defence, it will not bee woon nor pacified. The iniustice thereof is likewise in this, that it wil be both a iudge and a party, that it will that all take part with it, and growes to defiance with as many as will seeme to contradict it. Secondly, forasmuch as it is inconsi­derate and heady, it casteth vs headlong into great mischiefs, and sometimes euen into those which most flie, and doe wish and would willingly procure another man, dat poenas dum ex­igit, or farre worse. This passion is fitly compared to great ruines, which burst themselues in pieces vpon that which they fall, it pursueth with such violence the ill of another, that it heeds not the auoiding of it owne. It intrappeth and intangleth vs, makes vs to speake and to do things, shamefull, vncomely, vnworthy our selues. Lastly, it carrieth vs so be­yond our selues, that it makes vs to doe things scandalous, dangerous, and irreuocable, murders, poisonings, treasons, whereby follow great and too late repentances: witnesse A­lexander the great after he had slaine Clytus, and therefore Py­thagoras was wont to say, that the end of Choler was the be­ginning of repentance.

This passion feedes vpon it selfe, flattereth and tickleth it 5 selfe, with a perswasion that it hath reason, that it is iust, ex­cusing it selfe vpon the malice and indiscretion of another, [Page 90] but the iniustice of another cannot make that iust; nor the losse that wee receiue by another make that profitable vnto vs: it is too rash and inconsiderat to do any thing that is good: it would cure an euill with an euill; for to yeeld the correcti­on of an offence to Choler, is to correct a vice by it selfe. Rea­son which should haue the command ouer vs, needs no such officers as of their owne heads execute lawes, not attending her ordinance; she would haue all things done according to nature by measure, and therefore violence doth no way befit it. But what, shall vertue see the insolencie of vice and not be angry with it? shall the libertie therof be so bridled as not to dare to bee moued against the wicked? vertue desires no indecent libertie, it needes not turne it owne strength against it selfe, nor that the wickednesse of another should trouble it: a wise man must as well beare the vices of a wicked man without choler, as his prosperitie without enuie. Hee must endure the indiscretions of rash and inconsiderate men, with the selfe same patience that Physitians do the iniuries of mad men. There is no greater wisedome, nor more profitable in the world, than to endure the follie of another, for otherwise by not suffering it with patience, we make it our owne. That which hath heeretofore beene spoken touching Choler, may likewise be spoken of these passions following, hatred, enuie, reuenge, which are made or formed Cholers.

Particular aduisements and remedies against this euill are Lib. 3. cap. 31.

CHAP. XXVI. Hatred.

HAtred is a strange passion, which strangely and without reason troubleth vs: and to say the truth, what is there in the world that tormenteth vs more? By this passion we put our selues into the power of him that we hate, to afflict and vex vs; the sight of him mooueth our senses, the remem­brance stirreth our spirits both waking and sleeping; yea we neuer present him to our memories but with despight and gnashing of teeth, which puts vs besides our selues, and teares our owne hearts; whereby we suffer in our selues, the punish­ment [Page 91] of that euill we wish vnto another. He which hateth is the patient, he that is hated, the agent: contrary to the sound of the words, the hater is in torment, the hated in ease. But what do we hate? Men, or their matters and affaires? Doubt­lesse wee hate nothing that wee should; for if there be any thing to be hated in this world, it is hate it selfe, and such like passions, contrary to that which should command in vs.

Particular considerations and remedies against this euill, are Lib. 3. cap. 32.

CHAP. XXVII. Enuie.

ENuie is cousen-germaine to Hatred; a miserable passion and outragious beast, which in torment excelleth hell it selfe. It is a desire of that good that another possesseth, which gnaweth our heart, and turneth the good of another man to our owne hurt. But how should it torment vs, since it is as well against that which is ill, as that which is good? Whilest an enuious man looketh obliquely vpon the goods of ano­ther man, he loseth what is good in himselfe, or at leastwise takes no delight in it.

Particular aduisements and remedies against this euill, are Lib. 3. cap. 33.

CHAP. XXVIII. Iealousie.

IEalousie is a passion like almost, both in nature and effect, 1 What it is. vnto Enuie, but that it seemeth that Enuie considereth not what is good, but in as much as it is in the possession of ano­ther man, and that we desire it for our selues; and Iealousie concerneth our owne proper good, whereof wee feare ano­ther doth partake.

Iealousie is a weake maladie of the soule, absurd, vaine, 2 The weaknes thereof. terrible and tyrannicall, it insinuateth it selfe vnder the title of amitie; but after it hath gotten possession, vpon the selfe­same foundation of loue and good will, it buildeth an euer­lasting hate. Vertue, health, merit, reputation, are the incen­diaries [Page 92] of this rage, or rather the fewell vnto this furie.

It is likewise the Gaule that corrupteth all the Hony of 3 The venim thereof. our life: it is commonly mingled with the sweetest and plea­santst actions, which it maketh so sharpe and sower as no­thing more: it changeth loue into hate, respect into disdaine, assurance into diffidence: it ingendreth a pernitious curiosity and desire in a man to cleere himselfe of that euill, which be­ing past remedie, by too much stirring stinketh the more: For what doth he but publish, put out of all doubt, bring in­to the light, sound with a trumpet his owne shame and mise­rie, and the dishonour of his owne children?

Particular considerations and remedies against this euill, are Lib. 3. cap. 35.

CHAP. XXIX. Reuenge.

THe desire of Reuenge is first a cowardly and effeminate 1 A cowardly passion. passion, proceeding from a base, weake and abiect mind, which experience telleth vs to be true: for we commonly see the weakest mindes the most malicious and reuengefull, as women and children. The valiant and generous mind doth little feele this passion, but contemneth and disdaineth it, ei­ther because the iniurie toucheth him not, or because he that offereth the iniurie is not worthy his reuenge, as not daining so farre to debase himselfe: indignus Caesaris ira. The haile, thunder, and tempests, and those fearefull motions that are in the aire, doe neither trouble nor touch the superior celesti­all bodies, but only the weake and inferior: and euen so the indiscretions and childish brawles of fooles wound not great and high minds. All the great men of the world, Alexander, Caesar, Epaminondas, Scipio, haue been so farre from reuenge, that quite contrarie, they haue done good vnto their ene­mies.

Secondly, it is a boiling and biting passion, and like a 2 Biting. worme it gnaweth the hearts of those that are infected with it; it molesteth them by day, and by night keepes them a­waked.

It is likewise full of iniustice, for it tormenteth the inno­cent, 3 Vniust. [Page 93] and addeth affliction. It is to make the party offending, to feele that euill and punishment, which the desire of re­uenge giueth to a mans heart; and the partie offended goes to lay on the burthen, as if he had not already hurt enough by the iniurie receiued; in such sort, that many times and ordi­narily, whilest he tormenteth himselfe to seeke meanes of re­uenge, he that hath committed the offence laughs and makes himselfe merrie with it. But it is also farre more vniust in the meanes of the execution, which many times is wrought by treasons and villanous practises.

Lastly, the execution is not only painfull but dangerous 4 Dangerous. too; for experience telleth vs, that he that seeks to be reuen­ged, doth not that which he would, and what his blow inten­deth, but commonly that which he would not comes to passe, and thinking to put out the eye of his enemy, he putteth out both his owne. The feare of iustice tormenteth him, and the care to hide him those that loue him.

Againe, to kill and to make an end of his enemy, is not re­uenge, but meere crueltie, which proceedeth from coward­linesse 5 To kill is not to reuenge. and feare. To be reuenged is to beat his enemie, to make him stoope; not to kill him: for by killing hee feeles not the power of his wrath, which is the end of reuenge. And this is the reason why a man cares not to be reuenged vpon a dogge or a beast, because he can no way taste or con­ceit his reuenge. In true reuenge there must be a kinde of pleasure and delight in the reuenger; and he vpon whom he is reuenged must feele the weight of his displeasure, suffer paine, & repent him of the cause, which being kild he cannot do: yea he is rather freed thereby from all miserie, and con­trariwise he that is the reuenger endureth many times that torment & feare which he wished to his enemie. To kill then is a token of cowardlinesse and feare, lest his enemie feeling the force of his reuenge should liue to requite him with the like; which though it make an end of the quarrell, yet it woundeth his reputation, it is a tricke of precaution and not of courage, and is the way to proceed safely but not honora­bly. Qui occidit longe non vlciscitur, nec gloriam assequitur.

Particular aduisements and remedies against this euill, are Lib. 3. cap. 34.

CHAP. XXX. Crueltie.

CRueltie is a villanous and detestable vice, and against nature, and therefore it is likewise called Inhumanitie. It proceedeth from weaknesse, omnis ex infirmitate feritas est, and it is the daughter of cowardlinesse: for a valourous man doth alwayes exercise his strength against a resisting enemie, whom he hath no sooner at his mercie, but he is satisfied: Romana virtus, parcere subiectis, debellare superbos. Forasmuch therefore as cowardly weaknesse can not be of this ranke, to the end it may yet get the name of valour, it makes blood and massacres the proofe thereof. Murders in victories are com­monly executed by common people, and the officers of the baggage. Tyrants are bloody, because they feare, not know­ing how to secure themselues, but by rooting out those that may offend them; and therefore they exercise their crueltie against all, euen women too, because they feare all, cuncta fe­rit, dum cuncta timet. Cowardlie dogges bite and teare with their teeth, within the house, the skinnes of those wild beasts, which in the open field they durst not looke vpon. What makes ciuill warres so cruell, but that tie wherewith the com­mon people are led and linked, who like dogs that are backt by their master backe one another? The Emperour Mauri­tius being tolde that one Phocas a souldier should kill him, en­quired what he was, and of what nature and condition; and being tolde by his sonne in law Philip that he was a base cow­ward: Why then, saith he, no maruell if he be a murderer and cruell. It proceedeth likewise from the inward malignitie of the soule, which feedeth and delighteth it selfe with the hurt of another. Monsters, like Caligula.

CHAP. XXXI. Sadnesse, or Heauinesse of heart.

SAdnesse is a languishing feeblenesse of the spirit, and a 1 The descrip­tion. kinde of discouragement ingendered by the opinion that we haue of the greatnesse of those euils that afflict vs. It is a dangerous enemie to our rest, which presently weakeneth [Page 95] and quelleth our soules, if we take not good heede; and taketh from vs the vse of reason and discourse, and the means wher­by to prouide for our affaires, and with time it rusteth and fenoweth the soule, it corrupteth the whole man, brings his vertues asleepe, euen then when he hath most need to keepe them awaked, to withstand that euil which oppresseth them: but we must discouer the foulnesse and follie, the pernicious effects, yea the iniustice that is in this cowardly, base, and fee­ble passion, to the end wee may learne with all our might to flie and auoid it, as most vnworthy the wisest men, according to the doctrine of the Stoicks; which is not so easy to be done, because it excuseth and couereth it selfe with many beautifull colours of nature, pietie, goodnesse, yea the greatest part of the world it drawes to honour and fauour it, making it an or­nament to wisedome, vertue, conscience.

First then it is so farre from being naturall (as it would 2 Not natu­rall. Publike mournings, make men beleeue) that it is formall, and an enemie to nature, as may easily be prooued. Touching ceremonious sorrowes and publike mournings, so much affected and practised in former times, and likewise at this present (my meaning is not to touch the honestie and moderation of obsequies and fune­ralls, nor that sorrow that belongs to piety and religion) what greater imposture or deceitfull cousenage can there be in any thing besides? How many fained and artificiall counterfeit cousenages are there with no small cost and charges, both in those whom it concerneth, the authors of the sport, and those whose offices they make vse of in that businesse? For to giue the better credit to their iugling tricks they hire people to la­ment, and to send vp their shreeking cries and lamentations, which all men know to bee fained and extorted for mony, teares that are not shed but to bee seene, and so soone as they are out of sight are dried vp; where is it that nature hath taught vs this? Nay what is there that nature doth more ab­horre and condemne? It is a tyrannicall, false and vulgar opi­nion (the worst, as hath beene said, almost of all the passions) that teacheth vs to weepe and lament in such a case. And if a man cannot finde occasion of teares & a heauy countenance in him selfe, he must buy it at a deare price in another, in such sort that to satisfie this opinion, hee must enter into a great [Page 96] charge whereof nature if we would credit it, would willingly discharge vs. Is not this willingly and publikely to betray reason, to enforce and to corrupt nature, to prostitute his owne manhood, to mocke both the world and himselfe, to sa­tisfie the vulgar sort, which produce nothing but errour, and account of nothing that is not counterfeit and disguised? Nei­ther are those more particular sorrowes naturall, as it seemes to many; for if they did proceed from nature, they should Particular. bee common to all men, and almost touch all men alike. Now wee see that the selfe same things that are causes of sor­row to some, giue occasion of ioy vnto others, that one Pro­uince, one person laugheth at that whereat another weepeth; that they that are conuersant with those that lament, exhort them to resolution, and to quit themselues of their teares. Yea the greatest part of those that thus torment themselues, when you haue talked with them, or that themselues haue had the leasure but to discourse vpon their owne passions, they con­fesse that it is but a folly thus to afflict themselues, and praise those who in the like aduersities, haue made head against fortune, and with a manly and generous courage haue with­stood their afflictions. And it is certaine that men do not ac­commodate their mourning to their cause of sorrow, but the opinion of those with whom they liue. And if a man marke them well, he shall finde that it is opinion, which the more to annoy vs presenteth the things vnto vs which torment vs ei­ther more than they should, or by anticipation, feare, and pre­uention of that which is to come, sooner than they should.

But it is against nature, inasmuch as it polluteth and defa­ceth 3 Against na­ture. whatsoeuer nature hath made beautifull and amiable in vs, which is drowned by the force of this passion, as the beau­tie of a pearle is dissolued in vineger. Wee make our selues heerby spectacles of pity, we go with our heads hanging, our eies fastned on the earth, our mouthes tonguelesse, our mem­bers immooueable, our eies serue for no other vse than to weepe, that you may say wee are nothing but sweating sta­tues, turned (as the Poets faine) like Niobe into a stone by the power of this passion.

Now it is not only contrary and an enemy vnto nature, but 4 Iniust and impious. God himselfe: for what other thing is it, but a rash and out­ragious [Page 97] complaint against the Lord and common law of the whole world, which hath made all things vnder the Moone changeable and corruptible? If we know this law, why do we torment our selues? If we know it not, whereof doe we com­plaine, but of our owne ignorance, in that we know not that which Nature hath written in all the corners and creatures of the world? We are heere not to giue a law, but to receiue it, and to follow that which we find established: for to torment our selues by contradicting it, doth but double our paine.

Besides all this, it is pernicious and hurtfull vnto man, and by so much the more dangerous, because it killeth when we 5 Pernitican. thinke it comforts, hurteth vnder the colour of doing good; vnder a false pretence of plucking the iron out of the wound, it driues it to the heart: and the blowes thereof are so much the more hardly auoided, and the enterprises broken, because it is a domesticall enemy brought vp with vs, which we haue engendred for our owne punishment.

Outwardly, by a deformed and new countenance wholly 6 Outwardly. altered and counterfeited; it dishonoreth and defameth man. Doe but consider when it entreth into vs, it filleth vs with shame, in such sort, that wee dare not to shew our selues in publike place, no not priuatly to our dearest friends; and af­ter we are once possessed of this passion, we doe nothing but seeke corners to hide our selues from the sight of men. What is this to say, but that it condemneth it selfe, and acknowled­geth how indecent it is? For it is for a woman that is taken in her wantonnesse to hide herselfe, and to feare to be knowen. Againe, do but consider the vestments and habits of sorrow, how strange and effeminate they are; which sheweth, that it taketh away whatsoeuer is manly and generous in vs, and puts vpon vs the countenances and infirmities of women: and therfore the Thratians adorned those men that mourned, like women. And some say, that sorow makes men eunuches. The first and more manly and generous lawes of the Romans forbad these effeminate lamentations, finding it an horrible thing, that men should so degenerate from their owne na­tures, and do things contrary to manhood; allowing only of those first teares, which proceed from the first encounter of a fresh and new griefe, which may fall euen from the eyes of [Page 98] Philosophers themselues, who keepe with their humanitie their dignitie: and may fall from the eyes, vertue not falling from the heart.

Now it doth not only alter the visage, change, and disho­nestly 7 Inwardly. disguise a man outwardly, but piercing euen to the marrow of the bone, Tristitia exsiecat ossa, it weakeneth like­wise the soule, troubleth the peace thereof, makes a man vn­apt to good and honourable enterprises, taking away the taste, the desire, and the disposition to doe any thing that is profitable either to himselfe or to another, and not only to do good but to receiue it: For euen those good fortunes that light vpon him displease him; euery thing is tart vnto his soule, as victuals to a corrupted stomacke: and lastly, it ma­keth bitter our whole life, and poisoneth all our actions.

It is twofolde, great and extreame, or at leastwise, though 8 The distin­ction. not great in it selfe, yet great when by reason of a sudden sur­prise, and furious vnexpected alarum it seiseth vpon the hart of a man, pierceth it thorow, depriueth him of motion and sense, like a stone, & not vnlike that miserable mother Niobe,

And therfore the Painter diuersly and by degrees presenting vnto vs the sorrow and miserable estate of the parents and friends of Iphygenia when she was sacrificed, when he came to her father, he painted him with his face couered, as confes­sing his art not sufficient to expresse in the visage a griefe of that degree. Yea, sometimes a sorrow may be such, that it killeth outright. The second degree is the indifferent sor­row, which though perhaps it may be greater than the for­mer, yet in time it is lessened and eased, and is expressed by teares, sobs, sighs and lamentations: Curae leues loquuntur, ingentes stupent.

Particular aduisements and remedies against this euill, are Lib. 3. cap. 29.

CHAP. XXXII. Compassion.

WE sigh with those that are afflicted, and with a fellow­like feeling pitie their miseries, either because by a se­cret [Page 99] consent we participate one the others euils, or because we feare that in our selues, which hath happened to others. But this is done two wayes, whereby there is likewise a two­folde compassion; the one good, when a man with a good will, not troubling or afflicting himselfe, not effeminating his owne nature, and without impeachment of equitie or honor, doth freely and effectually succour those that are afflicted. This is that vertue so much commended in religion, found in the holiest and wisest in the world: the other is a passion of a feeble minde, a sottish and feminine pitie, which proceedeth from a delicate tendernesse, a troubled spirit, proper to wo­men, infants, and to cruell and malicious mindes (which are consequently base and cowardly, as hath beene prooued in the Chapter of Crueltie) who pitie the punishments of offen­ders, which produceth vniust effects, not respecting the depth and merit of the cause, but the present fortune, state and condition.

Aduisements and remedies against this euill, you shall find Lib. 3. cap. 30.

CHAP. XXXIII. Feare.

FEare is the apprehension of an euill to come, which hol­deth 1 The descrip­tion. vs in a continuall care, and runnes before those euils that fortune threatneth vs.

Wee speake not heere of that feare of God so much com­mended in Scripture, nor of that feare which proceedeth from loue, and is a sweet respect towards the thing beloued, commendable in subiects and all inferiours towards their su­periours; but of that vitious feare that troubleth and affli­cteth, which is the seed of sinne, the twinne of shame, both of one wombe, sprung from that close and cursed marriage of the spirit of man with a diabolicall perswasion. Timeo, eò quòd nudus essem, & abscondi me.

It is a deceitfull and malicious passion, and hath no other power ouer vs, but to mocke and seduce vs: it serues it turne 2 The malice and tyranny thereof. with that which is to come, where though we seeme to fore­see much, we see nothing at all; and in that doubtfull darke­nesse [Page 100] it holdeth vs, as in a darke place, as theeues do by night, to the end they may robbe a man and not be knowen, and giue a great and sudden affright with a small number. And therefore it tormenteth vs with masks and shewes of euils, as men feare children with bug-beares; euils that haue nothing but a simple appearance, and haue nought in themselues whereby to hurt vs, yea, are not euils, but that wee thinke them so. It is the only apprehension which we haue, which makes that euill to vs which is not so, and draweth euill euen from our owne good to afflict vs withall. How many do we see euery day, that with feare to become miserable, become that they feare, and turne their vaine feare into certaine mise­ries? How many haue lost their friends, by distrusting their friends; haue got diseases, by fearing them? One hath in such sort conceiued an opinion that his wife hath plaied false play with him, that for griefe he languisheth; another hath in such sort apprehended such a conceit of pouertie, that he falleth sicke: and to be briefe, some haue died for feare to die. And euen so may a man say almost of whatsoeuer we feare: for feare seemeth not to other end, than to make vs finde that which we flie from. Doubtlesse, feare is of all other euils the greatest and most tedious: for other euils are no longer euils than they continue, and the paine endureth no longer than the cause; but feare is of that which is, and that which is not, and that perhaps which neuer shall be, yea sometimes of that which can not possible be. Beholde then a passion truly ma­licious and tyrannicall, which draweth from an imaginarie euill true and bitter sorrowes, and is ouer-greedie by thought and opinion to ouertake, nay out-run them.

Feare doth not only fill vs with euils, and many times by false appearances, but it likewise spoileth all the good that 3 we haue, and all the pleasure of our life, as an enemie to our rest. A man can take no delight in the fruition of that good which he feareth to lose; life it selfe can not be pleasant, if a man feare to die. Nothing good (saith an ancient writer) can bring pleasure with it, but that against the losse whereof a man is alwayes prepared.

It is also a strange passion, indiscreet and inconsiderate, and 4 proceeds as often from the want of iudgement, as of heart. [Page 101] It ariseth from dangers, and many times casteth vs into dan­gers; for it ingendreth in vs such an inconsiderate desire to get out, that it astonisheth, troubleth, and hindereth vs from taking that order that is fit to get out. It bringeth a violent kinde of trouble, whereby the soule being affrighted, with­draweth it selfe into it selfe, and debateth with it selfe how to auoid that danger that is presented. Besides that great dis­couragement that it bringeth, it seizeth on vs with such an a­stonishment, that we lose our iudgement, & there is no longer reason or discourse in vs: it maketh vs to flie when no man pursueth, yea many times our owne friends and succours: adeo pauor etiam auxilia formidat. Many haue run mad heere­with, yea the senses themselues haue heereby lost their vse: we haue our eyes open, and see not; one speaks to vs, and we hearken not vnto him; we would flie, and we can not go.

An indifferent feare puts wings to our heeles; a great nailes fast our feet, and intangles them. Feare peruerteth and cor­rupteth the intire man, both the spirit, Pauor sapientiam om­nem mihi ex animo expectorat, and the bodie, Obstupui stete­runt (que) comae, vox hausibus haesit. Sometimes it makes vs despe­rate, and therefore resolute, like that Romane Legion vnder the conduct of the Cousull Sempronius against Hannibal, Au­dacem fecerat ipse timor. There are feares and affrightments without any apparent cause, and as it were by some celestiall impulsion, which they call Panique terrours, Terrores de coelo, Luc. 21. arescentibus hominibus prae timore, such as once happened in the citie of Carthage, and wherewith whole people and ar­mies haue beene confounded.

Particular aduisements and remedies against this euill, are Lib. 3. cap. 28.

CHAP. XXXIIII.

VVEe haue considered man whollie and simplie in 1 A profitable and difficult comparison, wherein man is suspected. himselfe: now let vs consider him by comparing him with other creatures, which is an excellent meanes to know him. This comparison hath a large extent, [Page 102] and many parts that bring much knowledge of importance, and very profitable, if it be well done. But who shall doe it? Shall man? He is a partie and to be suspected; and to say the truth, deales partially therein: which may easily be proued, because he keepes neither measure nor mediocritie. Some­times he placeth himselfe farre aboue all, he tearmes him­selfe a Master, and disdaineth the rest; diuides vnto them their morsels, distributeth such a portion of faculties and powers vnto them as shall seeme good vnto him. Sometimes as it were in despight, he debaseth himselfe beneath all; he murmureth, complaineth, wrongeth Nature as a cruell step­mother, makes himselfe the outcast and most miserable of the world. Now both these extreames are equally against reason, veritie, modestie. But how would you haue him to walke vprightly & euenly with all other creatures, when he doth it not with man his companion, nor with God himselfe, as shall be shewed? This comparison is also difficult to do; for how In the chap. of presum­ption. can a man know the inward and secret carriages of creatures, that which moueth within them? But yet let vs do our ende­uour to do it without passion.

First, the policie of the world is not so vnequall, so defor­med 2 and irregular, neither is there so great a disproportion between the parts thereof, but that they that are neere neigh­bours and touch one another haue a resemblance, some more, some lesse. So is there a great vicinitie and kindred betwixt man and other creatures: they haue many things alike and common to each other, and they haue differences likewise, but not so farre distant and vnlike, but that they may holde together. Man is neither altogether aboue, nor beneath the rest: All that is vnder heauen, saith the Wisdome of God, Ecclesiast. runnes the same fortune.

Let vs first speake of those things that are common to all, and almost alike, which are to ingender, nourish, to do, moue, 3 Things com­mon. liue, die: Idem interitus hominis & iumentorum, & aequa vtri­usque conditio. And this is against those that finde themselues agrieued, saying, that man is the most contemptible creature of Nature, abandoned, left naked vpon the naked earth, Eccles. 4. without couert, without armor, bound, swadled, without in­struction of what is fit for him: whereas all other creatures [Page 103] are clothed and couered with shels, husks, haire, wooll, fea­thers, scales: armed with teeth, horns, tallants, both to as­saile and to defend: taught to swim, to runne, to flie, to sing, to seeke their releefe, and man knowes neither how to go, nor to speake, nor to eat, nor any thing but crie, without an ap­prentiship and much labour. All these complaints to him that considereth the first composition and naturall condition, are vniust and false: our skinne is as sufficiently prouided against 1. Naked­nesse. cap. 5. the iniuries of times and seasons as theirs, witnesse many na­tions (as hath beene said) that neuer knew what garments meant: yea those parts that we thinke good we keepe vnco­uered, yea the most tender and sensible, as the face, the hands, the stomacke, and the delicatest damosels their breasts. Bands and swadling clothes are not necessarie, witnesse the 2. Swadling clothes. Lacedemonians, and in these daies the Switzers, Almaines, which dwell in cold countries, the Bisques & vagabonds that are called Egyptians. Crying is likewise common vnto beasts: all creatures almost complain, and grone for a time after they 3. Crying. come into the world. As for armour, we want not that which 4. Armes. is naturall, and haue more motion of our members, vse their seruice more naturally and without instruction. If some beasts excell vs in this, wee in the same excell diuers others. The vse of eating is both in them and in vs naturall and with­out 5. Eating. instruction. Who doubteth that an infant, being once able to feede himselfe, knowes how to seeke his sustenance? And the earth likewise bringeth foorth and offereth enough vnto him for his necessitie, without other culture or Art, wit­nesse so many nations, which without labour, industrie and care liue plenteously. As for speech, a man may well say that 6. Speech. if it be not naturall, it is not necessarie: but it is common to man with other creatures. What else but speech is that facul­tie we see in them of complaining, reioicing, of calling others to their succour, of making loue? And as wee speake by ge­stures and motion of the eies, the head, the shoulders, the hands (wherein deafe men are very cunning) so beasts, as we see in those which haue no voice, who neuerthelesse do enter­change their mutuall offices; and as in some kinde of measure beasts vnderstand vs, so we them. They flatter vs, threaten vs, intreat vs and we them, we speake to them, and they to [Page 104] vs, and if we perfectly vnderstand not one another, where is the fault? in vs or in them? That is to be determined. They may as well account vs beasts by that reason, as we them, yea they reproch vs for that we our selues vnderstand not one a­nother. We vnderstand not the Bisques, the Britons, and they all vnderstand the one the other, not onely of the same, but which is more of a diuers kinde. By a certaine barking of the dog, the horse knoweth that he is in choler, and by another voice he knoweth he is not.

Againe they haue their intelligence with vs. In the warres 7. Mutuall intelligence. in the middest of the fight, Elephants, Dogs, Horses vnder­stand with vs, they frame their motions according to the oc­casion, they pursue, they make their stand, they retire, nay they haue their pay, and diuide the booty with vs, as it hath been practised in the new conquests of the Indies. And these are those things that are common to all, and alike.

Let vs now come to those differences and aduantages that 4 Differences and aduan­tages. the one hath ouer the other. Man is singular and excellent in some things aboue other creatures, and in others, beasts haue the superiority, to the end that all things might thereby bee knit and enchained together in this generall policy of the world and of nature. The certaine aduantages or excellencies of man, are those great faculties of the soule; the subtilitie, vi­uacitie, Of man. & sufficiency of the spirit to inuent, to iudge, to chuse, speech to demand and to offer aid and succour, the hand to execute that the spirit hath inuented either of it selfe, or lear­ned from another. The forme also of the body, the great di­uersity of the motions of the members, whereby his body doth him better seruice.

The certaine aduantages that beasts haue ouer men, and 5 Of Beasts generall. such as are past all doubt, are either general or particular. The generall are health, and strength of body farre more perfect, constant, & strong in them, among whom there are no blind, deafe, lame, mute, diseased, defectiue, and ill born, as amongst men. The Sereno hurts them nor, they are not subiect to rheumes frō whence proceed almost all other diseases; from which man though he couer his head with a hat and a house too, can hardly defend himselfe. Moderation in diet and o­ther actions, innocency, safety, peace and tranquillity of life, [Page 105] a plaine and entire liberty without shame, feare, or ceremony in things naturall and lawfull (for it is onely man that hath cause to hide himselfe in his actions, and whose faults and imperfections offend others). Exemption from so many vi­ces and disorders, superstition, ambition, auarice, enuie, yea mightie dreames trouble not them as they doe men, nor so many thoughts and fantasies. The particular aduantages are the pure, high, healthfull, pleasant habitation, and abode of Particular. birds in the aire. Their sufficiencie in some arts, as the swal­low 1 and other birds in building, the Spider in spinning and 2 weauing, diuers beasts in Physicke, and the Nightingale in Musicke. Maruellous effects and properties, not to be imi­tated, 3 no not imagined, as the propertie of the fish Remora to stay the greatest vessels of the sea, as we reade of the chiefe galley of Marcus Antonius, and the selfe same of Caligula; of the Torpedo or Crampe-fish, to benum and dead the mem­bers of another, though farre distant, and not touching him; of the Hedgehog, to foresee the windes; of the Chameleon, to change his colours. Prognostications, as of birds in their passages from countrey to countrey, according to the diuer­sitie of the seasons; of all beasts that are dammes, in knowing which of their yoong is the best; for some happe falling out of defending them from danger, or conueying them to their nests, they alwayes begin with that they know and foresee to be the best. In all these things man is farre their inferior, and in some of them he hath no skill at all. A man may adde vn­to this, if hee will, the length of their liues, which in some beasts doth seuen or eight times exceed the longest terme of the life of man.

Those aduantages that man pretendeth to haue aboue beasts, but are yet disputable, and perhaps as well in beasts 6 Disputable aduantages. as men, are many: First, the reasonable faculties, discourse, reasoning, discipline, iudgement, prudence. There are heere 1 Reason. two things to be spoken, the one of the veritie of the thing it selfe. It is a great question, whether beasts be depriued of all these spiritual faculties. The opinion that they are not depri­ued but haue them, is the more true and the more authentike. It is defended by many great Philosophers, especially by De­mocritus, Anaxagoras, the Stoicks, Galen, Porphyry, Plutarch, [Page 106] and mainteined by this reason. The composition of the braine, which is that part which the soule makes vse of, and whereby it reasoneth, is all alike as the same in beasts and men, confirmed by experience. Beasts from particulars con­clude generals, by the sight of one only man they know all men, they know how to ioyne, and diuide, and distinguish the good from the ill, for the safegard of their liues, libertie, and little ones. Yea, we reade and see, if we would but marke and consider it, many things done by beasts, that doe farre excell the sufficiencie, subtiltie, and all the wit and cunning of the common sort of men: some of those that are best woorth the noting, I will note vnto you. The Fox being to passe ouer a riuer that is frozen with ice, applieth his eare vn­to the ice, to finde whether he can heare any noise, and that the water doe runne vnder it, that thereby he may resolue ei­ther to go forward, or to retire backe; of whom the Thrasians haue learned the same cunning, being to passe their frozen riuers. A Dogge, to the end hee may know which way of three either his master or that beast he hunteth is gone, ha­uing assured himselfe by senting them, that he hath not pas­sed by two of them, because he findes not the trace, without the setting of his nose to the ground or farther trauersing, he runneth mainly into the third. The Mule of the Philosopher Thales crossing a riuer with a sacke of salt on his backe, and being plunged into the deepe with his burthen, his salt dis­solued in the water, and made his burthen the lighter; which the Mule (falling into the deepe by chance) hauing found, being afterwards loaden with wooll, vsed the same remedie, and sunke the more. Plutarch reporteth, that he saw a Dog in a ship casting stones into a pipe of oile, to make the oile to mount, that hee might the better come at it. As much is re­ported of the Crowes of Barbarie, who by that meanes raise the water when it is too low, that they may drinke. So like­wise Elephants gather stones and sticks, and cast them into that ditch whereinto their companion is fallen, to helpe him to get out. The Oxen of the Kings gardens of Suze being taught to go in a wheele a iust hundred turnes, to draw water to water the gardens, they would neuer exceed that iust num­ber, and were neuer deceiued in their account. All these [Page 107] thnigs, how can they be done, without discourse and reason, addition and diuision? To say they know not this, were to denie that we see they doe. What should we thinke of that dexteritie that is in the Elephant in plucking those darts and iauelins foorth of his bodie with little or no paine at all? of the Dogge that Plutarch speaketh of, which in a publike play vpon a scaffold counterfeited death, drawing towards his end, trembling, afterwards growing stiffe, and suffering him­selfe to be caried foorth, by little and little comming to him­selfe, and lifting vp his head counterfeited a new resurrecti­on? of so many apish imitations and strange tricks that the dogs of Players and Iuglers doe? of the policies and inuenti­ons wherewith beasts defend themselues against the assaults we make vpon them? of the husbandrie and great proui­dence of the Ant in laying abroad his graine to drie, lest it take moisture and so corrupt, in nipping the ends thereof that it grow not? of the policie of the Bee, where there is such diuersitie of offices and charges so firmly established?

To beat downe all this, some doe maliciously attribute these things to a naturall, seruile and forced inclination; as if 7 An oppositi­on of the na­turall in­stinct. beasts did performe their actions by a naturall necessitie, like things inanimate, as the stone falleth downward, the fire mounteth vpward. But besides that, that can not be, nor en­ter into our imagination; for there must be a numbring of the parts, comparison, discourse by addition and diuision, and consequents; they likewise know not what this naturall in­clination and instinct is; they be words which they abuse to small purpose, that they may not be deafe and mute altoge­ther. Againe, this saying is retorted against them: for it is beyond all comparison more noble, honourable, and resem­bleth more the Diuinitie to worke by nature than by art and apprentiship; to be led and directed by the hand of God, than by our owne; regularly to act by a naturall and ineuita­ble condition, than regularly by a rash and casuall libertie.

By this obiection of the naturall instinct, they would like­wise depriue them of instruction and discipline both actiue and passiue, but experience giues them the lie; for they doe both receiue it: witnesse the Pie, the Parret, the Black-bird, the Dogge, the Horsse, as hath beene said, and they giue it, [Page 108] witnesse the Nightingale, and aboue all other the Elephant, which excelleth all other beasts in docilitie, and all kinde of discipline and sufficiencie.

As for this facultie of the spirit whereof man doth so much glorie, which is to spiritualize things corporall and absent, 8 robbing them of all accidents, to the end it might conceiue them after it owne maner, nam intellectum est in intelligente ad modum intelligentis; beasts themselues do the like. The Horse accustomed to the warres sleeping in his stable, trembleth and groaneth as if he were in the middest of the fight; con­ceiueth the sound of the drumme, the trumpet, yea an armie it selfe. The Hare in her sleepe panting, lifteth vp her scut, shaking her legs, conceiueth a spirituall Hare. Dogs that are kept for gard, in their sleepe do snarre, and sometimes barke outright, imagining a stranger to be come. To conclude this first point, we must confesse that beasts doe reason, haue the vse of discourse and iudgement, but more weakly and imper­fectly than man; they are inferiour vnto men in this, not be­cause they haue no part therein at all; they are inferiour vnto men, as amongst men some are inferiour vnto others; and euen so amongst beasts there is such a difference: but yet there is a greater difference betweene men; for (as shall be said heereafter) there is a greater distance betweene a man and a man, than a man and a beast. But for all this we must not heereby inferre, a kinde of equalitie or paritie betwixt a beast and a man (though as Aristotle sayth, there are some men so weake and blockish, that they differ from a beast on­ly in figure) and that the soule of a beast is immortall as that of a man, or the soule of a man mortall as that of a beast: for these are but malicious illations. For besides that in this rea­soning facultie, man hath a verie great aduantage aboue beasts, so hath the other faculties more high and wholly spi­rituall, whereby he is sayd to be like vnto God himselfe, and is capable of immortalitie, wherein beasts haue no part, and are signified by that vnderstanding, which is more than a simple discourse. Nolite fieri sicut equus & mulus in quibus non est intellectus.

The other point which we are to speake of in this matter is, that this preheminence and aduantage of vnderstanding, 9 [Page 109] and other spirituall faculties that man pretendeth, is sold him at a deare rate, and brings with it more hurt than good: for it is the principall source of all those euils that oppresse him; of vices, passions, maladies, irresolution, trouble, despaire, which beasts want, by the want of this great aduantage: witnesse the Hogge of Pyrrho, which did eat his meat peace­ably in the shippe in the middest of a great tempest, when all the men were almost dead for feare. It seemeth that these great parts of the soule haue beene denied vnto beasts, or at leastwise lessened, and giuen them more feeble, for their great good and quiet, and bestowed vpon man for his torment: for it is long of them that he toileth and trauelleth, torment­eth himselfe with what is past, and that which is to come; yea he imagineth, apprehendeth, and feareth those euils that are not, nor euer shall be. Beasts apprehend nothing that is ill vntill they feele it; and being escaped, they are presently in securitie and at peace. So that we see that man is most mi­serable euen in that wherin he thought himselfe most happy: whereby it seemeth that it had beene better for man, not to haue beene indued and adorned with all those beautifull and celestiall armes, since he turneth them against himselfe, euen to his owne destruction. And to say the trueth, we see those that are most stupid and feeble of spirit, liue at best content, and feele not their euill accidents in so high a degree, as those that are more spirituall.

Another aduantage that man pretendeth aboue beasts is a signorie and power of commanding, which he thinketh hee 10 2. Signorie and com­mand. hath ouer beasts: but besides, that it is an aduantage that men themselues haue and exercise the one ouer the other, this is not true. For where is this command of man, this obedience of the beasts? It is a monster that was neuer seen, yea men do more feare beasts, than beasts them. It is true that man hath a great preheminence ouer beasts, vt praesit piscibus maris, vo­latilibus coeli, bestijs terrae. And this by reason of his beautifull Gen. 1. and vpright forme, of his wisdome and the prerogatiue of his spirit: but not that hee should either command, or they obey.

There is likewise another aduantage, neere neighbour to 11. 3. Libertie. this, pretended by man, which is a plaine libertie, reproching [Page 110] beasts with their seruitude, captiuitie, subiection: but this is to small purpose. There is farre greater reason why man should reproch man; witnesse those slaues, not only made by force, and such as descend from them, but also those that are voluntarie, who either sell for money their libertie or giue it, out of the lightnesse of their hearts, or for some commoditie, as the ancient fensers solde outright women to their mistres­ses, souldiers to their captaines. Now there is none of all this in beasts, they neuer serue one another, nor yeeld themselues to any seruitude either actiue or passiue, either to serue or to be serued, and are in euery thing more free than men. And as man goeth to the chase, taketh, killeth, eateth the beasts; so is he taken, killed, eaten by them in his turne, and more ho­nourably too, by maine strength, not by wit and art, as man doth: and not only by them is he killed, but by his compa­nion, by another man, a thing base and dishonorable. Beasts assemble not themselues in troops to go to kill, to destroy, to ransacke, to inthrall another troope of their kinde, as men do.

The fourth and greatest aduantage pretended by man, is in vertue; but of morall it is disputable (I meane morall ma­terially 12 4. Vertue. by the outward action): for formallie the moralitie good or euill, vertue and vice, can not be in a beast. Kinde acknowledgement, officious amitie, fidelitie, magnanimitie, and many other vertues, which consist in societie and con­uersation, are more liuely, more expresse and constant, than can be in the common sort of people. Hircanus the dogge of Lysimachus continued vpon the bed of his dead master, refu­sing all kinde of sustenance, and afterwards cast himselfe into that fire wherein his master was burnt, and there died with him. The selfe same did another belonging to one Pyrrhus. That dogge of wise Hesiodus discouered the murther of his master. Another in like sort in the presence of King Pyrrhus, and his whole armie. Another which neuer ceased, as Plu­tarch affirmeth, going from citie to citie, vntill that sacrilegi­ous Robber of the Temple of Athens was apprehended and brought to iudgements That historie is famous, of the lion that was host and nurse to Androdus the slaue and his Physi­tian, which would not touch him being cast out vnto him: which Appion affirmeth to haue seene at Rome. An Elephant [Page 111] hauing in choler killed his gouernour, repenting himselfe of it, refused any longer to eat, drinke, or liue. Contrariwise, there is not a creature in the world, more vniust, vnthankfull, traiterous, perfidious, lying and deceitfull, than man. Againe, forasmuch as vertue consisteth in the moderation of our ap­petites, and the bridling of our pleasures, beasts are much more moderate therein than wee, and doe better containe themselues within the limits of nature. For they are not only not touched with vnnaturall, superfluous and artificiall passi­ons and desires, which are all vitious and infinite, as men who for the most part are plunged in them; but also in the natu­rall, as eating and drinking, the acquaintance betwixt the male and the female, they are farre more moderate and staied. But that we may see which is the more vertuous or vitious a man or a beast, and in good earnest to shame a man more than a beast, let vs take the vertue most proper and agreeable vnto man, that is, as the word it selfe importeth, humanity: as the most strange and contrary vice is cruelty. Now heerin beasts Humanity. Cruelty. haue aduantage enough euen to make men blush for shame. They neuer assaile, and seldome offend those of their kind, maior serpentum ferarumque concordia quàm hominum: They neuer fight but for great and iust causes, as the defence and preseruation of their liues, liberty, and their little ones: and that they doe with their naturall and open armes, by their only force and valour, and that one to one, as in single com­bates, and not in troupes, nor by designements. Their com­bates are short and soone ended, vntill one of them be either wounded or yeeldeth, and the combate ended, the quarrell, hatred, and choler is likewise at an end. But man hath no quarrell but against man, for not only light, vaine and friuo­lous causes, but many times vniust, with artificiall and traite­rous armes, by deceits and wicked meanes, in troupe and as­sembly gathered by assignement; and lastly his wars are long and neuer ended but with death, and when he is able no lon­ger to hurt, yet the hatred and choler endureth.

The conclusion of this comparison is, that vntruely and 12 The conclu­sion of this second consi­deration. vainly doth man glorifie himselfe aboue beasts. For if man haue in him something more than they, as especially the vi­uacity of the spirit and vnderstanding, and those great facul­ties [Page 112] of the soule; so likewise in exchange is hee subiect to a thousand euils from which the beasts are freed, inconstancie, irresolution, superstition, a painfull care of things to come, ambition, auarice, enuie, curiositie, detraction, lying, and a world of disordered appetites, discontentments, emulations. This spirit wherewith man maketh himselfe so mery, brings him a thousand inconueniences, and then most, when it is most stirred and enforced. For it doth not only hurt the bo­dy, trouble, breake and weaken the bodily forces and fun­ctions, but also it hurts and hindereth it selfe. What casteth man into follie and madnesse, but the sharpenesse, agility, and proper force of the spirit? The most subtile follies and ex­cellent lunacies proceede from the rarest and quickest agita­tions of the spirit, as from greatest amities spring greatest en­mities, and from soundest healths mortall maladies. Melan­cholie men, saith Plato, as they are more capeable of know­ledge and wisedome, so likewise of folly. And hee that well marketh it, shall finde, that in those eleuations and salies of a free soule, there is some mixture of folly; for to say the truth, these things are neere neighbours.

Touching a simple life and such as is according to nature, beasts do farre exceede men; they liue more freely, securely, 13 An exhor­tation. moderately, contentedly. And that man is wise that conside­reth heereof, and benefiteth himselfe by making them an in­struction vnto himselfe, which doing, he frameth himselfe to innocencie, simplicitie, libertie, and that naturall sweetnesse which shineth in beasts, and is wholly altered and corrupteth in vs by our artificiall inuentions, and vnbridled licentious­nesse, abusing that wherein we say we excell them, which is the spirit and iudgement. And therefore God doth many times send vs to schoole, to birds, beasts themselues, to the kite, the grashopper, the swallow, the turtle, the ant, the ox, the asse, and diuers others. Lastly, we must remember that there is a kind of commerce betwixt beasts & vs, a certain re­lation & mutuall obligation, whereof there is no other reason, but that they belong to one & the same master, and are of the same family that we are. It is an vnworthy thing to tyrannise ouer them, we owe iustice vnto men, and pitie and gentlenesse to such other creatures as are capeable thereof.

CHAP. XXXV. The estimation, breuitie, description, of the life of man, and the parts thereof.

IT is a great and principall point of wisdome, truly to know 1 Of the esti­mation and woorth of life. how to esteeme of life, to holde and preserue it, to lose or to take it away, to keepe and direct it, as much as after such a maner as is fit; there is not perhaps any thing wherein a man faileth more, or is more hindred. The vulgar vnlearned sot accounteth it a souereigne good, and preferreth it aboue all things; yea he will not sticke to redeeme and prolong it by all the delayes that may be, vpon what conditions soeuer, thinking it can neuer be bought too deare: for it is all in all with him, his motte is Vita nihil carius. He esteemeth and lo­ueth his life for the loue of it selfe: he liues not but to liue. It is no maruell if hee faile in all the rest, if hee be wholly com­pounded of errours, since from his very entrance, and in this fundamentall point he mistakes himselfe so grosly. It may be likewise with some lesse esteemed, and more basely accoun­ted of than it should, either by reason of some insufficiencie in iudgement, or a proud misknowledge thereof: for falling in­to the hands of those that are good and wise, it may be a pro­fitable instrument both to themselues and others. And I can not be of their opinion (as it is simply taken) that say it is best of all, not to be at all; and that the best is the shortest life: optimum non nasci aut quàm citissimè aboleri. And it is neither well nor wisely sayd, What hurt or what matter had it beene if I had neuer beene? A man may answer him with the like question: Where had that good beene which is come, and being not come, had it not beene euill not to haue beene? It is a kinde of euill that wanteth good, whatsoeuer it be, yea though not necessarie. These extremities are too extreame and vitious, though not equally: but that seemes true that a wise man spake, That life is such a good as a man would not take, if he knew well what it were before he tooke it: Vitam Seneca. [Page 114] nemo acciperet, si daretur scientibus. It is well that men are within before they see the entrance, and that they are carried hudwinckt into it. Now when they are within, some doe so cocker and flatter themselues therein, that vpon what condi­tion soeuer they will not go forth againe; others do nothing but murmure and vex themselues: but the wiser sort seeing it to be a market that is made without themselues (for a man neither liues nor dies when and how he will) and that though the way be rough and hard, yet neuerthelesse it is not alwaies so, without winsing, or striuing and troubling any thing, they accomodate themselues vnto it as they may, and so passe their life in quietnesse, making of necessitie a vertue; which is a token of wisdome and industrie: and so doing, they liue as long as they should, and not like fooles, as long as they can. For there is a time to liue, and a time to die: and a good death is farre better than an ill life. A wise man liues no longer, than See heereof lib. 2. ca. 11. that his life may be woorth more than his death: for the lon­gest life is not alwaies the better.

All men doe much complaine of the breuitie of the life of 2 Of the length and breuitie of life. man; not only the simple vulgar sort, who wish it would ne­uer haue end, but also (which is more strange) the greatest and wisest make it the principall ground of their complaints. To say the truth, the greatest part thereof being diuerted and otherwise employed, there remaines little or nothing for it selfe: for the time of our infancie, olde age, sleepe, maladies of minde and bodie, and many other times, both vnprofita­ble and vnfit for any good, being taken away, that which re­maineth is little or nothing at all. Neuerthelesse, without op­posing the contrarie opinion to them that holde a short life to be a great good and gift of Nature, their complaint seem­eth to haue little equitie and reason, and rather to proceed from malice. For to what end serueth a long life? Simplie to liue, to breathe, to eat, to drinke, to see this world: for all this what needs so long time? We haue seene, knowen, tasted all in a short space; and knowing it, to desire so long a time to practise it, and still to reiterate the same thing, to what end is it? Who will not be satisfied, nay wearied, to do alwaies one and the same thing? If it be not tedious and irkesome, at the least it is superfluous: it is a turning wheele where the same [Page 115] things come and go: it is alwaies to begin where we end, and to respinne the same webbe. But perhaps they will say they desire a long life to learne and to profit the more, and to pro­ceed to a greater perfection of knowledge and vertue. Alas good soules that wee are, what should wee know, or who should teach vs? We employ but badly that little which is giuen vs, not only in vanities and those things that yeeld vs no profit, but in malice and sinne; and then we crie out and complaine, that we haue not enough giuen vnto vs. And to say the truth, to what end serues so great store of knowledge and experience, since in the end wee must leaue it and dis­lodge it; and hauing dislodged it altogether, forget and lose it all, or know it better and otherwise? But you will say, that there are beasts that do triple and quadruple the life of man. To omit those fables that are tolde heereof; Be it so: but yet there are a number that liue not a quarter of that time that man doth, and few neither, that liue out their time. By what right or reason, or priuiledge, can man challenge a lon­ger life than other creatures? Is it because he doth better em­ploy it in matters more high and more worthie life? By this reason he should liue lesse time than all other creatures; for there is none comparable to man in the ill emploiment of his life, in wickednesse, ingratitude, intemperance, and all ma­ner of disorder and immodestie in maners, as hath been shew­ed before in the comparison of man with beasts: so that as I asked euen now, to what end a long life serued; now I aske, what euils there would be in the world, if the life of man were long? What would he not enterprise, since the shortnesse of life, which cuts off his way, and (as they say) interrupts his cast, and the vncerteinty thereof, which takes away all heart and courage, can not stay him, liuing as if he should liue euer? On the one side he feareth perceiuing himselfe to be mortall, but notwithstanding that, hee can not bridle himselfe from not coueting, hoping, enterprising, as if he were immortall. Tanquam semper victuri viuitis, nunquam vobis fragilitas vestra Seneca. succurrit: omnia tanquam mortales timetis, tanquam immortales concupiscitis. And to say the trueth, what need hath Nature of all these great and godly enterprises and imploiments, whereby man challengeth a longer life than other creatures? [Page 116] Man therefore hath no subiect whereof to complaine, but to be angrie with himselfe. We haue life enough, but we are not good husbands, we manage it not well; life is not short, but we make it so; we are not in want, but prodigall; non in­opes vitae, sed prodigi: we lose it, we dissipate it, we vilifie it, as if it were nought worth, as if we had more than enough: we all fall into one of these three faults, either we employ it ill, or about nothing, or in vaine. Magna vitae pars elabitur male Seneca. Looke lib. 3. cap. 6. agentibus, maxima nihil agentibus, tota aliud agentibus. One man studieth not to liue, but rather busieth himselfe in any other thing; he shall neuer know how to do a thing well by acquitting himselfe of labour, but by care and attention. Others reserue their liues vntill they can liue no longer, then take comfort in life when there is nothing left but the lees and dregs thereof. Oh what follie, what miserie is this! Yea there are some that haue sooner ended than begunne to liue, and life is past before they thought of it. Quidam viuere in­cipiunt, cùm desinendum; quidam antè desierunt, quàm incipe­rent. Inter caetera mala, hoc quoque habet stultitia, semper inci­pit viuere.

Our present life is but the entrance and end of a Tragedie, 3 A descripti­on of the life of man. a perpetuall issue of errours, a web of vnhappie aduentures, a pursuit of diuers miseries inchained together on all sides; there is nothing but euill that it distilleth, that it prepareth; one euill driues forward another euill, as one waue another; torment is euer present, and the shadow of what is good de­ceiueth vs; blindnesse and want of sense possesseth the be­ginning of our life, the middle is euer in paine and trauell, the end in sorrow; and beginning, middle, and end in errour.

The life of man hath many discommodities and miseries common, ordinarie and perpetuall; it hath likewise some 4 particular and distinct, according to the diuersitie of the parts, ages and seasons; infancie, youth, virilitie, olde age, euery one haue their proper and particular discommodities.

The greatest part of the world speake more honorablie & 5 A compari­son betwixt youth and olde age. fauorably of old age, as the more wise, ripe, moderat, accusing and shaming youth as vitious, foolish, licentious, but very vniustly: for in trueth the infirmities and vices of old age are more in number, more great and troublesome than those of [Page 117] youth, it filles the minde more with wrinckles, then the vi­sage; and there is not a soule growing olde, growes not sow­er and rotten. With the body the spirit is vsed, and the worse for the vse; and at the last returns to infancy againe: bis pueri senes. Old age is a necessary and puissant malady, which loa­deth vs insensibly with many imperfections. It were absurd to tearme wisdome a difficultie of humours, an anxietie and distaste of things present, an impotencie to doe as in former times: wisdome is too noble to be serued with such officers. To wax olde is not to wax wise, nor to take away vices; but to change them into worse. Olde age condemneth pleasure, but it is because it can not taste or relish it aright, like Esops dogge, it saith it will none of it, but it is because it can not ioy in it: for olde age leaueth not pleasure properly, but pleasure disdaines olde age; for it is alwayes wanton and sporting: and it is no reason that impotencie should corrupt iudge­ment, which should in youth know vice in pleasure, and in olde age pleasure in vice. The vices of youth are temeritie, indiscreet forwardnesse, and vnbridled libertie and ouergree­die desire of pleasure; which are naturall things proceeding from the heat of the blood and naturall vigour, and therefore the more excusable; but the vices of olde age are farre other­wise. The lighter are a vaine and fraile proteruitie, an enur­ous pratling, insociable humours, superstition, care to get ri­ches, euen then when the vse of them is lost, a sottish auarice, and feare of death, which proceedeth properly, not from the want of spirit and courage, as they say, but because olde men are long acquainted and as it were cockered in this world, whereby their affections are knit vnto it; which is not in yoong men: but besides these they are enuious, froward, vn­iust: but that which is most sottish and ridiculous in them, is that they would not only be reuerenced but feared, and there­fore they put vpon them an austere looke and disdainfull, thinking thereby to extort feare and obedience: but they are therein much deceiued, for this stately and furious gesture is receiued of youth with mockerie and laughter, being practi­sed only to blinde their eyes, and of purpose to hide and dis­guise the truth of things. There are in old age so many faults on the one side, and so many impotencies on the other, and [Page 118] therefore so fit for contempt, that the best way to compasse their desires is loue and affection: for command and feare are no longer fit armes for them. It ill befits them to make them­selues to be feared: and though they could doe it, yet loue and honour is a fairer purchase.

CHAP. XXXVI. 1. Vanity.

VAnity is the most essentiall and proper quality of hu­mane nature. There is nothing so much in man, bee it 1 malice, infelicity, inconstancy, irresolution (and of all these there is alwaies abundance) as base feeblenesse, sottishnesse and ridiculous vanity. And therefore Democritus met better with it, with a kind of disdaine of humane condition, mock­ing and laughing at it, than Heraclitus that wept and tormen­ted himselfe, whereby he gaue some testimony, that he made some account thereof; and Diogenes who scorned it, than Ti­mon that hater and flier of the company of men. Pindarus hath expressed it more to the life than any other, by the two vainest things in the world, calling it the dreame of ashadow, [...].

This is that, that hath wrought in the wisest so great a con­tempt of man, that hearing of some great designment and ho­nourable [Page 120] enterprise, and iudging it such, were wont neuerthe­lesse to say that the world was not worthy a mans labour and paines, (so answered Statilius to Brutus, talking with him a­bout the conspiracie against Caesar) and that a wise man should doe nothing but for himselfe, for it is not reason that wise men, and wisedome should put themselues in danger for fooles.

This vanitie is shewed and expressed many waies, and af­ter 2 Thoughts. a diuers maner, first in our thoughts and priuate imagina­tions, which are many times more than vaine, friuolous, and ridiculous, wherein neuerthelesse we spend much time, and yet perceiue it not. Wee enter into them, we dwell in them, and we come foorth againe insensibly, which is a double va­nitie, and a great forgetfulnesse of our selues. One walking in a hall considereth how he may frame his paces after a cer­taine fashion vpon the boords of the floure: another discour­seth in his minde, with much time, and great attention, how he should carry himselfe if he were a king, a Pope, or some other thing that he is assured can neuer come to passe; and so hee feedeth himselfe with winde, yea lesse than winde, that, that neither is, nor euer shall be. Another dreameth how he shall compose his body, his countenances, his gestures, his speech after an affected fashion, and pleaseth himselfe there­in, as with a thing that wonderfully becomes him, and that euery man should take delight in. But what a vanitie and sot­tish weakenesse in our desires is this, that brings forth beliefs and hopes farre more vaine? And all this falleth out not on­ly when we haue nothing to doe, when we are swallowed vp with idlenesse, but many times in the midst of our most ne­cessarie affaires: so naturall and powerfull is vanitie, that it robbeth and plucketh out of our hands, the truth, soliditie, and substance of things, and fills vs with winde, yea with no­thing.

Another more sottish vanitie is a troublesome care of what shall heere fall out when we are dead. We extend our desires 3 Care for times to come. and affections beyond our selues, and our being; wee would prouide that some thing should bee done vnto vs, when wee know not what is done vnto vs; owe desire to be praised after our death, what greater vanitie? It is not ambition, as it see­meth [Page 121] & a man may thinke it, for that is the desire of a sensible and perceptible honor: if this praise of our selues when we are gone, might any way profit either our children, our parents, or our friends that suruiue vs, it were well, there were some benefit, though not to our selues; but to desire that as a good, which shall no way touch vs, nor benefit others, is a meere vanitie, like that of those who feare their wiues will marrie after their departure: and therefore they desire them with great passion to continue vnmarried, and binde them by their willes so to do, leauing vnto them a great part of their goods vpon that condition. This is vanitie and many times iniu­stice. It was contrariwise a commendable thing in those great men in times past, which dying exhorted their wiues to marry speedily for the better increase of the Commonwealth. Others ordeine, that for the loue of them and for their sakes a friend keepe such and such a thing, or that he do this or that vnto their dead bodies; which rather sheweth their vanitie, than doth any good to soule or bodie.

See heere another vanitie, we liue not but by relation vnto another; we take not so much care what we are in our selues 4 in effect and truth, as what we are in the publike knowledge of men; in such sort, that we do many times deceiue and de­priue our selues of our owne goods and commodities, and torment our selues, to frame our outward appearances to the common opinion. This is true, not onely in outward things and such as belong to the bodie, and the expense and charge of our meanes, but also in the goods of the spirit, which seeme vnto vs to be without fruit, if others enioy them not, and they be not produced to the view and approbation of strangers.

Our vanity is not only in our simple thoughts, desires, and discourses, but it likewise troubleth, shaketh and tormenteth 5 Agitations of the spirit. both soule and bodie. Many times men trouble and torment themselues more for light occasions and matters of no mo­ment, than for the greatest and most important affaires that are. Our soule is many times troubled with small fantasies, dreames, shadowes, fooleries, without bodie, without sub­iect; it is intangled and molested with choler, hatred, sorow, ioy, building castles in Spaine. The remembrance of a fare­well [Page 120] [...] [Page 121] [...] [Page 122] of some particular grace or action afflicteth vs more than a whole discourse of a matter of greater importance. The sound of names and certaine words pronounced with a pitifull voice, yea with sighs and exclamations pierceth euen to the quicke, as Oratours and Players, and other that sell winde and smoake doe well know and practise. And this winde catcheth and carrieth away many times men that are most constant and setled, if they stand not vpon their gard: so puissant is vanitie ouer men. And not only light and little things doe shake and trouble vs, but also lies and impostures, euen those we know to be such (a strange thing) in such sort, that we take pleasure to deceiue our selues in good earnest, to feed our fantasies with tales, with nothing (ad fallendum nosmetipsos ingeniosissimi sumus): witnesse they that weepe and afflict themselues hearing a relation, or seeing a Trage­die, which they know to be an inuention made for delight, euen of those things that neuer were. I could tell you of one that was so besotted, that he died for one whom he knew to be foule, olde, deformed, not because he loued her, but be­cause she was well painted, and plastered or coloured with o­ther impostures, though he alwayes knew them to be such.

Let vs come from the particular vanitie of euery particu­lar 6 Visitations and offices of courtesie. man in his common life, to see how much this vanitie is ti­ed to the nature of man, not onely as a priuate and personall vice. What vanitie and losse of time is there in those visitati­ons, salutations, congies and mutuall enterteinments, those offices of courtesie, orations, ceremonies, offers, praises, pro­mises! How many hyperbolicall speeches, hypocrisies and impostures are there in the sight and knowledge of all, both of those that giue them, that receiue them, that heare of them! insomuch that it seemeth to be a match and market made to­gether, to mocke, lie, and deceiue one another. And that which is woorth all the rest, he that knowes that a man doth impudently lie vnto him, must yet giue him thanks; and he that knowes that when he lies he is not beleeued, sets a bolde face vpon the matter, attending and obseruing one the other, who shall first begin or end; when they could both be con­tent they were both asunder. What inconueniences doth man endure? He faineth, counterfeiteth, disguiseth himselfe; [Page 123] he endureth heat, colde, troubleth his rest, afflicteth his life for those courtly vanities, and leaueth his weightie affaires for the winde. We are vaine at the charge of our owne ease, yea of our health and of our life. The accidents and the ligh­ter things trample vnder foot the substance, and the winde carrieth the bodie, so much is man a slaue to vanitie: and he that will do otherwise shall be held for a foole and a man that vnderstands not the world. It is dexteritie well to play this Comedie, and folly not to be vaine. Being entred into speech and familiar discourse, how many vaine and vnprofitable, false, fabulous tales are there (not to say wicked and perniti­ous, which are not of this count) how many vaunts and vaine boastings! Man desireth and delighteth to speake of himselfe and that which is his, and if he thinke he haue either done or said, or possesse any thing that is worthie estimation, he is not at ease vntill he hath vttered it, and made it knowen to others: when a commoditie first commeth he entreth into an account thereof, he valueth it, he raiseth the price, nay he will not seeme to attend his commoditie, though he seeke it with industrie; and then to heare what the speech of the people is abroad, he thrusts himselfe into companie, and it tickleth him at the heart to heare his happie successe spoken of, and that men esteeme of him the more, and of what hee esteemes.

But better to make knowen what credit and command this vanitie hath ouer the nature of man, let vs call to minde that 7 Publike and vniuersall agitations. the greatest alterations of the world, the most generall and fearefull agitations of States and Empires, armies, battels, murthers, haue risen from light, ridiculous and vaine causes: witnesse the warres of Troy and Greece, of Sylla and Marius, Caesar and Pompey, Augustus and Antonie. The Poets sig­nifie as much, when they set all Greece and Asia on fire for an apple. The first occasions and motiues arise of nothing, af­terwards they grow and increase: a testimonie of the vanitie and follie of man. Many times the accident doth more than the principall, the lesser circumstances touch more to the quicke than the greatest, nay the causes and subiects them­selues. The robe of Caesar troubled Rome more than his death did, or those 22 stabs with a poignard that were giuen him.

[Page 124] Lastly, the crowne and perfection of the vanitie of man is 8 Felicitie and contentment. shewed in that which he most affecteth and seeks after; he pleaseth himselfe and placeth his whole felicitie in those vaine and friuolous goods, without which hee may well and commodiously liue, and takes not that care that he should for the true and essentiall: his chance is winde, his whole good nothing but opinion and dreames, wherein he is matchlesse. God hath all good things in essence, all euill in vnderstand­ing; man quite contrarie possesseth his good things by fan­tasie, his euill in essence. Beasts content not, nor feed them­selues with opinions and fantasies, but with that which is present, palpable and in veritie. Vanitie hath beene giuen vnto man as his proper part or condition; he runnes, he stirs, he hunts vp and downe, hee catcheth a shadow, hee adoreth the winde, he flies, he dies, and a mote at the last is the heire of his dayes worke. Vanitati creatura subiecta est etiam nolens, vniuersa vanitas omnis homo viuens.

CHAP. XXXVII. Debillitie or Infirmitie.

BEholde heere the second head of this Consideration and humane knowledge: for how should vanitie be other 1 than fraile and feeble? This weaknesse is confessed, and pro­ued by all that account many things easie to be vnderstood of all, but is not taken to be such in those things it should, as in such wherein a man seemeth, to be most strong, and least weake; in desiring, possessing, and vsing those things that he hath and holdeth, and in euery good and euill; and to be short, in such wherein he glorieth most, wherein he thinketh to excell others, and to be some thing. These are the true te­stimonies of his weaknesse: but we shall see this better apart.

First, touching desire, a man can not settle his contentment in any thing, no not his owne desire and imagination. It is 2 In desiring & chusing. not in our power to chuse that we should: and whatsoeuer we haue desired or obteined, it satisfies vs not: but we go bleat­ing after things vnknowen and to come, because things pre­sent content vs not, and wee more esteeme of things absent. If one should put a man to his owne choise, make him his [Page 125] owne caruer, it is not in his power so to chuse, as that he re­pent not his choise, or which he will not adde vnto, or take from, or alter some way or other; for he desires that which he knowes not how to expresse: and at the last nothing can content him, but he is angrie and falleth out with himselfe.

The weaknesse of man doth more appeare, and is greater 3 In possessing and vsing. in the possession and vse of things, and that diuers wayes: first, in that he can not make vse of any thing in it owne puri­tie and simple nature; but he must disguise, alter and corrupt them before he can accommodate them to his vse: the ele­ments, mettals, and all things els in their owne nature are not fit for vse. Good things, delights and pleasures can not be enioyed without some mixture of euill and discommoditie: Medio de fonte leporum surgit amari aliquid, quod in ipsis floribus angat. The highest pleasure that is hath a sigh and a com­plaint to accompanie it; and being come to perfection is but debilitie, a deiection of the minde, languishment. An ex­treame and full contentment hath more moderate seueritie than wanton delight: Ipsa foelicitas, se nisi temperat, premit: and therefore it was well said of him, That God selles vn­to vs whatsoeuer good thing he sends vs: that is to say, That he giueth nothing vnto vs purely good, but that we buy it at the scales with an addition of some euill to make vp weight. So likewise, sorrow is neuer pure without the alliance of some pleasure: Labor voluptas (que) dissimillima natura, societate quadam naturali inter se sunt iuncta; est quaedam flere voluptas. So all things in this world are mingled and compounded with their contraries: those motions and wrinckles in the visage that serue to laugh, serue to weepe, as Painters teach vs: and we see that the extreamitie of laughter is mingled with teares. There is no good thing in vs that hath not some vitious tin­cture with it, omnes iustitiae nostrae sunt tanquam pannus menstru­atae, as anon shalbe shewed in his due place; nor no euil with­out some good: nullum sine authoramento malum est. Miserie it selfe alwayes serues to some end: for there is no euill with­out good, no good in man without euill: all is mingled, and there is nothing pure in our hands. Secondly, whatsoeuer happeneth vnto vs, we take and enioy with an ill hand; our taste is vnresolued and vncertaine, it knowes not how to hold [Page 126] and possesse any thing after a good maner: and from thence sprang that vndetermined question of the souereigne good. The better things many times in our hands, by our infirmi­ties, vice, insufficiencie, are made woorse, are corrupted, be­come nothing, are vnprofitable vnto vs, yea sometimes hurt­full and contrary.

But humane imbecillitie is more richly displaied in good and euill, in vertue and vice: hence it is, that man can not be, 4 In good and euill. when it seemes good vnto himselfe, either wholly good or wholly wicked, but he hath his weakenesse, his impotencies in them both. Touching vertue, three points are to be con­sidered: the first is, That it is not in the power of man to doe all good, to put in practise all vertues; insomuch that many vertues are incompatible, and can not be together, at least in one and the same subiect, as filiall or maidenly continencie and viduall, which are wholly different; the married and vn­married state; the two second of widowhood and marriage, being more painfull and busie, and hauing more difficultie and vertue than the two first of virginitie and the vnmarried estate, which haue more puritie, grace and ease: Virgo felici­or, vidua laboriosior, in illa gratia, in ista virtus coronatur: that Tertull. constancie which is in pouertie, want, aduersitie, and that which is in abundance and prosperitie: patience in beggerie and liberalitie. And this is more true in vices, which are op­posite one against the other.

The second point is, That many times a man can not per­forme that which belongs to one vertue, without the scandall 5 and offence either of another vertue, or of it selfe; insomuch that they hinder one the other: whereby it comes to passe that a man can not satisfie the one but at the charge of the o­ther; which wee must not attribute vnto vertue, or thinke that the vertues crosse and contrary one another, for they a­gree well enough; but vnto the weakenesse of our humane condition, all the sufficiencie and industrie thereof being so short and so feeble, that it can not finde any certaine, vniuer­sall and constant rule, whereby to make an honest man: and such order can not be taken, but that the meanes to doe well doe many times hinder one the other. Let vs take for exam­ple, Charitie and Iustice: if I encounter my father or my [Page 127] friend in the warres, on the enemies part, in iustice I ought to kill him, but in charitie I should spare and saue him. If a man be wounded to the death and past all remedie, and that there remaineth nothing but a grieuous languishment, it were a deed of charitie to make an end of him, as he did that killed Saul at his earnest intreatie; but this charitie is punished by iustice, as he was by Dauid, and that iustly, Dauid being the minister of publike iustice, not priuate charitie: yea, to be found neere vnto a man in such a case, in a suspicious place, and where there is doubt of the murderer, although hee be there to performe some office of humanitie, is very dange­rous; and the best thing that can happen vnto him, is to be called into question, and put to answer to that accident whereof he is innocent. So that we see that iustice doth not only offend charitie, but it hampereth and hindereth it selfe: and therefore it was very well sayd and truly, Summum ius, summa iniuria.

The third point and the most notable is, that a man is con­strained 6 many times to vse badde meanes for the better auoi­dance of some great euill, or the execution of what is good, in such sort that he must sometimes approoue as lawfull, not onely those things that are not good, but that are starke naught; as if to be good, it were necessarie to be somewhat wicked. And this is seene in euery thing, in Policie, Iustice, Veritie, Religion.

In Policy, how many euils are there permitted and publik­ly acted, not only by conniuence or permission, but also by 7 Policy. the approbation of the lawes themselues? as shall heereafter be said in his due place; ex senatusconsultis & plebescitis scelera exercentur. To disburthen a State or Common-weale either of too great a number of people, or of such as are inflamed with a desire of warres, which the state, like a body repleat with bad or abundant humours, cannot beare, it is the maner to send them elsewhere, and to ease themselues at the charge or disease of another. As the French, Lombards, Gothes, Van­dales, Tartarians, Turks haue beene accustomed to do. To a­uoid a ciuill war, it is the maner to entertaine a strange war. To instruct others in the vertue of Temperance, Lycurgus caused the Ilotes their seruants to be made drunke, that by the [Page 128] vgly deformity of their superfluous inundation, others might grow into a horror and detestation of that sinne. The Ro­manes to prepare their people to valour, and a contempt of the dangers of death, ordeined of purpose those furious spe­ctacles of the fencers, which at the first they ordained for of­fendors, afterwards for slaues or seruants, but innocents, and lastly for freemen that gaue themselues thereunto. Brothell houses in great Cities, vsuries, diuorces, vnder the law of Moy­ses, and in diuers other nations, and religions, haue beene permitted for the better auoiding of greater mischiefes, ad du­ritiem cordis eorum.

In Iustice, which cannot subsist, cannot be executed, with­out 8 Iustice. the mixture of some wrong, not onely Iustice commuta­tiue, for that is not strange: it is after a sort necessarie, and men could not liue and traffique together, without mutuall dammage, without offence, and the lawes allow of the losse which is vnder the moiety of the iust price. But also Iustice distributiue, as it selfe confesseth: Summum ius, summa iniu­ria: & omne magnum exemplum habet aliquid ex iniquo, quod contra singulos, vtilitate publica rependitur. Plato alloweth, and it is not against the law, by deceits and false hopes of fauour and pardon, to draw the offender to confesse his fault. This is by iniustice, deceit and impudencie to doe iustice. And what should we say of the inuention of tortures, which is ra­ther Of tortures. a proofe of patience, than verity? For both hee that can suffer them, and cannot, will conceale the truth. For why should griefe cause a man rather to speake that which is, than that which is not? If a man thinke that an innocent is patient enough to endure torments, why should not he that is guilty, being a meanes to saue his life? Illa tormenta gubernat dolor, moderatur natura, cuiusque tum animi, tum corporis regit quaesi­tor, flectit libido, corrumpit spes, infirmat metus, vt in tot rerum angustijs nil veritati loci relinquatur. In defence heereof it is said, that tortures doe astonish and quell the guiltie, and ex­tort from him a truth; and contrariwise strengthen the inno­cent: but we doe so often see the contrarie, that this may be doubted; and to say the truth, it is a poore meanes full of vn­certaintie, full of doubt. What will not a man say, what will he not doe, to auoid such torment? etenim innocentes mentiri [Page 129] cogit dolor, in such sort that it falleth out that the iudge which giueth the torture, to the end an innocent should not die, cau­seth him to die an innocent and tortured too. A thousand and a thousand haue falsely accused their owne heads, either to shorten their torments or their liues. But in the foot of this account is it not a great iniustice and crueltie to torment and to racke a man in pieces for that offence which is yet doubt­ed of? To the end they may not kil a man without iust cause, they doe worse than kill him: if he be innocent and beare the punishment, what amends is made him for his vniust torture? He shall be quit, a goodly recompence, and much reason he hath to thanke you. But it is the lesser euill that the weake­nesse of man could inuent.

If man bee weake in vertue, much more is hee in veritie, whether it be eternall and diuine, or temporall and humane. 9 Veritie. That astonisheth him with the lightning, & beats him downe with the thunder thereof, as the bright beames of the sunne, the weake eie of the owle: if he presume to behold it, being oppressed, he presently fainteth, qui scrutator est maiestatis, opprimetur a gloria: in such sort that to giue himselfe some breath, some tast, he must disguise, temper, and couer it with some shadow or other. This, that is, humane veritie, offen­deth and woundeth him, and he that speakes it, is many times holden for an enemie, Veritas odium parit. It is a strange thing, man desireth naturally to know the truth, and to at­taine thereunto he remooueth all lets whatsoeuer, and yet he can not attaine it: if it be present, he can not apprehend it; if he apprehend it, he is offended with it. The fault is not in the truth, for that is alwayes amiable, beautifull, worthie the knowledge; but it is humane imbecillitie that can not endure the splendour thereof. Man is strong enough to desire, but too weake to receiue and holde what he desireth. The two principall means which he vseth to attaine to the knowledge of truth, are Reason and Experience. Now both of them are so feeble & vncertaine (though Experience the more weake) that nothing certaine can be drawen from them. Reason hath so many formes, is so pliable, so wauering, as hath been said, Cap. 14. and Experience much more, the occurrents are alwayes vn­like; there is nothing so vniuersall in Nature as diuersitie, no­thing [Page 130] so rare and difficult, and almost impossible, as the like­nesle and similitude of things: and if a man can not note this dissimilitude, it is ignorance and weaknesse; I meane this per­fect, pure, and entire similitude and dissimilitude: for to say the trueth, they are both whole and entire, there is no one thing that is wholly like or dislike to another. This is an in­genious and maruellous mixture of Nature.

But after all this, what doth better discouer this humane imbecillitie than Religion? yea the very intention thereof is 10 Religion. to make man feele his owne euill, his infirmitie, his nothing, and to make him to receiue from God his good, his strength, his all things. First it preacheth it vnto him, it beats it into our memorie, it reprocheth man, calling him dust, ashes, earth, flesh, blood, grasse. Afterwards it infinuateth it into him, and makes him feele it after an excellent and goodly fa­shion; bringing in God himselfe, humbled, weakened, deba­sed for the loue of him, speaking, promising, swearing, chi­ding, threatning; and to be briefe, conuersing and working with man after a base, feeble humane maner, like a father that counterfeits his speech, and playes the childe with his chil­dren. The weaknesse of man being such, so great, so inuin­cible, that to giue it some accesse and commerce with the Di­uinitie, and to vnite it vnto God, it was necessary that God should debase himselfe to the bafest: Deus quia in altitudine sua a nobis paruulis apprehendi non poterat, ideo se strauit homi­nibus. Againe, it makes him see his owne weaknesse by ordi­narie effects; for all the principall and holiest exercises, the most solemne actions of religion, are they not the true symp­tomes and arguments of humane imbecillitie and sicknesse? Those sacrifices that in former times haue been vsed thorow­out Sacrifices. the world, and yet in some countreys continue, not only of beasts, but also of liuing men, yea of innocents, were they not shamefull marks of humane infirmitie and miserie? First, because they were signes and symboles of his condemnation and malediction (for they were as publike protestations, that he had deserued death, and to be sacrificed as those beasts were) without which there had neuer been any bloodie offe­rings or propitiatorie and expiatorie sacrifices. Secondly, because of the basenesse of the purpose and intent, which [Page 131] was to thinke to appease, flatter and gratifie God by the mas­sacre and blood of beasts and of men: Sanguine non colendus Deus, quae enim ex trucidatione immerentium voluptas est? It is true, that God in those first ages, yet the feeble infancie of the world and nature remaining simple, did well accept of them at the hands of religious men, euen for their deuotion, or rather Christ his sake: Respexit Dominus ad Abel, & ad munera eius, taking in good part that which was done with an intent to honour and serue him: and also afterwards, the world being as yet in it apprentiship, sub paedagogo, was whol­ly seasoned in this opinion so vniuersall, that it was almost thought naturall. I touch not heere that particular mysterie of the religion of the Iewes, who vsed them for figures (that is a point that belongs to religion) and with whom it was common to conuert that which was humane or naturall and corporall to a holy and sacred vse, and to gather from thence a spirituall fruit. But this was not because God tooke plea­sure in them, nor because it was by any reason in it selfe good: witnesse the Prophets, and the cleerest sighted amongst them, who haue alwayes freely sayd, Sivoluisses sacrificium dedissem, vti (que) holocaustis non delectaberis, sacrificium & oblatio­nem noluisti, holocaustum pro peccato non postulasti, non accipiam de domo tua vitulos &c. and haue called backe and inuited the world to another sacrifice more high, spirituall and woorthie the Diuinitie, Sacrificium Deo spiritus: aures autem perforasti mihi vt facerem voluntatem tuam, & legem tuam in medio cordis mei: Immola Deo sacrificium laudis: misericordiam volo non sa­crificium. At the last, the sonne of God, the Doctor of Truth, being come to secure and free-denize the world, did abolish them wholly: which he had not done, if it had beene a thing in it selfe and essentially good, and that it had pleased his fa­ther: for contrarily, Pater non tales quaerit, sed tales qui adorent in spiritu & veritate. And to say the trueth, it is one of the goodliest effects and fruits of Christianitie after the abolition of Idoles. And therefore Iulian the Emperour, his capitall e­nemy, as in despight of him, offered more sacrifices than euer any other did in the world, attempting to set them vp againe with idolatrie. Wherefore let vs heere leaue them, and let vs see those other principall parts of religion.

[Page 132] The Sacraments in a matter base and common, bread and Sacraments. wine, and an outward action as base, are they not testimonies of our pouertie and basenesse? Repentance, the vniuersall re­mendie Repentance of our maladies, is a thing in it selfe shamefull, feeble, yea euill: for to repent, to be sorry, to afflict the spirit, is euil, though by consequent it be good. An oath, what is it, but a An oath. symptome and shamefull marke of distrust, infidelitie, igno­rance, humane infirmitie, both in him that requires it, that giues it, that ordaines it? Quod amplius est a malo est. See then how religion healeth our euils by meanes not only small and feeble, our weaknesse so requiring, stulta & infirma mundi eli­git Deus; but such as by no meanes are of any value, nor are good in themselues, but good in that they serue and are em­ployed against euill, as medicines are: they sprang from an ill cause, yet they driue away ill: they are good, as gibbets and wheeles are in a Common-wealth, as vomits and other discharges proceeding from ill causes are to the bodie: to be briefe, they are such good things, as that it had beene farre better we had neuer had them; and neuer had we had them, if man had beene wise, and preserued himselfe in that estate wherein God had placed him; neither shall he haue them a­ny more, so soone as he is deliuered from this captiuitie, and arriued to his perfection.

All this sheweth how great this humane weaknesse is to a­ny 11 In euill. thing that is good, in Policie, Iustice, Veritie, Religion to­wards God, but that which is more strange is, that this weak­nesse is as great in what is euill: for man though hee be wil­ling to be wicked, yet hee can not be wholly such, but when he hath done his woorst there will be more to doe. There is alwayes some remorse and fearefull consideration, that molli­fieth the will and maketh it relent, and still reserueth some­thing to be done; which hath beene the cause of the ruine of many, although perhaps they made it a proiect for their safe­tie. This is imbecillitie and sottishnesse, and from hence did arise that Prouerbe at their cost, That a man must not play the foole by halfes. A speech vttered with iudgement, but that may haue both a good and an ill sense. To say that a man, when hee is once in, must still proceed to woorse and woorse, without any reseruation or respect, it is a very per­nitious [Page 133] doctrine: and the Prouerbe saith well against it: The shorter follies are the better. But yet in some certaine cases the middle way is verie dangerous, as when a man hath a strong enemie by the throat, like one that holdeth a woolfe by the eares, he must either win him altogether by courtesie or vtterly vndo him & extinguish him; which was alwayes the practise of the Romans, and that very wisely: among o­thers, concerning the Latines or Italians, at the exhortation of Camillus, Pacem in perpetuum parere vel seruiendo vel igno­scendo: for in such a case to doe things by halfes, is to lose all, as the Samnites did, who for want of putting in practise that counsell giuen them by an olde weather-beaten souldier, con­cerning the Romans, whom they had then enclosed and shut vp, payd dearly for it; aut conciltandus aut tollendus hostis. The former course of courtesie is the more noble, honourable, and rather to be chosen; and wee ought not come to the second but in extremities, and then when the enemie is not capable of the first. By this that hath beene said, is shewed the ex­treame imbecillitie of man in good and euill, and that good or euill which hee either doth or flieth, is not purely and en­tirely good or euill: so that it is not in his power to be whol­ly depriued of all good, nor altogether wicked.

Let vs likewise note many other effects and testimonies of 12 Reprehensi­ons and re­pulses. humane weaknesse. It is imbecillitie and pusillanimitie not to dare or not to be able to reprehend another, or to be repre­hended: hee that is feeble or courageous in the one, is so in the other. Now it is a strange kinde of delicatenesse, to de­priue either himselfe or another of so great a fruit, for so light and verball a wound, that doth onely touch and pierce the eare. Neere neighbour vnto this it is, not to be able to giue a deniall with reason, nor to receiue and suffer a repulse with patience.

In false accusations and wicked suspitions, which are done 13 False suspiti­ons and ac­cusations. in place of iustice and iudgement, there is double imbecilli­tie; the one in those that are accused and suspected, and that is in iustifying and excusing themselues too carefully, and as it were ambitiously. Mendax infamia terret quem nisi menda­cem? This is to betray their owne innocencie, to put their conscience and their right to comprimise and arbitrement; [Page 134] for by such plea perspicuitas argumentatione eleuatur. Socrates in iudgement it selfe would not do it, neither by himselfe nor by another, refusing to vse the learned plea of great Lysias, and chose rather to die. The other is in a contrarie case, that is, when the accused is so couragious that he takes no care to excuse or iustifie himselfe, because he scorneth the accusation and accuser, as vnwoorthy his answer and iustification; and he will not doe himselfe that wrong to enter the lists. This course hath been practised by generous men, by Scipio aboue all others, many times out of the maruellous constancie of his minde. Now others are offended heerewith, thinking it too great a confidence and pride, and it stingeth them, that hee hath too sensible a feeling of his innocency, and will not yeeld himselfe; or imputing this silence and contempt to the want of heart, distrust of the law, and inabilitie to iustifie himselfe. O feeble humanitie! the accused or suspected, whether hee defend or defend not himselfe, it is imbecillitie and coward­nesse. We wish a man courage to defend himselfe, and when he hath done it, wee shew our owne weaknesse by being of­fended with it.

Another argument of imbecillitie is, when a man shall sub­iect and addict himselfe to a certaine particular forme of life; 14 Tendernesse & delicacie. this is a base kinde of tendernesse, and effeminate delicacie, vnworthy an honest man, and makes vs vnprofitable, diffe­rent in conuersation, and may be hurtfull too in a case where change of maners and carriage is necessarie. It is likewise a shame, either not to dare or not to be able to doe that which hee seeth euery man to doe besides himselfe. It were fittest that such people should liue and hide themselues in the chim­ney corner in their priuate houses. The fairest forme of li­uing is to be pliable to all, euen to excesse it selfe, if need be; to be able, to dare, to know how to doe all things, and yet to doe nothing but what is good. It is good to know all, not to vse all.

It is likewise imbecillity, and a great & vulgar sottishnes, to run after strange and scholasticall examples, after allegations, 15 Search of bookes. neuer to settle an opinion without testimonies in print, nor to beleeue men but such as are in bookes, nor trueth it selfe but such as is ancient. By this reason fooleries and toyes if they [Page 135] once passe the presse, they haue credit and dignity enough. Now there are euery day many things done before our eies, which if we had but the spirit and sufficiency well to collect, to search with dexterity to iudge of, and to applie to their times, we should frame and finde miracles and maruellous ex­amples, which yeeld not in any thing to those of times past, which we so much admire, and therefore we admire because they are ancient and in print.

Againe another testimony of weaknesse is, that man is not 16 Extremities. capable but of indifferent things, and cannot endure extre­mities; for if they be small and in outward shew base, he con­temneth and disdaineth them as vnworthy, and it is offensiue vnto him to consider of them: if they be very great and ouer­splendent, he feares them, he admires them, and is offended with them. The first doth principally concerne great and high minds: the second as common with those that are weake.

This weaknesse doth likewise appeare in our hearing, 17 Sudden oc­currents. sight, and in the sudden stroke of a new vnexpected occur­rent, which surpriseth and seaseth vpon vs vnawares. For they doe in such sort astonish vs, that they take from vs both our sense and speech,

yea, sometimes life it selfe: whether they be good, wit­nesse that Romane dame, who died for ioy seeing hir sonne returne safe from the warres; Sophocles and Dionysius the ty­rant: or whether they be euill, witnesse Diodorus, who died in the field for shame, because he was not able to resolue a doubt, nor answer an argument.

Yet there is another imbecillity, and it is twofold, and after 18 Braueries and submis­sions. two contrary maners. Some yeeld and are ouercome by the teares and humble supplcations of another, and their courage & gallantry is wounded with their words: others quite con­trarie are not mooued by all the submissions and complaints that may be, but are rather more obdurate and confirmed in their constancy and resolution. There is no doubt but the former proceeds of weaknesse, and it is commonly found in effeminate and vulgar mindes; but the second is not without [Page 136] difficultie, and is found in all sorts of people. It should seeme that to yeeld vnto vertue, and to manly & generous strength and vigour, is the part of a valorous and generous minde. It is true if it be done in a reuerent esteeme of vertue, as Scan­derbeg did receiuing into grace a souldiour whom hee had seene to carrie himselfe valorously in fight euen against him­selfe; or as Pompey did, pardoning the citie of the Mammer­tines, for the vertue of Zenon a citizen thereof; or as the Em­perour Conradus did, forgiuing the Duke of Bauiers, and o­thers besieged with him, for the magnanimitie of their wo­men, who priuily conuaied them away, and tooke the dan­ger vpon their owne heads. But if it be done with a kinde of astonishment and affright of the power of vertue, as the peo­ple of Thebes, who lost their hearts hearing Epaminondas then accused, recount vnto them his honourable acts, and seuere­ly reproaching them with their ingratitude, it is debility and cowardize. The fact of Alexander containing the braue re­solution of Betis taken with the citie of Gaza where he com­manded, was neither weaknes nor courage, but choler, which in him had neither bridle, nor moderation.

CHAP. XXXVIII. 3. Inconstancie.

MAn is a subiect wonderfully diuers, and wauering, vp­on 1 whom it is very difficult to settle an assured iudge­ment, I say a iudgement vniuersall and entire; by reason of the great contrarietie and disagreement of the parts of our life. The greatest part of our actions, are nothing else but eruptions and impulsions enforced by occasions, and that haue reference to others. Irresolution on the one part, and afterwards inconstancy and instability, are the most common and apparent vices in the nature of man. Doubtlesse our actions doe many times so contradict one the other in so strange a maner, that it seemes impossible they should all come foorth of one and the same shop; we alter and we feele it not, we escape as it were, from our selues, and we rob our selues, ipsi nobis furto subducimur. We goe after the inclinati­ons of our appetite, and as the wind of occasions carieth vs, [Page 137] not according to reason; at nil potest esse aequabile, quod non a certa ratione proficiscatur. Our spirits also and our humours are changed with the change of time. Life is an vnequall mo­tion, irregular, of many fashions. In the end wee stirre and trouble our selues by the instabilitie of our behauiour. Nemo non quotidiè consilium mutat & votum: modò vxorem vult, mo­dò amicam; modò regnare vult, modò non est eo officiosior seruus; nunc pecuniam spargit, nunc rapit; modò frugi videtur & grauis, modò prodigus & vanus; mutamus subinde personam.

Man is a creature of all others the most hard to be sounded and knowen, for he is the most double and artificiall couert and counterfeit, and there are in him so many cabinets and blind corners, from whence he comes forth sometimes a man, sometimes a satyre; so many breathing holes, from whence hee breathes sometimes heat, sometimes colde, and from whence comes foorth so much smoake: all his carriage and motion is a perpetuall race of errours; in the morning to be borne, in the euening to die; sometimes in the racke, some­times at libertie; sometimes a god, sometimes a flie; hee laughs and weeps for one and the same thing; he is content and discontent; hee will, and hee will not; and in the end he knowes not what he will: now he is filled with ioy and glad­nesse, that he can not stay within his owne skinne, and pre­sently he falleth out with himselfe, nay dares not trust him­selfe, modò amore nostri, modò taedio laboramus.

CHAP. XXXIX. 4. Miserie.

BEhold heere the maine and principall line and liniament of the picture of man, he is (as hath beene sayd) vaine, 1 Miserie pro­per vnto man. feeble, fraile, inconstant in good, in felicitie, in pleasure, but strong, constant and hardned in miserie: he is miserie it selfe quicke and incarnate; and this is in a word to expresse hu­manitie, for in man is all miserie, and without him there is not any in the world. It is the propertie of man to be mise­rable, only man and all man is alwayes miserable, Homo natus [Page 138] de muliere breui viuens tempore repletur multis miserijs. Hee that will take vpon him to represent vnto vs all the parts of humane miserie, had need to discouer his whole life, his sub­stance, his entrance, his continuance, his end. I do not there­fore vndertake this businesse, it were a worke without end; and besides, it is a common subiect handled by all: but I will heere only quote certaine points which are not common nor taken for miseries, either because they are not felt, or suffici­entlie considered of, although they be such as presse man most, if he knew how to iudge of them.

The first point and proofe of the miserie of man is his 2 In his begin­ning and his end. birth; his entrance into the world is shamefull, vile, base, con­temptible; his departure, his death, ruine, glorious and ho­norable: whereby it seemeth that he is a monster and against nature, since there is shame in making him, honor in destroy­ing him. Nostri nosmet poenitet & pudet. Heerof a word or two. The action of planting and making man is shamefull, and all the parts thereof, the congredients, the preparations, the in­struments, 1 and whatsoeuer serues thereunto is called and ac­counted shamefull, and there is nothing more vncleane in the whole nature of man. The action of destroying and killing him honourable, and that which serues thereunto glorious: we gild it, we inrich it, we adorne our selues with it, we carrie it by our sides, in our hands, vpon our shoulders. We dis­daine 2 to go to the birth of man: euery man runnes to see him die, whether it be in his bed, or in some publike place, or in the field. When we goe about to make a man, we hide our 3 selues, we put out the candle, we do it by stealth. It is a glo­rie and a pompe to vnmake a man, to kill him; wee light the candles to see him die, wee execute him at high noone, wee sound a trumpet, we enter the combat, and we slaughter him when the sunne is at highest. There is but one way to beget, to make a man; a thousand and a thousand meanes, inuenti­ons, 4 arts to destroy him. There is no reward, honour or re­compence assigned to those that know how to increase, to 5 preserue humane nature; all honours, greatnesse, riches, dig­nities, empires, triumphs, trophes are appointed for those that know how to afflict, trouble, destroy it. The two prin­cipall men of the world, Alexander and Caesar, haue vnmade, [Page 139] haue slaine, ech of them (as Plinie reporteth) more than a mil­lion of men, but they made none, left none behinde them. And in ancient times, for pleasure onely and pastime, to de­light the eyes of the people, there were publike slaughters and massacres of men made. Homo sacra res per iocum & lu­sum Seneca. Tertull. de Spectac. occiditur: satis spectaculi in homine mors est: innocentes in ludum veniunt, vt publicae voluptatis hostiae fiant. There are some nations that curse their birth, blesse their death. How monstrous a creature is this, that is made a horror vnto him­selfe! None of all this is in any other creature, no not in the whole world besides.

The second point and testimonie of the miserie of man is the diminishing of his pleasures, euen those small and slight 3 ones that appertaine vnto him, (for of such as are great and sound he is not capable, as hath beene shewed in his weake­nesse) and the impairing of the number and sweetnesse of them. If it be so, that he doe it not for Gods cause, what a monster is this, that is an enemie vnto himselfe, robbes, and betrayes himselfe, to whom his pleasures are a burthen and a crosse! There be some that flie from health, ioy, comfort, as from an euill thing.

We are not ingenious but to our owne hurt, it is the true diet of the force of the spirit.

But there is yet that which is worse, the spirit of man is not only a diminisher of his ioy, a trouble-feast, an enemy to his 4 Forging of euils. small, naturall and iust pleasures, as I meane to proue, but also a forger of those that are euill; it faineth, feareth, flieth, ab­horreth as great mischiefs, things that are not any way euill in themselues; and in trueth, which beasts themselues feare not, but that by his owne proper discourse and imagination they are fained to be such, as not to be aduanced in honour, greatnes, riches, as cuckoldship, sterility, death: for to say the truth, there is nothing but griefe it selfe that is euill and which is felt. And though some wise men seem to feare these things, yet it is not for their owne sakes, but because of that griefe which sometimes doth accompany them afterwards: for ma­ny times it is a fore-runner of death, and sometimes follow­eth the losse of goods, of credit, of honour. But take from [Page 140] these things grief, the rest is nothing but fantasie, which hath no other lodging but in the head of man, which quits it selfe of other businesse to be miserable; and imagineth within it owne bounds, false euils besides the true, employing and ex­tending his miserie in stead of lessening and contracting it. Beasts feele not these euils, but are exempted from them, be­cause nature iudgeth them not to be such.

As for sorrow, which is the only true euill, man is wholly borne thereunto, and it is his naturall propertie. The Mexi­canes 5 He is borne to sorrow. thus salute their infants comming forth of the wombe of their mother: Infant thou art come into the world to suffer: en­dure, suffer, and hold thy peace. That sorrow is naturall vnto man, and contrariwise, pleasure but a stranger, it appeareth by these three reasons. All the parts of man are capable of sorrow; very few of delight. The parts capable of pleasure 1 can not receiue more than one or two sorts, but all can receiue 2 the greatest number of griefs all different, heat, colde, prick­ing, rubbing, trampling, fleaing, beating, boiling, languish­ing, extension, oppression, relaxation, and infinite others, which haue no proper name, (to omit those of the soule) in such sort, that man is better able to suffer them, than to ex­presse them. Man hath no long continuance in pleasure: for that of the bodie is like a fire of straw: and if it should conti­nue, 3 it would bring with it much enuie and displeasure: but sorrowes are more permanent, and haue not their certaine seasons as pleasures haue. Againe, the empire and command of sorrow is farre more great, more vniuersall, more power­full, more durable, and (in a word) more naturall, than that of pleasure.

To these three a man may adde other three: Sorrow and griefe is more frequent, and falles out often; Pleasure is rare. 1 Euil comes easily of it selfe, without seeking; Pleasure neuer comes willingly, it must be sought after, and many times we 2 pay more for it than it is woorth. Pleasure is neuer pure, but alwayes distempered, and mingled with some bitternesse, 3 and there is alwayes some thing wanting; but sorrow and griefe is many times entire and pure. After all this, the worst of our market, and that which doth euidently shew the mise­rie of our condition, is, that the greatest pleasures touch vs [Page 141] not so neere, as the lightest griefs. Segnius homines bona, quàm mala sentiunt, we feele not so much our soundest health, as the least maladie that is, pung it in cute vix summa violatum plagula corpus, quando valere, nil quenquam monet.

It is not enough that man be indeede and by nature mise­rable, 6 By memorie and antici­pation. and besides true and substantiall euills he faine & forge false and fantasticall, as hath beene saide; but hee must like­wise extend and lengthen them, and cause both the true and false to endure and to liue longer than they can, so amarous is he of iniserie; which he doth diuers waies. First by the re­membrance of what is past, and the anticipation of what is to come, so that we cannot faile to be miserable, since that those things which are principally good in vs, and whereof wee glorie most, are instruments of miserie: futuro torquemur & praeterito, mult a bona nostra nobis nocent, timoris tormentum me­moria reducit, prouidentia anticipat, nemo praesentibus tantùm miser est. It is not enough to be miserable, but wee must en­crease it by a continual expectation before it come, nay seeke it and prouoke it to come, like those that kill themselues with the feare of death, that is to say, either by curiositie or imbe­cillitie, and vaine apprehension, to preoccupate euils and in­conueniences, and to attend them with so much paine & ado, euen those which peraduenture will neuer come neere vs? These kinde of people will be miserable before their time, and double miserable, both by a reall sense or feeling of their mi­serie, and by a long premeditation therof, which many times is a hundred times worse than the euils themselues, Minùs afficit sensus fatigatio quàm cogitatio. The essence or being of miserie endureth not long, but the minde of man must leng­then and extend it, and entertaine it before hand. Plùs dolet quàm necesse est qui antè dolet quàm necesse est. Quaedam magis, quaedam antequam debeant, quaedam cùm omninò non debeant, nos torquent. Aut augemus dolorem, aut fugimus, aut praecipimus. Beasts do well defend themselues from this follie and miserie, and are much bound to thanke nature that they want that spi­rit, that memorie, that prouidence that man hath. Caesar said well that the best death was that which was least premedita­ted. And to say the truth, the preparation before death hath beene to many a greater torment, than the execution it selfe. [Page 142] My meaning is not here to speake of that vertuous and philo­sophicall premeditation, which is that temper, whereby the soule is made inuincible, & is fortified to the proofe against all assaults and accidents, whereof we shall speake heerafter: but Lib. 2. ca 7. of that fearefull and sometimes false, and vaine apprehension of euils that may come, which afflicteth and darkeneth, as it were with smoke, all the beauty and serenity of the soule, troubleth all the rest and ioy thereof, insomuch that it were better to suffer it selfe to be wholly surprised. It is more easie and more naturall not to thinke thereof at all. But let vs leaue this anticipation of euill, for simply euery care and painfull thought bleating after things to come by hope, desire, feare, is a very great misery. For besides that we haue not any po­wer ouer that which is to come, much lesse ouer what is past; (and so it is vanity, as it hath been said) there doth stil remain vnto vs that euill and dammage, Calamitosus est animus, futu­ri anxius, which robbeth our vnderstanding, and taketh from vs the peaceable comfort of our present good, and will not suffer vs to settle and content our selues therein.

But this is not yet enough. For to the end man may ne­uer want matter of misery, yea that he may alwaies haue his 7 By vnquiet search. full, he neuer ceaseth searching and seeking with great study, the causes and aliments of misery. He thrusteth himselfe into businesse euen with ioy of heart, euen such as when they are offered vnto him, he should turne his backe towards them; and either out of a miserable disquiet of mind, or to the end he may shew himselfe to be industrious, a man of employ­ment and vnderstanding, that is a foole and miserable too, he enterpriseth, mooueth, and remooueth new businesse, or els he putteth himselfe into that of other mens. To be short, he is so strongly and incessantly molested with care, and thoughts not only vnprofitable and superfluous, but painfull and hurt­full, tormented with what is present, annoied with what is past, vexed with that which is to come, that hee seemeth to feare nothing more, than that he shall not be sufficiently mi­serable. So that a man may iustly crie out, O poore and wretched creatures that you are, how many euils doe you willingly endure, besides those necessarie euils that nature hath bestowed vpon you? But what? Man contenteth [Page 143] himselfe in miserie, he is obstinate to ruminate & continually to recall to minde his passed euils. Complaints are common with him, and his owne euils and sorrowes seeme many times deare vnto him, yea it is a happie thing for small and light occasions to be termed the most miserable of all others: est quaedam dolendi voluptas. Now this is a farre greater miserie to be ambitiously miserable, than not to know it, not to feele it at all. Homo animal querulum, cupidè suis incumbens miserijs.

We will not account it a humane miserie, since it is an euill 8 By incompa­tibilitie. common to all men, and not to beasts, that men can not ac­commodate themselues, and make profit of one another, without the losse and hurt, the sicknesse, folly, sinne, death of one another. We hinder, wound, oppresse one the other in such maner, that the better sort euen without thought or will thereunto, out of an insensible desire and innocentlie thirst after the death, the euill, the paine and punishment of another.

So that we see man miserable both naturally and volunta­rily, 9 In the reme­dies of mi­serie. in truth and by imagination, by obligation and willing­nesse of heart. He is too miserable, and yet he feares he is not miserable enough, and laboureth to make himselfe more mi­serable. Let vs now see how. When he feeles any euill, and is annoyed with some certaine miserie (for hee is neuer with­out many miseries that he feeles not) he endeuoureth to quit himselfe thereof; but what are his remedies? Truly such as importune him more than the euill it selfe which hee would cure; in such sort, that being willing to get forth of one mise­rie, he doth but change it into another, and perhaps into a worse. But what of that, the change it selfe perhaps deligh­teth him, or at least yeelds him some solace: he thinketh to heale one euill with another euill, which proceedeth from an opinion which the bewitched and miserable world holdeth; that is, That there is nothing profitable, if it be not painfull. That is woorth nought that costs nothing, yea ease it selfe is much suspected. This doth likewise proceed from an higher cause. It is a strange thing, but true, and which conuicteth man to be miserable, That no euill can be taken away, but by another euill, whether it be in bodie or in soule. Spirituall maladies and corporall are not cured and chased away, but [Page 144] by torment, sorrow, paine. The spirituall by repentance, It was erro­neous, but corrected. watchings, fastings, imprisonments, which are truly afflicti­ons, and such as gaule vs too, notwithstanding the resolution and deuotion willingly to endure them: for if we vse them either for pleasure or profit, they can worke no effect, but are rather exercises of pleasure, of couetousnesse, of houshold gouernment, than of repentance and contrition of heart. The corporall in like sort be medicines, incisions, cauteries, diets, as they well feele that are bound to medicinall rules, who are troubled on the one side with the disease that afflicts them, on the other with that rule, the thought whereof continually an­noyes them. So likewise other euils, as ignorance is cured by great, long and painfull studie: Qui addit scientiam, addit & laborem: want and pouertie, by great care, watchings, tra­uell, sweatings: In sudore vultus tui. So that both for the soule and for the bodie, labour and trauell is as proper vnto man, as it is for a bird to flie.

All these miseries aboue mentioned are corporall, or com­mon 10 Spirituall miseries. both to the spirit and to the body, and mount little high­er than the imagination and fantasie. Let vs consider of the more subtile and spirituall, which are rather to be called mi­series, as being erroneous and malignant, more actiue and more our owne, but lesse felt and confessed, which makes a man more, yea doubly miserable, because hee onely feeleth those euils that are indifferent, and not the greater; yea a man dares not touch them, or speake of them, so much is he con­firmed, and so desperate in his miseries. We must therefore by the way as it were, and gently say something, at least with the finger point afarre off, to giue him occasion to consider and thinke thereof, since of himselfe he hides it not. First, in regard of the vnderstanding, is it not a strange and a lament­able miserie of humane nature, that it should wholly be com­posed of error and blindnesse? The greater part of common and vulgar opinions, yea the more plausible, and such as are receiued with reuerence, are false and erroneous; and which is woorse, the greater part vnprofitable for humane societie. And although some of the wisest, which are but few in num­ber, vnderstand better than the common sort, and iudge of these opinions as they should, neuerthelesse sometimes they [Page 145] suffer themselues to be caried, if not in all and alwayes, yet in some and sometimes. A man had need be firme and constant, that he suffer not himselfe to be carried with the streame, yea sound and prepared to keepe himselfe cleere from so vniuer­sall a contagion. The generall opinions receiued with the ap­plause of all, and without contradiction, are as a swift riuer which carrieth all with it: Proh superi quantum mortalia pecto­ra caecae noctis habent! O miseras hominum mentes & pectora cae­ca, qualibus in tenebris vita, quantis (que) periclis degitur hoc aeui quodcun (que) est! Now it were too long and too tedious a thing to runne ouer all those foolish opinions by name, wherewith the whole world is made drunken: yet let vs take a view of some few of them, which in their due place shall be handled more at large.

1 To iudge of aduice and counsell by the euents, which See lib. 3. cap. 1. are no way in our owne hands, and which depend vpon the heauens.

2 To condemne and reiect all things, maners, opinions, Lib. 2. ca. 8. lawes, customes, obseruations as barbarous and euill, not knowing what they are, or seeing any inconuenience in them, but onely because they are vnusuall, and different from such as are ordinarie and common.

3 To esteeme and commend things, because of their no­ueltie, Lib. 2. ca. 3. or raritie, or strangenesse, or difficultie, foure messen­gers which haue great credit in vulgar spirits: and many times such things are vaine, and not to be esteemed, if they bring not with them goodnesse and commoditie. And there­fore that Prince did iustly contemne him that glorified him­selfe because he could from far cast a graine of millet thorow the eye of a needle.

4 Generally all those superstitious opinions wherewith children, women, and weake mindes are infected.

5 To esteeme of men for their riches, dignities, honors, and to contemne those that want them, as if a man should iudge of a horse by the saddle and bridle.

6 To account of things not according to their true, na­turall and essentiall worth, which is many times inward and hidden, but according to the outward shew or common re­port.

[Page 146] 7 To thinke to be reuenged of an enemy by killing him: for that is to put him in safetie, and to quit him from all ill, and to bring a vengeance vpon himselfe: it is to take from his enemie all sense of reuenge, which is the principall effect thereof. This doth likewise belong vnto weaknesse.

8 To account it a great iniurie, or to thinke a man mise­rable because he is a cuckold: for what greater folly in iudge­ment can there be, than to esteeme of a man the lesse for the vice of another, which hee neuer allowed? As much may be sayd of a bastard.

9 To account lesse of things present, and that are our owne, and which wee peaceably enioy; and to esteeme of them most, when a man hath them not, or because they are another mans, as if the presence and possession of them did lessen their worth, and the want of them increase it.

And this is the cause why a Prophet is not esteemed in his owne countrey. So likewise, mastership and authoritie in­gendreth contempt of those that are subiect to that authori­tie: husbands haue a carelesse respect of their wiues, and ma­ny fathers of their children. Wilt thou (saith the good fellow) loue her no more, then marrie her? Wee esteeme more the horse, the house, the seruant of another, because he is ano­thers and not ours. It is a thing very strange to account more of things in imagination, than in substance, as a man doth all things absent and that are not his, whether it be before hee haue them, or after he hath had them. The cause hereof in both cases may be, because before a man possesse them, hee esteemeth not according to that they are worth, but accord­ing to that which he imagineth them to be, or they haue by another beene reported to be; and possessing them, hee e­steemes them according to that good and benefit he getteth by them; and after they are taken from him, he considereth and desireth them wholly in their perfection and declinati­on, whereas before he enioyed them and vsed them, but by peecemeale successiuely: for a man thinketh he shall alwayes haue time enough to enioy them, and by that meanes they are gone before he was aware that he had them. And this is [Page 147] the reason why the griefe is greater in hauing them not, than the pleasure in possessing them. But heerein there is as much imbecillitie as miserie. We haue not the sufficiencie to enioy, but only to desire. There is another vice cleane contrarie to this, and that is, when a man setleth himselfe in himselfe, and in such sort conceits himselfe and whatsoeuer he hath, that he preferres it before all, and thinks nothing comparable to his owne. Though these kinde of people be no wiser than the other, yet they are at least more happie.

10 To be ouer-zealous in euery question that is propo­sed, to bite all, to take to the heart, and to shew himselfe im­portunate and opinatiue in euery thing, so he haue some faire pretext of iustice, religion, the weale publike, the loue of the people.

11 To play the mourner, the afflicted person, to weepe See cap. 27. for the death, or vnhappie accident of another, to thinke that not to be moued at all, or very little, is for want of loue and affection. There is also vanitie in this.

12 To esteeme and make account of actions that are done Lib. 2. ca. 10. with rumour, clatter, and clamor, and to contemne those that are done otherwise, and to thinke that they that proceed af­ter so sweet and calme a maner, do nothing, are as in a dreame without action; and to be briese, to esteeme Art more than Nature. That which is puffed vp, swollen, and eleuated by studie, fame, report, and striketh the sense (that is to say, arti­ficiall) is more regarded and esteemed, than that which is sweet, simple, plaine, ordinarie, that is to say, Naturall: that awaketh, this brings vs asleepe.

13 To giue an ill and wrong interpretation of the honou­rable actions of another man, and to attribute them to base and vaine, or vicious causes or occasions; as they that attribu­ted the death of yoong Cato to the feare he had of Caesar, wherewith Plutarch seemes to be offended, and others more foolishly, to ambition. This is a great maladie of the iudge­ment, which proceedeth either from malice, and corruption of the will and maners, or enuie against those that are more woorthy than themselues, or from that vice of bringing their owne credit to their owne doore▪ and measuring another by their owne foot; or rather than all this, from imbecillitie and [Page 148] weaknesse, as not hauing their sight so strong and so certaine to conceiue the brightnesse of vertue in it owne natiue purity. There are some that thinke they shew great wit and subtiltie in deprauing and obscuring the glory of beautifull and ho­norable actions, wherein they shew much more malice than sufficiencie. It is a thing easy enough to doe, but base and vil­lanous.

14 To defame and to chastise ouer-rigorously, and shame­fully, certaine vices as crimes in the highest degree villanous and contagious, which are neuerthelesse but indifferent, and haue their roote and excuse in nature: and not so much to de­test, and to chastise with so greedy adoo those vices that are truly great, and against nature, as pretended and plotted mur­ders, treasons, and treachery, cruelty, and so forth.

15 Behold also after all this a true testimonie of spirituall miserie, but which is wily & subtile, and that is, that the spirit of man in it best temper, and peaceable, setled, and soundest estate, is not capable but of common, ordinary, naturall, and indifferent things. To be capable of diuine and supernaturall, as of diuination, prophesie, reuclation, inuention, and as a man may say, to enter into the cabinet of the gods, he must be sicke, displaced from his naturall seate, and as it were corrup­ted, correptus, either by extrauagancie, extasie, inspiration, or by dreaming; insomuch that the two naturall wayes to at­teine thereunto are either fury, or dead sleepe. So that the spi­rit is neuer so wise, as when it is a foole, nor more awaked, than when it sleepeth: it neuer meeteth better, than when it goes on one side, or crosseth the way; it neuer mounts or flies so high, as when it is most deiected. So that it must needs be miserable, because to be happy, it must be, as it were lost, and without it selfe. This toucheth not in any sort the diuine dis­position, for God can to whom, and when it pleaseth him, re­ueale himselfe, man in the meane time continuing setled in his sense and vnderstanding, as the scripture makes mention of Moyses and diuers others.

16 To conclude, can there be a greater fault in iudge­ment, than not to esteeme of iudgement, not to exercise it, and to preferre the memory, and imagination, or fantasie before it? We see those great, goodly and learned orations, discour­ses, [Page 149] lectures, sermons, bookes, which are so much esteemed and admired, written by men of greatest learning in this age (I except some few) what are they all, but a heape and col­lection of allegations, and the labours of other men (a worke of memory and reading, and a thing very easie, being all cul­led and disposed to their hands, and heereof are so many bookes composed) with some few poynts handled, with a good instruction or two (a worke of imagination) and heere is all? This is many times a vanity, and there appeareth not in it any sparke of iudgement, or excellent vertue: so like­wise the authours themselues are many times weake and common in iudgement, and in will corrupted: how much better is it, to heare a countrey swaine, or a merchant talking in his counting-house, discoursing of many goodly proposi­tions and verities, plainely and truely without arte or forme and giuing good and wholesome counsell, out of a sound, strong, and solide iudgement?

In the will there are as many, or rather more miseries, and 11 Of the Will. more miserable; they are without number, among which these following are some few of them.

1 To be willing rather to seeme an honest man, than to be, and rather to be such to another, than to himselfe.

2 To be farre more ready and willing to reuenge an of­fence, than to acknowledge a good turne, in such sort, that it is a corsiue to his heart to acknowledge, pleasure and gaine to reuenge, a proofe of a malignant nature, gratia oneri est, vltio in quaestu habetur.

3 To be more apt to hate, than to loue, to slaunder, than to commend; to feede more willingly and with greater plea­sure vpon the euill, than the good of another, to enlarge it more, to display it more in his discourse, and the exercise of his stile; witnesse Lawyers, Oratours, and Poets, who in reci­ting the good of any man, are idle, eloquent in euill. The words, inuentions, figures, to speake ill, to scoffe, are farre o­therwise, more rich, more emphaticall and significant, than to prayse, or speake well.

4 To flye from euill, to doe what is good, not properly for the good effect by naturall reason, and for the loue of ver­tue, but for some other strange consideration, sometimes base [Page 150] and idle, of gaine and profit, vaine-glory, hope, feare, of cu­stome, company; and to be briefe, not simply for himselfe and his duty, but for some other outward occasion and cir­cumstance: all are honest men by occasion and accident. And this is the reason why they are such vnequally, diuersly, not perpetually, constantly, vniformely.

5 To loue him the lesse whom we haue offended, and that because we haue offended him; a strange thing, and which proceedeth not alwayes from feare that he will take occasion to be reuenged, for it may be he wisheth vs neuer the worse; but it is because his presence doth accuse vs, and brings to memory our fault and indiscretion. And if the of­fendour loue not the offended the worse, it is because the of­fence he committed was against his will; for commonly he that hath a will to offend, loues him the lesse whom he hath offended, Chi offende, mai non perdona, He that offends, neuer forgiues.

6 As much may be sayd of him to whom we are much bound for courtesies receiued, his presence is a burthen vnto vs, he putteth vs in minde of our band and duty, he repro­cheth vnto vs our ingratitude and inabilities, and we wish he were not, so we were discharged of that duty. Villaines by nature, Quidam quo plus debent, magis oderunt: leue aes alienum debitorem facit, graue inimicum.

7 To take pleasure in the euill, hurt, and danger of ano­ther, to greeue and repine at his good, aduancement, prospe­ritie (I meane when it is without cause of hatred, or priuate quarrell, for it is another thing when it proceedeth from the ill desert of a man) I speake heere of that common and natu­rall condition, whereby without any particular malice, men of indifferent honestie, take pleasure to see others aduenture their fortunes at sea, and are vexed to see them thriue better than themselues, or that fortune should smile more vpon o­thers than them, and make themselues merry with the sorrow of another: this is a token of a malitious seed in vs.

To conclude, that I may yet shew you how great our 12 The conclu­sion of these spirituall mi­series. misery is, let me tell you that the world is replenished with three sorts of people, who take vp much roome therein, and carry a great sway both in number and reputation: the super­stitious, [Page 151] formalists, Pedanties, who notwithstanding they are in diuers subiects, iurisdictions, and theaters (the three prin­cipall, religion, life or conuersation, and doctrine) yet they are all of one stamp, weake spirits, ill borne, or very ill instructed, a very dangerous kind of people in iudgement, and touched with a disease incurable. It is lost labour to speake to these kind of people, or to perswade them to change their minds, for they account themselues the best and wisest in the world, opinatiue obstinacie is there in his proper seate; he that is once stricken and touched to the quick with any of these e­uils, there is little hope of his recouery: Who is there more sottish, and withall more braine-sick and heady than these kind of people? Two things there are that doe much hinder them (as hath been spoken) naturall imbecillitie, and incapa­citie, and afterwards an anticipated opinion to do as well and better than others. I do heere but name them, and point them with the finger, for afterwards in their places heere quoted their faults shall be shewed more at large.

The Superstitious, iniurious to God, and enemies to true religion, couer themselues with the cloke of pietie, zeale and 1 Superstitious See Lib. 2. Cap. 5. loue towards God, euen to the punishing and tormenting of themselues more than is needfull, thinking thereby to merit much, and that God is not only pleased therewith, but indeb­ted vnto them for the rest. What would you do to these kind of people? If you tell them that they do more than they need, and that they receiue things with the left hand, in not vnder­standing them aright, they will not beleeue you, but tell you, that their intent is good (whereby they thinke to saue them­selues) and that they do it for deuotion. Howsoeuer, they will not quit themselues of their gaine, nor the satisfaction which they receiue, which is to bind God vnto them.

The Formalists doe wholly tie themselues to an outward forme and fashion of life, thinking to be quit of blame in the 2 Formalists. pursuite of their passions and desires, so they do nothing a­gainst the tenour of the lawes, and omit none of their forma­lities. See heere a miserable churle which hath ouerthrowne and brought to a desperate state many poore families; but this hath fallen out by demaunding that which he thought to be his owne, and that by way ofiustice. Who then can affirme [Page 152] that he hath done ill? O how many good works haue beene omitted, how many euils committed, vnder this cloake of formes, which a man sees not! And therefore it is very truly sayd, That the extremitie of law is the extremitie of wrong: and as well sayd, God shield vs from Formalists.

The Pedantie or housholde schoole-master hauing with great study and paines filched from other mens writings their 3 Pedanties. Lib. 3. cap. 13. learning, they set it out to the view and to sale, and with a questuous and mercinary ostentation they disgorge it, and let it flie with the winde. Are there any people in the world so sottish in their affaires, more vnapt to euery thing, and yet more presumptuous and obstinate? In euery tongue and nation, Pedante, Clerke, Master, are words of reproch. To doe any thing sottishly, is to doe it like a Clerke. These are a kinde of people that haue their memories stuffed with the wisdome of other men, and haue none of their owne: their iudgements, willes, consciences are neuer the better, they are vnapt, simple, vnwise, in such sort, that it seemes that learn­ing serues them for no other vse than to make them more fooles, yea more arrogant pratlers: they diminish or rather swallow vp their owne spirits, and bastardize their vnder­standing, but puffe vp their memorie. Heere is that miserie seated which we now come to speake of, and is the last of those of the vnderstanding.

CHAP. XL. 5. Presumption.

BEholde heere the last and leawdest line or liniament of this picture; it is the other part of that description giuen by Plinie; the plague of man, and the nurse of false and erro­neous opinions, both publike and particular: and yet a vice both naturall and originall in man. Now this presumption must be considered diuersly, and in all senses, high, low, col­laterall, inward and outward, in respect of God, things high and celestiall; in regard of things base, as of beasts, man his companion, of himselfe, and all may be reduced to these two, To esteeme too much of himselfe, and not to esteeme suffici­ently of another: Qui in se considebant, & aspernabantur alios. A word or two of either. Lue. 18.

[Page 153] First in respect of God (and it is a horrible thing) all super­stition 1 Presumpti­on in regard of God. and want in religion, or false seruice of God, proceed­eth from this, That we esteeme not enough of God, we vn­derstand him not; and our opinions, conceits and beliefs of the Diuinitie are not high and pure enough. I meane not by this enough, proportion answerable to the greatnesse of God, which being infinite receiueth not any proportion; for it is impossible in this respect to conceit or beleeue enough: but I meane enough in respect of what we can and ought to doe. We soare not high enough, we doe not eleuate and sharpen sufficiently the point of our spirit, when we enter into an ima­gination of the Diuinitie: we ouer-basely conceit him, our seruices are vnworthy his maiestie: we deale with him after a baser maner than with other creatures; we speake not only of his works, but of his maiestie, will, iudgements, with more confidence and boldnesse than we dare to doe of an earthly Prince or man of honour. Many men there are that would scorn such kind of seruice and acknowledgement, and would holde themselues to be abused, and their honours in some sort violated, if a man should speake of them, or abuse their names in so base and abiect a maner. We enterprise to leade God, to flatter him, to bend him, to compound or condition with him; that I may not say, to braue, threaten, despight, mur­mure against him. Caesar willed his Pilot not to feare to hoise vp sailes, and commit himselfe to the furie of the seas euen against destinie and the will of the heauens, with this onely confidence, That it was Caesar whom he carried. Augustus See lib. 2. cap. 10. hauing beene beaten with a tempest at sea, defied god Nep­tune, and in the chiefest pompe of the Circean sports caused his image to be taken downe, from where it was placed a­mongst the rest of the gods, to be reuenged of him. The Thracians when it thundereth and lighteneth, shoot against heauen, to bring God himselfe into order. Xerxes scourged the sea, and writ a bill of defiance against the hill Athos. And one telleth of a Christian King a neere neighbour of ours See lib. 2. cap. 18., who hauing receiued a blow from God, swore he would be reuenged: and gaue commandement, that for ten yeeres no See lib. 3. cap. 1. man should pray vnto him, or speake of him.

But to leaue these strange extrauagancies, all the common sort of people do they not plainly verifie that saying of Pliny, That there is nothing more miserable, and therewithall more glorious than man? For on the one side he faineth loftie and rich opinions of the loue, care and affection of God towards him, as his minion and only beloued, and in the meane time he returneth him no dutie or seruice worthie so great and lo­uing a God. How can a life so miserable, and a seruice so neg­ligent on the one side, agree with an opinion and beliefe so glorious and so haughtie on the other? This is at one and the same time, to be an angel and a swine: and this is that where­with a great Philosopher reproched the Christians, that there were no people more fierce & glorious in their speech, and in effect more dissolute, effeminate and villanous. It was an enemie that spake it perhaps to wrong and abuse vs, but yet he spake but that which doth iustly touch all hypo­crites.

It likewise seemeth vnto vs, that we burthen and impor­tune God, the world, and nature, that they labour and trauell 2 In respect of Nature. in our affayres, they watch not but for vs, and therefore we wonder and are astonished with those accidents that happen vnto vs, and especially at our deaths. Few there are that re­solue and beleeue, that it is their last houre, and almost all do euen then suffer themselues to be mocked with vaine hopes. This proceedeth from presumption, we make too much of our selues, and we thinke that the whole world hath great in­terest in our death, that things faile vs according to that mea­sure that we faile them, or that they faile themselues, accor­ding to that measure that they faile vs; that they goe the selfe-same daunce with vs, not vnlike those that rowe vpon the water, thinke the heauens, the earth, yea cities themselues to mooue, when they mooue; we thinke to draw all with vs, and there is no man amongst vs that sufficiently thinks he is but one.

Besides all this, man beleeueth that the heauen, the starres, 3 Of Heauen. [Page 155] all this great celestiall motion of the world, is only made for him, Tot circa vnum caput tumultuantes Deos. And the poore miserable wretch is in the meane time ridiculous: he is heere beneath lodged in the last and worst stage of the world, most distant from the celestiall vaut, in the sincke of the world, a­mongst the filth and lees thereof; with creatures of baser con­dition, made to receiue all those excrements and ordures, which raine downe and fall from aboue vpon his head; nay he liues not but by them, and to endure all those accidents that on all sides happen vnto him; and yet he makes himselfe beleeue that he is the master and commander of all, that all creatures, yea those great luminous incorruptible bodies, whereof he knowes not the least vertue, and which he is con­strained with astonishment to admire, moue not but for him, and to do him seruice. And because he beggeth (wretch that he is) his liuing, his maintenance, his commodities, from the beames, light and heate of the Sunne, from the raine and o­ther distillations of heauen, and the aire, he sticks not to say, that he enioyeth the heauens and the elements, as if all had been made, and still mooue only for him. In this sense a gos­ling may say as much, and perhaps more iustly and peremp­torily. For man who many times receiueth many discommo­dities from aboue, and of all that he receiueth hath nothing in his owne power or vnderstanding, nor can diuine of them, is in continuall doubt and feare, lest those superiour bodies should not moue aright, and to that end and purpose which he hath proposed, and that they procure vnto him sterilitie, sicknesse, and whatsoeuer is contrary to his designement, and so he trembleth vnder this burthen; whereas beasts receiue whatsoeuer commeth from aboue, without stirre or appre­hension of what shall happen vnto them, and without com­plaint of that which is hapned, which man cannot doe. Non Senec. nos causa mundo sumus hiemem aestatem (que) referendi: suas ista le­ges habent, quibus diuina exercentur: minus nos suspicimus si digni nobis videmur, propter quos tanta moueantur. non tanta coelo no­biscum societas est, vt nostro fato sit ille quoque siderum fulgor.

In respect of things base and earthly, that is to say, all other creatures, he disdaineth and contemneth them, as if they did 4 Of Creatures. not appertaine to the same master-workeman, and came not [Page 156] of the same mother, did not belong to the same family with him, as if they did not any way concerne him, or had any part or relation vnto him. And from hence proceedeth that com­mon abuse and cruelty that is practised against them; a thing that reboundeth against that common and vniuersall master which hath made them, which hath care of them, and hath ordeined lawes for their good and preseruation, hath giuen them preheminence in certaine things, and sent man vnto them as to a schoole. But this belongs to the subiect of the chapter following.

Now this derogateth not any thing at all from that com­mon doctrine, that the world is made for man, and man for 5 God: for besides the instruction that man draweth in gene­rall from euery high and low thing, whereby to know God, himselfe, his duty, he also draweth in particular from euery thing either profit, pleasure, or seruice. That which is aboue him, which he hath least in vnderstanding, and nothing at all in his power, the azured heauen so richly decked and coun­terpointed with starres, and rowling torches neuer ceasing ouer our heads, he only enioyeth by contemplatiō, he moun­teth and is caried with admiration, feare, reuerence of the au­thour and soueraigne Lord of all: and therefore in this sense it was truly said by Anaxagoras, that man was created to con­template the heauen and the sunne, and as truly by other Phi­losophers was he called [...], from base and inferior things, he draweth help, seruice, commoditie; but for a man to perswade himselfe that in the framing of all these things no other thing was thought vpon but man, and that he is the only end and butt of all these luminous and incorruptible bodies, it is a greatfolly and an ouer-bold presumption.

Finally but especially, this presumption is to be considered in man himselfe, that is to say, in regard of himselfe, and of 6 Of man him­selfe. man his companion, both within, in the progresse of his iudg­ment and opinions; and without in his communication and conuersation with another. Concerning which, wee are to consider three things, as three heads which follow one the o­ther, Three de­grees of hu­mane pre­sumption. where humanitie bewrayeth in a sottish imbecillitie the foolish presumption thereof. The first in beleeuing or misbe­leeuing (heere is no question of religion, nor of faith and be­liefe [Page 157] theologicall, and therefore we must still call to minde the aduertisement giuen in the Preface) where we are to note two contrary vices, which are common in humane condition; 1 To beleeue mis-beleeue. the one and the other more ordinarie, is a kinde of lightnes, qui citò credit, leuis est corde, and too great a facilitie to be­leeue and to entertaine whatsoeuer is proposed, with any kinde of appearance of truth or authority. This belongeth to the folly, simplicitie, tendernesse and imbecillitie of the wea­ker sort of people, of spirits effeminate, sick, superstitious, a­stonished, indiscretly zealous, who like wax do easily receiue all impressions, suffer themselues to be taken and lead by the eares. And this is rather an error and weakenesse, than malice, and doth willingly lodge in minds gentle and debonaire. Credulitas error est magis quàm culpa, & quidem in optimi cu­ius (que) mentem facilè irrepit. We see almost the whole world led and caried with opinions and beliefes, not out of choice and iudgement, yea many times before they haue either yeares or discretion to iudge, but out of the custome of the countrey, or instruction in youth receiued, or by some suddaine en­counter as with a tempest, whereby they are in such sort fastned, subiected and enthralled, that it is a matter of great difficultie euer to vnlearne them againe. Veluti tempestate de­lati ad quamcun (que) disciplinam tanquam ad saxum adhaerescunt. Thus is the world lead, we trust our selues too much, and then perswade others to beleeue vs. Vnusquis (que) mauult credere quàm iudicare; versat nos & praecipitat traditus per manus error, ipsa consuetudo assentiendi periculosa & lubrica. Now this popular facilitie, though it be in truth weakenesse and imbecillitie, yet it is not without presumption. For so lightly to beleeue and hold for truth and certaintie that which we know not, or to enquire of the causes, reasons, consequents, and not of the truth it selfe, is to enterprise to presume too much. For from what other cause proceeds this? If you shall answere, from a supposition that it is true; why this is nothing: a man hand­leth and stirreth the foundations and effects of a thousand things which neuer were, whereby both pro and contra are false. How many fables, false and supposed miracles, visions, reuelations, are there receiued in the world that neuer were? And why should a man beleeue a miracle, a thing neither hu­mane [Page 158] nor naturall, when he is able by naturall and humane meanes to confute, and confound the truth thereof? Truth and lying haue like visages, like cariage, relish, gate, and we behold them with one and the same eye, it a sunt finitima falsa veris, vt in praecipitem locum non debeat se sapiens committere. A man ought not to beleeue that of a man which is not hu­mane, except he be warranted by supernaturall and superhu­mane approbation, which is only God, who is only to be be­leeued in that he saith, only because he saith it.

The other contrary vice is an audacious temeritie to con­demne 7 and reiect as false all things that are not easily vnder­stood, and that please not the palat. It is the propertie of those that haue a good opinion of themselues, which play the parts of men of dexteritie and vnderstanding, especially heretikes, Sophists, Pedanties: for they finding in themselues some speciall point of the spirit, and that they see a little more cleerely than the common sort, they assume vnto themselues law and authoritie to decide and determine all things. This vice is farre greater and more base than the former: for it is an enraged folly to thinke to know as much as possiblie is to be knowne, the iurisdiction and limits of nature, the capacitie of the power and will of God, to frame vnto himselfe and his sufficiencie the truth and falshood of things, which must needs be in so certaine and assured resolution and definition of them: for see their ordinarie language, that is false, impos­sible, absurd: and how many things are there which at one time we haue reiected with laughter as impossible, which we haue been constrained afterwards to confesse and approue, yea and others too, more strange than they? And on the other side how many things haue wee receiued as articles of our faith, that haue afterwards prooued vanities and lies?

The second degree of presumption, which followeth and commonly proceedeth from the former, is certainly and ob­stinatelie 2 To affirme and con­demne. to affirme or disprooue that which he hath lightly beleeued or misbeleeued. So that it addeth vnto the first ob­stinacie in opinion, and so the presumption increaseth. This facilitie to beleeue with time is confirmed, and degenerateth into an obstinacie inuincible and vncapable of amendment, yea a man proceeds so farre in this obstinacie, that he defends [Page 159] those things that he knowes and vnderstands least: Maiorem fidem homines adhibent ijs quae non intelligunt: cupiditate humani ingenij lubentius obscura creduntur: he speaks of all things with resolution. Now affirmation and opinatiue obstinacie are signes of negligence and ignorance accompanied with follie and arrogancie.

The third degree which followeth these two, and which 8 3. To per­swade. is the height of presumption, is to perswade others to receiue as canonicall whatsoeuer he beleeueth, yea imperiously to impose a beleefe as it were by obligation, and inhibition to doubt. What tyranny is this? Whosoeuer beleeueth a thing, thinks it a worke of charitie to perswade another to beleeue the same; and that he may the better do it, he feareth not to adde of his owne inuention so much as he seeth necessarie for his purpose to supplie that want, and vnwillingnes which he thinks to be in the conceit of another of that he tels. There is nothing vnto which men are commonly more prone, than to giue way to their owne opinions: Nemo sibi tantùm errat, sed alijs erroris causa & author est. Where the ordinarie meane wanteth, there a man addeth commandement, force, fire, sword. This vice is proper vnto dogmatists, and such as will gouerne, and giue lawes vnto the world. Now to attaine to the end heereof, and to captiuate the beliefs of men vnto themselues they vse two meanes: First they bring in certain generall and fundamentall propositions, which they call prin­ciples and presuppositions, wherof they say we must neither doubt nor dispute; vpon which they afterwards build what­soeuer they please; and leade the world at their pleasure: which is a mockerie whereby the world is replenished with errours and lies. And to say the trueth, if a man should exa­mine these principles, he should finde as great or greater vn­trueths and weaknesses in them, than in all that which they would haue to depend vpon them, and as great an appea­rance of trueth in propositions quite contrarie. There haue Copernicus. Paracelsus. beene some in our time that haue changed and quite altered the principles and rules of our Ancients and best Professors in Astronomie, Phisicke, Geometrie, in nature, and the motion of the windes. Euery humane proposition hath as much au­thoritie as another, if reason make not the difference. Trueth [Page 160] dependeth not vpon the authoritie and testimonie of man: there are no principles in man if Diuinitie haue not reuealed them; all the rest is but a dreame and smoake. Now these great masters will that whatsoeuer they say should be belee­ued and receiued, and that euery man should trust them, without iudging or examining what they teach: which is a tyrannicall iustice. God onely (as hath beene sayd) is to be beleeued in all that he saith, because he saith it: Qui a semet­ipso loquitur mendax est.

The other meane is by supposition of some miraculous thing done, new and celestiall reuelation and apparition, which hath beene cunningly practised by Law-makers, Ge­nerals in the field, or priuate Captaines. The perswasion ta­ken from the subiect it selfe possesseth the simpler sort, but at the first it is so tender and fraile, that the least offence, mista­king or imprudencie that shall happen, vndoeth all: for it is a great maruell how from so vaine beginnings and friuolous causes there should arise the most famous impressions. Now this first impression being once gotten, doth woonderfully grow and increase, in such sort that it fasteneth euen vpon the most expert and skilfull, by reason of the multitude of belee­uers, witnesses, yeeres, wherewith a man suffereth himselfe to be carried, if he see not well into it, and be not well prepa­red against it: for then it is to small purpose to spurne against it, or to enquire farther into it, but simply to beleeue it. The greatest and most powerfull meane to perswade, and the best touch-stone of trueth, is multitude of yeeres and beleeuers: now fooles do win the game, sanitatis patrocinium est insanien­tium turba. It is a very difficult thing for a man to resolue and settle his iudgement against the common opinion. All this may easily appeare by those many impostures and fooleries which we haue seene to go for miracles, and rauish the whole world with admiration, but instantly extinguished by some accident, or by the exact inquirie of such as are quicke sight­ed, who haue cleered and discouered the cousenage; which if they had had but time to ripen, and to haue fortified in na­ture, they had continued for euer, beene generally receiued and adored. And euen such are diuers others, which by the fauour of Fortune haue passed for currant, and gained pub­like [Page 161] beliefe, whereunto men afterwards accommodate them­selues, without any farther desire to know the thing in it first forme and originall, nusquam ad liquidum fama perducitur. And this is the reason why there are so many kinds of religi­ons in the world, so many superstitious customes of the Pa­gans, which are yet remaining euen in Christendome, and concerning which we can not wholly assure the people. By this whole discourse we see what we are, and to what we tend, since we are lead by such guides.

CHAP. XLI. Of the difference and inequalitie of men in generall.

THere is nothing in this lower world wherein there is found so great difference as amongst men, and where the differences are so distant and diuers in one and the same subiect and kinde. If a man should beleeue Plinie, He­rodotus, Plutarch, there are shapes of men in some countreys, that haue very little resemblance with ours, and some that are of a mixt and doubtfull kind betwixt men and beasts. There are some countreys where men are without heads, carrying their eyes and mouthes in their brests, where they are Her­maphrodites, where they go with foure feet, where they haue one eye in the forehead, and a head liker to a dogs head than a mans, where they are fish from the nauell downwards, and liue in the water; where their women beare children at fiue yeeres of age, and liue but eight; where they haue their head and forhead so hard, that iron can not pierce them; where they doe naturally change into wolues and other beasts, and afterwards into men again; where they are without a mouth, nourishing themselues with the smell of certaine odours; where they yeeld a seed that is blacke; where they are verie little and dwarfs; where they are very great and giants; where they goe alwayes naked; where they are all hairie; [Page 162] where they speake not, but liue in woods like beasts, hidden in caues and hollow trees. And in our times we haue disco­uered, seene with the eye, and touched with our fingers, where the men are without beards, without vse of fire, corne, wine; where that is held to be the greatest beautie, which we account the greatest deformitie, as hath beene sayd be­fore. Touching the diuersitie of maners we shall speake els­where. And to omit many of these strange wonderments, we know that as touching the visage, it is impossible to find two in all things alike; it may fall out that we may mistake, and take the one for the other, because of the great resemblance that may be betweene two; but this must be in the absence of the one, for in the presence of them both it is easie to note a difference, though a man know not how to expresse it. In the soules of men there is a farre greater difference, for it is not only greater without comparison betwixt a man and a man, than betwixt a beast and a beast: but there is greater difference betwixt a man and a man, than a man and a beast; for an excellent beast comes neerer to a man of the basest sort and degree, than that man to another great and excellent personage. This great difference of men proceedeth from the inward qualities, and from the spirit, where there are so many parts, so many iurisdictions, so many degrees beyond number, that it is an infinit thing to consider. We must now at the last learne to know man by those distinctions and dif­ferences that are in him, which are diuers, according to the many parts in man, many reasons, and meanes to compare and consider of him. We will heere set downe fiue princi­pall, vnto which all the rest may be referred, and generally all that is in man, Spirit, bodie naturall, acquired, publike, pri­uate, apparent, secret: and so this fift and last consideration of man shall haue fiue parts, which are fiue great and capitall distinctions of men, that is to say:

The first naturall, essentiall, and vniuersall of all men, soule and bodie.

The second naturall and essentiall principally, and in some sort acquired, of the force and sufficiencie of the spirit.

The third accidentall of the estate, condition and dutie of man, drawen from superioritie and inferioritie.

[Page 163] The fourth accidentall of the condition and profession of life.

The fift and last of the fauours and disfauours of Nature and of Fortune.

CHAP. XLII. The first distinction and difference of men naturall and essentiall, drawen from the diuers situation of the world.

THe first most notable and vniuersall distinction of men, 1 The diuersi­tie of men proceedeth from the di­uers situatiō of the world. which concerneth the soule and body, and whole essence of man, is taken and drawne from the diuers site of the world, according to which the aspect and influence of heauen, and the sunne, the aire, the climate, the countrie, are diuers. So likewise not only the colour, the feature, the complexion, the countenance, the manners, are diuers, but also the faculties of the soule, plaga coeli non solùm ad robur corporum, sed & animo­rum facit. Athenis tenue caelum, ex quo etiam acutiores Attici; crassum Thebis, ideo pingues Thebani & valentes. And therefore Plato thāked God that he was an Athenian, and not a Theban. As fruites and beasts are diuers, according to the diuers coun­tries wherein they are: so men are borne more and lesse war­like, iust, temperate, docible, religious, chaste, ingenious, good, obedient, beautifull, sound, strong. And this is the reason why Cyrus would not agree to the Persians to abandon their sharp and hillie countrie, to goe to another more plaine and plea­sant, saying, that fat countries and delicate, made men soft and effeminate, and fertile grounds barren and infertile spirits.

Following this foundation, we may in grosse diuide the world into three parts, and all men into three kinds of nature: 2 The diuision of the world into three parts. we will make three generall situations of the world, which are, the two extremities South, and North, and the middle be­twixt them both; euery part and situation shall haue sixtie degrees. The Southerne part which is vnder the Aequator, hath thirtie degrees on this side the line, thirtie on that, that is to say, all that part which is betwixt the two tropicks or somewhat more, where are the hot and Southerne countries, Africke and Aethiope, in the middle betwixt the East and the West; Arabia, Calicut, the Moluques, Ianes, Taprobana to­wards the Orient; Peru and the great Seas towards the Occi­dent. [Page 164] The other middle part hath thirtie degrees beyond the Tropicks both on this side the line and on that, towards the Poles, where are the middle and temperate regions, all Europe with the Mediterrane Sea in the middle betwixt the East and West; all Asia both the lesse and the greater which is towards the East, with China, Iapan, and America, towards the West. The third which is the thirtie degrees which are next to the two Poles on both sides, which are the cold and Icie countries, the Septentrionall people, Tartary, Muscony, Estotilan, Mage­lan, which is not yet throughly discouered.

Following this generall partition of the world, the natures of men are likewise different in euery thing, body, soule, reli­gion, 3 Their na­tures. maners, as wee may see in this little Table: For the

All these differences are easily prooued. As for those of the bodie, they are knowne by the eye, and if there be any excep­tions, 4 The proofes of these dif­ferences of the Body. they are rare, and proceed from the mixture of the peo­ple, or from the winds, the waters, and particular situation of the place, whereby a mountaine is a notable difference in the selfe-same degree, yea the selfe-same countrie and citie. They of the higher part of the citie of Athens, were of a quite con­trary [Page 165] humor, as Plutarke affirmeth, to those that dwelt about the gate of Pyreus: and they that dwell in the North side of a mountaine differ as much from those that dwell on the South side, as they do both differ from those in the valley.

As for the differences of the spirit, we know that mechani­call 2 The spirit. and manuall artes belong to the North, where men are made for labour; Speculatiue sciences came from the South. Caesar and other ancients of those times called the Aegyptians ingenious, and subtile: Moyses is said to be instructed in their wisdome: and Philosophie came from thence into Greece. Greatnesse began rather with them, because of their spirit and subtiltie. The gards of Princes (yea in the Southerne partes) are Northerne men, as hauing more strength, and lesse subtiltie and malice. So likewise the Southerne people are in­dued with great vertues, and subiect to great vices, as it is said of Hannibal: The Northerne haue goodnes and simplicitie. The lesser and middle sciences, as policies, lawes, and elo­quence, are in the middle nations, wherein the greatest Em­pires and policies haue flourished.

As touching the third point, religions haue come from the South, Egypt, Arabia, Chaldea; more superstition in 3 Religion. Africke than the whole world besides, witnesse their vowes so frequent, their temples so magnificent. The Northerne people, saith Caesar, haue little care of religion, being whollie giuen to the warres and to hunting.

As for manners, and first touching warres, it is certaine that the greatest armies, artes, military instruments and inuenti­ons 4 Manners. haue come from the North. The Scythians, Gothes, Van­dals, Huns, Tartarians, Turks, Germanes, haue beaten and conquered all other nations, and ransaked the whole world; and therefore it is a common saying, that all euill comes from the North. Single combats came from them. The Northerne people adore a sword fastned in the earth, saith Solinus. To o­ther nations they are inuincible, yea to the Romans, who ha­uing conquered the rest of the world, were vtterly destroyed by them. They grow weake and languish with the Southerne winds, and going towards the South; as the Southerne men comming into the North redouble their forces. By reason of their warlike fiercenes, they will not endure to be comman­ded [Page 166] by authority, they loue their libertie, at leastwise electiue commanders. Touching chastitie and iealousie in the North, saith Tacitus, one woman to one man; yea, one woman suffi­ceth many men, saith Caesar. There is no iealousie, saith Mun­ster, where men and women bathe themselues together with strangers. In the South Polygamie is altogether receiued. All Africke adoreth Venus, saith Solinus. The Southerns die with iealousie, and therefore they keepe Eunuches as gardians to their wiues, which their great Lords haue in great number, as they haue stables of horses. Touching crueltie, the two ex­treames are alike cruell, but the causes are diuers, as we shall see anon, when we come to speake of the causes. Those tor­tures of the wheele, and staking of men aliue, came from the North: The inhumanities of the Moscouites and Tartars, are too well knowne. The Almanes, saith Tacitus, punish not their offenders by lawe, but cruelly murther them as ene­mies. The Southerns flea their offenders aliue, and their de­sire of reuenge is so great, that they become furious if they be not glutted therewith. In the middle regions they are merci­full and humane: The Romans punished their greatest offen­ders with banishment. The Greeks vsed to put their offenders to death with a sweet drugge made of a kinde of Hemlocke which they gaue them to drinke: And Cicero saith, that hu­manitie and courtesie were the conditions of Asia minor, and from thence deriued to the rest of the world.

The cause of all these corporall and spirituall differences, is the inequalitie and difference of the inward naturall heate, 5 The cause of the aforesaid differences. which is in those countries and peoples, that is to say, strong and vehement in the Northerns, by reason of the great out­ward cold which incloseth and driueth the heate into the in­ward parts, as caues and deepe places are hot in winter, so mens stomacks, ventres hieme culidiores. Weake and feeble is the Southerns, the inward heate being dispersed and drawne into the outward parts, by the vehemencie of the outward heate, as in Sommer vaults and places vnder the earth are cold. Meane and temperate in the middle regions. From this diuersitie, I say, and inequalitie of naturall heat; proceed these differences not only corporall, which are easie to note, but also spirituall; for the Southerns by reason of their cold tem­perature, [Page 167] are melancholike, and therefore staied, constant, contemplatiue, ingenious, religious, wise; for wisdome is in cold creatures, as Elephants, who as they are of all other beasts the most melancholicke, so are they more wise, docile, religious, by reason of their cold bloud. From this melan­cholie temperature it likewise commeth, that the Southerns are vnchaste, by reason of that frothie, freating, tickling me­lancholie, as we commonly see in Hares; and cruell, because this freating sharp melancholie doth violently presse the pas­sions and reuenge. The Northernes are of a phlegmatick and sanguine temperature, quite contrarie to the Southerne; and therefore haue contrary qualities, saue that they agree in this one, that they are likewise cruell and inhumane, but by ano­ther reason, that is, for want of iudgement, whereby like beasts, they know not how to conteine and gouerne them­selues. They of the middle regions are sanguin and chole­ricke, tempered with a sweete, pleasant, kindly disposed hu­mor; they are actiue. We could likewise more exquisitely represent the diuers natures of these three sorts of people, by the application and comparison of all things, as you may see in this little Table, where it appeareth that there doth pro­perly belong, and may be referred to the

The other distinction more particular may be referred to this generall of North and South: for wee may referre to [Page 168] the conditions of the Northerne those of the West, and that liue in mountaines, warriours, fierce people, desirous of li­bertie, by reason of the colde which is in mountaines. So likewise, they that are farre distant from the sea are more sim­ple and innocent. And contrarily to the conditions of the Southernes, we may referre the Easterlings, such as liue in valleys, effeminate and delicate persons, by reason of the fer­tillitie of the place, which naturally yeeldeth pleasure. So likewise they that liue vpon the sea coasts are subtile, decei­uers by reason of their commerce and traffike with diuers sorts of people and nations. By all this discourse we may see that generally those of the North doe excell in bodie, haue strength for their part; and they of the South in spirit, and haue for their part subtiltie; they of the middle Regions par­take of both, and are temperate in all. So likewise we may see that their maners, to say the trueth, are neither vices nor vertues, but works of nature, which to amend or renounce altogether is more than difficult; but to sweeten, temper and reduce the extremities to a mediocritie, is a worke of vertue.

CHAP. XLIII. The second distinction, and more subtile difference of the spirits and sufficiences of men.

THis second distinction which respecteth the spirit and [...] Three sorts and degrees of people in the world. sufficiencie, is not so plaine, and perceptible as the other, and comes as well from nature as atchieuement; according vnto which there are three sorts of people in the world, as three conditions and degrees of spirits. In the one and the lowest are the weake and plaine spirits, of base and slender 1 capacitie, borne to obey, serue, and to be led, who in effect are simply men. In the second and middle stage are they that are of an indifferent iudgement, make profession of sufficien­cie, 2 knowledge, dexterity; but do not sufficiently vnderstand and iudge themselues, resting themselues vpon that which is commonly held, and giuen them at the first hand, without further enquirie of the truth and source of things, yea with a perswasion that it is not lawfull; and neuer looking farther than where they be, but thinking that it is euery where so, or ought to be so, and that if it be otherwise, they are deceiued, [Page 169] yea, they are barbarous. They subiect themselues to opini­ons, and the municipall lawes of the place where they liue, euen from the time they were first hatched, not only by ob­seruance and custome, which all ought to do, but euen from the very heart and soule, with a perswasion that that which is beleeued in their village is the true touchstone of truth (heere is nothing spoken of diuine reuealed truth, or religion) the only, or at least the best rule to liue well. These sorts of people are of the schoole and iurisdiction of Aristotle, affirmers, po­sitiue men, dogmatists, who respect more vtilitie than veritie, according to the vse and custome of the world, than that which is good and true in it selfe. Of this condition there are a very great number, and diuers degrees, the principall and most actiue amongst them gouerne the world, and haue the commaund in their hand. In the third and highest stage are men indued with a quick and cleare spirit, a strong, firme, and 3 solid iudgement, who are not content with a bare affirmation, nor settle themselues in common receiued opinions, nor suffer themselues to be wonne and preoccupated by a publicke and common beleefe, whereof they wonder not at all, knowing that there are many cousenages, deceits & impostures recei­ued in the world with approbation and applause, yea publick adoration and reuerence: but they examin all things that are proposed, sound maturely, and seeke without passion the cau­ses, motiues, and iurisdictions euen to the roote, louing better to doubt, and to hold in suspence their beleefe, than by a loose and idle facilitie or lightnesse, or precipitation of iudgement to feede themselues with lies, and affirme or secure them­selues of that thing whereof they can haue no certaine reason. These are but few in number, of the Schoole of Socrates and Plato, modest, sober, staied, considering more the veritie and realitie of things than the vtilitie; who if they be well borne, hauing with that aboue mentioned probitie and gouernment in manners, they are truly wise, and such as heere we seeke af­ter. But because they agree not with the common sort, as tou­ching opinions, see more clearely, pierce more deeply, are not so facill and easily drawne to beleeue, they are suspected and little esteemed of others, who are farre more in number, and held for fantasticks and philosophers; a word which they [Page 170] vse in a wrong sense, to wrong others. In the first of these three degrees or orders there is a farre greater number than in the second, and in the second, than in the third. They of the first and last, the lowest and highest trouble not the world, make no stirre, the one for insufficiencie and weakenes, the o­ther by reason of too great sufficiēcie, stabilitie, and wisdome. They of the middle make all the stirre, the disputations that are in the world, a presumptuous kind of people, alwayes stirred, and alwayes stirring. They of the lower range, as the bottome, the leese, the sinke, resemble the earth, which doth nothing but receiue and suffer that which comes from aboue. They of the middle resemble the region of the aire, wherein are formed all the meteors, thunderings, and alterations are made, which afterwards fall vpon the earth. They of the higher stage resemble the firmament it selfe, or at least the highest region next vnto heauen, pure, cleare, neate, and peaceable. This difference of men proceedeth partly from the nature of the first composition and temperature of the braine, which is different, moist, hot, drie, and that in many degrees, whereby the spirits and iudgements are either very solid, couragious, or feeble, fearefull, plaine: and partly from instruction and discipline; as also from the experience and practise of the world, which serueth to put off simplicitie, and to become more aduised. Lastly, all these three sorts of people are found vnder euery robe; forme and condition both of good and euill men, but diuersly.

There is another distinction of spirits and sufficiencies, for some there are that make way themselues, and are their owne 2 Another di­stinction. guides and gouernours. These are happie, of the higher sort, and very rare; others haue neede of help, and these are of two sorts. For some neede only a little light, it is enough if they haue a guide and a torch to goe before them, they will willinglie and easily follow. Others there are that must be drawen, they neede a spurre, and must be led by the hand. I speake not of those that either by reason of their great weak­nesse cannot, as they of the lower range, or the malignitie of their nature will not, as they of the middle, who are neither good to follow, nor will suffer themselues to be drawen and directed, for these are a people past all hope.

CHAP. XLIIII.

CHAP. XLV. Of commanding and obeying.

THese, as hath beene sayd, are the two foundations of all humane societie, and the diuersitie of estates and profes­sions. They are Relatiues, they do mutually respect, ingen­der and conserue one the other, and are alike required in all assemblies and communities; but are yet subiect to a natu­rall kinde of enuie, and an euerlasting contestation, complaint and obtrectation. The popular estate make the Souereigne of woorse condition than a Carter. The Monarchie placeth him aboue God himselfe. In commanding is the honour, the difficultie (these two commonly go together) the goodnesse, the sufficiencie, all qualities of greatnesse. Command, that is to say, sufficiencie, courage, authority, is from heauen and of God, imperium non nisi diuino fato datur: omnis potestas a Deo est: And therefore Plato was wont to say, That God did not appoint and establish men, that is to say, men of a com­mon sort and sufficiencie, and purely humane, to rule others, but such as by some diuine touch, singular vertue, and gift of heauen, do excell others: and therefore they are called He­roes. In obeying is vtilitie, procliuitie, necessitie, in such sort, that for the preseruation of the weale publike it is more ne­cessarie than well to command; and the deniall of obedience, or not to obey as men should, is farre more dangerous than for a Prince not to command as he should. Euen as in mari­age, though the husband and the wife be equally obliged to loialtie and fidelitie, and haue both bound themselues by pro­mise in the same words, the same ceremonies and solemnities, yet notwithstanding the inconueniences are incomparably farre greater, in the fact of adulterie, in the wife than the hus­band: euen so, though command and obedience are equally required in euery state and companie, yet the inconuenien­ces of disobedience in subiects are farre more dangerous than of ill gouernment in a Commander. Many States haue a long time continued and prospered too vnder the command of wicked Princes and Magistrates, the subiects obeying and accommodating themselues to their gouernment: and there­fore a wise man being once asked why the Common-wealth [Page 175] of Sparta was so flourishing, and whether it were because their Kings commanded well? Nay rather, saith he, because the Citizens obey well. For if the subiects once refuse to o­bey, and shake off their yoke, the state must necessarily fall to the ground.

CHAP. XLVI. Of Mariage.

NOtwithstanding the state of marriage be the first, more 1 ancient and most important, and as it were the founda­tion and fountaine of humane societie, whence arise families, and from them Common-weales, Prima societas in coniugio est, quod principium vrbis, seminarium Reipublicae; yet it hath been contemned and defamed by many great personages, who haue iudged it vnwoorthy men of heart and spirit, and haue framed many obiections against it.

First, they account the band and obligation thereof vniust, 2 Obiections against ma­riage. a hard and ouerstreight captiuitie, insomuch, that by marri­age a man is bound and enthralled to the cares and humours of another. And if it fall out, that hee haue mistaken in his choice, and haue met with a hard bargaine, more bone than flesh, his life is euer afterwards most miserable. What ini­quitie and iniustice can there be greater than for one houres follie, a fault committed without malice, and by meere ouer­sight, yea many times to obey the aduice of another, a man should be bound to an euerlasting torment? It were better for him to put the halter about his necke, and to cast himselfe in­to the sea, his head downward, to end his miserable life, than to liue alwayes in the paines of hell, and to suffer without in­termission on his side, the tempest of iealousie, of malice, of rage, of madnesse, of brutish obstinacie, and other miserable conditions: and therefore one sticks not to say, That he that inuented this knot and tie of marriage, had found a goodly and beautifull meanes to be reuenged of man, a trap or gin to intangle beasts, and afterwards to make them languish at a little fire. Another saith, That to marrie a wise man to a foole, or a foole to a wise man, is to binde the liuing to the dead, which was the cruellest death inuented by Tyrants, to make the liuing to languish and die by the companie of the dead. [Page 176] Secondly, they say that mariage is a corruption and adulte­rating of good and rare spirits; insomuch that the flatteries and smooth speaches of the partie beloued, the affection to­wards children, the care of houshold affaires, and aduance­ment of their famelies, do lessen, dissolue, and mollifie the vi­gour and strength of the most liuely and generous spirit that is, witnesse Samson, Salomon, Marc. Antony. And therefore howsoeuer the matter goe, we had not neede to marry. But those that haue more flesh than spirit, strong in bodie, and weake in minde, tie them to the flesh, and giue them the charge of small and base matters, such as they are capable of. But such as are weake of body, haue their spirits great, strong, and puistant, is it not then a pitie to binde them to the flesh, and to mariage, as men doe beasts in a stable? We see that beasts the more noble they are, the stronger and fitter for seruice, as horses and dogs, the more are they kept asunder from the companie and acquaintance of the other sex, and it is the maner to put beasts of least esteeme at randon together. So likewise such men and women as are ordeined to the most venerable and holiest vocation, and which ought to be as the creame and marrow of Christianitie, Church-men and religi­gious, are (though not by any warrant from the word of God) excluded from mariage. And the reason is, because ma­riage hindreth and auerteth those beautifull and great eleua­tions of the soule, the contemplation of things, high, celestiall, and diuine, which is incompatible with the troubles and mo­lestations of domesticall affaires; for which cause the Apostle preferreth the solitarie continent life before mariage. Vtilitie may well hold with mariage, but honestie is on the other side.

Againe, it troubleth beautifull and holy enterprises: as Saint Austin reporteth, that hauing determined with some other his friends, among whom there were some maried, to retire themselues from the citie, and the company of men, the better to attend to the studie of wisdome and vertue, their purpose was quickly broken and altered by the wiues of those that were maried. And another wiseman did not doubt to say, that if men could liue without women, they should be visited and accompaned by Angels. Moreouer, mariage is a hin­drance [Page 177] to such as delight in trauell and to see strange coun­tries, whether to learne to make themselues wise, or to teach others to be wise, and to publish that to others which they know. To conclude, mariage doth not only corrupt and de­iect good and great spirits, but it robbeth the weale-publicke of many beautifull and great things, which cannot manifest themselues remaining in the bosome and lap of a woman, or being spent about young children. But is it not a goodly sight, nay a great losse, that he that is able for his wisdome and policie to gouerne the whole world, should spend his time in the gouernment of a woman and a few children? And therefore it was well answered by a great personage being sollicited to marry, That he was borne to command men, not a woman, to counsell Kings and Princes, not little children.

To all this a man may answere, that the nature of man is 3 The answere to the afore­said obiecti­ons, Cap. 4. not capable of perfection, or of any thing against which no­thing may be obiected, as hath elsewhere beene spoken. The best and most expedient remedies that it hath, are in some de­gree or other but sickly, mingled with discommodities: They are all but necessarie euils. And this is the best that man could deuise for his preseruation and multiplication. Some (as Pla­to, and others) would more subtillie haue inuented meanes to haue auoided these thornie inconueniences; but besides that they built castels in the aire, that could not long continue in vse, their inuentions likewise if they could haue been put in practise, would not haue been without many discommodities and difficulties. Man hath been the cause of them, and hath himselfe brought them forth by his vice, intemperancie, and contrarie passions; and we are not to accuse the state, nor any other but man, who knowes not well how to vse any thing. Moreouer a man may say, that by reason of these thornes and difficulties, it is a schoole of vertue, an apprentiship, and a fa­miliar and domesticall exercise: and Socrates a doctor of wis­dome did once say to such as hit him in the teeth with his wiues pettish frowardnes, That he did thereby learne euen within his owne dores, to be cōstant and patient euery where else, and to thinke the crosses of fortune to be sweet and plea­sant vnto him. It is not to be denied but that he that can liue vnmaried, doth best: but yet for the honour of mariage, a [Page 178] man may say, that it was first instituted by God himselfe in Paradise before any other thing, and that in the state of inno­cencie and perfection. See heere foure commendations of mariage, but the fourth passeth all the rest, and is without replie. Afterwards the Sonne of God approued it, and hono­red it with his presence at the first miracle that he wrought, and that miracle done in the fauour of that state of mariage and maried men; yea he hath honored it with this priuiledge, that it serueth for a figure of that great vnion of his with the Church, and for that cause it is called a mysterie and great.

Without all doubt, mariage is not a thing indifferent: It is either wholly a great good, or a great euill, a great content, or 4 Wholly good, or wholly ill. a great trouble, a paradise or a hell: It is either a sweet and pleasant way, if the choice be good, or a rough and dangerous march, and a gauling burthensome tye, if it be ill: It is a bar­gaine where truly that is verified which is said, Homo homini deus, aut lupus.

Mariage is a worke that consisteth of many parts; there must be a meeting of many qualities, many considerations 5 A good ma­riage, a rare good. besides the parties maried. For whatsoeuer a man say, he ma­rieth not only for himselfe; his posteritie, familie, alliance, and other meanes, are of great importance, and a greeuous burthen. See heere the cause why so few good are found; and because there are so few good found, it is a token of the price and value thereof: it is the condition of all great charges: Royaltie is full of difficultie, and few there are that exercise it well and happily. And whereas we see many times that it falleth not out so luckely, the reason thereof is the licentious libertie, and vnbridled desire of the persons themselues, and not in the state and institution of mariage: and therefore it is commonly more commodious, and better fitted in good, simple, and vulgar spirits, where delicacie, curiositie, and idle­nesse are lesse troublesome: vnbridled humours and turbu­lent wauering minds are not fit for this state or degree.

Mariage is a step to wisdome, a holie and inuiolable band, an honorable match. If the choyce be good and well orde­red 6 A simple de­scription and summary of mariage. there is nothing in the world more beautifull: It is a sweet societie of life, full of constancie, trust, and an infinite number of profitable offices and mutuall obligations: It is a [Page 179] fellowship not of loue, but amitie. For loue and amitie are as different, as the burning sick heate of a feuer, from the natu­rall heate of a sound bodie. Mariage hath in it selfe amitie, vtilitie, iustice, honor, constancie, a plaine pleasure, but sound, firme, and more vniuersall. Loue is grounded vpon pleasure only, and it is more quicke, piercing, ardent. Few mariages succeede well that haue their beginnings and progresse from beautie and amorous desires. Mariage hath neede of founda­tions more solid and constant; and we must walke more wa­rily; this boyling affection is worth nothing: yea mariage hath a better conduct by a third hand.

Thus much is said summarily and simplie; but more ex­actly to describe it, we know that in Mariage there are two 7 A descriptiō more exact. things essentiall vnto it, and seeme contraries, though indeed they be not; that is to say, an equalitie sociable, and such as is betweene Peeres: and an inequalitie, that is to say, superio­ritie and inferioritie. The equalitie consisteth in an entire and perfect communication and communitie of all things, soules, wills, bodies, goods, the fundamentall law of Mariage, which in some places is extended euen to life and death, in such sort, that the husband being dead, the wife must incontinently fol­low. This is practised in some places by the publick lawes of the countries, and many times with so ardent affection, that many wiues belonging to one husband, they contend, and publicklie pleade for the honor to goe first to sleepe with their spouse (that is their word) alleaging for themselues the better to obtaine their suite, and preferment heerein, their good seruice, that they were best beloued, had the last kisse of their deceased husband, and haue had children by him.

In other places it was obserued, not by publicke lawes, but priuate compacts and agreements of mariage, as betwixt Marc. Antony, and Cleopatra. This equalitie doth likewise consist in that power which they haue in commune ouer their family, whereby the wife is called the companion of her husband, the mistris of the house and family, as the hus­band [Page 180] the master and lord: And their ioint authoritie ouer their family is compared to an Aristocracie.

The distinction of superioritie and inferioritie consisteth in this, that the husband hath power ouer the wife, and the 8 Inequalitie. wife is subiect to the husband. This agreeth with all lawes and policies; but yet more or lesse according to the diuersitie of them. In all things the wife, though she be far more noble, and more rich, yet is subiect to the husband. This superiori­tie and inferioritie is naturall, founded vpon the strength and sufficiencie of the one, the weaknes and insufficiencie of the other. The Diuines ground it vpon other reasons drawen from the Bible: Man was first made by God alone and im­mediatly, expresly for God his head, and according to his image, and perfect, for nature doth always begin with things perfect. The woman was made in the second place, after man, of the substance of man, by occasion and for another thing, mulier est vir occasionatus, to serue as an aide and as a second to man, who is her head, and therefore imperfect. And this is the difference by order of generation. That of corrup­tion and sinne proueth the same, for the woman was the first in preuarication, and by hir own weakenes and will did sinne, man the second, and by occasion of the woman; the woman then the last in good and in generation, and by occasion, the first in euill and the occasion thereof, is iustly subiect vnto man, the first in good, and last in euill.

This superioritie and power of the husband hath beene in some places such as that of the father, ouer life and death, as 9 The power of the hus­band. Dion. Hali­car. l. 2. Lib. 2. Lib. 6. bel. Gal. with the Romans by the law of Romulus: and the husband had power to kill his wife in foure cases, Adulterie, Suborning of children, counterfeiting of false keyes, and drinking of wine. So likewise with the Greeks, as Polybius, and the ancient French, as Caesar affirmeth, the power of the husband was ouer the life and death of his wife. Elswhere, and there too, afterwards this power was moderated; but almost in all places the pow­er of the husband and the subiection of the wife doth inferre thus much, That the husband is master of the actions and vowes of his wife, and may with words correct her and hold her to the stocks (as for blowes, they are vnworthy a woman of honour or honestie, saith the Law) and the wife is bound [Page 181] to holde the condition, follow the qualitie, countrey, fami­lie, habitation and rancke of her husband, she must accom­panie and follow him in all things, in his iourneys if need be, his banishment, his imprisonment, yea a wandring person, a vagabond, a fugitiue. The examples heereof are many and excellent, of Sulpitia, who followed her husband Lentulus being banished into Cicilie; Erithrea her husband Phalaris; Ipsicrates the wife of King Mithridate vanquished by Pom­pey, who wandred thorow the world. Some adde vnto this, That wiues are to follow their husbands euen in the warres, and into those prouinces whither the husband is sent with publike charge. Neither can the wife bring any thing into question of law, whether she be plaintiffe or defendant, with­out Corn. Ta­cit. the authority of her husband, or of the Iudge, if he refuse; neither can she call her husband into iudgement, without the permission of the Magistrate.

Marriage is not carried after one and the same fashion, nei­ther 10 The diuers rules of ma­riage. hath it in euery place the same lawes and rules, but ac­cording to the diuersitie of religions and countreys, it hath rules either more easie or more streight: according to the rules of Christianitie of all others the streightest, marriage is more subiect, and held more short. There is nothing but the entrance left free, the continuance is by constraint, depend­ing of some thing els than our owne willes. Other nations and religions, to make marriage more easie, free, and fertile, haue receiued and practised Polygamie and repudiation, li­bertie to take and leaue wiues: they accuse Christianitie for taking away these two, by which meanes amity and multipli­cation, the principall ends of marriage, are much preiudiced, inasmuch as amitie is an enemie to all constraint, and they doe better maintaine themselues in an honest libertie; and multiplication is made by the woman, as Nature doth richly make knowen vnto vs in wolues, of whom the race is so fer­tile in the production of their yoong, euen to the number of twelue or thirteene, that they farre excell all other profitable creatures: of these there are great numbers killed euery day, by which meanes there are but few, and they though of all o­thers the most fertile, yet by accident the most barren: the reason is because of so great a number as they bring, there is [Page 182] one only female, which for the most part beareth not by rea­son of the multitude of males that concurre in the generation, of which the greatest part die without fruit, by the want of females. So likewise we may see how much Polygamy helpeth to multiplication in those nations that receiue it, Iewes, Turks and other Barbarians, who are able to raise forces of three or foure thousand fighting men fit for warres. Contrariwise, in Christendome there are many linked together in matrimony, the one of which, if not both, are barren, which being placed with others, both the one and the other may happely leaue great posteritie behinde them. But to speake more truly, all his fertilitie consisteth in the fertilitie of one only woman. Finally, they obiect, That this Christianlike restraint is the cause of many lasciuious pranks and adulteries. To all which we may answer, That Christianitie considereth not of marri­age by reasons purely humane, naturall, temporall; but it beholds it with another visage, and weigheth it with reasons more high and noble, as hath beene said. Adde vnto this, That experience sheweth in the greatest part of marriages, that constraint increaseth amitie, especially in simple and de­bonaire mindes, who doe easily accommodate themselues where they finde themselues in such sort linked. And as for lasciuious and wicked persons, it is the immodestie of their maners that makes them such, which no libertie can amend. And to say the truth, Adulteries are as common where Poly­gamie and repudiation are in force; witnesse the Iewes and Dauid, who for all the wiues that hee had could not defend himselfe from it: and contrariwise, they haue beene a long time vnknowen in policies well gouerned, where there was neither Polygamie nor repudiation; witnesse Sparta and Rome a long time after the foundation. And therefore it is absurd to attribute it vnto religion, which teacheth nothing but puritie and continencie.

The libertie of Polygamie which seemeth in some sort na­turall, 11 Polygamie diuers. is caried diuersly according to the diuersitie of nations and policies. In some, all the wiues that belong to one hus­band liue in common, and are equall in degree; and so are their children. In others, there is one who is the principall and as the mistresse, whose children inherit the goods, ho­nours, [Page 183] and titles of the husband: the rest of the wiues are kept apart, and carrie in some places the titles of lawfull wiues, in others of concubines, and their children are onely pensioners.

The vse of repudiation in like sort is different: for with 12 Repudiation diuers. some, as the Hebrewes, Greeks, Armenians, the cause of the separation is not expressed, and it is not permitted to retake the wife once repudiated, but yet lawfull to marry another. But by the law of Mahumet, the separation is made by the Iudge, with knowledge taken of the cause (except it be by mutuall consent) which must be adulterie, sterilitie, incom­patibilitie of humours, an enterprise on his, or hir part against the life of each other, things directly and especiallie contrarie to the state and institution of mariage: and it is lawfull to re­take one another as often as they shall thinke good. The for­mer seemeth to be the better, because it bridleth proud wo­men, and ouer-sharp and bitter husbands: The second, which is to expresse the cause, dishonoureth the parties, & discoue­reth many things which should be hid. And if it fall out that the cause be not sufficientlie verified, and that they must con­tinue together, poysonings and murthers doe commonly en­sue, many times vnknowne vnto men: as it was discouered at Rome before the vse of repudiation, where a woman being apprehended for poysoning of her husband, accused others, and they others too to the number of threescore and ten, which were all executed for the same offence. But the worst law of all others hath beene, that the adulterer escapeth al­most euery where without punishment of death, and all that is laid vpō him is diuorce & separation of companie, brought in by Iustinian, a man whollie possessed by his wife, who cau­sed whatsoeuer lawes to passe that might make for the ad­uantage of women. From hence doth arise a danger of per­petuall adulterie, desire of the death of the one partie, the of­fender is not punished, the innocent iniured remaineth with­out amends.

The dutie of maried folke, See Lib. 3. Cap. 12.

CHAP. XLVII. Of Parents and Children.

THere are many sorts and degrees of authoritie and hu­mane power, Publicke, and Priuate; but there is none 1 Fatherly power. more naturall, nor greater, than that of the father ouer his children, (I say father, because the mother who is subiect vn­to hir husband, cannot properly haue hir children in hir po­wer and subiection) but it hath not been alwayes, and in all places alike. In former times almost euery where it was abso­lute and vniuersall ouer the life and death, the libertie, the goods, the honor, the actions and cariages of their children, as to plead, to marie, to get goods: as namely with the Romans by the expresse law of Romulus, parentum in liberos omne ius esto, relegendi, vendendi, occidendi; except only children vnder Dion. Ha­lic. li 2. an­tiq. Rom l. in [...]uis ff. de lib. & post. Aul. Gell. lib. 20. Lib. 8. Eth. cap. 20. Lib 6. Bel. Gal. Prosper. Aquitan. in Epist. Sigism. the age of three yeares, who as yet could not offend either in word or deede; which law was afterwards renued by the law of the twelue tables, by which the father was allowed to sell his children to the third time: with the Persians ac­cording to Aristotle; the ancient French as Caesar and Prosper affirme; with the Muscouits and Tartars, who might sell their children to the fourth time. And it should seeme by that fact of Abraham going about to kill his sonne, that this power was likewise vnder the law of nature: for if it had been against his dutie, and without the power of the father, he had neuer con­sented thereunto, neither had hee euer thought that it was God that commanded him to do it, if it had beene against na­ture. And therefore we see that Isaac made no resistance, nor alledged his innocencie, knowing that it was in the power of his father: which derogateth not in any sort from the great­nesse of the faith of Abraham, because he would not sacrifice his sonne by vertue of his right or power, nor for any demerit of Isaac, but only to obey the commandement of God. So likewise it was in force by the law of Moyses, though some­what Deut. 21. moderated. So that we see what this power hath been in ancient times in the greatest part of the world, and which endured vnto the time of the Romane Emperours. With the Greeks it was not so great and absolute, nor with the E­gyptians: neuerthelesse, if it fell out, that the father had killed [Page 185] his sonnes wrongfully and without cause, he had no other punishment, but to be shut vp three daies together with the dead bodie.

Now the reasons and fruits of so great and absolute a pow­er 2 The reasons and fruits thereof. of fathers ouer their children, necessarie for the culture of good maners, the chasing away of vice, and the publike good, were first to holde the children in awe and dutie: and secondly, because there are many great faults in children, that would escape vnpunished, to the great preiudice of the weale publike, if the knowledge and punishment of them were but in the hand of publike authoritie, whether it be because they are domesticall and secret, or because there is no man that will prosecute against them: for the parents who know them and are interessed in them will not discredit them; besides that, there are many vices and insolencies that are neuer punished by iustice. Adde heereunto, that there are many things to be tried, and many differences betwixt parents and children, brothers and sisters, touching their goods or other matters, which are not fit to be published, which are extinct and bu­ried by this fatherly authoritie. And the law did alwayes suppose, that the father would neuer abuse this authoritie, because of that great loue which he naturally carrieth to his children, incompatible with crueltie; which is the cause that in stead of punishing them with rigour, they rather become intercessours for them, when they are in danger of the law: and there can be no greater torment to them, than to see their children in paine. And it falleth out very seldome or neuer, that this power is put in practise without very great occasi­on; so that it was rather a scarcrow to children and very pro­fitable, than a rigour in good earnest.

Now this fatherly power (as ouer-sharpe and dangerous) is almost of it selfe lost and abolished (for it hath rather hap­ned 3 The decli­nation. by a kinde of discontinuance than any expresse law) and it beganne to decline at the comming of the Romane Empe­rours: for from the time of Augustus, or shortly after, it was no more in force, whereby children became so desperate and insolent against their parents, that Seneca, speaking to Nero, Lib. 1. de Clem. sayd, That hee had seene more paricides punished in fiue yeeres past, than had beene in seuen hundred yeeres before; [Page 186] that is to say, since the foundation of Rome. In former times, if it fell out that the father killed his children, he was not pu­nished, Salust. in bel. Catil. Valer. Maxim. as we may see by the example of Fuluius the Senator, who killed his sonne because he was a partner in the conspi­racie of Catiline: and of diuers other Senatours, who haue made criminall processe against their children in their owne houses, and haue condemned them to death, as Cassius Tra­tius; or to perpetuall exile, as Manlius Torquatus his sonne Sillanus. There were afterwards lawes ordeined, that inioy­ned the father to present vnto the Iudge his children offend­ing, that they might be punished, and that the Iudge should pronounce such a sentence as the father thought fit; which is still a kinde of footstep of antiquitie: and going about to take away the power of the father, they durst not doe it but by halfes, and not altogether and openly. These latter lawes come somewhat neere the law of Moyses, which would, That at the only complaint of the father made before the Iudge, without any other knowledge taken of the cause, the rebelli­ous and contumacious childe should be stoned to death; re­quiring the presence of the Iudge, to the end the punishment should not be done in secret or in choler, but exemplarilie. So that according to Moyses this fatherly power was more free and greater, than it hath beene after the time of the Em­perours; but afterwards vnder Constantine the Great, and Theodosius, and finally vnder Iustinian, it was almost altoge­ther extinct. From whence it is, that children haue learned to denie their obedience to their parents, their goods, their aide, yea to wage law against them; a shamefull thing to see our Courts full of these cases. Yea, they haue beene dispen­sed heerewith vnder pretext of deuotion and offerings, as with the Iewes before Christ, wherwith he reprocheth them: Matt. 15. and afterwards in Christianitie; according to the opinion of some: yea, it hath beene lawfull to kill them either in their owne defence, or if they were enemies to the Common­weale: although, to say the truth, there should neuer because iust enough for a sonne to kill his father. Nullum tantum sce­lus admitti potest a patre, quod sit parricidio vindicandum, & nul­lum scelus rationem habet.

Now we feele not what mischiefe and preiudice hath hap­ned [Page 187] to the world, by the abolishing and extinction of this fa­therly power. The Common-weales wherein it hath beene in force haue alwayes flourished. If there were any danger or euill in it, it might in some sort be ruled and moderated; but vtterly to abolish it, as now it is, is neither honest nor ex­pedient, but hurtfull and inconuenient, as hath beene sayd.

Of the reciprocall duty of parents and children, See Lib. 3. Cap. 14.

CHAP. XLVIII. Lords and slaues, Masters and seruants.

THe vse of slaues, and the full and absolute power of Lords and Masters ouer them, although it be a thing common 1 The vse of slaues vni­uersall and against na­ture. thorowout the world and at all times (except within these foure hundred yeeres, in which time it hath somewhat de­cayed, though of late it reuiue againe) yet it is a thing both monstrous and ignominious in the nature of man, and such as is not found in beasts themselues, who consent not to the cap­tiuitie of their like neither actiuely nor passiuely. The law of Moyses hath permitted this as other things, ad duritiam cordis eorum, but not such as hath beene elswhere: for it was neither so great, nor so absolute, nor perpetuall, but moderated with­in the compasse of seuen yeeres at the most. Christianitie hath left it, finding it vniuersall in all places, as likewise to o­bey idolatrous Princes and Masters, and such like matters as could not at the first attempt and altogether be extinguished, they haue abolished.

There are foure sorts, Naturall, that is, slaues borne; En­forced, 2 Distinction. and made by right of warre; Iust termed slaues by punishment by reason of some offence, or debt, whereby they are slaues to their Creditors, at the most for seuen yeeres, ac­cording to the law of the Iewes, but alwayes vntill paiment and restitution be made, in other places; Voluntaries, where­of there are many sorts, as they that cast the dice for it, or sell Tacit. de mort Ger­man. their libertie for money, as long sithence it was the custome in Almaigne, and now likewise in some parts of Christendom, where they do giue and vow themselues to another for euer, as the Iewes were woont to practise, who at the gate bored a [Page 188] hole in their eare in token of perpetuall seruitude. And this kind of voluntarie captiuitie, is the strangest of all the rest, and almost against nature.

It is couetousnesse that is the cause of slaues enforced; and lewdnesse the cause of voluntaries. They that are Lords and 3 The cause of Slaues. Masters haue hoped for more gaine and profit by keeping, than by killing them: and indeed the fairest possessions and the richest commodities, were in former times slaues. By this meanes Crassus became the richest among the Romanes, who had besides those that serued him fiue hundred slaues, who euery day brought gaine and commoditie by their gainefull artes and mysteries, and afterwards when he had made what profit by them he could, he got much by the sale of them.

It is a strange thing to reade of those cruelties practised by Lords vpon their slaues, euen by the approbation and per­mission 4 The cruel­ties of Lords against their slaues. of the lawes themselues: They haue made them to till the earth being chained together, as the manner is in Bar­bary at this day; they lodge them in holes and ditches; and being old, or impotent, and so vnprofitable, they sell them, or drowne them, and cast them into lakes to feed their fish with­all: They kill them not only for the least fault that is, as the breaking of a glasse, but for the least suspition, yea, for their owne pleasure and pastime, as Flaminius did, one of the hone­stest men of his time: And to giue delight vnto the people, they were constrained in their publicke Theaters to kill one another. If a Master hapned to be killed in his house by whomsoeuer, the innocent slaues were all put to death, inso­much that Pedonius the Romane being slaine, although the murtherer were knowne, yet by the order of the Senat, foure hundred of his slaues were put to death.

On the other side, it is a thing as strange, to heare of the re­bellions, insurrections, and cruelties of slaues against their 5 The cruelties of Slaues against their Lords. Lords, when they haue beene able to worke their reuenge, not only in particular by surprise and treason, as it fell out one night in the Citie of Tyre, but in set battaile both by sea and land; from whence the prouerb is, So many slaues, so many enemies.

Now as Christian religion, and afterwards Mahumetisme 6 Diminution of Slaues. did increase, the number of slaues did decrease, and seruitude [Page 189] did cease, insomuch that the Christians, and afterwards the Turks, like apes imitating them, gaue freedome and libertie to all those that were of their religion; in such sort, that about the twelue hundred yeare, there were almost no slaues in the world, but where these two religions had no authoritie.

But as the number of slaues diminished, the number of beggers and vagabonds increased: for so many slaues being 7 The increase of poore peo­ple and va­gabonds. set at libertie, come from the houses and subiection of their Lords, not hauing wherewithall to liue, and perhaps hauing children too, filled the world with poore people.

This pouertie made them returne to seruitude, and to be­come 8 Returne to seruitude. voluntarie slaues, paying, changing, selling their liber­tie, to the end they might haue their maintenance and life as­sured, and be quit of the burthen of their children. Besides this cause and this voluntarie seruitude, the world is returned to the vse of slaues, because the Christians and Turks alwaies mainteining warres one against the other, as likewise against the Gentiles both orientall and occidentall, although by the example of the Iewes they haue no slaues of their owne na­tion, yet they haue of others, whom, though they turne to their religion, they hold slaues by force.

The power and authoritie of masters ouer their seruants, 9 is not very great, nor imperious, and in no sort can be preiudi­ciall to the libertie of seruants; only they may chastise and correct them with discretion and moderation. This power is much lesse ouer those that are mercenarie, ouer whom they haue neither power nor correction.

The dutie of Masters and Seruants, See lib. 3. cap. 15.

CHAP. XLIX. Of the State, Soueraigntie, Soueraignes.

HAuing spoken of priuate power, we come to the pub­licke, 1 The descrip­tion and ne­cessitie of the state. that of the state. The state, that is to say, Rule, do­minion, or a certaine order in commanding and obeying, is the prop, the cement, and the soule of humane things: It is the bond of societie, which cannot otherwise subsist; It is the vi­tall [Page 190] spirit, whereby so many millions of men doe breath, and the whole nature of things.

Now notwithstanding it be the piller and prop of all, yet it is a thing not so sure, very difficult, subiect to changes, ardu­uin 2 The nature of the state. Tacit. & subiectum fortunae cuncta regendi onus, which declineth and sometimes falleth by hidden and vnknowne causes, and that altogether at an instant, from the highest step to the lo­west, and not by degrees, as it vseth to be long arising. It is likewise exposed to the hatred both of great and small, wher­by it is gauled, subiect to ambushments, vnderminings, and dangers, which hapneth likewise many times by the corrupt and wicked manners of the soueraignes, and the nature of the soueraigntie, which we are about to describe.

Soueraigntie is a perpetuall and absolute power, without constraint either of time or condition. It consisteth in a power 3 The descrip­tion of so­ueraigntie. to giue lawes to all in generall, and to euery one in particular, without the consent of any other, or the gift of any person. And as another saith (to derogate from the common law) Soueraigntie is so called, and absolute, because it is not subiect to any humane lawes, no not his owne. For it is against nature to giue lawes vnto all, and to command himselfe in a thing that dependeth vpon his will, Nulla obligatio consistere potest, quae a voluntate promittent is statum capit; nor of another, whe­ther liuing, or of his predecessors, or the countrie. Soueraigne power is compared to fire, to the sea, to a wilde beast; it is a hard matter to tame it, to handle it, it will not be crost, nor of­fended, but being is very dangerous, potestas res est quae mo­neri, doceri (que) non vult, & castigationem aegrè ferat.

The marks and properties thereof, are, to iudge the last ap­peales, to ordaine lawes in time of peace and warre, to create 4 The proper­ties. and appoint magistrates and officers, to giue graces and dis­pensations against the law, to impose tributes, to appoint money, to receiue homages, ambassages, oathes. But all this is comprehended vnder the absolute power to giue and make lawes according to their pleasure. Other marks there are of lesse weight, as the law of the sea and shipwracke, confis­cation for treason, power to change the tongue, title of Maiestie.

Greatnes and Soueraigntie is so much desired of all, because 5 [Page 191] all the good that is in it appeareth outwardly, and all the ill is altogether inward: As also because to commaund others, is a thing as beautifull and diuine, as great and difficult; and for this cause they are esteemed and reuerenced for more than men. Which beliefe in the people, and credit of theirs is very necessarie and commodious to extort from the people due respect and obedience, the nource of peace and quietnes. But in the end they prooue to be men cast in the same mould that other men are, and many times worse borne, and worse qua­lified in nature than many of the common sort of people. It seemeth that their actions because they are weightie and im­portant, doe proceed from weightie and important causes: but they are nothing, and of the same condition that other mens are. The same occasion that breeds a brawle betwixt vs and our neighbour, is ground enough of a warre betwixt Princes: and that offence for which a Lackey deserues a whipping, lighting vpon a King, is the ruine of a whole pro­uince. They will as lightly as we, and we as they, but they can do more than we: the selfe-same appetites moue a flie and an elephant. Finally, besides these passions, defects, and naturall conditions which they haue common with the meanest of those that doe adore them, they haue likewise vices and dis­commodities which their greatnes and soueraigntie beares them out in, peculiar vnto themselues.

The ordinarie maners of great personages are, vntamed 6 The maners of Soue­raignes. pride, durus est veri insolens, ad recta flecti regius non vult tu­mor; violence too licentious, id esse regni maximum pignus pu­tant, si quicquid alijs non licet, solis licet: quod non potest, vult pos­se, qui nimium potest: Their mott that best pleaseth them is, Senec. Tacit. quod libet, licet: suspition, icalousie, suapte natura, potentiae anxij, yea euen of their owne infants, suspectus semper, inuisus (que) do­minantibus quisquis proximus destinatur, adeo vt displiceant etiam ciuilia filiorum ingenia: whereby it falleth out that they are many times in alarum and feare, ingenia regum prona ad formidinem.

The aduantages of Kings and soueraigne Princes aboue 7 The miseries and discom­modities. their people, which seeme so great and glittering, are indeed but light, and almost imaginarie; but they are repayed with great, true, and solid disaduantages and inconueniences. The [Page 192] name and title of a soueraigne, the shew and outside is beauti­full, pleasant, and ambitious; but the burthen and the inside is hard, difficult, and yrksome. There is honor enough, but little rest and ioy, or rather none at all: It is a publicke and hono­rable seruitude, a noble miserie, a rich captiuitie, Aureae & ful­gidae compides, clara miseria; witnesse that which Augustus, Marcus Aurelius, Pertinax, Diocletian, haue said and done, and the end that almost all the first twelue Cesars made, and many others after them. But because few there are that be­leeue this, but suffer themselues to be deceiued by the beauti­full shew, I will more particularly quote the inconueniences and miseries that accompanie great Princes.

First, the great difficultie to play their part, and to quit themselues of their charge: for can it be but a great burthen 8 1 In their charge. to gouerne so many people, since in the ruling of himselfe there are so many difficulties? It is an easier matter and more pleasant to follow, than to guide; to trauell in a way that is al­readie traced, than to finde the way; to obey, than to com­mand; to answere for himselfe only, than for others too; vt sa­tius multo iam sit parere quietum, quàm regere imperio res velle. Adde heereunto that it is required that he that commandeth must be a better man, than he that is commanded: so said Cy­rus a great Commander. How difficult a thing this is, we may see by the paucitie of those that are such as they ought to be. Vespasian, saith Tacitus, was the only Prince that in goodnes excelled his predecessors: and another sticks not to say, that all the good Princes may be grauen in a ring.

Secondly in their delights and pleasures, wherein it is thought they haue a greater part than other men. But they 9 2 In the pleasures and actions of their life. are doubtlesse of a worse condition than the pleasures of pri­uate men: for besides that the lustre of their greatnes makes them vnfit to take ioy in their pleasures, by reason that they are too cleare and apparent, and made as a butt and subiect to censure, they are likewise crost and peered into euen to their very thoughts, which men take vpon them to diuine and iudge of. Againe, the great ease and facilitie that they haue to do what pleaseth them, because all men applie themselues vnto them, takes away the taste, & sowreth that sweet which should be in their pleasures; which delight no man but those [Page 193] that taste them, with some scarcitie and difficultie. He that giues no time to be thirstie, knowes not what a pleasure it is to haue drinke: Sacietie is noysome, and goes against the sto­macke.

There is nothing more tedious and loathsome than abun­dance, yea they are depriued of all true and liuely action, which can not be without some difficultie and resistance. It is not going, liuing, acting in them, but sleeping and an in­sensible sliding away.

The third inconuenience that followeth Princes, is in their 10 3 In their marriages. marriages. The marriages of the vulgar sort are more free and voluntarie, made with more affection, libertie and con­tentment. One reason heereof may be, that the common sort of men finde more of their degree to chuse, whereas Kings and Princes, who are not of the rout, as we know, haue no plentifull choice. But the other reason is better, which is, that the common sort in their marriages looke but into their owne affaires, and how they may accommodate it best vnto themselues; but the marriages of Princes are many times in­forced for publike necessity: they are great parts of the State, and instruments seruing for the generall good and quiet of the world. Great personages and Souereignes marrie not for themselues, but for the good of the State, whereof they must be more amourous and iealous, than of their wiues and chil­dren: for which cause they many times hearken vnto marri­ages where there is neither loue nor delight; and matches are made betweene persons, who neither know nor haue seene one another, much lesse affect: yea, such a great man takes such a great ladie, whom if he were not so great, he would not take: but this is to serue the weale-publike, to assure the States, and to settle peace amongst their people.

The fourth is, That they haue no true part in the attempts that men make one against the other in emulation of honour 11 4 Attempte of honour. and valour, in the exercises of the minde and of the bodie, which is one of the most delightfull things in the commerce and conuersation of men. The reason heereof is, because all the world giues place vnto them, all men spare them, and [Page 194] loue rather to hide their owne valour, to betray their owne glorie, than to hurt or hinder that of their Souereigne, espe­cially where they know he affects the victorie. This, to say the trueth, is by force of respect to handle men disdainfully and iniuriously, and therefore one said, that the children of Princes learned nothing by order and rule, but to manage a horse, because in all other exercises euery one bowes vnto them, and giues them the prise: but the horse who is neither flatterer nor Courtier, casts as well the Prince to the ground as the Esquire. Many great personages haue refused the prai­ses and approbations offered them, saying, I would accept and esteeme of them, and reioyce in them, if they came from free men, that durst say the contrarie, and tax me if there were cause.

The fift is, that they are depriued of the libertie to trauell in the world, being as it were emprisoned within their owne 12 5 Libertie of trauell. countries, yea within their owne palaces, being alwaies en­closed with people, suters, gazers, and lookers on, and that wheresoeuer they be, and in all actions whatsoeuer, prying euen through the holes of their chaire: whereupon Alphonsus the King said, that in this respect the estate of an asse was bet­ter than the condition of a King.

The sixt miserie is, that they are depriued of all amitie and mutuall societie, which is the sweetest and perfectest fruit of 13 6 Mutuall and hartie amitie. humane life, and cannot be but betwixt equals, or those be­twixt whom the difference is but small. This great disparitie puts them without the commerce and societie of men; all humble seruices, and base offices, are done vnto them by those that cannot refuse them, and proceed not from loue, but from subiection, or to increase their owne greatnes, or of cu­stome and countenance; which is plaine, because wicked Kings are as well serued and reuerenced as the good; they that are hated, as they that are beloued, there is no difference, the selfe-same apparell, the selfe-same ceremonie: Where­vpon Iulian the Emperour answered his Courtiers, that com­mended him for his iustice, Perhaps I should be proud of these praises, if they were spoken by such as durst to accuse me, and to dispraise my actions when they shall deserue it.

The seuenth misery, worse perhaps than all the rest, and 14 7 Ignorance of things. [Page 195] more dangerous to the weale-publicke, is, that they are not free in the choice of men, nor in the true knowledge of things. They are not suffered truly to know the state of their affaires, and consequently not to call and employ such as they would, and as were most fit and necessarie. They are shut vp, and be­set with a certaine kind of people, that are either of their own bloud, or by the greatnes of their houses and offices, or by prescription, are so farre in authoritie, power, and managing of affaires before others, that it is not lawfull, without put­ting all to hazard, to discontent, or in any sort to suspect them. Now these kind of people that couer, and hold as it were hidden the Prince, do prouide that all the truth of things shall not appeare vnto him, and that better men, and more profitable to the state come not neere him, lest they be knowne what they are. It is a pitifull thing not to see but by the eyes, not to vnderstand, but by the eares of another, as Princes doe. And that which perfecteth in all points this mi­serie, is, that commonly, and as it were by destinie, Princes and great personages are possessed by three sorts of people, the plagues of humane kinde, Flatterers, Inuenters of im­posts or tributes, Informers, who vnder a faire and false pre­text of zeale and amitie towards the Prince, as the two first, or of loyaltie and reformation as the latter, spoile and ruinate both Prince and State.

The eight miserie is, that they are lesse free, and masters of their owne wills than all other, for they are inforced in their 15 8 Not mae­sters of their wills. proceedings by a thousand considerations and respects, whereby many times they must captiuate their designments, desires, and wills; in maxima fortuna, minima licentia. And in the meane time in stead of being plaintiffes, they are more rudely handled and iudged than any other: For men will not stick to diuine of their designes, penetrate into their hearts and inuentions, which they cannot doe, Abditos principis sen­sus, & si quid occultius parat exquirere: illicitum anceps nec ideo assequare: and looking into things with another visage, where they vnderstand not sufficientlie the affaires of the state, they require of their Princes what they thinke should be done, blame their actions, & refusing to submit themselues to what [Page 196] is necessarie, they commonly proceed in their businesse rude­ly enough.

Finally, it falleth out many times, that they make a mise­rable end, not only tyrants and vsurpers, for it belongs to 16 9 A mise­rable end. them, but such as haue a true title to their Crowne; witnes so many Romane Emperours after Pompey the Great, and Caesar, and in our time Mary Queene of Scotland, who lost her life by the hand of an executioner; and Henry the third, wilfullie murthered in the middle of fortie thousand armed men, by a little Monke, and a thousand the like examples. It seemeth that as lightning and tempests oppose themselues against the pride and height of our buildings, so there are likewise spi­rits that enuie and emulate greatnes below vpon earth.

To conclude, the condition of Soueraignes is hard and dangerous: Their life if it be innocent, is infinitly painefull; 17 The conclu­sion of their miseries. if it be wicked, it is subiect to the hate and slaunder of the world, and in both cases exposed to a thousand dangers: for the greater a Prince is, the lesse may he trust others, and the more must he trust himselfe. So that we see, that it is a thing as it were annexed to soueraigntie, to be betrayed.

Of their duty, See the third booke, Chap. 16.

CHAP. L. Magistrates.

THere are diuers degrees of Magistrates as well in honor as power, which are the two things to be considered in 1 The distin­ction. the distinction of them, and which haue nothing common the one with the other: and many times they that are more honorable haue lesse power, as Counsellors of the priuie Counsell, the Secretaries of the state. Some haue but one of the two; others haue both, and that of diuers degrees, but they are properly called Magistrates that haue both.

[Page 197] The Magistrates that are in the middle betwixt the Soue­raigne 2 & the particulars, in the presence of their Soueraignes haue no power to command. As riuers lose both their name and power at the mouth or entrance into the sea, and the starres their light in the presence of the sunne; so all power of Magistrates is but vpon sufferance in the presence of their Soueraigne: as also the power of inferiours and subalternate Magistrates in the presence of their superiours. Amongst e­quals there is neither power nor superioritie, but the one may hinder the other by opposition and preuention.

All Magistrates iudge, condemne and command either ac­cording 3 to the law, and then their sentence is but the execu­tion of the law; or according to equitie, and such iudgement is called the office or dutie of the Magistrate.

Magistrates can not change nor correct their iudgements, 4 except the Soueraigne permit it, vnder paine of iniustice: they may reuoke their commands or make stay of them, but not that which they haue iudged and pronounced with knowledge of the cause.

Of the dutie of Magistrates, See lib. 3.

CHAP. LI. Lawyers, Doctours, Teachers.

IT is one of the vanities & follies of man, to prescribe lawes and rules that exceed the vse and capacitie of men, as some Philosophers and Doctors haue done. They propose strange and eleuated formes or images of life, or at leastwise so diffi­cult and austere, that the practise of them is impossible at least for a long time, yea the attempt is dangerous to manie. These are castles in the aire, as the Common-wealth of Plato, and More, the Oratour of Cicero, the Poet of Horace, beauti­full and excellent imaginations; but he was yet neuer found that put them in vse. The soueraigne and perfect Lawgiuer and Doctor tooke heed of this, who both in himselfe, his life and his doctrine, hath not sought these extrauagancies and formes diuided from the common capacitie of men; and therefore he calleth his yoke easie, and his burden light. Iu­gum [Page 198] meum suaue, & onus meum leue. And they that haue in­stituted and ordered their companie vnder his name, haue very wisely considered of the matter, that though they make speciall profession of vertue, deuotion, and to serue the weale­publike aboue all others, neuerthelesse they differ very little from the common and ciuill life. Wherein there is first great iustice: for there must alwaies be kept a proportion betwixt the commandement and the obedience, the duetie and the power, the rule and the workmaster: and these binde them­selues and others to be necessarilie in want, cutting out more worke than they know how to finish: and many times these goodly Law-makers are the first Law-breakers: for they do nothing, and many times do quite contrarie to that they en­ioyne others, like the Pharises, Imponunt onera grauia, & no­lunt ea digito mouere. So do some Physitians and Diuines: so liues the world; rules and precepts are enioined, and men not only by an irregularitie of life and maners, but also by contra­rie opinion and iudgement follow others.

There is likewise another fault full of iniustice, they are farre more scrupulous, exact, and rigorous in things free and accidentall than in necessarie and substantiall, in positiue and humane than in naturall and diuine; like them that are con­tent to lend, but not to pay their debts: and all like the Pha­rises, as the great and heauenly Doctour telleth them to their reproch. All this is but hypocrisie and deceit.

CHAP. LII.

CHAP. LIII. The distinction and comparison of the three sorts of degrees of life.

THere are three sorts of life, and as it were three degrees, one priuate of euery particular man within himselfe, and in the closet of his owne heart, where all is hid, all is lawfull: the second, in his house and family, in his priuate and ordina­rie actions, where there is neither studie nor arte, and where­of he is not bound to giue any reason: the third is publike in the eyes of the world. Now to keepe order and rule in this first low and obscure stage, it is very difficult, and more rare than in the other two; and in the second, than in the third: the reason is, because where there is neither Iudge nor Con­troler, nor Regarder, and where we haue no imagination ei­ther of punishment or recompense, we carrie our selues more loosely and carelesly, as in priuate liues, where conscience and reason only is our guide, than in publike; where we are still in checke and as a marke to the eyes and iudgement of all; where glory, feare of reproch, base reputation, or some other passion doth leade vs (for passion commands with grea­ter power than reason) whereby we keepe our selues readie, standing vpon our guard: for which cause it falleth out, that many are accounted holy, great, and admirable in publike, who in their owne priuate haue nothing commendable. That which is done in publike is but a fable, a fiction, the [Page 203] truth is secret and in priuat; and he that will well iudge of a man, must conuerse euery day with him, and pry into his or­dinarie and naturall cariage; the rest is all counterset; Vniuer­sus mundus exercet histrioniam: and therefore said a wise man, That he is an excellent man, who is such within and in him­selfe which he is outwardly for feare of the lawes, and speech of the world. Publick actions thunder in the eares of men, to which a man is attentiue, when he doth them; as exploits in warre, sound iudgement in counsell, to rule a people, to per­forme an Ambassage. Priuate and domesticall actions are quick and sure, to chide, to laugh, to sell, to pay, to conuerse with his owne, a man considers not of them, he doth them not thinking of them: secret and inward actions much more, to loue, to hate, to desire.

Againe, there is heere another consideration, and that is, that that is done by the naturall hypocrisie of men, which we 2 make most account of, and a man is more scrupulous in out­ward actions, that are in shew, but yet are free, of small impor­tance, and almost all in countenances and ceremonies, and therefore are of little cost, and as little effect; than in inward and secret actions that make no shew, but are yet requisite and necessarie, and therefore they are the more difficult. Of those depend the reformation of the soule, the moderation of the passions, the rule of the life; yea, by the attainement of these outward, a man becomes carelesse of the inward.

Now of these three liues, inward, domesticall, publicke, he that is to leade but one of them, as Hermits, doth guide and 3 order his life at a better rate, than he that hath two, and he that hath but two, his condition is more easie, than he that hath all three.

CHAP. LIIII. A comparison of the eiuill and sociable life with the solitarie.

THey that esteeme and commend so much the solitarie and retired life, as a great stay and sure retraite from the molestations and troubles of the world, and a fit meanes to preserue and maintaine themselues pure and free from many vices, in as much as the worse part is the greater, of a thou­sand [Page 204] there is not one good, the number of fooles is infinite, contagion in a prease is dangerous, they seeme to haue reason on their side: for the companie of the wicked is a dangerous thing, and therefore they that aduenture themselues vpon the sea, are to take heed that no blasphemer, or dissolute and wicked person enter their ship; one only Ionas with whom God was angrie had almost lost all; Bias to those that were in the ship with him crying out in a great danger for help vnto their gods, pleasantlie said, Hold you your peace, for the gods perceiue not that you are heere with me. Albu­querque the Vice-roy of the Indies for Emmanuel king of Por­tingall, in a great danger at sea, tooke vpon his shoulders a little child, to the end that his innocencie might serue as a suretie to God for his sinnes. But to thinke that a solitarie life is better, more excellent and perfect, more fit for the exercise of vertue, more difficult, sharp, laborious and painfull, as some would make vs beleeue, they grossely deceiue themselues: for contrarily it is a great discharge and ease of life, and it is but an indifferent profession, yea a simple apprentiship and dis­position to vertue. This is not to enter into busines, troubles, and difficulties, but it is to flie them, and to hide themselues from them, to practise the counsell of the Epicures (Hide thy selfe) it is to runne to death, to flie a good life. It is out of all doubt, that a King, a Prelat, a Pastor, is a farre more noble cal­ling, more perfect, more difficult, than that of a Monke, or a Hermit. And to say the truth, in times past the companies of Monks were but seminaries and apprentiships, from whence they drew those that were fit for Ecclesiasticall charge, and their preparatiues to a greater perfection. And he that liues ciuillie hauing a wife, children, seruants, neighbours, friends, goods, busines, and so many diuers parts which he must sa­tisfie, and truly and loyally answere for, hath without com­parison farre more busines, than he that hath none of all these, hath to doe with none but himselfe: Multitude and abun­dance is farre more troublesome, than solitarinesse and want. In abstinencie there is but one thing, in the conduct and vse of many, diuers things, there are many considerations, diuers duties. It is an easier thing to part from goods, honours, dig­nities, charges, than to gouerne them well, and well to dis­charge [Page 205] them. It is easier for a man to liue altogether without a wife, than in all points duly to liue, and to maintaine him­selfe with his wife, children, and all the rest that depend vpon him: so is the single life more easie than the maried state.

So likewise to thinke that solitarinesse is a sanctuarie and an assured hauen against all vices, temptations, and impedi­ments, 2 is to deceiue themselues; for it is not true in euery re­spect. Against the vices of the world, the stirre of the people, the occasions that proceed from without, it is good; but soli­tarinesse hath it inward and spirituall affaires and difficulties: Iuit in desertum vt tentaretur à diabolo. To imprudent and vn­aduised young men, solitarinesse is a dangerous staffe, and it is to be feared, that whilest he walks alone he entertaines worse companie than himselfe, as Crates said to a young man who walked all alone farre from companie. It is there where fooles contriue their wicked designements, begin their owne ouer­throwes, sharpen their passions and wicked desires. Many times to auoid the gulfe of Charybdis, they fall into Scylla; to flie is not to escape, it is many times to increase the danger, and to lose himselfe, non vitat, sed fugit: magis autem periculis patemus auersi. A man had neede be wife and strong, and well assured of himselfe when he falles into his owne hands, for it falls out many times that there are none more dangerous than his owne, Guarda me, dios de mi, saith the Spanish pro­uerb very excellently; nemo est ex imprudentibus qui sibi relin­qui debeat; solitudo omnia mala persuadet. But for some priuat and particular consideration, though good in it selfe (for many times it is for idlenesse, weakenesse of spirit, hatred, or some other passion) to flie and to hide himselfe, hauing means to profit another, or to do good to the weale-publick, is to be a fugitiue, to bury his talent, to hide his light, a fault subiect to the rigour of iudgement.

CHAP. LV. A comparison betwixt the life lead in common, and in priuat.

SOme haue thought that the life led in common, wherein nothing is proper to any man, whereby he may say, this [Page 206] is mine, or that is thine, but where all things are common, ten­deth most to perfection, and hath most charitie and concord. This may take place in the companie of a certaine number of people, lead and directed by some certaine rule, but not in a state and common-weale; and therefore Plato hauing once allowed it, thinking thereby to take away all auarice and dis­sension, did quickly alter his opinion, and was otherwise ad­uised: for as the practise sheweth, there is not only not any hartie affection towards that that is common to all, and as the prouerb is, The common asse is alwaies ill sadled, but also the communitie draweth vnto it selfe contentions, murmurings, hatreds, as it is alwaies seene, yea euen in the primitiue Church: Crescente numero discipulorum, factum est murmur Luc. Acts 6. Graecorum aduersus Hebraeos. The nature of loue is such as that of great riuers, which being ouer-charged with abundance of waters, being diuided, are quit of that charge; so loue being diuided to all men, and all things, loseth it force and vigor. But there are degrees of communitie; to liue, that is to say, to eate and drinke together is very good, as the maner was in the better and most ancient common-weales of Lacedemon and Creete; for besides that modestie and discipline is better retained amongst them, there is also a very profitable com­munication; but to thinke to haue all things common, as Pla­to for a while would, though he were afterwards otherwise aduised, is to peruert all.

CHAP. LVI. The comparison of the countrie-life with the Citizens.

THis comparison to him that loueth wisdome is not hard to make, for almost all the commodities and aduantages are on one side, both spirituall and corporall, libertie, wis­dome, innocencie, health, pleasure. In the fields the spirit is more free and to it selfe: in Cities, the persons, the affaires, both their owne and other mens, the contentions, visitations, discourses, entertainements, how much time doe they steale from vs? amici fures temporis. How many troubles bring they with them, auocations, allurements to wickednesses? Cities [Page 207] are prisons to the spirits of men, no otherwise than cages to birds and beasts. This celestiall fire that is in vs, will not be shut vp, it loueth the aire, the fields; and therefore Columella sayth, that the countrey life is the cousen of wisdome, consan­guinea, which can not be without beautifull & free thoughts and meditations; which are hardly had and nourished a­mong the troubles and molestations of the citie. Againe, the countrey life is more neat, innocent and simple. In cities vices are hid in the rout, and are not perceiued, they passe and in­sinuate themselues pell-mell, the vse, the aspect, the encoun­ter so frequent and contagious is the cause. As for pleasure and health, the whole heauens lie open to the view, the sun, the aire, the waters, and all the elements are free, exposed and open in all parts, alwayes sustaining vs, the earth disco­uereth it selfe, the fruits thereof are before our eyes; and none of all this is in cities in the throng of houses: so that to liue in cities is to be banished in the world and shut from the world. Againe, the countrey life is wholly in exercise, in action, which sharpeneth the appetite, mainteineth health, hardeneth and fortifieth the bodie. That which is to be com­mended in cities, is commoditie either priuate, as of mer­chants and artificers; or publike, to the managing whereof few are called, and in ancient times heeretofore they were chosen from the countrey life, who returned hauing perfor­med their charge.

CHAP. LVII.

CHAP. LVIII. Of Libertie and Seruitude.

LIbertie is accounted by some a souereigne good, and Ser­uitude an extreame euill, insomuch that many haue cho­sen rather to die a cruell death, than to be made slaues, or to see either the publike good or their owne priuate indange­red. But of this there may be too much, and of these too ma­nie, as of all other things. There is a twofolde libertie: the true, which is of the minde or spirit, and is in the power of [Page 210] euery one, and can not be taken away, nor indamaged by an­other, nor by Fortune it selfe: contrariwise, the seruitude of the spirit is the most miserable of all others, to serue our owne affections, to suffer our selues to be deuoured by our owne passions, to be led by opinions. ô pitifull captiuitie! The corporall libertie is a good greatly to be esteemed, but sub­iect to Fortune: and it is neither iust nor reasonable (if it be not by reason of some other circumstance) that it should be preferred before life it selfe, as some of the ancients haue done, who haue rather made choice of death, than to lose it; and it was accounted a great vertue in them: so great an euill was seruitude thought to be: Seruitus obedientia est fracti ani­mi & abiecti arbitrio carentis suo. Many great and wise men haue serued, Regulus, Valerianus, Plato, Diogenes, euen those that were wicked, and yet dishonoured not their owne con­dition, but continued in effect and truth more free than their masters.

CHAP. LIX. Nobilitie.

NObilitie is a qualitie euery where not common, but ho­nourable, brought in and established with great reason 1 and for publike vtilitie.

It is diuers, diuersly taken and vnderstood, and according to diuers nations and iudgements it hath diuers kindes. Ac­cording The descrip­tion of nobi­litie. to the generall and common opinion and custome it is a qualitie of a race or stocke. Aristotle saith, that it is the antiquitie of a race and of riches. Plutarch calleth it the ver­tue of a race, [...], meaning thereby a certaine habit and qualitie continued in the linage. What this qualitie or ver­tue is, all are not wholly of one accord, sauing in this, that it is profitable to the weale-publike. For to some and the grea­ter part this qualitie is militarie, to others it is politike, litera­rie of those that are wise, palatine of the officers of the Prince. But the militarie hath the aduantage aboue the rest: for besides the seruice which it yeeldeth to the weale-publike as the rest do, it is painfull, laborious, dangerous; whereby it is accounted more worthy and commendable. So hath it ca­ried with vs by excellencie the honourable title of Valour. [Page 211] There must then according to this opinion be two things in true and perfect nobilitie, profession of this vertue, and qua­litie profitable to the common-weale, which is as the forme; and the race as the subiect and matter, that is to say, a long continuance of this qualitie by many degrees and races, and time out of mind, whereby they are called in our language Gentlemen, that is to say, of a race, house, familie, carying of long time the same name, and the same profession. For he is truely and entirely noble, who maketh a singular profession of publick vertue, seruing his Prince and Countrie, and being descended of parents and ancestors that haue done the same.

There are some that separate these two, and thinke that one of them sufficeth to true nobilitie, that is, either only vertue 3 the distin­ction. and qualitie, without any consideration of race or ancestors. This is a personall and acquired nobilitie, & considered with rigour it is rude, that one come from the house of a Butcher or Vintner should be held for noble, whatsoeuer seruice he hath done for the Common-weale. Neuerthelesse, this opi­nion hath place in many nations, namely with the Turks, con­temners of ancient nobilitie, and esteeming of no other but personall, and actuall militarie valour; or only antiquitie of race without profession of the qualitie; this is in the bloud and purely naturall.

If a man should compare these two simple and imperfect nobilities together, that which is purely naturall (to iudge a­right) 4 Naturall nobilitie. it is the lesse, though many, out of their vanitie haue thought otherwise. The naturall is another mans qualitie, and not his owne, genus & proauos & quae non fecimus ipsi, vix ea nostra puto: nemo vixit in gloriam nostram; nec quod ante nos fuit nostrum est. And what greater follie can there be, than to glorie in that which is not his owne? This honor may light vpon a vitious man, a knaue, and one in himself a true villaine. It is also vnprofitable to another, for it communicateth not with any man, neither is any man bettered by it, as science, iustice, goodnes, beautie, riches do. They that haue nothing else commendable in them but this nobilitie of flesh and bloud, make much of it, they haue it alwaies in their mouthes, it makes their cheekes swell and their hearts too (they will be sure to manage that little good that they haue) it is the marke [Page 212] by which they are knowne, and a token that they haue no­thing else in them, because they rest themselues whollie vpon that. But this is vanitie, for all their glorie springeth from fraile instruments, ab vtero, conceptu, partu, and is buried vnder the toombe of their ancestors. As offenders being pursued haue recourse to altars and the sepulchers of the dead, and in former times to the statues of Emperours; so these men being destitute of all merit and subiect of true honor, haue recourse to the memorie and armories of their ancestors. What good is it to a blind man, that his parents haue beene well sighted, or to him that stammereth, that his Grandfather was elo­quent? and yet these kind of people are commonly glorious, high minded, contemners of others; Contemptor animus & su­perbia commune nobilitatis malum. Salust.

The personall and acquired honor hath conditions alto­gether contrarie and very good. It is proper to the possessor 5 Acquired and personall honor. thereof, it is alwaies a worthie subiect, and profitable to o­thers. Againe, a man may say that it is more ancient and more rare, than the naturall, for by it the naturall began; and in a word, that is true honor which consisteth in good and profi­table effects, not in dreames and imagination, vaine and vn­profitable, and proceedeth from the spirit, not the bloud, which is the same in noble men that is in others. Quis genero­sus? ad virtutem à natura bene compositus animus facit nobilem, cui ex quacun (que) conditione supra fortunam licet surgere. Senec.

But they are both oftentimes, and verie willinglie toge­ther, and so they make a perfect honor: The naturall is a way 6 Naturall and acqui­red. and occasion to the personall; for things do easily returne to their first nature and beginning. As the naturall hath taken his beginning and essence from the personall, so it leadeth and conducteth his to it, fortes creantur fortibus: hoc vnum in nobilitate bonum, vt nobilibus imposita necessitudo videatur, ne à maiorum virtute degenerent; To know that a man is sprung from honorable ancestors, and such as haue deserued well of the Common-weale, is a strong obligation and spurre to the honorable exploits of vertue. It is a foule thing to degenerate, and to belie a mans owne race. The nobilitie that is giuen by the bountie and letters patent of the Prince, if it haue no other reason, it is shamefull, and rather dishonorable than hono­rable. [Page 213] It is an nobilitie in parchment, bought with siluer or fauor, and not by bloud as it ought: If it be giuen for merit, and notable seruices, it is personall and acquired as hath beene said.

CHAP. LX. Of Honor.

SOme say (but not so well) that honor is the prise and re­compence of vertue, or not so ill, an acknowledgement of 1 The descrip­tion of honor. vertue, or a prerogatiue of a good opinion, and afterwards of an outward dutie towards vertue; It is a priuiledge that dra­weth his principall essence from vertue. Others haue called it the shadow of vertue, which sometimes followeth, some­times goeth before it, as the shadow the bodie. But to speake truly, it is the rumor of a beautifull and vertuous action, which reboundeth from our soules to the view of the world, and by reflexion into our selues, bringeth vnto vs a testimonie of that which others beleeue of vs, which turneth to a great content­ment of mind.

Honor is so much esteemed and sought for by all, that to attaine thereunto a man enterpriseth, endureth, contemneth 2 whatsoeuer besides, yea life it selfe; neuerthelesse, it is a mat­ter of small and slender moment, vncertaine, a stranger, and as it were separated in the aire, from him that is honored; for it doth not only not enter into him, nor is inward and essen­tiall vnto him, but it doth not so much as touch him (being for the most part either dead or absent, and who feeleth no­thing) but setleth it selfe and stayeth without at the gate, sticks in the name, which receiueth and carieth all the honors and dishonours, praises and dispraises, whereby a man is said to haue either a good name or a bad. All the good or euill that a man can say of Caesar is caried by his name. Now the name is nothing of the nature and substance of the thing, it is only the image which presenteth it, the marke which distingui­sheth it from others, a summarie which conteineth it in a small volume, mounteth it, and carieth it whole and entire, the meane to enioy it and to vse it (for without the names there would be nothing but confusion, the vse of things would be lost, the world would decay, as the historie of the [Page 214] tower of Babell doth richly teach vs) to be breefe, the stickler and middle of the essence of the thing, and the honor or dishonor thereof, for it is that that toucheth the thing it selfe, and receiueth all the good or ill that is spoken Now honor before it ariue to the name of the thing, it goes a course almost circular, like the Sunne, performed and perfected in three principall sites or places, the action or worke, the heart, the tongue: for it begins and is conceiued, as in the matrix and roote, in that beautie, goodnes, profit of the thing honored which comes to light and is produced, this is (as hath beene said) the rumor of a beautifull or honorable action. Coeli e­narrant gloriam dei: pleni sunt coeli & terra gloria tua (for what­soeuer valour worth and perfection the thing haue in it selfe and inwardly, if it produce nothing that is excellent, it is al­together vncapable of honor, and is as if it were not at all) from thence it entreth into the spirit and vnderstanding, where it takes life, and is formed into a good, hautie, and great opinion: finally sallying foorth from thence, and being caried by the word verball or written, it returnes by reflexion, and as it were, dissolueth and endeth in the name of the authour of this beautifull worke, where it had the beginning, as the Sunne in the place from whence it departed, and then it beares the name of honor, praise, glorie, and renowme.

But the question is, what those actions are to which honor is due. Some thinke that it is generally due to those that per­forme 3 their dutie in that which belongs to their profession, although it be neither famous nor profitable, as he that vpon a Stage playes the part of a seruant, well, is no lesse commen­ded than he that presenteth the person of a King, and he that cannot worke in statues of gold, cannot want those of leather or earth wherein he may as well shew the perfection of his arte. All cannot employ themselues, neither are they called to the managing of great affaires, but the commendation is to do that well, that he hath to do. This is too much to lessen and vilifie honor, which is not a common and ordinarie ghest for all persons, and all iust and lawfull actions. Euery chaste wo­man, euery honest man is not honorable. The wisest men re­quire also thereunto two or three things, the one is difficultie, labor or danger, the other is publick vtilitie, and this is the [Page 215] reason why it is properly due to those that administer, and well acquit themselues of great charges; that be the actions as priuatly and generally good and profitable as they will, they shall haue approbation and sufficient renowme which those that know them, and the safetie and protection of the lawes; but not honour, which is publike, and hath more dig­nitie, fame, and splendor. Some adde vnto these a third, and that is, that it be not an action of obligation, but of superero­gation.

The desire of honour and glorie, and the approbation of 4 Desire of ho­nor, chap. 20. another, is a vitious, violent, powerfull passion, whereof we haue spoken in the passion of ambition; but very profitable to the weale-publike, to conteine men in their dutie, to awa­ken and inflame them to honourable actions, a testimonie of weaknesse and humane insufficiencie, which for want of good money vseth light and false coine. Now in what, and how Lib. 3. in the vertue of Temperan­cie. far-foorth is it excusable, and when not commendable, and that honour is not the recompense of vertue, shall be sayd heerafter.

The marks of honour are very diuers, but the better and more beautifull are they that are without profit and gaine, 5 Marks of honour. and are such as a man may not straine, and applie to the viti­ous, and such as by some base office haue serued the weale­publike. These are the better and more esteemed: they are in themselues more vaine, that haue nothing of woorth in them but the simple marke of men of honour and vertue, as almost in all policies, crownes, lawrell garlands, oake, a cer­taine forme of accoutrements, the prerogatiue of some sur­name, precedencie in assemblies, orders of Knighthood. And it falleth out sometimes, that it is a greater honour not to haue these marks of honour, hauing deserued them, than to haue them. It is more honourable vnto me, said Cato, that euery man should aske me, why I haue not a statue erected in the Market-place, than they should aske why I haue it.

CHAP. LXI. Science.

SCience, to say the trueth, is a beautifull ornament, a very profitable instrument to him that knowes well how to vse [Page 216] it; but in what ranke to place it, or how to prise it, all are not of one opinion: and therin they commit two contrary faults, some by esteeming it too much, some too little. Some make that account of it, that they preferre it before all other things, and thinke that it is a souereigne good, some kinde and ray of Diuinitie, seeking it with greedinesse, charge and great la­bour; others contemne it, and despise those that professe it: the mediocritie betwixt both is the more iust and most assu­red. For my part I place it farre beneath honestie, sanctitie, See lib. 3. cap. 14. wisdome, vertue, yea beneath dexteritie in affaires: and yet I dare to range it with dignitie, naturall nobilitie, militarie va­lour, and I thinke they may very well dispute of the prece­dencie: and if I were called to speake my opinion, I should make it to march either side by side with them, or inconti­nently after. As sciences are different in their subiects and matters, in the apprentiship and acquisition, so are they in their vtilitie, honestie, necessitie, as also in their gaine and glo­rie: some are Theoricks and in speculation only, others are practike and in action: againe, some are Reals, occupied in the knowledge of things that are without vs, whether they be naturall or supernaturall; other are particular, which teach the tongues to speake, and to reason. Now without all doubt, those sciences that haue most honestie, vtilitie, necessitie, and least glorie, vanitie, mercenarie gaine, are farre to be prefer­red before others. And therefore the practike are absolutely the better, which respect the good of man, teaching him to liue well, to die well, to command well, to obey well; and therefore they are diligently to be studied by him that ende­uoureth to be wise: whereof this worke is a briefe and sum­marie, that is to say, Morall Science, Oeconomicall, Politi­call. After these is Naturall, which serueth to the knowledge of whatsoeuer is in the world fit for our vse, as likewise to ad­mire the greatnesse, goodnesse, wisdome, power of the chiefe workmaster. All other knowledges are vaine, and are to be studied cursorily, as appendents vnto these, because they are no wayes beneficiall to the life of man, and helpe not to make vs honest men. And therefore it is a losse and a follie to em­ploy therein so much time, so much cost, so much labour as we doe. It is true that they serue to heape vp crownes, and [Page 217] to win reputation with the people, but it is in policies that are not wholly sound goods.

CHAP. LXII. Of riches and pouertie.

THese are the two sources and elements of all discords, 1 The causes of troubles. troubles, and commotions that are in the world: for the excessiue riches of some do stirre them vp to pride, to delica­cies, pleasures, disdaine of the poore; to enterprise and at­tempt: the extreame pouertie of others, prouokes them to enuie, extreame iealousie, furie, despaire, and to attempt for­tunes. Plato calleth them the plagues of a Common-wealth. But which of the two is the more dangerous, is not thorowly resolued amongst all. According to Aristotle it is abundance, for a State needs not doubt of those that desire but to liue, but of such as are ambitious and rich. According to Plato it is po­uertie, for desperate poore men are terrible and furious crea­tures; for wanting either bread or worke to exercise their arts and occupation,s or too excessiuely charged with imposts, they learne that of the mistresse of the schoole Necessitie, which of themselues they neuer durst to haue learned, and they dare because their number is great. But yet there is a better remedie for these than for the rich, and it is an easie matter to hinder this euill; for so long as they haue bread and emploiment to exercise their mysteries, and liue, they will neuer stir. And therefore the rich are to be feared for their owne sakes, their vice and condition: the poore by reason of the imprudencie of gouernours.

Now many Law-makers and great States-men haue gone 2 Against the equalitie & inequalitie of riches. about to take away these two extreamities, and this great in­equalitie of goods and fortunes, and to bring in a mediocritie and equalitie, which they called the noursing-mother of peace and amitie; and others likewise haue attempted to make all things common, which could neuer be but by ima­gination. But besides that, it is impossible to establish an e­qualitie, by reason of the number of children which increase in one familie, and not in another; and that it can hardly be put in practise, although a man be enforced, and it cost much [Page 218] to attaine thereunto; it were also inexpedient, and to small purpose, and by another way to fall into the same mischiefe: for there is no hatred more capitall than betwixt equals; the enuie and iealousie of equals is the seminarie of troubles, se­ditions, and cruell warres. Inequalitie is good, so it be mode­rate. Harmonie consisteth not of like sounds, but different and well according.

This great and deformed inequalitie of goods proceedeth from many causes, especially two: the one is from vniust lones, as vsuries and interests, whereby the one eat the other, and grow fat with the substance of another: qui deuorant ple­bem sicut escam panis. The other from dispositions, whether amongst the liuing, as alienations, donations, endowments in mariages; or testamentaries by reason of death. By both which meanes some doe excessiuely increase aboue others, who continue poore. The heires of rich men marrie with those that are rich, whereby some houses are dismembred and brought to nothing; and others made rich and exalted. All which inconueniences must be ruled and moderated by auoiding excessiue extremities, and in some sort approching to some mediocritie and reasonable equality: for to haue either entire, is neither possible, nor good nor expedient, as hath beene sayd. And this shall be handled in the ver­tue of Iustice.