AMong all the Works of God, there is not any one Greater, or more worthy Admiration, then Man himself. For when we enumerate his different Qualities and Perfections, it seems that the Skill and Art of Divine Providence, that sports it self in the world, would epitomize it self in him; and that to shew the choicest of its Invention, it has been pleased to form a Creature from a mixture and assemblage of what ever was [Page 2] extraordinary in all other Creatures. So that if we consider the principal parts that compose him, we cannot sufficiently ad­mire that secret and most inward Union which we perceive in him of two Natures so opposite one to another; and yet at the same time we cannot conceive, how that Terrestial and Corporeal matter, which is so incapable to obey the orders of Reason, should so perspicuously apprehend, and so readily execute her Commands in Man.

But all these particular advantages are inferior to his Birth; wherein God, as I may so say, has Crown'd him with his own hands, and has given him an absolute Em­pire over all other Creatures, wholly sub­jected under his Dominion. In a word, the Heavens rowl about for his sake,

To this same Royal Supremacy God has also added another much more consi­derable, [Page 3] and more excellent. For he has made Man the Arbiter of his own Destiny, the Lord and Soveraign of all his Actions; so that, whereas all other Creatures move blindly to their Ends, and have their In­clinations determin'd, Man performs all his Actions with knowledg, and by his own proper election, disposing of himself. Which illustrious prerogative raises him to that degree, that it likens him to God, and gives him a share of that Providence with which God governs the World. Nor can we deny, but that this is one of the most exalted, and the most sublime of all his Privileges: Yet on the other side, we are oblig'd to acknowledg, that it may also prove fatal to him, and may be the cause as well of his Ruin as his Felicity. For Man being so near to himself, and so remote from Soveraign Good, it is much more easie for him to seek his Happiness in Himself, and to enjoy a Benefit that is so near at hand, and to which his Heart is naturally inclin'd, then to raise himself to the possession of God, from whom he is separated by such immensity of space. Besides, his Mind is cover'd with a veil of Sence, which is the reason that oft­times [Page 4] he looses the prospect of real Good, and mistakes Pleasure, Wealth, and Ho­nour, which are but the Shadows of real Felicity, for the Thing it self.

At this time of imminent danger, Pru­dence offers her self, steddily to direct his footsteps, to shew him the only Mark at which he ought to aim, and the Ob­ject where he can only meet with repose, and the accomplishment of all his wishes. This important function, which is only proper to Prudence, is sufficient to advance it infinitely above all other Vertues, and makes it seem to us as the very Eye of the Soul. For tho all the Vertues are highly valuable in nature, excellent in their ef­fects, and admirable in the variety of their offices; yet must we all agree, that they would every one be blind, wandring and uncertain, were not Prudence their Guide; did she not discover the true End which they ought to propose to them­selves, and mark out the way which can only lead 'em to it.

To say truth, Prudence is as it were a foreign Understanding, that fortifies and brings to perfection the natural Under­standing of Man; 'tis to her that all par­ticular [Page 5] men are beholding for the wisdom of their Conduct; all well order'd Families, and all well regulated Cities, for their Po­licy. 'Tis she that sitting in the Soul of Kings as in her Throne, presides in all their Councils, and pronounces those Ora­cles that cause the Glory and the Felicity of Kingdoms. Lastly, it is she that ran­ging abroad in their Armies, renders the most savage and impetuous Dispositions capable of Discipline, establishes Order in the room of Confusion, and teaches Va­lour the secret of being attended with Victory.

These wonderful and innumerable ef­fects of Prudence, have gain'd her those great Encomiums which the Historians, Poets, and Philosophers give her, and have caus'd her to be reverenc'd by the wise Men in all Ages as a Deity. Inso­much, that as the Persians adore the Sun, because it appears to Sence to be the visi­ble Creator and Cherisher of all that grows in Nature; so the wise Men have attributed to Prudence a kind of Reli­gious worship, as seeming to them to be the visible Cause of all the happy Events of Human Life. ‘'Tis our Ignorance, says [Page 6] a certain Poet, which makes us imagine, that blind Chance governs all Human Affairs. 'Tis our mistake, ô Fortune, that has plac'd Thee in Heaven, which has made us believe, that thy capricious Decrees regulate our Actions:’

‘Prudence deprives thee of thy Power, and destroys thee of thy Divinity; 'tis she alone that has the power to make us happy; and her Laws alone, observ'd or violated, are the causes of our Good or Evil Destiny.’

Nothing so clearly shews us the ridi­culous vanity of men, as that same plea­sure which they take to be undeceiv'd from popular Opinions; and yet at the same time they are undeceiv'd, to deceive themselves after another manner. For cer­tainly 'tis a great absurdity, to refer all Events to a Cause so irregular and blind as Fortune. But on the other side, it is as great an error to look upon Prudence as the insallible source of our Happiness, and the prosperity of Families, Common-wealths, [Page 7] and Empires; as we shall shew in due place.

To make it therefore eviden [...], That the good Opinion which Men have of Pru­dence is ill grounded, we need no more then to examin the Nature of Men with­out prejudice, and consider that it is al­ways full of distrust, timorousness, and un­certainty; which proceeds from the ob­scurity and inconstancy of the matter. For she has to do with Men, whose Hearts are impenetrable, and who are continually subject to change, thro the lightness of their humour, thro the succession of their passions, and the diversity of their inte­rests. So that as Heraclitus assur'd us, that he could have no natural Knowledg, be­cause the Object of the Sciences ought to be constant, but that Nature was in a perpetual motion, still gliding along like a stream, where we can never consider the water, because it passes away before we can well look upon it; so we may affirm in like manner, that Prudence can assure her self of nothing; seeing that Man is never in the same posture, but varies in his Disposition and Affections thro an infinite number of Causes both internal and external.

[Page 8] I admire with the rest of the world, the ways that Aristotle has discover'd to facilitate perswasion by rousing the pas­ons that are predominant in men. In a word, it frequently happens, that Sub­missions will move the most inhuman and cruel to Pity and Compassion; that with Menaces we force the Timorous to yeild; and that with Money we obtain our de­sires from persons uninteressed. But I can­not see, how Prudence can safely make use of these, no more then upon the Ava­rice of one in whom desire of Revenge upon his Enemy may be more powerful, at the very time that I promise my self to corrupt him with the offer of a large Sum.

But a Person of vast Natural parts, who is of great experience, and who is other­ways Learned, and compleatly read in History, Shall not he act with security? Yes; if he meet with subjects and occasi­ons altogether like to those which he has seen or observ'd in History. But it is as rarely possible to meet with this Resem­blance as to find out two Men of the same Complexion and Features. 'Tis no true Consequence in Physic, that a Medicine [Page 9] that has been given with success to that Choleric person will cure another. For Choler, says Galen, is not only different from all other Humours, but varies also from it self. And this difficulty to encoun­ter subjects and occasions altogether alike, is the reason that Prudence and Physic are much indebted to Hazard; and that Pru­dent Men and wise and wary Physitians proceed with so much caution, and take so much care before they determine. How did uncertainties fill the Soul of Alexan­der with restless trouble and inquietude, the Night before the Battel of Arbela? So that we cannot imagine a greater con­fusion at Sea between contending Surges and mountainous Billows, when agitated by tempestuous Winds, then in the Breast and Soul of Alexander, where so many various thoughts and passions at that time strugled together.

It is clear then, that Human Prudence is erroneous and uncertain, and that there is no secure reliance upon it for any true success or prosperity. But it is not enough to have shewn, that it is unpro­sitable, we must also prove it to be hurt­ful. Which is a Truth we may be easily [Page 10] convinc'd of, after we have freed our selves of all manner of prejudice; if then we do but examine, whether Prudence does not frequently do much mischief, with her circumspection, her scruples, and her cautions. How many has she not perplex'd? How many grand Affairs has she not caus'd to miscarry? How many Families has she not undone? How many great Fortunes have been made; how many Treaties have been advantageously concluded; how many Victories won, con­trary to the Rules of Prudence? The Bat­tel which Alexander won, not far from the Banks of Granicus, which made way for all his succeeding Renown, was it not lookt upon by the Romans as a piece of Rashness, that deserv'd to be severely punish'd? And that River which, as I may so say, was the Cradle of his Glory, might it not as well have prov'd his Tomb? It is impossible for us to have other perswa­sions then these, when we remember, that the Enterprize of Lucullus against Tigranes attended with Victory and the Defeat of an hundred thousand men, was neverthe­less both censur'd and blam'd at Rome; when we remember, I say, that the Equity [Page 11] of that grave and judicious People did not think it a thing fit to applaud the da­ring Temerity of the General of an Ar­my, because it had prosper'd; nor to ap­prove a Success that had advanc'd the Glory of the Empire, since it was from a Cause that might have been its Ruin. If you would see an Example of a Battel lost thro the Councels of Military Pru­dence, and after all the care imaginable taken to secure the Victory, cast but an eye upon the Battel of Poitiers, and there behold King John inexorable, and haugh­tily refusing to the Prince of Wales the Peace which he sought with so much ear­nestness, and upon Conditions so advan­tageous; Doubtless, the Assurances which the King then had of Victory, were both probable and rational: For he found him­self at the Head of four and fifty thousand Men, accompanied with his four Sons, the Duke of Orleans his Brother, two Marshals of France, five and twenty Dukes, Counts, and Great Lords, and all the No­bility of France; yet notwithstanding all this Force, he was defeated and taken Pri­soner by the Prince; so weak at that time that he had scarce Ten thousand fighting [Page 12] men in the Field, and those so ill provided with Victuals, that they had but for one day a scant remainder left; and so far advanced into the heart of the Kingdom, that to all outward appearance it was impossible for him to retreat. The Bat­tels thus gain'd and lost contrary to all probable Expectation afford us frequent occasions to observe, that there is not in that same judgment which men make of Human Actions, a merit and solidity suffi­cient to weigh down the Ballance; but that it is only their Success that has the power to advance their Fame. In a word, a Great Personage in their Opinion, is not He who is endued with all the Qua­lities of such an one, tho he perform upon all occasions what ever becomes a Great Person; but they delay to form their judgments till Fortune has declar'd her self. And then it is, that they debase a Wise and Valiant Captain below the Vul­gar sort, and extol a Successful Rash Com­mander for an Illustrious General.

But this is that which deserves our Ad­miration, that after all the Earth has re­sounded with the noise of the Atchieve­ments of Famous Captains, and that all [Page 13] the World has applauded to Heaven Won­ders of their Valour and their Prudence, God himself by the mouth of one of his Prophets thus instructs us, Learn where is Wisdom, learn where is Valour. Giving us thereby to understand, that it is only to his Wisdom and his Soveraign Power that all the Effects of their Valour and Pru­dence belong; and that the Force and Industry of men, avail no farther then 'tis His pleasure they should be serviceable. So that we may say to all these glorious Conquerors: It never would have been with­in your Power to subdue the Ʋniverse, had it not been Bequeath'd ye from above. You are only the Ministers to execute the severe Decrees of Gods Just [...]ce; and the Arms which he makes use of to punish the haughty Rebellion of Men. It is he, says the Scrip­ture, who dispensing Fear as well as Victory, confounds with ov [...]rsights and errors all your Enemies, and overturns whatever opposes your March. It is he that delivers your Ad­versaries into your hands, and revenges at length the public Violation of his Laws by the Ruin and utter Extirpation of your Opposers.

The loss of the Battel of Pharsalia is a convincing proof of the Truth of this. Pompey had beaten Caesar at Dyrrachum; he had two great Armies in the Field; his Navy so strong, that it was supposed in­vincible. His Army at Land, much more numerous then Cesars. His Cavalry the Flower of all the Roman Gentry, consist­ing of seven thousand Horse, whereas Cae­sar had no more then five thousand. His Infantry five and forty thousand strong; Caesars but two and twenty. Pompey aboun­ded with Money and Provision; he had the Sea his Friend; all the Ports, all the strong Places, freedom to range every where, and the whole Country for his Retreat.

On the other side, all the Cities shut their Gates against Caesar; he was reduced to that necessity, and in that dire want of Provisions, that he was forc'd to dis­lodge his Camp every day to find Victu­als for his Men.

[Page 15] Pompey's Army was encouraged by their Number, and the Grandeur of their Party. For all the Senators, all that were Illustrious by Descent, famous for their Merit, or considerable for their Power, had sided with Pompey. Insomuch, that Rome seem'd to be remov'd to the Plains of Pharsalia, and Pompey's Pavillion lookt like the Senate-House. More then all this, the Kings and Princes in Alliance with the Romans had all taken his part, Cae­sar so abandon'd, that the Commanders and Officers of the Army which he brought out of Spain, daily deserted him. Lastly, Pompey seem'd to be animated by the Justice of his Cause, which encourag'd him to hope for the Protection of Hea­ven; besides, that he had the Prayers and good wishes of all the People. Where­as, Caesar was the object of the Curses and Hatred of all the World, as being lookt upon as the odious Oppressor of the pub­lick Liberty. However, notwithstanding all these Advantages Pompey lost the Bat­tel, and that after such an ignominious manner, that when we compare what he did, to what he ought to have done, to what other great Captains do, and to what [Page 16] himself had done, we hardly know him again, but are forc'd to seek in Pompey for Pompey the Great. For had he been the Great Pompey, Would he have taken a Fright at the very first Disorder of his Army? Would he have despair'd as soon as ever he saw his Cavalry give ground? Or instead of putting a stop (with his Sword in his hand) to those that fled, as Caesar did at the Battel of Dyrrachum, Would he have retir'd to his Tent, and sate down there, without speaking so much as one word, as if he had been immove­able, astonish'd, and Tunder-struck? Why did we not behold him in the midst of his Troops, like Alexander at the Battel of Arbela, when the Chariots of Darius, arm'd with Sythes, had broken and much endammag'd his Cavalry, encouraging his Captains and Soldiers, rallying their dis­order'd Ranks, returning first himself to the Charge, renewing the Fight by his Words and his Example too, and doing the Duty as well of a private Soldier as of a Commander? Why did he not fight on to the last, and receive whole flights of Arrows thro his Breast, like Epaminon­das at the Battel of Mantinea, that if Va­lour [Page 17] could not overcome and force his Destiny, it might at least have serv'd him to save his Honour. Doubtless he would not have fail'd in any of these Attempts; nay, he would have acted magnanimously in every one, had he been still himself. But he was no more the same Great Pom­pey, who at the Age of Four and twenty years Vanquish'd Domitius, with the Slaughter of twenty thousand of his men; and who in forty days reconquer'd Africa. This is no longer that Captain under whose Conduct the Roman Arms had been Victo­rious during so long a series of Years; and who, by the incredible number of his At­chievements, had extended the Limits of the Empire, in Africa and Europe, as far as the Ocean; and in Asia, to the Pro­vinces lying upon the Hyrcanean and Red Sea. This is a Person heartless, without judgment, careless of Glory; a slothful Spectator, and ignominious of the Ruin of his own Army; who when he saw the Victor enter his Camp, quitted his very Armour, and shifting himself into a Ha­bit agreeable to his bad Fortune, betook himself to his Heels.

[Page 18] True it is, that Caesar blam'd Pompey for commanding his formost Ranks to stay and receive the first Charge of the Ene­miés; and attributed to that part of Pom­p [...]y's Orders the Loss of the Battel. For, says he, a Great Captain ought never to deprive himself of the Advantages of the first Attacks, which are usually most ve­hement and vigorous.

But the Justice of this Accusation does not so clearly appear: For if it be such an advantage to Assail the formost Ranks, as Caesar alledges, it may be deem'd as well no less a piece of Policy to ward off the first Blows, and then to fall in upon the Enemy, when their first fury is almost spent. He also censures Pompey for seve­ral other oversights, thro that Ignorance of his, which only acknowledg'd Human Causes to be the Causes of Human Events.

But the sudden change of Pompey's Fortunes, raises our Contemplations much higher, and instructs us more sublimely, That that same Dread which seiz'd his Heart, where Fear never enter'd before, was a Divine Terror, a stroke from the Hand of the most Omnipotent, who fre­quently smites in this manner, to teach [Page 19] Great Captains, and Admirers of their At­chievements, that Prosperity and their Victories are only the Effects of those Councels and that Courage which He in­spires into their Breasts; and that He, ha­ving the sole disposal of their Hearts in his Hands, bereaves 'em of their Strength and Resolution when he pleases; and when it is his pleasure to ruin and deliver them into their Enemy's hands, he has no more to do, but to withdraw his Assi­stance; and then the Valour, the Puissance, and the Industry of Men drop to the ground of themselves, as having lost their only support. There is no King, says the Oracle of the Holy Ghost, who is sav'd by the multitude of an Host. A mighty Man is not delivered by his Strength. And that same Manag'd Horse, in which a Warriour puts his Confidence, after ma­ny trials of Courage, and being preserv'd by the Generous Breast, shall fail him at last in his most pressing Necessities. If then the discouragement which frequently happens to the most famous Captains, be an evident Demonstration that God is the Arbiter and soveraign Disposer of the Suc­cess in War, the confusion and sudden ec­clipse [Page 20] of their transcending parts, is a much more palpable proof. For we find, that in the midst of all those means that are in their power to reestablish their Affairs, they have neither the Wit nor the Inven­tion to make use of any one. Which blindness and oversight was apparent thro the whole Conduct of Pompey: For when he might have ruin'd Caesar without the hazard of a Battel, and when he had at command so many means to prevent his own loss, or to have recover'd and re­pair'd the loss sustain'd, he had not the understanding to make use of any one.

‘God is terrible, says the Sacred Wri­tings, chiefly to the Kings of the Earth; whenever he pleases, he deprives them of their Understanding, and then they dream of making themselves formidable by the Puissance of their Arms, by the Number of their Chariots, by the Mag­nificence and Grandeur of their Equi­page; but he that sits in Heaven, de­rides their Projects, makes Himself more formidable then they, and with a Word of his Indignation, dashes 'em to pieces, like Pots of Clay.’

[Page 21] Behold the Conduct which God ob­serv'd in respect of Darius. This haughty Monarch was fully perswaded, that the innumerable Number of his People, the immense Riches which the Conjunction of two Empires furnish'd him withall, ren­der'd his Puissance invincible. He lookt upon Alexander as a rash and inconside­rate young man, a kind of Knight Ad­venture; and he had commanded his Guards to fetch him to Court both Fet­ter'd and Manacl'd. Nor did the Loss of the Battel of Issus diminish his Pride, nor had as yet made him change his Lan­guage; chusing rather to impute his Loss to his own Mistake, for Assailing the Ene­my in the narrow Passages of the Cilician Mountains, then to Alexander's Valour; and assur'd himself of Victory, could he but draw the Grecians down into the Plain. But he had no sooner cover'd the Plains of Arbela with his Army of eight hundred thousand Men, when Alexander, whom God made use of to humble the Pride of that presumptuous Monarch, utterly de­feated his numerous Host with a handful of Men, slew a hundred thousand of the Persians, and totally ruin'd in one day [Page 22] the most flourishing Empire in the World.

This Example alone may suffice to con­vince Mankind, that the Advantages of Encamping, the ranging of Battalia's, the Multitude and Resolution of the Soldi­ers, and the Experience of the Generals, are not the only secure means for obtain­ing Victory; of which God alone is the sole Disposer; and who having at his own command the two contending Parties, de­livers up the one into the hands of the other, as he pleases himself. ‘Least the Victors, saith the Lord, should be so blin­ded by their own vanity, to attribute to the Strength of their own Arms; and not to Me, the gaining of Conquest; and lest they should fondly believe, that when they have vanquish'd their Ene­mies, it was some other Power then the Strength of my Sword, that threw 'em to the Ground, or other then my Ter­rors that discourag'd their Hearts. I give that Confidence to one single Man to pursue a Thousand, and so two or three to put ten Thousand to flight.’

The Name of the Lord of Hosts, which God so frequently assumes to himself in Holy Scripture, wonderfully confirms all [Page 23] this to be a Truth. For since we can­not without Impiety believe, that he takes upon him any Name unjustly or unde­servedly, it behoves us to be strongly per­swaded, that while he declares himself the Lord of Hosts, He it is that is the Author of Victory to whom he pleases, and that he regulates the Successes of War according to the Laws of his Justice and Wisdom. So that however men may at­tribute all Events in War, both extraor­dinary and surprizing, to Chance and For­tune, which they look upon as the blind Cause of all accidents both sudden and unexpected; yet both the one and the other are false judgments which the mi­stakes of men has brought forth; those Adventures seeming strange and odd, in regard of our Ignorance, not in respect of Gods Providence, which governs all those Events and banishes all manner of hazard from the World. I shall conclude with the words of the learned Boetius, That the Care of Providence is so wise and universal, that it leaves nothing to the rash Power of Fortune.

THere is not any Vertue which we may be tempted to believe more truly a Vertue then Sincerity; for there is not any that has more beautiful ap­pearance. It is the most amiable and the most beneficial of all the Vertues that serve to bind and uphold Society. 'Tis the foundation of Trust and Assurance; 'tis the repose and security of intercourse. Without her we are of all particular and private Discourses as so many Traps and Snares; all the Designs which others com­municate to us, we look upon as obstacles to our own; and all men with whom we converse as Enemies that may surprize us. Without her we converse and discourse together with as much fear as those who travel by Night upon the brink of Pre­cipices.

The real Cause of that Esteem which [Page 25] we have for Human Vertues proceeds from this, that we only consider their Functi­ons; that is to say, that variety of Du­ties which men are enjoin'd to discharge; and because they never examine what those Ends are which they propose when they acquit themselves of those several De­voirs. Tho without the knowledg of those Ends, it is impossible judgment of their Vertues. ‘When we see a Man, saith St. Austin, that never encroaches upon his Neighbour's Lands, and per­petually careful how he offers any pre­judice to his Goods or Person, at first we are apt to think this man just. But we change our opinion, when we ap­prehend that this man abstains from in­vading his Neighbours Estate for fear only of being prosecuted at Law, and lest he should consume his own in de­fending what he has violently taken from another.’

It is not so with a person of Sincerity. We give him that title so long as we find him to be cordial and open-hearted, and that we may depend upon his word, be­cause it is not in his power to disguise his thoughts. But when we have sounded him [Page 26] and perceive that he makes use of his Sincerity as a Veil to cover his Designs, and that his frankness is only a means to obtain his ends, our Idea's of the same person are then quite different.

But what are the ends, or what the prospect of a Sincere man. The first is to oblige his Friends, and all those with whom he has any familiarity or dealing, to discourse sincerely with him, to con­ceal nothing from him, to the end he may understand the truth of their sentiments, their inclinations, and their affairs; as also to know the truth of what passes abroad, as accidents and stories the most secret and most full of curiosity; so that Curiosity is here the principal Cause of his Sincerity. Now in regard that this was the second Passion that sprung up in the heart of man, and that it succeeded next to that of inordinate Self-love, and had a considerable hare in his fall, doubt­less this passion cannot but be extreamly violent; and tho her violence be unknown because not obvious to the sence, yet is it easie to perceive it by that eager de­sire which hurries us to gadd after Novel­ties, Shews, and new Acquaintance; espe­cially [Page 27] where we hear of Wit and Beauty, or any thing of extraordinary parts. Let us apply this to our purpose, and let us say, that we may discover Curiosity to be a violent Passion, by our violent list­ning after public and private News, and by the pleasure which we take in hear­ing it; which is so great, that it is the most delightful employment of our Lives; insomuch, that this pleasure se [...]ms to be not only the divertisement, but the very nourishment of our thoughts; for we grow melancholy when we are in places bar­ren of Tales and Stories, or if being re­tir'd into the Country our Friends in Town or at Court are negligent or for­getful to send us the weekly occurrences. We need not wonder then, if men that now adays live such a Life of Passion, labour with so much earnestness to gra­tifie a Passion so lively and vehement as Curiosity; and that there are so many who make use of Sincerity as a Bait to allure their Friends to open their Hearts, and trust 'em with what is most proper for their satisfaction.

We shall better apprehend, that there are several persons that are Sincere out [Page 28] of a respect to themselves, and to feed their Curiosity, when we consider, that most parts of Friendships are deceitful, and that the frequent ruptures (proceeding from the cold correspondencies which persons frank and open-hearted find in their Friends) arise from hence, that they did not receive that Benefit from their Amity which they expected. I mean, that we are not absolutely offended that the Sincerity of our Friends is not equal to ours, but that their want of Sincerity de­prives us of the knowledg of their Sen­timents, their Designs, and their private Intelligences.

The second pretence to Sincerity is upon this account, that men may tell 'em the Truth; which they desire not so much out of a Love of Truth, or any aversion to error or falshood, but fearing the ig­nomy of being Deceiv'd. For man at his first Creation reverenc'd Truth of that respect which he bore to God, and that he might live under Divine direction; and avoiding Error that lead him astray. But now he admires Truth for another reason, because it is an ornament to his mind, and sutable to his excellence above [Page 29] other Creatures, and hates Error and De­lusion only because they are ignominious. Now we are sensible of this shame, when believing that we have for a long time enjoy'd the friendship and confidence of such and such persons, we at length come to discover that we are abus'd, that they have all along disguis'd their Friendship, and conceal'd from us their most impor­tant affairs.

In the third place men of Sincerity pretend to remove from themselves all suspition of double dealing and knavery. For in regard they find, that Knavery ruins irreparably their Reputation, they conceive an extraordinary aversion to it, and look upon Sincerity as a Vertue pro­per to make 'em esteem'd, and to fix 'em upon the Basis of true Honesty. They also hope to acquire the good will of all the world, by their frankness of proceeding, and by the sincerity of their words. Nor are they deceiv'd, for upon the same score that they shun Falshood and Dissimula­tion, they love and seek after persons of Sincerity; they also desire their prefer­ment, and gladly serve 'em upon all oc­casions. For this is one thing which men [Page 30] of Sincerity aim at; as not being satisfied that their Sincerity begets them the esteem and friendship of men, unless they may be also serviceable to 'em in their parti­cular affairs.

Lastly, we make a profession of Sin­cerity to the end that others may have a firm belief in us, and may give credit to our words. For nothing flatters our Vanity so much, as that Authority which our Words have acquir'd thro the good opinion which men have of our Sincerity. So that it is the principal endeavour men of Sincerity propose that are unbyass'd. And when they are nicely Ambitious, 'tis their only aim.

We find at Court, even amongst those who are most addicted to Intrigue, several that counterfit a sincere aspect, which they strive to make appear as natural as possi­bly they can, accommodating likewise to the sincerity of their Looks the tone of their Voice and gesture of their Body. They affect a free and open Countenance, and a genuine Behaviour, to gain Credit among those with whom they have to deal. This sort of formal Sincerity we find in Chief Ministers of State, in Am­bassadors, [Page 31] in men of Business, and gene­rally in public Persons. And so long as they are dextrous at it, it serves 'em to conceal their Designs, and is the reason that men believe and put a confidence in them; and it sets them at liberty to fol­low their Inclinations and their Interests contrary to their Oaths and Engagements, out of confidence that whatever they do will be always well interpreted.

There is one sort of Sincerity that pro­ceeds from the force of Self-love. This we meet with in persons downright and of mean capacities, who upon all occasi­ons display the reality of their thoughts, not having the power nor the address to conceal them. So that whereas men of parts so speak and behave themselves, that they seem not to value their own Inte­rests; these persons who enjoy nothing but what is natural, presently disclose the In­terest that opens their Lips and sets 'em at work, in regard the violence of their Self-love discovers and betrays 'em.

Besides these sorts of Sincerity, there is one sort more that follows the temper of the Body, which may be term'd Natural Sincerity. ‘For there are Vertues of [Page 32] Temperament (says Aristotle), that is, Dispositions and Inclinations to exer­cise certain Vertues.’ For as there are some persons born Couragious, others Chast, so there are others naturally Sin­cere, and such as put a real force upon themselves when they are constrain'd to dissemble. There are others altoge­ther opposite to these, who can never away with frank and free discourse, but take a peculiar delight in practising Dissi­mulation. This kind of Disposition have I observ'd in several Persons, and parti­cularly in some Women, who tho very Loyal to their Husbands, yet were not at all Sincere to them.

Sincerity then is an opening of the Heart, or a politic frankness that serves us to gain the esteem and friendship of Ho­nest men; or a fear to be accounted a Cheat; or a natural inclination to speak what a man thinks; or a nice ambition that men should set an implicite value upon our words. Among the counterfit Sincere, Sincerity is a refin'd piece of Knavery, and in them the sincere aspect is the least sincere.

[Page 33] But Christian and vertuous Sincerity is not the effect of any Interest or Pas­sion, not so much as of that Passion to be thought Sincere, and they that practise it pretend to aim at nothing more then Obedience to God, who forbids Dissimu­lation and double dealing; but to up­hold union and a good correspondence among Men.

FRiendship is a rational Inclination, which abides in the person that gave it Birth. 'Tis the original of all the Hap­piness that is to be tasted in Life. Who can think Life it self alive, said the ancient Poet Ennius, without the sweet enjoyment of Friendship? ‘Who can live without Friends, says Aristotle, tho he enjoy'd all other Felicities?’ ‘If some Deity, says Cicero, should place us in a solitude, the most delightful and abounding in plenty, upon this hard condition, that we should have no Communication with any person whatsoever, would it not be impossible to lead a Life so ungrate­ful and wearisome?’ which proceeds from hence, that Man having an invincible inclination to expand himself beyond the bounds of any Confinement, becomes a troubte and burthen to himself when he [Page 35] cannot gratifie his passions by imparting them to others. Now in a Desert he would be depriv'd of that Consolation; nay he could not reap that benefit by So­ciety it self; even they who live together in the same place, would live as it were in a Desert in the midst of Company, if their Hearts were not united, or that there were not an Internal tye and association one a­mong another; which is the reason that Friendship, which causes the union of Hearts, is so highly valued and sought for by all the World.

But this high price of Friendship, do's not consist in the sole delight, in a strict and settl'd Correspondence between two Friends. ‘There is yet a higher value to be set upon it, says Aristotle, because it is extreamly beneficial. For it is profita­ble, says he, to all Ages and all Conditi­ons. To Princes and Great Men, it is serviceable in the discharge of that Obli­gation, which chiefly belongs to their Quality, and to share some part of their wealth to those whom they honour with their Favour. She assists with her pru­dent Counsels those that are in Prospe­rity; and teaches 'em that great Secret [Page 36] how to avoid Envy. Poverty and all Calamities of Life look upon her as their Sanctuary. She moderates the transports of Youth by her wholesom Admonitions. She succours and comforrs old age; and they that are in [...] the vigor of their years reap considerable advantages from her aid For a man that has solid and vertuous Friends gains from their ex­periences, and fortifies himself by their example in the exercise of Vertue.’

Neither does Friendship confine her self to the profit and advantage of par­ticular persons; she assumes to her self the establishing and raising of whole Fa­milies, and prides her self in being the source and original of the Grandeur and [...]elicity of Empires. For which reason the most prudent Legislators, as Aristotle has observ'd, have taken more particular care to instruct their people how to pre­serve perpetual Friendship one among another, then to enact severe Laws to prevent the violation of Justice. For they saw well, than Friendship might sur­mount Justice; but that it was very im­probable for Justice to overtop Friend­ship. In a word, whereever Concord [Page 37] reigns (which is the general Friendship of Fellow-Citizens) there is no need to fear the punishments of Injury and In­justice; for Friends will never wrong one another, but rathermutually study each o­thers advantage. There is no need, I say, to fear that any Citizen will encroach upon his Neighbours Estate, which Friendship has made his own; or that he will wound their reputation that is common with his own. The Concord of Citizens one among another is a powerful tye, which will not suffer any Interest to make a division; nor is the most rigorous Justice so sure a tye for the upholding and preserving of Order, as mutual Friendship.

It is not so with Justice; which not having any predominance over the Heart of man, therefore cannot so dispose it that it shall never desire to do an Injury. Nay, tho its authority be never so great, it cannot punish the Crimes of all sorts of People. For which reason Ana [...]harsis laught at Solon's design, when he gave him a sight of the Laws which he had made for the Commonwealth of A [...]hens: ‘Thinkst thou, said he, to curb with so weak a Rein the Malice and Violence [Page 38] of Men? Know'st not, that Laws are like the Spiders Web, that catch the Flies, which the Hornets quickly snap asunder? Thus the Torments ordain'd for the punishment of Crimes, are for those persons that are miserable and without support, but the wealthy ge­nerally escape the rigour of the Law.’ Which is a Truth so well supported and confirm'd by all the reason and ex­perience of the world, that we cannot sufficiently applaud Aristotle, where he says, ‘That Justice was introduced into Republics to supply and repair the de­fects and failings of Friedship.’

Let us now discourse of the Inclina­tions of Friendship, and consider how they are contrary to those of Flattery. The latter treacherous, mean, and by ass'd, al­ways creeps to Favour and Grandeur. The other Noble and Generous, loves the miserable, and signalizes it self in mis­fortunes. She is kind to persons aban­don'd, comforts and chears up the Heart oppresst with cares and secret anguish. And we should do her wrong not to place among the Vertues a Quality which com­prehends and includes them all in one. [Page 39] Nor must we forget, that it was she who wrought those Miracles which Antiquity has consecrated to her Memory; that has fam'd Greece for persons obstinately re­solv'd to dye one for another; and cele­brated Rome for Women abandoning their Lives that they might be inseparably uni­ted to their Husbands.

We must acknowledge in good ear­nest, that there can nothing be more no­ble then what men say, and what they think concerning Friendship; only we could wish that it were real. But what is too true on the other side is this, that all the motions of Nature are Circular; they who have narrowly observ'd the Actions of men, assure us, that the mo­motions of his Will are the same; and that he is so fix'd and devoted to him­self, that every time he goes beyond him­self to assist his Friends in their most pres­sing necessities, he returns to himself by some private way; And therefore, what­ever men believe or imagin, that he serves another to be serv'd himself; that he pro­cures the settlement of others, to secure his own, or at least to reap the honour of his several Kindnesses. "All sorts of [Page 40] Friendship, says Aristotle, are like so many Rivulets, that take their rise from the Spring of Self-love. So that that same Friendship which seems to us most pure, is but the seeking of some advantages which we hope to obtain by that kind­ness which we do to others. True it is, that it is a neat and dextrous way of seeking, and that of all the pretences of Self-love, that of Friendship is the most honest, and that which most genteelly covers its farther intentions. For among all the various Disguises that man makes use of to succeed in the world, there is none so honourable, as when he strives and labours to appear a zealous and faithful Friend. And therefore we need not wonder if it be chiefly at the Court, where affected Friendship exposes it self; that there she erects her Theater, and puts on all her gawdy Habiliments; And lastly, that there she acts her Master-pieces, and recites her smoothest and most affectionate parts; since it is there that they who take that course to attain their ends, make the greatest advantages and obtain the highest preferments.

[Page 41] But if there be no true Friendship, wherefore is it, that Ministers of State and Favourites of Kings and Princes are so zealous to serve their absent and disgraced Friends? This Objection has taken deep root in the Breasts of most Men, and it is so much the more necessary to be answer'd, because the Reply will discover a kind of Mistery. I say then▪ that the good Offi­ces which for the absent, and their dili­gence to make their advantages of favou­rable Conjunctures, are so far from being done out of pure kindness, that on the contrary they are the mee [...] effects of Inte­rests. A great Minister of State testifies his Zeal for his absent Friend, and presses continually that he may be recalled home. 1. Because his [...]riend having assisted him to obtain the Di [...]nity he enjoys, that Mini­ster had lost his Reputation, had he not gi­ven his Friend that publick mark of his acknowledgment. 2. He does it for fear lest the King should have a bad Opinion of him, as having frequently thus conside­red with himself; What would the King think of me, should I be silent, and do no­thing for him, who ha [...] don so much for me? 3. He has a design that his Friend [Page 42] should be yet more united to his Interest. 4. He is afraid of his Enmity, should he return, and he not be concerned in procu­ring it. 5. He has this prospect of the future, that so long as he had shewn him­self cordial to his Friend, he should find the like that would bestir themselves in his behalf, should it be his turn to fall into disgrace. And this is a certain Demon­stration of what I assert, That a true craf­ty Courtier is never zealous for his absent Friends, but when he believes the King has still some remaining tenderness for 'em, but he never troubles himself for those that have utterly and irreparably lost the good Opinion of the Prince, and are irre­coverably fall'n into his displeasure. With this sort of absent Friends, they soon break off all manner of Correspondence, and raze 'em from their remembrance, as if they never had been in the World, more miserable then the dead, who leave behind 'em many times those Friends that wish 'em alive again, that they might bestow upon 'em Employments and Offices, which they have at their disposal: Men being gene­rally so courteous, so human and gene­rous, that they are always ready to bestow [Page 43] their Favours upon those that are not in a condition to accept of their Kindness.

After all that has been said, no Man will think it an irrational Astonishment, that so sublime an Intellect, as that of Cicero, should follow all the Vulgar Opinions, con­cerning this subject of Friendship; and that of all the true Arguments that prove there is not any true and unbyass'd Friend­ship, not one should be able to open his Eyes.

‘'Tis strange, says Cicero, That seeing there are so many Millions of Men, all strictly bound by the same tye of nature, we shall hardly throughout the whole extent of the Earth, find two real Friends.’ But this can be no wonder to those who apprehend that Man is a Prisoner to him­self, and that self-love is a kind of Waiter that attends him every time he stirs abroad, and brings him home again: For it is apparent, that Man being in such a condition is not capable of Friendship; seeing that by the means of Friendship, he ought to enter into his Friend, and remain in the person▪ whom he loves. ‘'Tis a shame, says Cicero, That a Command, an Employment, Mony or Reputation, [Page 44] should have the power to ruin the most friendly contracted Friendships, and that two Men so strongly united and ri­vited together, should so easily become Rivals.’ And indeed it is no way proper, that a Man who wishes his Friend as well or better then himself, should be afflicted at the increase of his Wealth or Honour; nevertheless, it creates those Jealousies that rend his very Heart, and maugre all the violence which he uses to himself, they ap­pear in his Countenance. And therefore it is false, that he wishes his Friend those advantages of Honour and Preferment, out of any sentiment of sincerity, as a votary for his Welfare. And this reason alone should be enough to dissipate that same darkness which blinds the World; force it to acknowledge, that Man is only amo­rous of himself. ‘I cannot endure, says the same Author, That Men should make love to grow from Business and Interest, and that they ascribe so mean a birth to a quality so exalted; for what have I to do with Scipio, or wherein can I be service­able to him?’ I shall answer his Question with another; For I would fain know, whether there be no more then one thing [Page 45] of which a man stands in need, whether it be not as necessary for him to acquire Ho­nour, as to heap up Riches; and whether all things which he does not enjoy, and which are proper to satisfy his natural in­clinations, are not so many Indigencies? But what are these wants and these inte­rests that destroy those amities, which to us seem so sincere? that we shall see in due place: in the mean time, Cicero must give us leave to assure him (with Plato,) That Friendship had its birth from Indigence.

To this we may add, That of all the Errors which Cicero has maintained upon this Subject, that is the absurdest which undertakes to prove, That Freindship not only equals the Fortunes of Friends, by laying their Estates in common, but also le­vels our Sentiments for them, with those that we have for our selves. ‘Insomuch, says he, That the Name of Friendship perishes, if the Affection for our Freinds be not: as sincere, as great, as strong, and as ten­der, as that which we bear to our selves: Whence it comes to pass, that we call a Freind our Other Self, and that we say, that two Persons link't together in [Page 46] Friendship, have but one Heart and one Will.’

‘But whatever these Proverbs signifie, certain it is, says Aristotle, That there is nothing comes near the Friendship which we have for our selves; and that it is both the beginning and the end of that which we have for others: there­fore where a Man shares his Estate with his Friend, where he surrenders to him the Employment which he enjoys, where he gives him all the Honour that they have acquired together, upon the same occasion; when he retires and leaves to his Friend the entire Glory of an Illustrous Atchievement: all these Acts, says the Philosopher, proceed from hence, that Man is still first a Freind to himself. For he does all these things with a real intent, that they should re­turn to himself, since they all redound to his Satisfaction and his Honour.’

But how comes it to pass, that so many persons believe they serve their Friends, out of pure and sincere Love, and that they do not perceive, that they seek them­selves in the Services which they render 'em? I answer, That we do not perceive [Page 47] what we do for our selves, in what we do for others, because that the most part of the time, the motives that engage us to act, ly concealed in our Breasts; and we rather choose to perswade our selves, that we act generously and bravely, then to study the knowledge of our selves, or to inform our selves of our secret intentions. For should we be taken up with these Cares, and fre­quently examine our own Hearts, they would soon discover the secret Springs that move us and govern our Actions, when we also be most regardless of Self-Interest, and would Demonstrate to us, that there is nothing so profitable or delightful to us, or that flatters our ostentation so much, as the very thing we seek for, when it seems to us, that we seek nothing at all.

We must therefore acknowledge that Cicero had the true Idea of Friendship, and that he has given a most exact Definition of it, where he says, Than Friendship is the perfect Ʋnion of two vertuous Persons; and That it is an Affection reciprocal, con­stant, sincere and unbyass'd: and we would willingly have subscrib'd to his Opinion, if instead of saying, This is Friendship, he had said, This is that which Friendship [Page 48] ought to be. He also spoke much better then he thought he had, when he affirms Friendship to be a Divine Vertue, since it is no where to be found, but among men tru­ly Divine; I mean among true Christians. For the Freindship which they profess one to another, having its Original from God, who always acts sincerely for the good of his Creatures, obliges 'em to procure the Advantages of their Friends, without any respect to themselves.

As for the Arguments he brings to prove, that Men are capable of a real Friendship, they are extreamly weak: But the most sinewy is this. ‘We find, says he, That Vertue is amiable by our natural inclinations: For if a sane Con­stitution pleases us, if Riches and Honor have their allurements, how is it possible but that we should be smitten with Beauty and charms of Vertue? She it is that gives Life to Freindship, and ren­ders her powerful and indissoluble; two vertuous persons no sooner cast an Eye one upon another, but they con­ceive a reciprocal Affection, so that there is no other ground of their Amity but their Merit; and as for Profit and Plea­sure, [Page 49] which have no share in the pro­duction, they are only the pleasing fruits of the happy Conjunction.’

This is a specious Argument, and dazles those that only slightly examine it. But they who more seriously pry into it, may easily discover the Falacy: For 'tis appa­rent to all the World, that if there be no real Freindship, but what is founded upon Vertue, it is impossible that Vertue should stand when the Foundation is demolished, that is to say, if there be no sincere Vertue, which is the work of this Treatise to De­monstrate.

Add to this, that tho we should suppose there were Vertues real and sincere, yet would it not follow, that they were belo­ved for themselves, so long as it is so appa­rent, that no man tries Vertue, but only for his own interest; nor is it the uprightness of the Law which makes him love the just; but he has therefore a kindness for just per­sons, because they offer no violence either to his Estate or Honour. Besides that, we are to observe, That the most excellent Vertue, and most proper to beget Esteem and Honour, for those who enjoy those per­fections [Page 50] of endowment, more frequenly awaken our Jealousie and our Envy.

We shall see that Seneca is not much more to be admir'd then Cicero, when we hear him recount the wonders of Friend­ship. Friendship, says he, is so pure a thing, That neither the expectation of Wealth, nor ambition of Honour, nor prospect of any sort of Interest, contributes to its Birth. Where­fore then do we seek to make Friends? I would make Friends, to give 'em a share of my Estate, to accompany 'em in Exile, to suf­fer with 'em, the utmost rigour of their Mis­fortune: and I would make Friends to dye for 'em, if there were occasion.

Now I would beg of those that have ne­ver so little knowledge of the Heart of Man, if ever Friendship of this nature had beginning there, and whether it be possi­ble for a man to raise the Platform of such a Friendship, for the sake of which he would ardently desire to despoil himself of his Estate, to sacrifice his Life, and take upon himself the ponderous weight of another mans Calamities. In good earnest, he must have a great tenderness for self-delusion, who admits such a Dream or Vision as this, for real Truth. And that which must [Page 51] convince us, That there never was any such Friendship in nature, but that it is only a Chimera residing in the Imagination; is this, That if we should put the Questi­on to Seneca, where any Friends are to be found, and where not; he would answer, That they crowd in throngs after Persons in Prosperity, but that there is not one to be seen near the Cells of the Dis­astrous.

This same Truth, sufficient of it self to have defac'd in Seneca's Thoughts, those amiable Ideas of the Purity and Excel­lency of Friendship which he had fanci­ed to himself, deserves to be supported with some Examples. Among which, that of Queen Margaret is very Remarkable; She tells us, in her Memoirs, That being Ar­rested in her Appartment, as they carried her cross the Court of the Lovre; they, who the day before, thought themselves happy, if she but vouchsafed to cast a look upon 'em, no sooner perceived her, but they turned their backs upon her. And that which Strada relates of Charles the Fifth is no less Remarkable. He tells us how strangely that Emperor was Astoni­shed, when entring into Spain, after he had [Page 52] made an absolute Resignation of his Em­pire, and all his other Dominions, he per­ceiv'd, by the small number of persons of Quality that came to meet him, That how Glorious soever the Person of a Prince may seem, 'tis not that, but the flourishing Condition of their Fortune, which Cour­tiers adore. And then it was, saith the Historian, that Charles himself was deeply sensible, what it was to be a Prince, with­out either Sov'raignty or Title, and that he saw himself stripp'd like a naked Man.

Thus we have seen the Errors of Cicero and Seneca, touching Friendship; yet as absurd as they were, they are not to be compar'd with those of Montaigne; who, tho a person of so much Sense and Solidi­ty, has discours'd of Friendship like one in Delirium: And the reason why he has so grossly mistaken upon this Subject; is, the great Affection which he has for gay Ima­ginations, lofty and extraordinary Fancies; especially, when he finds in those Imagi­nations, that there is any thing that flat­ters him, and which makes for his Advan­tage. And hence it is, That after he has laugh'd at all those Ties and Obligations [Page 53] between several Persons; to which, he says, men give so rashly the name of Friendship, he maintains, That there are not only real Friendships, but such Friendships where Men forget all thoughts of Service and Kindness for all others, but only the Party belov'd; where they so entirely abandon themselves to their Affection, that they do not reserve to themselves, so much as the disposal of their own Will: His words are these.

‘Among us men, there is not any foot­steps, of Friendship to be seen. All those sorts of Friendship, which Profit, Plea­sure, Publick or Private Business, have begot and cherished, cannot be said to be Friendships, in regard they intermix another End, another Cause and Benefit then themselves. Perfect Amity is indis­soluble, every man surrenders himself up so entirely to his Friend, that there re­mains nothing for him to bestow else­where. He is perplexed that he has not several Souls and several Wills, that he might dispose of all to his Friend. This Friendship possesses the Soul, and go­verns her with an absolute Soveraignty: this Friendship which must be only and [Page 54] singular, defaces all other Obligations. The Secret which I have sworn not to discover to any other, I may without Perjury communicate to him, who is not another person, but my self: My Friend­ship with Stephen Boeotia, has no other Idea but it self, and has only reference and relation to my self. It hales and draggs away my Will to plunge and lose it self in the Will of my Friend, and then sear­ches his whole Will, it hales it back a­gain to plunge and lose it self in mine, with an equal thirst and concurrence. In this sort of Friendship, every thing lyes common, Will, Thoughts, Wives, Chil­dren, Honors and Estate.’ Then speak­ing in the same place concerning Blosius, the friend of Gracchus, who vow'd he would have fired the Temple, had his Friend desired it; ‘They, says he, who condemn the words of Blosius as Sediti­ous, do not well understand the Mistery of Friendship:’ ‘for they were greater Friends one to another, then to their fellow-Citizens, or to their Country.’

Can there be imagined a stranger blind­ness then this, to confound Friendship with Love, and to ascribe to a vertuous Inclina­tion, [Page 55] the Injustices and Transportments of Passions the most violent? For then it is the part of Love to devote a man entirely to the person whom he loves, and to make him forget his Duty to God, his King, his Parents, and his Friends: for such is the fury of this Passion that it transverses Rea­son, whose proper office it is, to mark out to every man, and oblige him to the ob­servance of all his Duties. This is the Employment of Reason so long as she raigns in the Body, and she is no less care­ful to preserve Man so steady, in the ob­servation of Devoirs, that she never suffers him to violate the least particular; or that he should be wanting in his performances to God, to acquit himself of his Affection to the best or most faithful of his Friends; tho he were beholding to him for his Life it self. And therefore what Montaigne af­firms: That Frieuship has a Priviledge to dispense with all Laws, and to render us in­nocently Impious, Sacrilegious and Infidels; is equally contradictory, both to Reason and Religion, which is apparent from hence, that the Pagan Theoligie teaches no such Doctrine, but rather the contrary, that we never ought to injure Piety, un­der [Page 56] pretence of satisfying the strictest Obligations of Friendship.

As for that other Assertion of Mon­taigne, That the Secret which he has sworn never to reveal to another, he may without Perjury communicate to his Freind, who is not another but himself: it needs no an­swer, for what shall we say to a man, who by a childish piece of subtilty, and a pretty Equivocation, pretends to justify Perjury, and the violation of plighted Troth.

Nor is it a less shame for that Author to extol to the Skies, those Roman Ladies, who chuse rather to kill themselves and dye with their Husbands, then to survive and follow 'em hereafter; more especially the Wi [...]e of the Consul, Cecinna Poetus, who to rescue her Husband from the Tor­ments that were provided for him, and to encourage him to be his own Executioner after she had Stabb'd her own Breast, pre­sented him the Weapon, all bloody as it was, with these Words, Here Poetus, take it, it has done me no harm. I say it was not honourable in Montagne to attribute the effects of ambition to conjugal Friendship, as one that did not percieve, in the coura­gious Resolutions of Poetus and Seneca's [Page 57] Wives, to dye with their Husbands, that immoderate desire of Praise wherewith the Romans were always inflamed: accord­ing to the Character which Virgil has given of 'em.

Rather it behov'd him to have given the same judgment of Arria, as the yong­er Pliny did, from whom he had the Sto­ry. Arria, said he, the Wife of Cecinna Poctus, taking the Dagger to kill her self, giving her self the Stabb, had before her Eyes, the perpetuity of her Honour: And this is the general Reason of these sorts of Deaths, which we call Illustrious; for which some other particular Causes, are always also alleadged. As the usual addi­tional Reason, of these Ladies Self­murder, beside their vanity to Immor­talize themselves, was their dread of being exposed to the indignities of an inhuman Tyrant, abandoned to his own Lusts. This same Dread it was that had a share in the Death of Arria; for she had reason to fear, lest the Emperor Claudius, so en­rag'd as he was against those who had ta­ken [Page 58] part with Scriboniances, should put her Husband to some cruel Death, and there make some further attempt upon her Honour. And it is as visible rhat Paulina had the same jealousies; for no sooner had Seneca her Husband receiv'd orders to dye, but she offered to be his Companion in Death, and cut her own Veins at the same time that he open'd his: Yet when Nero had assur'd her, that he had no en­mity against her, but that he had a high value for her Vertue, and the Grandeur of her Descent, she suffer'd her Wounds to be bound up, and her Conjugal Amity permit­ted her to live.

The Opinion of the World, saies Taci­tus was, That Paulina was desirous to have shar'd with her Husband, the Honour of a Death so magnanimously undergon, so long as she thought Nero's resentment would not stop there, but when the Tyrant had assur'd her, and that she hop'd for better usage at his Hands then she expected, she easily surrender'd to the persuasions of those that exhorted her to live.

But Montaigns greatest shame is, That hardy Ignorance which emboldens him to reprove those that condemn the expressi­ons [Page 59] of Blosius, who vow'd he would have burnt the Capitol, had his Friend Grac­chus desired it. These words which seem to him so wonderful, are however censu­red by Cicero, as the Expressions of a Vil­lain: and to the end it may appear to have been deservedly done, I will confirm those words, with what Brutus said to the Ro­mans. Tarquinus Collatinus, my Collegue in the Consulship, is my intimate Friend; but because the name of Tarquin is detested by you all, and for that it might raise a just sus­pition of me, I advise ye to Depose him from the Consulship. If therefore we are oblg'd to Sacrifice the Particular Interests to the Publick good; which, according to Ari­stotle, is a Celestial Good, what are we not oblig'd to do for the sake of God, or how can we believe, that human Conside­rations, should be more predominant, then our Reverence of his Temples? so that indeed it is a hard matter to appre­hend, how a man in his Witts could ima­gine, that perfect Friendship was an en­gagement to commit any Crime, and justi­fy the Act. Friendship, says Cicero, is a bad excuse for Miscarriages: for the first Law that it imposes upon Persons, when first [Page 60] united, is neither to require or act any thing to wound the justice of the Laws. Com­mon sence would have taught Montaign this sound Doctrine, had he not affect­ed a particular Philosophy by himself; or, rather had not his Judgment been pervert­ed by his Vanity: and indeed it appears, That all his Hyperbolical, yet weak and sickly Discourse concerning Friendship, proceeded from hence, that he had an i [...]ching desire to let the World know what rare Qualities he was endow'd withal, and that he was capable of a sort of Friend­ship not to be parallel'd by any Ex­ample.

True it is, That altho it be impos­sible that his Friendship with Stephen of Boetia, should be such as he represents it; nevertheless, we find and agree, that it was no common Amity, but such a one, that we may do him justice, as ought to be ranked with that of Pliny the younger, and Corellius, or Cicero and Scipio; that is, among those Friendships that are contract­ed without any design to advantage our Estates, and which is not to be found, but among persons of Worth and Merit, whom the Vulgar believe to be unbyass'd. How­ever, [Page 61] they are not so; in regard there is no greater profit, or which they whose In­terests are nice and delicate, more passio­nately desire, than what men of surpas­sing parts (when link't together in Friend­ship) reap from the conversation of each other. For that which engages 'em in this sort of Friendship, is the eager desire which they have to be esteem'd by a person, whom all the World admire, and to find in a Friend a competent judge of his Worth. ‘I have lost Corellius, said Pli­ny the younger, and I bemoan his loss, for the love of my self, as having lost a wor­thy Testimony of my Life and Conver­sation. Scipio, said Cicero, was touch'd with that Love which I had for Vertue, and I was an admirer of his.’ Therefore to define aright the Friendship of two men, both endued with extraordinary Quali­ties; it is a certain League which they make one with another reciprocally to ob­serve whatever is valuable in each, and to esteem each other according to their de­serts.

Ordinary Friendships are civil inter­courses, of which we expect to make se­veral Advantages, correspondent to our [Page 62] different pretensions, or to say better, to our different Passions: So that our Passi­ons are the visible causes of all the Friend­ships which we contract. Seeing then our desire of Wealth, is a Passion most vigo­rous and impatient; and that there are a number of people, who have either no E­states at all, or not sufficient to support their Quality: hence it comes to pass, that Interest is the occasion of all our ties and Friendships; hence it comes to pass, that men fast'n themselves upon Kings, their Favourites and Ministers, make use of all manner of advantages, and take upon 'em all manner of shapes, to perswade them in­to a belief, how much they are devoted to their Service. This is the reason that men crow'd in heaps to the Courts and Pa­laces of great Personages, as men run to the Publick Springs; for according to the saying of Euripides, When the Earth is parch'd with Drowth, then it most earnestly covets Rain.

The Passion of pleasure associates and links young People together; and because they do not always find it in one place, by reason of the several obstacles which they meet with, and for that they frequently [Page 63] take distast, and grow weary, they often change Friends, as Aristotle has ob­serv'd.

There is also a conceal'd Ambition, which is a third cause of Friendship. This we meet with in a sort of people, who de­vote all their time, and make it their sole business to attend upon some person in high Employment, whose favour and ap­probation renders 'em considerable in the World.

There is another sort of Ambition more easy to be discover'd, and more common, which engages several people to signalize themselves in all the affairs of their Friends, on pupose to make a noise in the World, and to put a value upon their Friend­ship.

But Men are not only deluded by their Passions, which are the occasion many times, that they consider themselves, and secretly seek their own profit, when they think to serve their Friends, after a manner seemingly▪ altogether void of Interest. They are also absurd by their dispositions, and the qualities of their temper, which some mistake for real Inclinations and Qua­lities of Friendship. For the Cholerie, who [Page 64] act altogether violently, imagine, that when they defend their Enemies, with so much heat, it is their zeal which inflames their friendship, whereas it is their natural warmth and impetuosity that chaffs and transports 'em. The Melancholic believe they love th [...]se whom they affect, meerly out of a capricious and obstinate choice. Women mistake the softness of their Com­plexion, for the tenderness of their Friend­ship. The Sanguine perswade themselves to be more then ordinary Friends, by rea­son they are naturally of a caressing and pleasant humor, which always enclines 'em to an obliging Conversation in Society, and a readiness to do kindnesses. Hence it is, that men can never agree upon the Subject of Friendship, and that they form so many different Idea's of it: For in re­gard that most people derive it from their temperament, and has its Birth from the particular humor that predominates in the person, it is impossible that all men should conceive and be sensible of Friendship af­ter one and the same manner.

Hence it is, that the Cholerick, whose Friendship, is fiery and full of transport, torment themselves, cry out and make a [Page 65] noise upon the misfortunes of their Friends: whereas they who are of soft and mild disposition, in the Comedy of Friend­ship, act only the part of Lamentation and Complaint, and sometimes think it suffici­ent to testify their grief, by the sadness of their Countenances and their Silence. And for the same reason it is, That these two sorts of Friends, disprove and accuse one another; the mild and peacable Friend not being able to apprehend, how Friendship should consist in making a noise, and the impetuous no way approving a still and quiet Amity.

There are some Friendships which Men contract, only to obtain others, more pro­fitable and advantagious, or to preserve or re-kindle those that begin to grow old; for the World is so judicious, and governs it self so strongly by reason, that they who desire success in their designs, are con­strain'd to raise themselves as it were, by certain Engines, and to maintain their ground by all sorts of Artifices: and the way which the honester sort have recourse, is to fix themselves with the one, by means of others, and dextrously to make it known, that they are the Confidents of [Page 66] such a Princess, or that they have access to such and such persons of Quality, that they may have admission to the Chief Ministers of State.

Here we must add to what has been already said, that men are not only false when they assure us, that they love their Friends with a true Sincerity, or feign to love those for whom they have no af­fection; but also when they would make the world believe, that they have a great number of Friends. Which I take upon me to affirm, because there are a sort of people who being suffer'd at Court, yet neither valu'd nor belov'd, are still vaunt­ing the great number of their Friends; so that when any person of Quality dies, they make a shew of being deeply afflict­ed, and bewail their loss.

Before I finish this Discourse, it be­hoves me to answer an objection that seems to carry somewhat of weight. I mean that proof of Friendship so remark­able in Pylades and Orestes, Damon and Pythias, so obstinately resolv'd to lay down their Lives the one for the other.

We shall not go about to lessen this proof, as we might do, by alledging the [Page 67] uncertainty of these examples, of which the first is no where supported by the testimony of any Historian: Nor shall I urge, the rareness of the example, that we meet with only these two; in regard we may well grant, that there has been a person in the world who offer'd to lay down his Life, nay more that he suffer'd Death for his Friend, without departing from our first Assertion, That there is no sincere and cordial Amity. For we still maintain, that a man may seem to lay down his own to preserve his Friend's Life, and yet that he suffers rather for his own Ho­nour; that is, to purchase to himself a kind of Glory, which is to him so much the more charming, as being an act to be talk'd of altogether rare and singular. ‘There are some people, says Aristotle, who rather chuse to perform one noble and generous Act, then many that are frequent and usual.’ Such are they who chuse to dye for their Friends. Now if it be a difficult thing to apprehend how a man can possibly resolve to suf­fer Death, and consent to his own de­struction, for the love of himself, we need no more then call to mind several who and [Page 68] have kill'd themselves to be recorded by Posterity for men of unparallel'd courage and resolution. We may also consider, that this difficulty of conceiving such a Resolv'dness in Man, proceeds from hence, that we frame our argument of a sick person, as if we were discoursing of a person in sound health. For Ambition being one of the most violent Distempers in men, we must know, that it is able to alter his Condition, to deprave his Ap­petite, and make him more desirous of that immortal Honour that attends a Great Action, then of long Life.

And by the same rule we are to judg of that noble proof of so great and so unusual a piece of Friendship which So­crates gave to Alcibiades, when he sur­render'd to him the Honour of the Victory which he won in Macedon. And we may believe, upon good grounds, that Socra­tes foresaw, that Honour which he gave to Alcibiad [...]s would return to him with a much brighter lustre; and that his nice and delicate Ambition would better re­lish the Merit of a great Action which was without example, then the Honour of winning a Battel.

[Page 69] Let us then with Aristotle, resolve our Friendships into Self-Love, as to their proper original; that it is rivited in the hearts of all men; and that the difference between ordinary Friendships and those between persons of Worth is only this, that they are more refin'd and conceal'd in the one, and more visible and unpo­lish'd in the other. Let us acknowledg and sincerely c [...]n [...]ess, that when we re­solve to do some particular act of kind­ness for our best Friend, it proceeds from a thought, that upon some occasion which we foresee, we shall have need of him; or that he will be more careful in dis­pleasing us, or more diligent to keep us Company. Let us confess, I say, that these motives, and some others of the same na­ture, present themselves to our minds, and share in all our designs and resoluti­ons to oblige those that we respect and love. But if after all that we have thus demonstratively discours'd upon this sub­ject, there be any persons who flatter themselves, that their sentiments are more sincere then those of other men, and that their Friendship is exempt from all sort of Interest, we desire them but to reflect [Page 68] [...] [Page 69] [...] [Page 70] upon the Accidents that happen to most men in the course of Human Life, and then how undeniably they prove, that there is no sincere or real Friendship; Not only our Misfortunes and our Business render them unfaithful, and discover to us what they are, but we also find by woful ex­perience, that the saying of Socrates was not without reason, when he affirm'd, ‘That a Man is never more at a loss then when he is oblig'd to give an account of his Friends.’

Therefore true and solid Friendship is nothing else but that same Charity which unites two persons together to assist each other in the Service of God and maintain­ing his Glory. If Cicero believ'd there were very few Friendships clear from In­terest, we may with much more reason aver, that there are fewer Christian Ami­ties; or rather, that they are so rare that we can hardly find one in an Age. And I am the more positive in this assertion, because that tho they seem frequent e­nough in the imagination of those that make a profession of Piety, yet the great­est part of such people too easily per­swade themselves that their Friendships [Page 71] are grounded upon Vertue, when they are only grounded upon Nature, and re­ceive their Birth from Human Sympathies and corresponding Tempers. But most assuredly we shall be astonish'd when the Day of the Lord shall come, and the lustre of his grand Appearance shall disperse the night and darkness from the Hearts of Men, and discover the secret foundations of Friendship, which Men now esteem so Holy, and maintain in so profound a repose. ‘The Heavens, saith Job, which seem to be so clear and full of Bright­ness, are not pure in the sight of God, nor are the Stars themselves without Sports.’ And therefore the reason we have to fear, that Men seek after human satisfactions in vertuous Friendships, is this, because they who are lookt upon by the greatest part of the world as Holy Men, have very few Friends, Correspondencies, or Interests; and for that they cannot ap­prove in most people of worth their par­ticular obligations to Women; believing that the person that binds himself to a Woman, and devotes all his Services to her, how regular soever he may be in his Life and Conversation, is altogether sway'd [Page 72] by some secret Ambition, if it be not of the number of those that are cherish'd by Diligence and Confidence.

Could we discover what lies conceal'd in the folds of mans heart, we should find in the breast of the most prudent and pious, sentiments altogether strange and surprizing. We should find a great num­ber of Amours turn'd into Friendship; others into Zeal for the good of the Soul; others cover'd with a pretence of Kindred; we should find Amours intermix'd with Ambition, and several other sorts of such like Amours, which we could easily dis­cover, were it proper to dive into that subject.

HE that should deprive a man of all the Kindnesses which he receives from his Imagination, and should only leave him those which he really enjoy'd, would render him miserable the greatest part of his time, or would at least abridg him of a confiderable share of his Felicity. They who doubt of the truth of this, let them but pursue him through the whole course of his Life; and they shall find him frequently pensive in the midst of Wealth and Graudeur; which are the Fe­licities which he passionately desires, and which he labours after with so much care and trouble, and therefore they are only his Conceits and his Visions that occasion his Happiness and chiefest Delight.

What greater proof of this can we de­sire then what may be drawn from a sort of people which we see at Court, who [Page 75] pride themselves in nothing more then in being the Confidents of Princes and of Ministers of State, and all that make a figure in the World; and who are trans­ported with joy every time they bethink themselves, that persons of this Rank and that Quality, have pick'd 'em out of a great number of other persons, and made choice of them to be the Trustees of their Secrets; And this Confidence swells up their Hearts, because they look upon it as an undeniable proof of their Merit, and as a mark of the Friendship and Esteem which those Grandees have for them. Ne­vertheless it is most certain, that those Grandees that put their Confidence in them, have no design to oblige them by their Confidence, but only that either weakness, pleasure, vanity, or necessity are the real causes of that Reliance.

Necessity is the visible cause of the great Reliances wherewith the person con­fided in believe themselves honour'd; and such a man has but little reason to think himself happy therein, or to have a just occasion of boasting. But the general causes of Reliance are, the fear of dis­quieting and grieving our selves, the al­lurements [Page 74] of Novelty, and our natural proneness to Communication. And these causes dispose us in such a manner to open our hearts and relye one upon another, that the smallest occasions are many times the most inevitable snares to those who are reckon'd in the number of the wisest and most reserv'd. Insomuch, that two or three days travel together, or a short converse in the Country, have a strange power to open their Lips, and disclose the secrets of their Hearts.

There is a sort of Confidence, of which the cause seems to be altogether strange, and wherein the persons themselves con­fiding have no share: But to give the Idea of it, we must observe, that there are a sort of people who have the Gift to make others Talk. This is a particular Talent, and sufficient to introduce a man into Court, and to prefer him to the good Opinion of persons of the best Quality. But they who have this, and are unpro­vided of all the rest, are forc'd to take a great deal of pains, and yet are fre­quently nonplus'd and put to the foyl. For in regard that they are not endow'd with Qualities agreeable, and that they [Page 76] are not able to gain the goodwill and favour of persons of high Condition to whom they make their Addresses, they are constrain'd to employ their utmost industry, and to make use of all manner of artifices and devices to insinuate them­selves into their Confidence. So that whereas other persons that are in good esteem and acceptable whenever they come, think it sufficient to make their Visits at convenient times; The others never stir from their Houses, follow 'em, observe 'em and attend 'em all day long, to take the advantage of every moment that they find 'em alone; and by all the obsequious Oratory both of Looks and Gesture to oblige the Grandee to vouch­safe 'em a word of his mouth. And this is the first Act of the Comedy. After which they begin several general dis­courses, to engage the Grandee to speak. But if none of those trains will take, then it is that they fall upon subjects wherein they know the Great Personage to be concern'd; as the Disgrace of his Ene­mies, and the Fall of those great Officers who have obstructed his Fortunes at Court; or some other piece of news that he be­lieves [Page 77] will nearly concern him; and then he opens his Heart, and perhaps talks more then he would have done at ano­ther time. Therefore they have no rea­son to look upon themselves as men of any great Importance; for it is not out of a desire to please them, or to do justice to their merit, that they are thus entrusted with the secret thoughts of great men, but only to discharge themselves of their present cares or transports of joy, which they cannot contain within themselves: So that they never make any reck'ning of the secresie of such people but for their private occasions.

True it is, those great Personages are kind to the people in whom they repose such a Confidence, out of respect to the necessity which they have of them; but they value them no farther then they have occasion for their seeming fidelity; And therefore there are no sorts of Confidents that men manage with more care, then such as may become their Accusers, or in­jure their reputation, or put a stop to their affairs. Which is apparent from hence, that bad Subjects who have been design­ing against the Government, have always [Page 78] born a respect for those to whom they have been forced to communicate their Intrigues, and that they are much more kind to their Domestics where they have been constrained to hold their secret Meetings, and who have testimonies of their private Conferences: Therefore says Juvenal,

So that if the Causes of Dependencies procure contempt and disesteem, the very Subject of these Reliances must be much more contemptible. For what is it that men talk with so much caution, and re­commend to the Bosom of their Confi­dent, but certain vain stories which the world calls Affairs? What is it that men that have the best intelligence are so im­patient to communicate to their most in­timate Friends? Either that there has been [Page 79] a new Quarrel between two prime Mi­nisters that have always had a peek one at another; That a Courtier who expected some great Preferment at Court, would be strangely surprized to hear, that the King had declared himself in favour of another person; That there has been a discovery made of a Ladies Intrigue, who was always lookt upon as a person of great vertue and reserv'dness. Can there be any thing more frivolous then such stories as these, or less able to satisfie the curiosity, I will not say of a Christian, but of a person never so meanly capaci­tated?

But if those Trusts which we repose in men are to be blam'd, because they are frivolous and dangerous, what shall we think of the false Confidences and Re­liances of those that are engaged in the Intrigues of Courts, reciprocally to dis­cover or conceal their Designs; to raise in one another Distrusts of their best Friends, wherein they have no other aim but to deceive each other?

The only Confidence therefore most worthy of applause, is that when laying all Trifles aside, we discourse of that [Page 80] which is only profitable for our Salvati­on; and instead of deriding and sport­ing at the miscarriages and defaults of others, we humbly acknowledg our own, and study real Reformation and Amend­ment.

THey who consider complaisant Per­sons, how they seem to forget them­selves, on purpose to sympathize with the humours of other men, make use of Com­plaisance as a powerful Argument to shew the falshood of that Maxim, That Self-Love is the Fountain of all Vertues purely Human. For, say they, how can Com­plaisance derive it's original from Self-Love that rises out of its Destruction, and as it were Built upon its Ruins? But after serious Consideration we shall find, that altho Complaisance appears so opposite to the inclinations of Self-Love, and seems to sacrifice it every hour, yet she serves it with an entire Fidelity, and is more beneficial to it than all the most excel­ling parts and rarest qualities of men. Complaisance is a Quality very common and ordinary; yet very proper to bring [Page 82] about the designs of the most Ambitious; in somuch that frequently it proves a most apparent piece of Fraud, and yet always pleasing and agreeable; a Snare which all the world perceives, and yet catches the most [...]fin'd and subtil Politicians. So that we may say to Complaisance what the Marshal D'Ancre said to one of his Flatterers,

But the Complaisance which Men al­ways observe to great Personages, in ne­ver opposing their Wills; but humour­ing 'em without contradiction, is a Flat­tery in Action much more delicate and pleasing then that of Words; For they who conform themselves to all the hu­mours of the person observ'd, seem per­petually to encourage 'em, andpprove whatever they say or do. Which sort of Complaisance in time brings great effects to pass; as being that which seems to hold a correspondence with Self-Love, and to apprehend its real Intentions that we should please her in all things.

[Page 83] There is also a Politic and Preventive sort of Complaisance; which I call so, in regard that by means of this preven­tive Complaisance we approve the senti­ments of those whom we desire to please, before they have declar'd their thoughts; which we meet with in persons grown old in Court Services, and that are also men of piercing and judicious under­standings. Which being join'd with their experience, give 'em a quick apprehen­sion how the Prince, his Favourite, or his prime Minister are inclin'd upon all occasions and affairs that present them­selves; so that they can easily foresee and divine where their determinations will stop; which they no sooner div'd into, but they presently propound the very way which they forsee he intends to take; which pleases him beyond all the praises and commendations that could have been attributed to him. This clear-sighted Complaisance is of so high a value, and so beneficial, that when it is in absolute perfection, it is sufficient of it self to make a compleat Courtier, and to advance his Fortune above his expectations or his very wishes.

[Page 84] There is another sort of Complaisance, generally very displeasing, of which they that make a profession speak well of all sorts of people, and excuse the proceed­ings and actions of men for which no ex­cuse can be given. This sort of Complai­sant persons signalize themselves when they extenuate the saults of their Friends. And some of them will carry their Com­plaisance to that degree, that they can­not endure that any great Personage for whom they have an esteem should fail of any Quality, not so much as of those that are no way necessary for so great a Man, and which are many times as little becoming their Grandeur and Condition. There was formerly one of these Complai­sants at Court, a very honest Gentleman, but so great an Admirer of a certain No­bleman (whose Valour was no way in­ferior to that of the most celebrated Cap­tains in ancient times) that he could not endure to have him deny'd to have an excellent Voice, a Quality so little con­ducing to the Ornament of a great Com­mander, that it is rather in the number of those that might redound to his injury, especially when overvalu'd for it. ‘Art [Page 85] not thou asham'd to Sing so well,’ said Philip to Alexander?

There is another sort of Complaisance which is both unworthy and criminal; When certain vicious persons are so de­voted to their Friends, and persons on whom they depend, that they applaud whatever they do, and are always ready to act whatever they command; with this difference however, that some of them excuse the unjust humours of their Friends, their Masters or Superiors, because it is not in their power to resist them; whereas others make it their whole business to en­courage them in all manner of Violences and Injustice, and sacrifice their Honour and their Consciences to those from whom they hope to receive Kindnesses.

There is another sort of Complacence that is not only a trouble but a torment to a man; which we meet with in seve­ral people, who sticking like Burs to some great Lord, follow him like his shadow, and pry so narrowly into his very inten­tions, that they be able to forestall him, and not leave him to himself in any thing; that is, that would have the objects of their Respects to be without action or [Page 86] motion, like that of Idols, only that they should be thought to be complaisant and agreeable by being troublesom.

There is also an honest sort of Com­plaisance in those who prese [...]ve their Dig­ni [...]y, and are not always complaisant; in regard their Affections not being entirely enslav'd, they cannot consent to constrain and betray their own sentiments; or ra­ther many times because the quickness of their parts is such, that they sind how Complaisance loses all its vertue so soon as it is discover'd, which it can never be, unless it be too profuse in officiousness.

There is yet another sort of Complai­sant persons altogether opposite to those already mention'd, who will stoop to a thousand base actions to compass their ends; they will take upon 'em the mean­est errands and lowest Offices that a great Person will vouchsafe to require at their Hands, even to perform the Duty of Ser­vants and Lacqueys. This sort of Com­plaisance, that deserves only the reward of contempt, is not always unprofitable however; for tho they are despis'd by those that employ them, yet they fail not sometime to partake of their Favours.

[Page 87] By what has been said, it is easie to see' that Interest is the Soul of Complaisance' and that it disposes of a man so absolutely, that let him be never so proud and haugh­ty, it makes him the cringing Adorer and Slave of Greatness and Splendour. But tho it be the most usual, yet it is not the only cause of Complaisance; for there are some Complaisant persons, who pretend to no more then to be estenm'd and re­spected in the Society where they live; and others meerly to gratifie their natu­ral humour and inclination. Which l [...]ter sort of Complaisance is the most [...] and secure; the rest all change according to the fortune that attends the object. He that lately cring'd before a Favourite, when he finds him declining, makes no more reck'ning of him, but treats him then like another man. He that studied to please those persons that made up the Society of which he was a Member, leaves them and knows them no longer, when the allurement of a Novelty has carried him into another. So that there are none who are of a humour truly Complaisant, but those who are always so.

[Page 88] All Human Complacency is without merit, or vitious in its original. Only Christian Complacency is truly vertuous: First, because it is only thorow the mo­tions of Charity that Christians withstand that almost invincible proneness to follow their own Will, to act according to the sense and judgment of others. And se­condly, because that among all the marks of their mutual Complacency, there never was any one that contradicted in the least the Law of God.

THE Jurisdiction of Justice is confin'd within those narrow limits, that tho she be supream and renders her self for­midable by those punishments which she prepares for those that dare presume to violate her Laws, she is not able never­theless to terrifie the wicked, nor pre­vent the irregularities of men, in regard the Crimes which they conceal in their Breasts, and those that never come to knowledg escape her Rigor; and for that there are a million of Errors committed every day which come not within the compass of the Law. Vertue has a juris­diction of a far larger extent: For besides that wicked contrivances are no sooner conceived in the Soul, but she punishes them by the remorse of Conscience; she generally regulates all the external acti­ons of Man in such a manner, that she [Page 90] will not suffer any one in the least con­trary to Reason.

And thus we see, that perfect Vertue is not only contented to furnish man with the knowledge and sentiments of what he is to do in the particular exercise of a re­gular Life in private; but she instructs him how to d [...]mean himself also in respect of others. She also teaches him to know the particular obligations wherein he is bound by the Tye of Society; such as are those of observing the Rules of Justice in Commerce: And also those which men believe to be less important, such are the obligations upon all men living together, to honour and mutually to esteem one another.

'Tis to the exercise of these Duti [...] that Vertue incites us under the name of Ci­vility. 'Tis true, that Christian Ver [...]ue obliges us by motives much [...]ore solid and exalted then are those that Human Vertue proposes to us. For she instructs us, that since God has appointed Men to live [...]ogether in Society, and that he him­self has assembl'd them together; it is his pleasure, that they should reverence the League that unites them together by [Page 91] his Command; and that they should care­fully avoid all those occasions that usually cause the breaches of it. And therefore it is, that he so often in the Sacred Wri­tings recommends the preservation of Con­cord one among another, to do no Inju­ry, to bear one with another, to Love one another, and to be always ready to pay mutual Honour and Civility, with­out expecting Retaliation. For the fre­quent violation of these Precepts is the most usual source of Hatred and Quarrels. The reason is, because that men through the violence of Self-Love desire always to live free from Injury, and look upon it as a mischief insupportable to be Con­temn'd or Disrespected: Insomuch, that if they be not Visited, if Men refuse to Sa­lute 'em, or to speak to them with Respect and Esteem, they grow presently angry and incens'd against those that so treat them with scorn and indifferency; And this same impatience transforming it self into aversion, estranges and dis-unites the affections of Men.

As for those motives that govern those who discharge the Duties of Civility out of designs purely Human, which rules the [Page 92] chiefest part of persons of Quality, is no other then a desire to be accounted such as have been vertuously educated, that they are men of Breeding and polish'd Behaviour. Therefore it is that they in­form themselves with so much curiosity of the Birth and Qualities of every per­son, tho never so little known, to the end they may not mistake in paying those Civilities that are proportionable to their Condition and their Merit.

Among the rest of Men, Civility is sometimes a fear of being otherwise look'd upon as savage Brutes, or men incapable of Discipline; but more frequently, it is fear of prejudice occasion'd by Incivility. For as we gain the Hearts of those with whom we converse, by testifying a value for their persons; so we provoke and irri­tate their ill will by slighting their Com­pany. Hence it comes to pass, that we find so many men irregular in their Man­ners, unjust and unfaithful, yet very ex­act in the exercise of Civility; because they perceive that men transgress against Civility with less impunity then they that offend against the Laws of Temperance, Fidelity, and Justice. For seeing that [Page 93] amongst all the offences committed against the Persons of Men, there is not one which he more keenly resents then that of Con­tempt; he conceives such a mortal aver­sion against those that pay him not those Honours which the common Custom of the world requires, that it is impossible for him to have any favourable sentiments for those people. So that whenever he is constrain'd to allow them those praises which he cannot refuse their persons, he always intermixes some malignant character of their failings.

Vanity has also a great share in the Ci­vility of Women: For they are overjoy'd to be oblig'd to visit their Friends, and congratulate their prosperity upon any occasion; hoping there to meet with store of Company, where they may display their Beauty, the Riches of their Habit, and exactness of their Dress.

Lastly, Custom and want of Employ­ment contribute much to the Civility of most people. Idleness, because that ha­ving nothing to do, they are glad to go a visiting where they may spend their time with some satisfaction. Custom, be­cause it draws after it all the world; and [Page 94] for that an infinite number of people go whither their obligations engage 'em, not as being led and guided by the perswa­sion of Reason, but to go where they see others go before.

Hence it is easie to conclude, that per­sons civil, honest, and careful, which we find so obliging, whom we commend, and in whom the World is so well satisfied, seek only themselves and their own satis­faction in all that they pretend to do to oblige others, and by consequence, that Civility which has no other principles then those which actuate the generality of the world, is a deceitful Vertue.

‘I Cannot endure, said Zeno, those Philosophers that place a swarm of Vertues in the Soul; for since we do not divide the sound Disposition of the Body to make several sorts of Health, why should we make several Vertues of the good Disposition of the Soul.’

This Philosopher would have been much more offended had he known all the Ver­tues which Interest has made; or had he observ'd, that in all the numerous Fami­lies in the world, especially those of Great Personages, there are several persons that exercise a certain Vertue of a particular Nature, which we may call Officious Ver­tue. For they do visibly perplex them­selves to have a share in the repose of their Confidence, they only pretend to be near their Persons for their Servants, to excuse their Faults, and commend their faithful Services.

[Page 96] But tho these persons that enjoy the Favour of Great Men, seem no way de­sirous to make any other use of their Fa­vour, but only to render it beneficial to their Servants; yet are they not without three very great conceal'd pretences: The first is, to stifle the Envy that always at­tends upon such as are in prosperity; which is a frivolous design, and without any ground. For there is nothing so diffi­cult as to cure those that are tormented with that passion; so that all we can do is to prevent their open murmuring and venting their displeasure. For all Advance­ments kindle and provoke Envy, and when she is once rais'd, let the conduct of Favourites be never so prudent and obliging, it is never able to appease it.

Their second pretence is, they are paid in the same instances of Civility. Which is a very idle pretence, and prooceeds from the little knowledg which they have of the Inclinations of man. For there is a natural malignity which can never be rooted out of the heart; which is the reason that he cannot be disposed to be really favourable and kind to those that use him well. So that if men are so oppo­site [Page 97] one to another, we labour in vain to engage any to be sincere to our Interests. For by what art can a person who stands right in the good opinion of his Prince, so order and manage the Dispositions of all his Dependants, that they shall every one support him, when they find an opportunity to advance themselves to his prejudice?

But the principal and most usual pre­tention is, for the procuring of mutual Favours, to serve them with the same zeal when their own concernments come upon the stage. For they who have the Favour of great Men, generally propose by others the scope of their desires, to sound and discover their dispositions, or because their Modesty will not permit them to speak boldly for themselves. But this last pretence is no less frivolous then the rest; since there is nothing more ap­parent then that we are generally abus'd when we rely upon the acknowledgment of men: For when an occasion presents it self, by which they hope to reap the recompence of their good offices, they find themselves deserted, or that the per­sons oblig'd only serve 'em by way of [Page 98] requital, coldly and carelesly. Then they make bitter complaints, and load with reproaches the persons that have so shame­fully fail'd 'em. But while they thus re­proach their ingratitude, they are not aware how they betray themselves, and shew that they are not of a Disposition apt to do kindness; in regard they that are truly so, find their recompence and their satisfaction in the care which they take of others, and never think of gain­ing by the kindnesses they do.

There are none then but only true Christians who sincerely desire their Neigh­bours advantages, and who for his sake only embrace all occasions to serve him in his affairs. In regard that Charity that rules in their hearts, takes from 'em those evil inclinations which they have inheri­ted from Adam; and for that God creates in 'em new Inclinations, which obliges them to do all the Kindnesses they can for others, without expecting any return to themselves.

‘DEath, says Aristotle, is the most terrible of all Miseries, because it destroys Life; and in destroying that, it ruins the foundations of the enjoy­ments of Man, and deprives him of all manner of Felicity.’ The Stoics and and Epicureans condemn this Opinion, not apprehending why they should place Death in the number of Miseries that puts an end to all our Sufferings, as the Haven and Sanctuary of the Miserable. Plato rises higher then they; ‘Death, says he, can never be a Mischief: For Man, what harm befalls him when the Soul leaves him? Moreover, how can Death be ter­rible to Man; Death, that is the only Original of his Happiness, which he cannot enjoy so long as he continues chain'd and fetter'd to the Body.’

Then again, if we are desirous to know [Page 100] what that Mischief is which we have most reason to fear, he answers, that there is no Mischief more formidable then Igno­rance: ‘For, says he, Ignorance is the Corruption of all the good Qualities in Man, we may deservedly call it the Death of the Soul.’ For as the Life of the Soul consists in acting with parts and understanding, it is apparent that when Ignorance blinds her, she is disabled from governing and regulating her own motions and the exterior actions of Man according to the orders of Reason; that is, it hinders man from living Rationally, and such a Life as is most proper to his extraction.

And among all the Vertues that ado [...]n the Soul, none adds more Splendour to it then Clemency, which arises from the universal detestation we have of Cruelty, imprinting in our minds a fair Idea of its contrary. For who does not abhor Sylla for his horrid Inhumanities committed in Rome, and loath the memory of Nero for the murther of his Mother, his Wife, and his Tutor? On the other side, we are ready to adore Titus, when we call to mind the protestation that he made to [Page 101] the Gods in Jerusalem, That he was Inno­cent of the Blood that had been spilt in the Siege of that City. And when we remem­ber his Clemency towards his Brother; for after he had discover'd the Conspi­racy of Domitius against his Life, he con­tinued him in the same Honours, and the share which he had before in the Govern­ment; and with Tears requested the Con­spirators to be Friends with him. But if we desire a true knowledg of Clemency, we must not consider the Lustre which Cruelty gives it, nor as she is in thoughts and sentiments of those on whom she bestows her Favours; nor judg of her by what she appears to be; for she is in in the number of the most glittering Ver­tues. We must behold her as she is in her self, and weigh the reasons that de­servedly incline us to question, Whether she be a real Vertue or no.

The first reason is, That those Princes who are by Historians applauded for their Clemency never exercis'd it but upon par­ticular occasions, or at most only during some part of their Reign. Now true Ver­tue carries an equality with it: ‘There must, s [...]ys Aristotle▪ be a long series of [Page 102] Vertuous Actions to make a man Vertu­ous.’ We do not find this equality in the Clemency of Julius Caesar, Augustus, or Alexander the Great, there not being one of all the three that persever'd in his Clemency. Which is visible in the con­duct of Alexander: For when he sub­dued the Province of the Cosseans, Why was not he satisfied with the punishment of those who had made some resistance, why did he not pardon the Women and Children, but put all to the Sword? The same may be said of Julius Caesar, and Augustus, both the one and the other ha­ving shew'd themselves cruel upon seve­ral occasions where they ought to have exercis'd their Clemency.

The second proof which shews us clearly the Falshood of Human Clemency, is drawn from hence, that we find it coupl'd with Cruelty in the same persons already men­tion'd. Which makes it clearly evident, that when they perform'd those acts of Clemency, their inclinations and senti­ments did not approve their present Leni­ty; and that they did not carry in their Souls that Goodness which always inclines us to Mildness and Indulgence; seeing [Page 103] that sort of Goodness is incompatible and inconsistent with the severity and rigour of Cruelty. Caesars Cruelty appear'd by the murther of a great number of the Ro­man Pretors and Consuls which he put to Death in Africa, and by that of Cos­conius and Galba, who were murthered by his Soldiers in the midst of Rome, by his Order, or at least with his Consent. The Cruelty of Augustus was apparent in the horrible Butchery of near three hun­dred Senators and two thousand Knights. That of Alexander in the Deaths of Cli­tus, Callisthenes, Philotas, and Parmenio; and by the unworthy massacre of those faithful and stout Defenders of the Free-Cities, who after they had surrenderd one City upon the Faith of Articles agreed and sign'd to, were inhumanly murder'd by his Soldiers. How then is it possible to imagine that Real and Vertuous Cle­mency should abide in su [...]h cruel and bloody Souls?

How, will some say, are the inhuman acts of these renown'd men, infa [...]lible proofs that they never had been Merci­ful? Could they not have been Merciful, and after that become Cruel? This is the [Page 104] Language of Plutarch, Quintus Curtius, and the most Historians, who after they have ascribed several Vertues to the per­sons whose Lives they write, from certain Actions evidently Vertuous, when after­wards they find the same persons liable to Vices opposite to those Vertues which they applauded in 'em, they would per­swade the World that those Vices pro­ceed from the change of their Manners, and not from their Natural Dispositions. But if I may speak my own sentiments, I must needs affirm it difficult to believ [...] ▪ that any men naturally Mild become Cruel, or that others being born Cruel become Gentle and Humane: For our In­clinations are so fix'd to the Constitution of our Being, that we may as well change the one as the other. True it is, there is a kind of alteration in our Tempera­ment, and that when the Blood is cool we are not so vehement and furious, as in the heat and impetuosity of Youth; but that this change is sufficiently preva­lent entirely to destroy our Inclinations, or that the coolness of our Blood extin­guishes our predominant passions, is that which I could never yet observe. On [Page 105] the other side, I have met with persons who at the Age of Fourscore were as cho­leric and violent, others as false and cun­ning and malicious as they were at five and twenty or thirty. I have also ob­serv'd, that tho the fear of being counted ridiculous be so powerful over all men, who have sense and understanding, yet we see persons of great Wit, who when they come to be stricken in years, and find themselves disabled by Age, yet can­not forbear their juvenile Gallantries. In a word, 'tis my opinion, that neither Age, nor Exhortation, nor Promises; nor Punish­ments, that can correct our wicked Incli­nations, when they are natural; for then the [...] withstand all things, except the God of Nature.

That which perswades people to the con [...]ary is this, because they believe that when the inclinations are wearied, or re­puls'd for a time, they are quite destroy'd. Which is the reason that some erroneously mistake Cruelty tyr'd for true Clemency. ‘Augustus, said Seneca, who after so many Murthers and Proscriptions, gave Cinna his Life, did that act of Clemency, that people might believe him Merciful:’ [Page 106] For my part, I know not how to call that person Merciful, who is weary of being Cruel. Others imagine, that per­sons who leave the Court are cur'd of Ambition, when it may be only the dis­contents of Repulses and Disappointments. Others applaud for his Liberality a man that is profuse in his Expences, not know­ing that his Vanity restrains and curbs his Avarice. Moreover, many people are de­ceiv'd, when they perswade themselves, that a man has not the same Inclinations, when they see his Inclinations do not tend to the same object; not considering, for example, that Avarice is the reason that we addict our selves to Gaming, and that we leave it off.

Besides these reasons to prove the error of that opinion, that men change their Inclinations, and of Mild become Cruel, there is one much more considerable, that is, that most people acknowledg nothing to be Cruelty but that natural Cruelty which produced those Monsters of Men, every day drunk with Human Blood, such as Herod, Nero, and Domitian; and for that they do not perceive▪ that Ambition is Furious and Cruel, and that men pos­sess'd [Page 107] with that Fury, are always ready to commit all manner of Excesses and Violences upon all those they believe to be obstacles to their designs. So that let an Ambitious man be never so Mild, so soon as he has conceiv'd a design to make his Name famous to Eternity, tho it cost him that immortal Glory which he pro­poses to himself, and to obtain it there is a necessity of Extirpating whole Nations, he makes no scruple of such Inhumani­ties. And this is the reason that great Conquerors, such as Alexander and Julius Caesar, never make it a matter of Consci­ence to use Sword or Poyson for the destruction of whatever persons stand in their way. Nevertheless it did not be­hove the Historians to say as they do, that if Alexander and Caesar were guilty of Actions so Cruel and contrary to their natural Goodness, it was an argument that their Manners and Inclinations were chang'd, because at the same time that they shew'd themselves most Cruel, they also shew'd several acts of Clemency. But if we would judg rationally of those per­sons, and understand to what principle we ought to refer their different Conduct, [Page 108] we must make a recollection of all the Actions of their Lives. For then we shall see that they were persons that burn'd with an eager Ambition to acquire a more then ordinary Renown, or to obtain the Soveraign Power, and were so master'd by the interest of their Ambition, that they did whatever their Ambition requir'd. So that when their Ambition thought it proper to pardon their greatest Enemies, how cruel soever they naturally were, they pardon'd without any trouble. If their interest or ambition requir'd them to cut the Throats of their best Friends, they condescended with the same ease. So that they were cruel at the same time that they dispens'd their Favours, because they were as ready to put to Death those they had pardon'd, if [...]e condition of their Affairs requir'd it. Whence it is easie to conclude, that the Cl [...]mency of Alexan­der, Augustus, and Caesar, so highly ap­plauded, was only Policy. Nor is there any farther Question to be made of this, when we consider, that Alexander's first Behaviour in Asia was courteous and ge­nerous, as being then requisite to make himself belov'd by the principal Officers [Page 109] of his Army, and the persons of Quality that follow'd him. Besides, that it was also a snare which he laid for the people which he design'd to subdue. On the contrary, his behaviour towards his lat­ter end was rigorous and inhuman, thro his mistrust and jealousie of his most faith­ful Servants and best Friends, whom he put to Death with so much ingratitude and cruelty. The same may be said of Caesar and Augustus. For Augustus in his latter years shew'd himself Merciful, to try whether his Clemency would succeed better then his Cruelty; and be a means to qualifie the Hatred which the people had of his Tyranny. As for Caesar, every one knows, that at the same time that he receiv'd Cicero, and several other consi­derable persons that gave a lustre to his Party, with so much lenity and mildness, he Banish'd and put to Death all that would not bend their knees before him, and implore his Mercy, with submissions altogether adject and unseemly. Plutareh relates, that Sylla took the same course, and that when he massacred seven thou­sand of the Roman Citizens, he carefully preserv'd those that were his devoted [Page 110] Slaves. The same Author adds, that the same person had no respect to the Quality of the Crimes, but that he par­doned all that favour'd his proceedings, or whom he hop'd to gain to his party; and punished with Death the slightest Offences of those that were not by [...]ss'd by his Interests. Such was the Disposi­tion of these Victors and Emperors, some­times Mild, sometimes Cruel, and some­times both together; employing both their Vertues and their Vices, and making use of whatever may be serviceable to in­crease their Empires.

The Clemency of Nero at his first ad­vancement to the Empire was the effect of a refin'd and singular Policy. For he knew so exactly how to restrain and conceal the savage Barbarity of his Natu­ral Disposition, and to appear soft and good natur'd, that during the first five years of his Reign, his Subjects could not but applaud his Lenity and Indul­gence; while he deservedly Glory'd, that in all that time he had not shed one drop of Blood through the whole extent of his Empire. Domitian imitated Him in his Clemency, to the end that like him he [Page 111] might afterwards fly out into all manner of Cruelty. In a word, the Clemency of these two Tyrants was feign'd and concerted, artificial and deceitful. And we say, that it was a sly trick, like that of some Beasts, that suffer people to come near and handle 'em, that they may the more easily devour the people so deluded within their reach.

The good Humour of Princes is fre­quently the cause of their Clemency; whe­ther that good Humour proceed from the Disposition of their Bodies, or from some secret satisfaction of their desires and pas­sions. For as often as we are pleased our selves we have an Inclination to please others, and to grant 'em what they de­sire, and what they earnestly request.

When Clemency is too frequent and customary with a Prince, it is so far from being a Vertue, that it is in him the ex­tinction of all Royal Vertues; as being a quality so mischievous to his Domini­ons, that it is the most general cause of their Ruin. It is an ignorance of the use and necessity of Justice; ‘Without which, says St. Austin, Commonwealths and Empires are but numerous Societies [Page 112] of Robbers.’ 'Tis a false and ill-extended Goodness, a cruel Lenity, and a vitious Indifference in reference to public Order and Repose. Such was the Clemency which Titus affected after he obtained the Empire; nor can we forbear, notwith­standing his being call'd, The Delight of Mankind, to censure the Oath which he swore, Never to put any man to Death, which was an Oath by which he was en­gaged in the sight of Heaven to be the Protector of Robbers and Homicides, to authorize all sorts of Attempts and Con­spiracies, and to ranverse and destroy the Empire. As for that Oath which Nerva took at his first reception into the Senate, that he would never suffer any Senator to be condemn'd to Death for any Crime whatsoever, it was only a sneaking Com­pliment which he put upon the Senators, disapprov'd by themselves, and which gave occasion to the Roman Consul to utter this generous Expression: 'Tis a great Misfortune to Live under a Prince that oppresses his Subjects, and commands them as his Slaves; But it is a much grea­ter Misery, to Live under a Prince that gives them their full swinge, and prostitutes [Page 113] all things to their Licentious Pleasure. If therefore we desire to know the real cause of the Clemency of these two Emperors, we shall find it to be only a secret Fear of being destroy'd by the Factions of the Great Men, or massacr'd by the People, as almost all their Predecessors had been. For Vitellius, Otho, Nero, and Caligula, who all preceded Titus, had every one suffer'd untimely Deaths by that means; and Nerva ascending the Throne, found it besmear'd with the Blood of Domitian. And this we shall find to be true, especially in respect of Titus, when we consider, that Mildness was by no means his Natural temper; for his Consulship was so cruel, that it was publickly said, That if he suc­ceeded in the Empire, he would prove a second Nero.

But notwithstanding that there are se­veral false kinds of Clemency, it does not hinder but that there may be a real sort of Clemency; and that this real and vertu­ous Clemency may be a great Ornament to a Soveraign Prince. The true Cha­racters whereof are as follow:

Now we know, that altho the proper function of Clemency is either absolutely [Page 114] to remit those punishments which Offen­ders have deserv'd, or to remit something of their rigour; and so all that are in Authority and have power to punish, may in some measure be said to be Merciful; Nevertheless, in regard that Fathers and Tutors have no other Punishment at their disposal then only such as are call'd Cha­stisements; since they who have the power of Life and Death, as the Judges, are not able to hinder the effects of their Sen­tences, and therefore that only Soveraign Princes have only power to save those whom the Law has condemn'd to Dye; all the World must grant, That Clemency is the Vertue of Kings. ‘Fortune, said Cicero to Caesar, could do nothing greater for Thee, then to make Thee Master of the Lives of Men. And the Goodness of thy Natural temper can inspire Thee with nothing more generous, then with a Will to make use of thy Power to the ease of the Distressed.’ So that Cle­mency may well be call'd the last Refuge of Man: ‘For in regard the Laws are deaf, severe, and inexorable, the con­dition of Man, says Livy, would be ex­treamly unhappy, if being so frail as it [Page 115] is, there were no way to escape their Rigour but by Innocency.’

This weakness and frailty of Man is the first foundation of the Royal Clemency. For upon many occasions that touch him to the quick, and surprize him, as for ex­ample, when a Man sees his Brother slain before his eyes, such a sight so strongly moves his natural Affection, that he pur­sues the Mur [...]herers like a Madman, even to the exposing of his own Life. This is therefore that which a Clement Prince considers; for as he is always disposed graciously to [...]lend an Ear to all that may excuse a suppliant Criminal he willingly admits such an allegation, that the Often­der kill'd the Man only to revenge his Brothers Death; that he had not time to consult his reason upon so short a warn­ing, and [...] he was transported by his Natural Affections.

Crimes also committed by accident and misfortune are a second ground of Royal Clemency. For if Crimes voluntarily committed may be thought to deserve Pardon, because the force of Natural Af­fection has constrain'd the Will into Acti­on; with much more reason ought those [Page 116] Crimes to be pardon'd, which a man commits contrary to his Intention, as the French Gentleman, who shooting at a Wild Boar, kill'd his near Kinsman and one of his dearest Friends.

Justice also is a third ground of Royal Clemency. For they justly exercise it in favour of those Offenders, whose Crimes are less than the Services which they have done the Public; and some regard may be also had to the Deserts of their An­cestors. For Punishments, as Plato has observ'd, were not ordain'd to prevent the Criminal Acts, since all the severity of Law, and all the power of Soveraignty cannot prevent their being committed; nor does Justice in the Sentences of Death propose the Amendment of those that are executed: Therefore the Legislators had no other aim in ordering the Pu­nishments of Crimes, than to procure the public Good; that is, to terrifie the Wick­ed, and prevent Honest people from be­ing debauch'd by their bad example. So that, as the Public Interest excuses the Cruelty of the Law, and all Men ap­prove the Executing of Robbers and no­torious Villains: The same Public Good [Page 117] justifies the Clemency of Princes in saving from an ignominious Death, such as have signaliz'd themselves in Defence of their King and Country; by which means their good Service has been more beneficial to the Kingdom, than the Fact which they committed, or the bad Example given was ever prejudicial.

There was something of particular rarity in the Clemency of Theodosius: For he punish'd his Anger by his Clemency; and never fail'd to make use of it towards those that had incens'd him, even to trans­portment. So that they were sure to be pardon'd the Offences which they com­mitted against him, who had but the Ad­dress to provoke him to Rage.

As for the Character of true Clemency, by which we may know and distinguish it from that which is false; Cicero tells us. ‘That real Clemency agrees with Justice.’ ‘A Wise Prince, said the Stoics, ought not to have that effemi­nate Pity which cannot endure the Pu­nishment of Offenders; rather he ought to preser the wholesom Rigour of the Law before the Dictates of a tend [...] Disposition.’

[Page 118] But because the Moral Vertues are only imperfect Vertues, and for that they can­not be perfect nor accomplish'd, if not practis'd by motives Divine and Super­natural, Kings that have a desire to be Vertuously Clement, must raise themselves above the common motives and conside­rations, and in all their Gracious Acts propose to themselves the imitation of that God who has so bountifully display'd his own Mercy in the Redemption of Mankind from an Eternity-of Torment.

WE may say of Human Vertues, what is usually said of Men, that they are born, some under Good, some under Bad Constellations. For there are some Vertues that are so extreamly admir'd and have that wonderful success in the world; others so little regarded, that they scarce deserve to be rank'd in the number of Vertues. For in truth we find, that Generosity, Clemency, and Magna­nimity, and some other Vertues of the same nature, are not only the object▪ of the People's Admiration, but also the sub­jects of the [...]ncomiums of persons of the most rational parts: Whereas Humility and Mildness are hardly known; their ill [...]ate being like that of Flowers overgrown with Weeds: For as Flowers that [...]ye so conceal'd lose not their lo [...]ely colour, so neither do those obscure Vertues c [...]se to be high [...]y valuable.

[Page 120] To be convinc'd of this Truth, we have no more to do than to examine, what is the Office of Mildness, and to compare it with Clemency, to which it seems to be nearly related. For we shall find that Clemency indeed shines with a geater Luster, but that there is more of Merit in Mildness. And that which proves it so to be is this, That Princes are not sensible of most Crimes but out of their Duty, and that their Clemency not being able to with­stand their Sentiments, they put no con­straint upon themselves when they grant their Pardons; whereas Mildness has to deal with the boyling Motions of Choler, which rise in a Person, touch'd to the quick in his concerns of Honour, or unjustly di­sturb'd in his Interests. And this gives to Mildness a wonderful advantage over Cle­mency; and makes it evident at the same time, that we cannot rationally prefer any Vertue before that, and has the power to subdue a Passion so violent as Choler.

Aristotle lessens the Merit of Mildness; for he deprives her of a part of her Em­ployment, for he maintains ‘That the Office of this Vertue is not absolutely to destroy, but only to moderate Choler. [Page 121] And the reason that perswades him, is this, because he believes that Choler is natural to a Man, when he concludes that it is also beneficial to him, since Na­ture does nothing in vain. Thereupon he assures us, that it serves him as a Goad that spurrs him awake, and pricks him forward to undertake with vigor Mag­nanimous and Great Actions. Farther he says, That Choler creates the Cou­rage of the Valiant, and the vehemency of Orators, and that it had a share as well in the Hand of Demosthenes, as in the Fame of Themistooles; and then he adds, That Choler is not only useful to Man, but that it is also absolutely neces­sary. For it is in him, as the Handmaid of Reason, whose Commands she exe­cutes with fervency, and assists him in the discharge of his principal Devoi [...]s. Moreover, it is Choler that strengthens and enables a Man to surmount the Ob­stac [...]es which he meets with in the pur­suit of those Enjoyments requisite for his own preservation, and to repel the in­juries of those that seek his Ruine. Therefore says he, this Passion is no dis­honour to any Person, provided, the vi­olencies [Page 122] of his Thoughts are proportion­able to his Provocations; and that he observe the Rules of Justice in his Re­venge. On the other side, all Men cen­sure those who take notice of the inju­ries that are done to 'em, and rank insen­sible Persons in the number of Fools, who are void of all knowledge and sentiment, and look upon good or bad with the same indifferency. Lastly, says he, Cho­ler is grounded upon Reason, and arises from a sense of injury unjustly done us, which is the reason, that while Pleasure, which nothing can justify, as proceeding from intemperance, enters secretly into the Heart of Man, on purpose to surprize him; Choler breaks forth and openly demands the reparation of Injuries; and shews us, that she is not asham'd to ap­pear, and by consequence that Choler is no ill thing.’ This is the opinion of Aristotle, according to which, a mild per­son is such a one as suffers himself to be angry and in a Passion, and he that is ne­ver mov'd is only an effeminate Fool.

But in regard [...]he most solid and ratio­nal Philosophers have gain-said this Opi­nion, it will be an easy thing to ruine his [Page 123] Arguments, and to shew, that Anger is not natural to a Man, that it is evil in it self, and in its effects, and so far from being Rea­son in the execution of her Commands, that it only perplexes, precipitates and be­trays those Orders.

Now that we may find out whether Cho­ler be natural to Man, it is requisite that we should describe this furious Passion, and oppose it to the Passion in Man; And first let us represent it, as it came from the hands of Nature, and as the Philoso­phers and Poets have depainted it in their admirable descriptions of the Golden Age. For the Opinions of the one, and the Ficti­ons of the other, says Lactantius, are no idle Dreams and Imaginations, but the perfect Images of the Manners of Primi­tive Mankind, and draughts of State of Innocency.

‘The First Men, say they, were real in their Words, faithful in their Promises, and just in their Proceedings.’ They observed Justice in every thing, not for fear of the Law, but meerly of their own Inclinations.

‘They look'd upon one another as Bre­thren, and finding themselves so streight­ly linked to the same Nature, they had a tender Love one for another, and che­rish'd that Love with warmth of those mutual kindnesses they did each other.’

They never parted their Vineyards or Fields, nor ever enclosed their Gardens; they never appropriated to themselves the Gifts and Guards of Heaven, nor look'd upon the Benefits of Nature as their own in particular, which Nature had bestowed in common.

They were Mild, Humane, and ready to do good Turns, and what they got to­gether by their Labour and good Hus­bandry, their Bounty the next moment shar'd to others, so that their Milk, their Wine, seemed like streams, which flow­ing [Page 125] from their own Houses held on their course to the Habitations of their Neigh­bours.

This was the natural description of Man, Now let us hear a description of Choler.

‘Choler, says Seneca, is an impatient desire of Revenge, a fervent and obsti­nate desire of Ruine. She calls for no­thing but Weapons, delights in nothing but Blood, and runs headlong to the de­struction of others: When she is onc upon the full speed, neither Decency, nor the remembrance of past Benefits, nor the force of Friendship, nor the senti­ments of Nature can stop her, but being deaf to all the Remonstrances of Reason, nor able to discern either Truth or Ju­stice; She is wholly intent upon the sa­tisfaction of her Fury, making oft-times no distinction between the Guilty and the Innocent, and frequently involving her self in the Ruine of others.’

This is so faithful a Portraicture of Cho­ler, that Aristotle depaints it himself al­most after the same manner. Choler, says he, hears Reason, but just like those hair­brain'd Servants, that will not allow them­selves Patience to understand what their Master says, and run headlong to obey their Commands, e'r they know what their Errand is. ‘It is also like those Curs that bark at Friends and Foes alike, as soon as they knock at the Door.’ These Comparisons are true, and it is apparent to every one, that so soon as Reason has gi­ven this impetuous Passion but a sight of that Scorn or Contempt which she has received, it presently betakes it self to Arms, never staying till Reason has de­clared the nature of the Injury, or what satisfaction she expects.

By these two indifferent Portraictures we may perceive how opposite Choler is to the Nature of Man, whose Inclinations lead him to the Comfort and Advantage [Page 127] of those who are like him in Creation, whereas Choler breaths nothing but their Damage and Destruction: So that in truth, unless we deny Man to be Man, we cannot presume to say that a Vice so inhumane and pernicious is natural to him. Of which we may be fully convinc'd, if we do but consider, that the Virtue which cures all the distempers of the Soul, and restores her to her Natural Condition, en­dues her with a strange abhorrency of doing evil to any one whatever. ‘The designing of Injury, says Plato, is not com­parable with a Man of Worth; now it is the property of Anger to meditate Mischief; therefore Anger is incompara­ble with a Man of Worth. Moreovel, says the Philosopher, Choler rejoyces in the punishment of another, which is an affliction to a Person of Worth. To which we may add the s [...]y [...]ng of St. Tho­mas, That God takes no pleasure to be­hold the sufferings of the Damned, but only in the order of his Justice, which punishes 'em, and has regulated their se­veral Penalties.’ Besides it is most cer­tain that Virtue not only renders Man in­capable of doing injury, but disposes [Page 128] him to bear with the wrongs which others do him. And that we may leave nothing unsaid upon this Subject, we must observe that a Wise Man, such as Aristotle, and the greatest of the Philosophers represent him, never believes he receives an injury, and consequently that he is no way oblig'd to Revenge.

The Paripateties complain against the Stoics; alledging their accusation to be unjust, that they uphold Anger. Since they only defend that Passion which fol­lows the Dictates of Reason, which is ne­ver kindl'd, but when it ought, and as much as it ought to be; and which in the reparation of Injuries never violates the Laws of Equity. But they complain with­out a cause, and justify as weakly what is laid to their charge; for if there be any such Passion in Man, which never shews it self but by the Dictates of Reason; if there be any such thing as Anger, that ne­ver pretends in doing mischief, but one to the Correction and Profits of our Neigh­bour, it only carries the Name of Anger, but precipitates nothing of its Nature; since it is the proper Character of Anger not to listen to Reason, to withstand it, [Page 129] and to delight in the punishment of him that does the Injury.

However, some will say, this is no such Passion, as is bred in the Irascible Appe­tite, Blind, Violent, and Frantick, and which for the slightest offences flies out in­to Rage and Fury. This is at the same time inform'd, soften'd and regulated by Rea­son, and requires nothing from the Per­son injur'd, but that he take a Revenge suitable to the wrong received. I Answer, That if the Motive that excites us to en­damage another, aims only at particular Profit, which is the end that Men propose in punishing, or the publick advantage, which is that of Ministers of Justice, It is both just and reasonable: But if it tend to the hurt of the Person; that is, if it be a desire of Revenge, and to reap our sa­tisfaction from the pain or vexation which the Party suffers, it is a Motive malicious, cruel, brutish, and no way becoming a Man. Now such is Choler, by the very Confession of Aristotle himself. For he defines it to be, ‘A lively and importu­nate resentment of the Injury done us, which cannot be appeased or separated, but by the pleasure of Revenge.’ So that [Page 130] let our Anger be abated to never so low a degree, yet so long as it is Anger, 'twill be a desire of Revenge, and a Passion that rejoyces in the harm which another suf­fers.

Having thus demonstrated Choler to be evil in its Nature, it will be easy also to shew that it is as pernicious in its Effects, and that they who are most subject to it, are the first that feel their violence, as if it were against them that Anger seems to turn her Fury. For no sooner is it kind­led in the Breasts of those Men, but it displays it self in their Countenances, di­sturbs and alters their Looks in an instant, brings all the Blood into the Faces of some, while others grow pale upon the same oc­casion. The Eyes dart forth furious Glan­ces, a sierce and wild Aspect threatens all the World, and in a word, all the Natu­ral signs of Madness appear in the Person thus anger'd, which was the reason that the Ancients call'd it a short Frenzie. We are really Fools, said Philemon, as often as we are Angry.

I forbear to tell how it disorders the ve­ry Speech of those who are master'd by it; I shall only say this, That Men other­wise [Page 131] wary and prudent, when they are under the Controul of this Passion, utter many things contrary to Reason and De­cency. Which is so true, that Homer, so jealous of his Hero's Honour, and lest he should say or do any thing to wound it, yet cannot forbear, when he represents Achilles in anger, to make him reproach Agamemn [...]n after a manner very scurrilous and unworthy, not only of a Hero, but of an ordinary Person.

But let this suffice for the External Po­stures of a Person inflam'd with Choler: Let us but consider the terrible Confusion with which this Passion torments him within; the violence that transports him, the various Designs that agitate his Brain, the number of Thoughts that darken his Understanding, the sundry Fancies and restless Desires that pester and intangle his Resolutions, and we may easily perceive by the disorder of his Soul, and by the various Emotions, which Plutarch calls his Convulsions, that she is really dislodged from the natural Seat of her Repose. And therefore we cannot apprehend why Ari­stotle should affirm Pleasure to be a more dangerous Evil than Choler, because, says [Page 132] he ‘That Choler gives Reason leave to speak, and receives her Orders, thô it mistake in the execution; whereas Plea­sure insinuates her self into the Heart, and gets the Victory over it before Rea­son can be consulted.’ For if such an Au­thor may be contradicted, rather quite the contrary is in truth to be made out: inso­much that the Philosopher seems not to have understood the Nature of the Moti­ons of those two Passions. For it is ap­parent that Anger is suddain and violent; Pleasure less violent, and rash; that Cho­ler will not suffer Reason to meddle in the least; whereas Pleasure permits her to de­liberate and judge, thô she labours all the while to corrupt her Judgment.

It now remains to shew, that Choler is of no use, and so far from being Rea­son's Officer, as Aristotle calls it, that it only consounds and betrays her Com­mands.

The opinion of the Perip [...]teticks, Epi­cureans, and generally of all Philosophers, who maintain Choler to be useful, pro­ceeds from another opinion of theirs, that Choler is as it were a Guardianess That Nature has provided for Man, to watch [Page 133] over the preservation of all his common and particular Rights, and insp [...]res him both with a desire and strength to defend them. For, say they, this Passion en­ables him to repel Injuries which he re­ceives from his Enemies, and arms him to succour his Friends, his Kindred, and his Country; it assists Parents and Tutors in the Education of Youth, and Magistrates in the punishment of Crimes. That with­out her, Man would abandon his most important Duties, and prove unprofitable both to himself and others. These are their most considerable Reasons.

But we deny, that Choler is assisting to Man in the discharge of his principal Duties; in regard experience tells us, that the Passions usually are the Principles of vertuous Actions, which man performs; of himself; and that this is the only foun­dation upon which the whole Machine moves. Only we say, that it was for want of observing the nature of Choler, that those Philosophers affirm'd it useful for the service of Reason in private Re­venges, in the punishment of Crimes, in the Chastizing of Servants and Children, and in magnanimous Actions. For that [Page 134] which Anger has common with the other Passions, is to prevent the D [...]ctates of Rea­son, and darken the Understanding; but the particular qualities of it are, to be most impetuous and violent, and not able to contain it self. Which is evident in private Revenges, where a man to do himself an imaginary right, most mon­strously violates the Rules of Justice; while nothing will serve him to wash off a petty contempt, but the Blood of him that is by the Bonds of Nature so nearly related to him; sometimes losing his own Lise to recover that which was never lost. Which is the reason that God has reserv'd Vengeance to himself; and that the Laws commit the reparation of Injuries only to the Impartial, that never receiv'd them.

As for the punishment of Crime [...], who knows not that it is one of the greatest Encomiums that can be given to a Judg, to be as sedate and calm as the Law it self?

[Page 135] ‘A Judg, says Seneca, should appear upon the Tribunal with such an Aspect as we imagine should be that of the Law, calm and free from the emotions of Ha­tred and Choler.’ And to speak the Truth, How can we fix this cruel Passi­on in the Breast of a Generous Magistrate, who at the same time that he adjudges a Criminal to deserve death, has not the least motion of Hatred against his Per­son? who having nothing but Mildness in his Soul, at the same time that there ap­pears such a severity in his Sentences, is so far from satisfying his Animositiy in pu­nishing the Offender, that he gives to him as well as to the Publick an evident Testi­mony of his Affection? For what can be more advantageous than to rid the Public of a Criminal, to prevent the corruption of his ill example? And what greater kind­ness, saith Seneca, can he shew the Of­fender, whose Life has been so prejudici­al, than to render his Death profitable, by putting an end to his Crimes, which he could not do himself?

[Page 136] The same is to be said for the chastising of Servants and Children; where Choler sometimes will not permit us to observe any Moderation; and for that it is impos­sible to exercise those punishments in our Passion, but that we shall have some rea­son afterwards to repent our severity. And therefore it is requisite to delay those chastisements for some time after the Fault committed. ‘I would chastise thee, said Socrates to his Servant, if I were not in wrath.’ Plato having the Rods in his Hand to correct his own Servant, made a suddain stop, because he found his Pas­sion up; At what time Speusippus en­tring accidentally into his Chamber, see­ing him in that posture, and demanding what he was about to do? ‘I am cha­stising my self, said he and punishing the Person wherewith I was going about to chastise one of my Servants, by refusing my anger that satisfaction which it de­sires.’ We take no care to follow those wholsome Precepts, and Examples: If we delay our Corrections, we neglect 'em altogether; which shews that we do not correct our Servant or our Children for their benefit, but in revenge of the [Page 137] little Trespasses which they commit; the one for their disobedience, the others be­cause they do not serve us to our good liking. However, ought we not to ac­knowledge, says Theophrastus, that Anger may be serviceable to a good Man to ex­cite his exclamations against the wicked? Upon this condition, answers Seneca, ‘That the better he is, the more his Vertue shall encrease with his Anger. Other­wise, saith Plutarch, he shall be con­strain'd to be in a rage against those that are already transported with Passion, and fall into the very fault which he reproves.’ But Seneca adds, What can a vitious Man have in the persons of those that are vitious and irregular? Is it their proneness to Evil, and their unhappy Frailty? If so, he ought to be inflam'd against himself, as partaking of humane Infirmity with them. For if he do not acknowledge it in himself he is utterly mistaken: and if he only blames it in others, he is unjust. Besides, how vir­tuous soever a Man may be, well he knows, that he is usually esteem'd much better than he is, and that the publick testimony is much more favourable to [Page 138] him, than that of his own Conscience. He knows well that he is subject to a thou­sand Infirmities; and how can he behold with Indignation the slips and failings of others, and censure 'em with Rigor, He who himself has need of their Indulgence? It is evident then, that the disposition of Wise Men in respect of the wicked, can be no sour and lofty disposition, that puts 'em forward to reproach their evil Lives; but a disposition mild and chari­table, that pities their own miscarriages and labours their Reformation. ‘The Spirit of Wisdom is a loving Spirit, ac­cording to the Sacred Oracle of Scrip­ture. And there is no greater Testimony of Goodness, says Aristotle, than that which we give to a Man, when we assist him in the recovery of Vertue.’

The last Reason that Aristotle brings to prove the benefit of Anger, is this, For that the heat of Choler shares in all war­like Atchievements. To which we An­swer, That if a Great Commander has need of being animated with this Passion, to foresee the designs of his Enemies to range his Army in Battalia, to give out his Or­ders to manage the Combat, and be him­self [Page 139] in the heat of the Conflict; we may thence conclude, that he cannot be vali­ant, unless he be transported, and that he must be beside himself to manage any dan­gerous Enterprize. But for all that, we cannot but admire the General of an Ar­my, who is always [...] of himself in Fight, even when danger most surprizes him. For we find that the Valour not on­ly of Commanders, but of private Soldi­ers is most to be relyed on▪ and most equal­ly prov'd, where it is least boyling and precipitate. ‘Therefore, says Plutarch, the Lacedemonians, before they joyn Battel, order'd the Flutes and Cornets to play certain soft and melting Airs, on pur­pose to temper the heat and fury of the Soldiers.’ Lastly, if we do but reflect upon those barbarous People who have no other courage, then I know not what kind of natural Rage, that they never go to Fight in cold Blood, but as they are smitten with the Image of the Injury which they often have, or believe they have received, they fling themselves into the thickest of the Enemy, without any Order or Government; but then it hap­pens that notwithstanding the strength of [Page 140] their Bodies, their ability to endure the rigors of all Seasons, and the hardships of War, and notwithstanding the fury of their Onsets, they are frequently van­quish'd by People more tender and soft­en'd by Luxury and Pleasure. Story tells us, and every one knows after what man­ner the Romans handled the Cimbrians, hideous for Bulk and Stature, and ter­rible for their Aspects, who had already passed the Alps with an intention to Sack Rome, and ransack all Italy, yet vanquish'd by Marius in several Great and Bloody Battels. So that if the natural Fury of Sa­vage People, be not sufficient to make Men truly valiant, how shall we believe that Choler, no less Blind, no less Wild, and Impetuous should be the Soul of Va­lour?

But whence then comes it to pass, that the Poets call Courage a Noble and Ge­nerous Indignation, and that all the World takes Anger for Valour? It pro­ceeds from hence, that Choler has certain Qualities that resemble Valour. First, it is Rash, and thence they believe it Active: It is Obstinate, and that passes for Stout­ness: 'Tis Terrible, and that renders it [Page 141] Formidable; and then it is boldly Da­ring, which makes People imagine it to be Couragious. ‘The Vulgar, says Se­neca, take those that are inflam'd with Choler, for persons brave and couragi­ous.’

A Second Cause of this mistake is this, That the vehemence of Choler is taken for the strength of the Soul; whereas on the other side, it is a demonstrative proof of its weakness; for this same Passion growing in the Soul like a Tempest, rears it up, and drives it impetuously to and fro; So that altho to outward appearance the Soul may seem to act with vigor and strength, it is really a violent Force that tumbles and tosses her like an anger'd Sea. Which is more manifestly discover'd from hence; that Choler more easily gets the Mastery of Women than Men; of the Sick People than Healthy; of Age, than Youth; of Men that live in Plenty and softned by Delights, than of the unfortunate har­den'd by Persecutions and Adversities.

As to what the Peripateticks affirm, that Anger is serviceable to Eloquence, there can be nothing more weak and ground­less; and to which it will be sufficient to [Page 142] answer with Cicero, ‘That it is enough for an Orator to appear in a Passion, but there is no necessity he should be really angry; and it is so far from being necessary, that he should be in passion, that it is a dangerous thing for him to be so; since the perfection of Eloquence, according to Quintilian, consists in speak­ing all that he ought to speak, and not in speaking precisely no more than he ought; but that Choler never speaks as it ought to speak▪ but always that which it ought not.’ Therefore Caius Gracchus, a Great Orator, yet one that chas'd him­self so immoderately in Talking, that he sometimes confounded himself by chang­ing the Tone of his Voice, had one of his Servants alway standing behind him, who when his Voice was out of Tune, Tun'd it again by means of a certain Instrument formerly us'd to keep the Voice to a con­stant pitch.

In the Second place we answer, That there is a great difference between the ve­hemence of an Orator, and that of Cho­ler. The First is nothing but the strength of Reason forcibly expressed by Words, by the Tune of the Voice, and agreeable [Page 143] Gestures: and this Vehemence never fails of making an impression and perswading. The Second transports an Orator, troubles, distracts, disorders his Gesture and Acti­on; and by that means conveying his own disorder into the Minds of the Hearers, puts 'em all in a hurry and confusion; Be­sides, that it is so unacceptable, that it alienates the affection of the Hearers.

Now if we have a mind to view the Rock against which Renowned Aristotle so desperately splits himself, he discovers it to us himself, where he says, ‘That we are to consider the Passions as the Arms of Vertue. And where he says farther, That we are to make use of Choler, as of a Soldier, and never suffer it to Command within us, or do the Office of a Captain.’ Whence it is visible this Great Philosopher thought that Men might weild their Cho­ler like a Sword, which we take up, or lay down, thrust forward, or draw back as we please our selves; which is a very great Error, since there is no person so stu­pid, who does not perceive that if the Passions be Arms, they are Weapons that Fight of themselves, as Seneca says, and of which we may affirm Man to be so little [Page 144] the Master, that on the contrary they ra­ther keep Man in subjection. As for what he says, that Reason ought to take upon her the Conduct of Anger; he supposes there that Reason is separated from Cho­ler, that she considers its Emotions in re­pose and security, and that they have Seats apart; whereas they are both toge­ther in the Soul. And therefore so soon as the Passion of Anger is kindled, it transports the Soul, and extinguishes within her the sight of Reason. So that all that Reason can do, is to employ all her Industries to prevent its growth; for, if she suffer Choler once to get a head she evidently endangers her seit, to be at the mercy of that powerful and imperi­ous Passion.

It is also certain that Reason knows how to make a good use of Choler in regard it is the Natural Property of Choler to deprive Man of the use of Reason; And for that this Passion is too blind, and too violent to be under Conduct; besides that, the desire of Mischief and Revenge is inseparable from its Nature. But it is not so with Zeal, which animates all true Christians, to which the Holy Fathers [Page 145] have sometime given the Name of Anger, tho it arise from the Sensitive Appetite, as it is there produc'd by the Love of God, in whose Service it is but just that all the Powers of the Soul should be em­ploy'd: and let it be never so forcible or vehement, its strength and vehemence are still obedient to the Dictates of Rea­son. A zealous Preacher cries out vehe­mently against Sinners, but he is no way exasperated against 'em, nor doth he carry any Animosities in his Heart, while he reproves and reproaches them in his Words. On the other side, when Men are in Anger, they chide and punish with Ani­mosity; and at the same time that they discharge themselves from these obliga­tions of Charity, they wrong tender Ver­tue every hour. Therefore saith St. Augu­stin, ‘The most quick-sighted Philoso­phers, and whose Opinions approach nearest to Truth, believe that Choler is absolutely evil, because, say they, the slightest Emotions of it are malici­ous and irregular, and that forces us to sin against Reason at the very time, when we do that which Reason commands us: We ought to have the same opinion of all [Page 146] the Humane Passions, adds the Holy Do­ctor; They resemble that Selve-Love that gives 'em Birth; they are vehement disorderly, and vicious like that; where­as the Fears and Joys, the Sorrows, and other Passions of Christians that derive themselves from Charity, are Peaceable, Mild, Prudent, and Moderate.’

If Human Passions then be so contrary to Reason, that it is impossible that Rea­son should be serviceable to 'em, we may easily conclude, That it is not the office of Mildness to reduce Choler to that point of Moderation, set down by Aristotle, to which so soon as it is reduced, becomes virtuous; but to withstand all its Emoti­ons, and so to extinguish 'em, that no­thing may be able to re-kindle 'em. There­fore Mildness can never be sufficiently ex­toll'd, if the same Mildness, of which some Persons make a shew in their pro­ceedings, were a real Vertue, and if it effectually carried off the tartness and bit­tetness of Choler, whereas it only seem­ingly removes it, as I am going to make out.

[Page 147] If we had a true Idea of the Condi­tion of Man, or if we knew that he is possessed with a Self-Love altogether vi­olent and erroneous, and that this Self-Love renders him impetuous, wild, and inhuman; the knowledge of this would spare us the trouble of shewing that Mild­ness is no real Vertue, since no body be­ing deceiv'd by the seeming Mildness of a Person, that never was transported with Passion in his Life, all Men would judge of him as of a Lyon, which we still be­lieve to be fierce and cruel, tho we see him to be gentle and obedient to his Go­vernor; and would be so far from pro­nouncing such a person Mild and Peace­able, that they would think it sufficient to say he was Tam'd.

But what is it that has the Power to tame a Man? Either the Kindness that is done him, or the Benefit which he hopes to receive: which is apparent from hence, that the Favourites of Kings and Princes, and all Servants that are particularly be­loved by their Masters, suffer their cross Humors, and sometimes their Rebukes and Repulses with an extraordinary Mildness, so that that which makes it appear that th [...]s [Page 148] Mildness is only a Violence put upon their natural Inclinations is this, That at the same time that they shew themselves so Mild to those upon whom their whole Fortune depends, they unchain themselves against all others, like tamed Lyons that only quit their wildness in the presence of their Governors that feed 'em.

This same Mildness proceeds also very frequently from the fear of being put to shame. For Pride, which inflames Man with a continual desire to make himself the Master of others, causes him to be asham'd every time that he finds himself transport­ed with Choler, and that it appears he is not Master of himself.

Sometimes Mildness is only a vain and ambitious desire to triumph over a violent Passion, that triumphs over the most part of Man; which sort of Vanity is to be met with in Magistrates, in Philosophers, and all those that labour for Moderation, and would be thought prudent Persons.

In other Persons Mildness is a desire to gain to themselves the Love of all Men, particularly of those with whom they as­sociate. For there are some Vertues, as Valour, Generosity, and Magnanimity, [Page 149] which give us admission into the Breasts of Men, and fix us in their Esteem; others, as Mildness and Goodness which open their Hearts, and attract their Friend­ship.

Love of Peace and Repose obliges ma­ny People engaged in Marriage, to re­strain their natural Ardor and Impatiency, and to imitate the Manners and Customs of Mild and Moderate Persons, because they find no better way to keep Peace at home, than to give their Wives, their Children, and their Servants a good ex­ample.

Mildness in Dispute is a secret desire we have to vanquish our Opponents, which is an effect of our experience, that Heat in Disputes troubles and confounds the Judgment, which is the reason we for­bear to chase our selves; to the end, that being in perfect possession of our selves, we may be able to explain our selves with clearness and force, which is the most probable way to prevail. The same is to be said of Mildness in Negotiations; For it is a Moderation which we never re­gard, but only to get an advantage over those with whom we n [...]goti [...]te, which is [Page 150] a cunning kind of coolness which certain stout Men observe in Duels, by which they take time and leisure, and watch their opportunity to thrust home. Signeur Contarini, Ambassador in France. to this Coldness added an apparent Indifferency, insomuch that sometimes he would sit all the whole time of the Conference with­out speaking a word to the business he came about: When they waited on him to his Coach, he spoke of it as of a thing which he had forgotten, and treated as he went down Stairs. But the Duke d'Oli­vares made use of a stratagem quite con­trary to studied Mildness; for he endea­vour'd by counterfeit, and meditated heats to put the Persons in disorder with whom he negotiated.

The Mildness of Princes (who when they have it in their power to punish with ex­ile or imprisonment, such as go beyond the bounds of Respect and Duty, pass by their indiscretion and insolence with­out any notice, or expression of their dis­pleasure) in such as are Men of parts, is no more than a politick Mildness. Such was that of Philip of Macedon, who suf­fer'd himself to be revil'd, even in his [Page 151] own Palace, and when he had in his Pow­er Arcadian (who cry'd him down all over Greece) was so far from putting him to death, as his Courtiers importun'd him to do, that he entertain'd him civil­ly, and loaded him with Presents, so that Arcadian publish'd his Encomiums in all places with more zeal than before he had defam'd him. Which being told Philip by the same C [...]urtiers, that before had solicited his death, Do you not see, said He, What an excellent Physician I am to cure a ray [...]ing Tongue. Augustus also would never suffer any enquiry to be made after the Authors of those scanda­lous Libels that were dispers'd in the Se­nate, full of Reproach and Calumnies against him. For which Tiberius blaming him, he made answer, ‘Thou argu'st like a young Man, let 'em alone to talk as much evil of me as they please, 'tis suf­ficient that I have reduc'd 'em to such a condition, that they are able to do me none.’

Besides these sorts of Mildness, there is also a vertuous Mildness; for they who are naturally inclin'd to Mildness are al­ways so; whereas they whose Mildness is a [Page 152] quality acquir'd by Study, are frequently transported with the vertue of their Pas­sion. Nevertheless we do not observe that natural Mildness is no hindrance to those that are Masters of it, but that they are sensible of the injury which they re­ceive from the hatred of those that seek their disturbance, and are desirous of Re­venge, so that they are carried away with the [...]artness and malignity of Choler, thô they are able to bridle their Transport­ments. Which is manifest from hence, that persons who are of a cold and moist Complexion, and never subject to anger, yet notwithstanding all their reserv'dness cannot forbear tart and biting expressi­ons against those from whom they receive abuses, and to take smart revenges upon those that offer the injury; So that na­tural Mildness is only the peaceable and quiet behaviour of the outward Man.

And therefore Christian Mildness alone has the only priviledge to calm and paci­fie the Minds of those that are provok'd by Injuries and Affronts. For that is it which prevents the Insurrections of Choler and Revenge, which makes a considerable dif­ference between Mildness and Patience. [Page 153] For a patient Man strives with all his might to support with mu [...]muring the injuries done him; but he that exercises Mildness according to the Rules of the Gospel, does no wrong; nor does he believe that others do him any when they persecute him; perswading himself, that being a sinner he deserves the harshest and most rigorous vexations that can befall him; in somuch that we may say, That Mildness is the perfection of Patience.

Now that we may understand how Mildness operates these wonderful Effects in the Soul, we must enquire into the causes of Choler. Plutaroh, who perfect­ly understood this Passion, observes, that it draws its Original from Pride and Self-Love. Pride furnishes it with fierceness, its Inflation, and impetuosity of Motion; and Self-Love supplies it with a Million of occasions that give it growth and nou­rishment. Pride causes those sorts of Cho­ler which are rare, but cruel, implacable, and sanguinary. Those sorts of Choler which are kindl'd by Self-Love, are less malicious, and more easily appeas'd, but they are more troublesome and more fre­quent. ‘There is, saith Soneca, a nice [Page 154] sort of Anger, which proceeds from a sower and difficult Humor:’ Now altho this sower and difficult Humor be in some persons an effect of Bodily Temperament, in others, as Plutarch has observed, it derives it self from Self-Love, very nice, and very dainty. For as it causes an in­finite number of inconveniences, as it re­quires much care and observance, so is it very difficult to be satisfied, which is the reason that it is continually bemoaning and vexing it self.

Therefore that Vertue which encoun­ters and utterly defeats Choler, must first assail and destroy our Pride and Self-Love. And this is that which begets Christian Mildness, because it is an effect of Hu­mility; not of that Humility which con­sists in modest Looks and postures of the countenance, which is no more than Hy­pocrysie and a continued Lye; but of Humility and lowliness in Heart, as our Saviour calls it. For that Humility is the cause, that Christians acknowledging themselves to be sinners, are so convinc'd, that they deserve the scorn of the World, that tho they should be trampled under foot, they would not think they had any [Page 155] reason to complain. It disposes 'em like­wise to suffer chearfully the Privation, not only of all their Comforts and Con­veniencies, but of things necessary for the support of Life. So that whatever be­falls 'em to their damage or disquiet, they are contented in all conditions.

LOwness of Fortune is such a Shame to Human Pride, that there is nothing a Man will not invent or do to retrieve himself from the Imbasement of a mean Condition. Therefore we find, that they who are born of obscure Parents labour to exalt themselves by Places and Employ­ments; or make use of all manner of Ad­dresses, to have a share in the Favour and Confidence of Great Men; that they may be taken notice of, and that having no Greatness of their own, they may be aggrandiz'd by the Grandeur of another. This is that which hurries such infinite Numbers of People to the Palaces of Princes; 'tis not their Love nor their Affection to those Grandees to whom they sacrifice their Service and Attendance.

But because the high Quality of Men in the first station of Grandeur renders [Page 157] them inaccessible to the Ambitious that are of mean Extraction, who neither dare or can approach their awful Presence, either out of fear or respect, they are overjoy'd when some paces are advanc'd to make an approach easie.

But that Vertue which enclines Princes and great Noblemen to be kind, cour­teous, and generous, and so well regu­lates their Civility, that it corresponds with their Dignity; That Vertue which is call'd Affability, is the most powerful Allurement which they call employ to gain the good Will of all the World, espe­cially when in such persons it is maintain'd to its full perfection. For then they not only give free Access to all that seek for their Protection; but prevent the Peti­tions of their Suppliants, and spa [...] [...] that Modesty to which they are obl [...] as often as they make their Addresses, they embrace the Interests of the People, and encourage 'em to bethink themselves what may be for their Advantage.

True it is, that Affability is a Charm, whose Force it is a difficult matter to with­stand; but as true it is on the other side, that the Use which is now made of it, [Page 158] plainly demonstrates it to be no real Ver­tue. For the Grandees▪ that practise it most innocently, or to say better, least criminally, exercise it only out of a lofty Pride; that is, to fill their Palaces with their Admirers, which they look upon as a pompous mark of the Grandeur of their Credit or their Descent.

I say then, that the least evil sort of Affability is that of Great Personages, that affect to invite numerous Trains to their Courts only to gratifie their Vanity. For the greater Part make use of this Vertue to carry on the designs of their Ambition. And these, how affable and civil soever they may appear in reference to the whole Court, they are kind and affable after another manner in respect to those persons that abide there in a good condition, and may be useful to 'em in gaining those high▪ Preferments and Advantages to which they pretend.

But Affability is not only Vain and Ambitious; it is also Malicious and Cun­ning. Such was the Affability of Abso­lom. That young Prince, says the Scripture, spoke to all that enter'd into his Father's Palace; ask'd 'em, whence they came? [Page 159] what business brought 'em thither? And when he had heard their Answers, he commended the Justice of their Causes, and offer'd his Intercession, By these de­monst ations of Goodness labouring to gain and seduce them.

This Example not only shews us the Malignity of this Artificial and Crasty Vertue, but how it is also particularly devoted to the designs of Usurpers and Rebels, and that it is principally to be met with in the Heads of Factions. For besides, that they have no other way, but by their great Care and Industry, to oblige the▪ Adherence of their Friends and Confederates, who are usually tempted and frequently overcome by the Allure­ments of the contrary Party, it is impos­sible they should succeed without the Fa­vour of the Multitude. So that it behoves them to court all sorts of People, civilly to entertain all Comers and Goers, and after they have spent the Night in making sure of their Friends by all manner of Ca­resses, to waste the Day in fawning upon the miserable Boutefeu's, who are in cre­dit and esteem among the People; which occasion'd that Saying of Pindar, That [Page 160] the Life of the Head of a Party was an Honourable Toyl. The Affability of per­sons of Quality that have no merit, is an abject Basen [...]ss of Mind, and an incapa­city otherwise to support their Dignity.

Vertuous Affability proceeds from Cha­rity and Humility, and is never to be found but in a Person truly Christian. For while the Pride of his Condition trans­ports him to disdain all the rest of Man­kind, Humility inspires him with such mean sentiments of himself, that he is still ready to receive with a free and open countenance all men that he knows are like by Nature, and whom is he apt to believe more vertuous than himself. Cha­rity also contributes to render him Affa­ble; because it inspires into all Christi­ans a desire to serve their Neighbour; which is the reason they joyfully embrace all occasions to signalize their Goodness and Bounty.

THE Life of Man is subject to many Evils, Misfortunes, and Crosses, that it would be always consum'd in vexation and discontent, if Men were not sensible of their trouble, and took care to ease it. But Providence has provided for his Relief, after a wonde [...]ful manner, by the different obligations which he has scatter'd among Men. For these obliga­tions engage 'em to interest themselves in what concerns them, and mutually to assist each other. For which reason it is, that through the Wisdom of Providence several are bo [...]n of the s [...]me Blood, to the end the Good which they are able to do may communicate it self to their Kindred and Relations, before Strangers; as the Juice that supports the Life of a Tree, distributes it self to the Branches next its Body sooner than to those that are at a [Page 162] distance. Besides, the same Providence infuses into certain persons such a Sympa­thy of temper, that they contract a Friend­ship so soon as they know one another; and that union begets an obligation to share in each others Troubles, and to assist each other in all their Necessities. But as Proximity of Blood extends only to a small number of People, and for that Friendship is also more straitly confin'd, the most part of Men in misery would be abandon'd, if the same Providence had not found out the secret to join them to the most happy by Nature which is com­mon to both. For it is impossible but that being naturally united, they must be sensible of the Sufferings of others, and being so sensible, they must do what lies in their power for their Re­lief.

This is the Priviledg of Pity and Com­miseration, That they set no bounds in relieving persons whom they love; they lend their assistance to persons the most indifferent, even to those that have not deserv'd it, nay to their very Enemies. Pity is the Refuge of all in Misery; and therefore we have reason to bestow on [Page 163] her the highest Encomiums, if they who are charitable to the Poor, and relieve the Distressed, do those good Offices from a true Piety and love of God. But our Self-Love, that corrupts and taints all the Good we do, will not let us be sensible of the Miseries of our Neighbour, nor does it inspire us with a desire to relieve their Necessities, but only for a private interest to our selves, as we shall plainly make out.

There are few People that Study the Nature of Self-Love, tho it be one of the most profitable pieces of Knowledg that we can acquire; since without it we cannot distinguish the fallacious from the pure and real Vertues. For Self-Love is of a wonderful extent, in regard that all who are sway'd by it, are disturb'd and troubl'd, for the Subjects they are near­est concern'd in, or else for such wherein they have little or no Interest: they have the said fear for Accidents which are never like to happen, as for those wherewith they are threaten'd: and instead of con­tenting themselves, to apply remedies to their present Miseries, they employ their [Page 164] whole care to prevent future Misfortunes and Calamities.

These which are the dispositions of Men full of Self-Love, sufficiently shew us, by what Princip [...]e they act, who act by the motives of Pity purely Human; and that when they open their Purses to relieve a Person who is fallen to decay; or that they save him from going to Jayl a poor Debtor pursued by his Creditors; or that they shew themselves officious in the relief of their Neighbours, o'rwhelm'd with Sickness and Sorrow; or that they strive to comfort a Father or Mother for the loss of an only Son; thô their Actions perswade us, that they have a real compassion up­on the Afflictions and Miseries of their Neighbours; they are persons who have no Pity but upon themselves, whom they serve, assist, and relieve in the persons of others, and wipe from their own, the Tea [...]s which they seem to wipe from the Eyes of their Neighbours, and their Friends. There are People who finding that through the Inconstancy of Human Affairs, the Wealthy are in a short time impoverish'd by ill Fortune; that the most strong, and [Page 165] most healthy when they least dream of it' are attacked by tedious and incurable Diseases; and that the most happy be­come often the Objects of Fortunes Ha­tred; take all the care they can of the Un­fortunate, to the end that others may take the same compassion upon them, should the same casualties befall Them. So that they prevent all their necessities, and af­ford themselves before-hand, all the Re­lief they can imagine: So that Pity is a Sentiment secretly interested, a politick Foresight, or more properly the Provi­dence of Self-Love.

The Tears which Cesar shed when The­odorus presented him with Pomp [...]y's Head, clearly demonstrates this to be a Truth. For it is evident that he wept at the sight of that Spectacle, out of a certain appre­hension that Fortune who had betrayed Pompey, might prove as unfaithful to Him; And that the number and continuance of the Favours which he received from him, were but a fore boding Omen of her In­constancy: For if he had bewail'd the de­plorable end of Pompey, out of the least remainder of Friendship that he had pre­served for him; would he not have testi­fied [Page 166] a real abhorrency of an Assassination committed upon so great a Personage, and would he not have punished the Assassin whom he had in his Power? But how could he be truly afflicted at a Murther that had deliver'd him from so formidable an Enemy, and secur'd him the Empire? ‘In truth, says Quintus Curtius,They have little experience of the Heart of Man, who expect compassion from thence, or think that the Misfortunes of others go so near their Hearts, as to draw Tears from their Eyes.’

This Idea which I have conceiv'd of Pity, is conformable to the Definition which I have given of it. Pity, says he, Is a Sorrow, which we conceive for the Misfortunes and Afflictions that happen to others, out of mistrust that they may one day befall our selves; Now if any one desires to be convinc'd that it is this Mistrust from whence our Pity springs let him but observe, that it is rarely to be found among those that are laden with Wealth and Honour, and who are fix'd in their Prosperity; or among that sort of miserable People, who are overwhelm'd with Calamity, that there remains no­thing [Page 167] more for them to fear. Therefore we have great reason to wonder, that Pity should be lookt upon as a vertuous Quality; much more when we consider that there is nothing to be valu'd in the Causes that produce it, or the Subjects wherein we usually meet with it.

Pity in it self is but a mollifying of the Soul, which Vertue inc [...]ssantly labours to fortify; so that it is chiefly for Pity's sake, that Plato condemns Dramatick Poe­try. ‘There they represent, says he, Tragical Adventures, and bring us He­ro's upon the Stage, complaining and bewalling their misfortunes, to move the Spectators Pity; not considering that being thus mollify'd, they are much more apt to be cast down by Afflictions. Ought they not rather then to have proposed Us Af [...]lictions proper to con­firm and strengthen the Soul, and to have brought upon the Theater such great Persons as bo [...]e their Losses and Misfortunes with a Generous Equality, and Constancy of Mind?’ True it is, that Aristotle is not of his Opinion, believing Dramatick▪ Poetry to be a lively and natural Imitation and Portraiture of the [Page 168] Passions, to make Men either fear or avoid 'em. A singular Remedy indeed, and a strange Undertaking, to pretend to cure Passions by Passions.

As to the productive Causes of Pity, there are Two in chief, The First is excess of Self-Love, which is the reason that Man extending his Prospect through the whole course of his Life, searches out for Remedies for all the Accidents that may befall him.

The cause of Pity is the mixture of Humors, where Phlegme predominates. For moist persons are apter than others to receive the impressions of Objects; and they weep the more easily, because they find some ease in shedding Tears. Hence it comes to pass, that they who are of this temper, are not always alike sensible of it; and that there are some times and hours of the day that they little perceive it, as Phlegme p [...]edominates more or less. So that we must not look upon that for Bread or Relief, which is merely given by the Commission of Nature.

The Subjects that are most susceptible of Pity, are Old Men. Women and Chil­dren, who are all Subjects, weak and ea­sy [Page 169] to be mov'd; Old Men, because their Minds and Bodies are enfeebled by Age; Children, because they act by the impres­sion which those Objects that strike the Senses, imprint therein; And Women, be­cause their Sex doth not admit 'em to em­ployments that awaken and exercise their Courage; And beside, they want Learn­ing and Knowledge which fortifies the Mind; so that when bad Accidents befall 'em, they have neither Strength nor Reso­lution: And for this reason they extream­ly bemoan all those that they behold in durance, and that they would, if they might, says Seneca, knock off their Shackles, and set open the Prison Doors.

So that altho all Men have a kindness for tender-hearted Persons, tho the whole World be anticipated in favour of Pity, yet we must beware how we take it for a vertuous Quality; rather we ought to look upon it as a real Passion, as it is reckon'd to be by the consent of all Phi­losophers. True it is, that Aristo [...]le ranks it in the number of those Passions which he calls profitable and necessary; For he believing that all Generous Actions, and Noble Sciences are beholding for their [Page 170] Original to Ambition: that desire of Im­mortality made so many Hero's and Great Men Famous in all Arts and Sciences; that Choler aids the valiant, and shares in all warlike Atchievements; that Fear causes us to foresee Mischief, and is a matter of Prudence; believes in like man­ner that Pity excites us to supply the wants of the Poor, and to be liberal up­on all occasions.

Cicero cannot relish this Opinion, and laughs at Aristotle for affirming, That Man could not be Charitable, were he not mol­lify'd by Pity. ‘Man, says he, would be very unfortunate, if there were a ne­cessity that he should be miserable, that he might relieve the Unfortunate; or that nothing but a disturb'd or troubl'd Soul could succor the Indigent. Or as if he could not, says Seneca, relieve the Afflicted, without being cast down, lan­guishing and sad like them.’

But is not Pity, then, the usual Promo­ter of that Charity, which we exercise towards our Neighbour? There is no­thing more certain, Answers Cic [...]ro. But the Question is not, How Men perform those actions which are laudable and ver­tuous in themselves, but how they ought [Page 171] to be done, and what is the disposition of a Wise Man, when he relieves those that are in necessity. Now the disposition of a prudent Man is such, that he does good by the calm dictates of Reason, and ne­ver stays till he be excited thereto by his Passions; So that the more he encreases in Wisdom, the less need he has to be mov'd by his compassion to succor the Poor; because the Command of Reason is a sufficient motive to him to do acts of Charity. This disposition of a Wise Man proceeds from hence; That the forward­er he advances in Vertue, the more like he becomes to God, who without being mov'd with the pains of them that suffer, delivers 'em by the sole Dictates of his Prudence: And that which gives us some reason to suspect, says St. Austin, That Pity is the weakness and infirmity of our Nature; that the blessed Angels pre­serve Men from Shipwrack, altho they feel no motion of Compassion, rising from the danger wherein they see him. And therefore it was, Seneca said, A Wise Man ought to be always charitable, but not always weak.

[Page 172] Now if we would understand how it comes to pass, that Men have such a kind­ness for those that are sensible of the Mis­fortunes of others, and why Pity has found advancement among the Qualities of high­est value? I Answer, That Men have con­ceiv'd an advantageous Opinion of Pity for the same reason that perswaded the Babylonians that Belus was a God; for as they had that belief, and paid him Di­vine Honors, because they found his Sta­tue to be a Sanctuary for Criminals, so the vulgar seeing Pity to be the Refuge of the Miserable, have esteem'd, and honor'd it as a Divine Quality; By which we see, that Interest is not only the Original of all fallacious Verues, but is also the cause of that Esteem and Vertue which we put upon 'em.

Pity is applauded through that ex­tream aversion which Men have to Seve­rity, which is a quality altogether strange and opposite to the Nature of Man; be­cause it stifles within him all Sentiments of Humanity; and seems to shut his Heart against all other Men, by rend [...]ing it in­sensible of their afflictions and miseries. We may also say that seeing Severity is a [Page 173] Vice that hinders Men from mutuall Sym­pathizing in their Sorrows and Afflictions; it is a commendable thing to be sensible of the Miseries which we are obliged to re­lieve: but there we must stop; for if we go a step further, and draw this Conse­quence from thence, That the Pity which we have for others meerly out of Self-Love, is a vertuous Quality; we begin to go astray, because the Sentiments that Ver­tue inspires, are peaceable, uniform, and free from Interest; and for that Natural Compassion is a Sentiment unquiet, un­equal, and byass'd by Interest; so that it is a quite different thing to be mov'd with Pity, and to be mollify'd by Charity. Charity re-establishes the power of Rea­son in Man, Pity weakens it; Charity makes him always sensible, and causes him to re­lieve, to the best of his ability, the ne­cessities of all Men, Friends Enemies, Ser­vants, Strangers, as also those that are absent. Pity carries him no farther to Re­lief, than he is exposed thereto by present Objects. Charity considers our Duty to God in relieving our Neighbour; Pity is only mov'd with Temporal Miseries and Misfortunes.

[Page 174] We must however acknowledge, that thô Pity be in it self no more than a weak­ning of the Soul, and tho the inducements to it are no way to be commended, yet that it is to be valu'd for its Effects; for it occasions an infinite number of good Deeds in the World, which would never be done without it. So that when I have discovered the effects of it, my intention was not absolutely to condemn it, and to find fault with the succor which we give to our Neighbour by its Incitements; since it behoves us to approve all good Actions, by whatever imperfect Principle they are produc'd. My design was there­fore only to undeceive those People, who believe they are vertuously tender and charitable, every time that out of their Natural Compassion they take poor People into their Houses, or pay the Ransome of any Captive: And to let 'em understand that no Man is vertuous, but when he acts out of a vertuous dispositi­on, according to that Maxim of Aristotle, He is not vertuous, let his vertuous Acti­ons be never so great, who does not un­dertake 'em out of a vertuous Conside­ration.

[Page 175] So that if there be any Christians, as doubtless there are a great Number, who do not find in themselves this vertuous dis­position, this Exhortation may not be unseasonable; That if all People that be­long to God, are not yet so dear to 'em, as for them to symyathize in their Mise­ries and Afflictions, or be thought worthy of their Sighs; Let 'em however follow the Sentiments of Nature, which binding 'em with the common tye of Affection to all other Men, obliges them to participate of their Troubles. Oh let 'em do that, through the motives of Pity, which they cannot do for the sake of God and Cha­rity!

WOrds have this Affinity with the Lineaments of the Face, that as it is not sufficient for those Lineaments to be lovely, unless they be placed in their Natural Situation: In like manner it is not amiss for Words to be Elegant and Polite, as being unacceptable when they are not in the place where they ought to be. The word Generosity is very pro­per for the proof of what I assert; It is a Word in good request, it pleases the Ear, and Men have affix'd to it a very fair Idea. And yet it is not sufficient, when made use of, as it is by many sorts of People, especially by those who not having been bred at Court, pretend ne­vertheless to speak more politely than the Vulgar; For we observe that they give this Name to all manner of Actions and Vertues Illustrious and Extraordinary. Whereas it properly signifies that Magna­nanimous [Page 177] Vertue only that triumphs over Revenge, when it it is in our Power to take our satisfaction, inclines us to make a good use of all the advantages offer'd to us, over those that profess themselves our Enemies upon all occasions, and spare for no Industry to do Us Mischief.

If we consider the Vertues, as they are ranked in our Estimation, we shall find that we prefer all those Vertues which we cannot practise without offering great violence to our Sentiments, before those which we practise easily, or else as dis­pos'd thereto by our Natural Inclinations. And therefore Valour, which is the reason that Man exposes himself to continual dan­gers, and that he surmounts the resistance of Nature, is esteem'd quite after another man­ner than Goodness, Hospitality, or Humanity, to which he is inclin'd of himself, and of which he performs all the Duties without any reward, strugling, or contention.

For this reason it is that they have pla­ced Generosity among the most excellent Vertues; for that there is none that re­quires a greater Force of the Soul, or which encounters within us, a smarter reluctancy, or more obstacles to over­come. [Page 178] For what a great Command must a victorious Captain have over himself, who having vanquished and taken a fierce and Insolent Enemy, who had provok'd and defy'd him in several Encounters, entertains him nevertheless, not only with Mildness and Humanity, but with all the Civility and Handsomness imaginable? Must not also he be a great Master of his Resentments, who favours those that have caus'd him to waste the best part of his Estate through their quarrelsome and liti­gious vexations, when after the loss of their suit so unjustly commenc'd, it lies in his power to ruine 'em? Lastly, we must acknowledge that we have need of a great deal of good Nature to pardon a Person that has offer'd us a bloody Af­front, when his Misfortune delivers him into our power, and that we have an ea­sy opportunity to revenge our selves. And that which advances the Power of Generosity upon all occasions, is this, that besides that, the Power of Revenge is so sweet, that it is a difficult thing for a Man to surmount its Temptations; and gene­rally all those Advantages that he ob­tains against those that have adventured [Page 179] to contend with him, so swell his Heart, that he has much ado to govern it.

We cannot deny but that the force of Generosity is highly extraordinary; But thence it does not follow, that it is a vertu­ous Force: For as St. Austin says, ‘There are two sorts of strong Men, that divide all Mankind: the one sort, is of such who are strong through the vehemence of their desires. The other sort, that is to say, True Christians, are strong through the greatness of their Charity.’ There is nothing that they will not venture for the Love of God. There is nothing which the others will not dare, or are not capa­ble to act for the Love of themselves, and to gratify their Passions. To them they are beholding for all their force and Strength; and it is their Ambition that empowers 'em to vanquish their Revenge, For how sweet soever pleasure of Revenge may be, an ambitious Person that loves Glory, finds the Honour which he seeks in a Generous proceeding, much more sweet than his Revenge. Reason also joyns with his Ambition, and shews him, that Revenge, how pleasing soever, it is but a Transitory Delight; where the Reputati­on [Page 180] which he acquires by his Generosity, remains to perpetuity.

The Generosity of Prime Ministers, and such as are in Authority, proceeds from their Interest; and therefore when they apprehend that a person of Merit, or high Quality is obstructed, being their profes­sed Enemy, and perplex'd in his Affairs, they presently use all their diligence to help him out of his trouble, on purpose to gain his good Will, and fix him to their Interests. And upon the same score they are more officious many times to gratify their greatest Enemies, than their most faithful and zealous Friends.

Again, our Natural Malignity is the most usual cause of our Generosity; For in serving those that have cross'd our De­signs, we do but heap, as it were, so ma­ny Coals of Fire upon their Heads; that is to say, we do 'em kindness for no other end, but only to make 'em asham'd that ever they did us any injury, and to ren­der 'em the more inexcusable, if they per­severe in their Malice towards us. The Spirit of Revenge may be reckon'd for a piece of this Malignity. For we believe that if a Person to whom we have been [Page 181] frequently serviceable, comes to fail in the Obligations which he owes us, he will dis­band himself, and revenge the injustice done us, much better than we can do our selves.

The Generosity of Victors toward the Vanquish'd, is either vain or politic; which makes us wonder that Historians should extoll the kindness which Alexan­der shewed to the Mother, Wife, and Daughter of Darius, for Actions really Generous. For besides that their Sex and Quality in some measure, obliged him to those Civilities, and that he could not have done otherwise, without a great stain to his Reputation; he was so desperately in Love with Honour, that his Soul not being satisfy'd with what he had gain'd by his Victories, he labours incessantly to augment his Civilities; besides that, he took care, as much as in him lay, to alle­viate the misfortunes of those Captive Princes, to prevent their Hatred against him that was the Author of all their Mi­series. He had also a particular aim so far to recover the good Opinion of Da­rius, and the Royal Family, as to believe, that since their evil destiny had depriv'd [Page 182] 'em of the former Luster, and subjected 'em under his Dominion, they could not have fall'n into better hands. And we find that Alexander obtained the Honor which he desired by the Prayer of Darius, to the Gods, That if they were fully re­solved in their displeasure, to take from his Family the Diadem of Persia, they would set it upon Alexander's Head, to recom­pence the Vertue of so good and gene­rous a Prince. The same Honor he re­ceiv'd from Sisygambis the Queen. ‘This Soveraignty, said She, is so soft and gen­tle, that the Remembrance of my past Felicity does no way render me uneasie in the Condition of my present Fortune.’

Nor was it out of any desire to revenge the death of Darius, or out of any hatred of the Treason, that he so severely pu­nish'd that horrid Assassination committed by B [...]ssus, since it was his Perfidiousness, how execrable soever, that put Alexander in the possession of the greatest Empire in the World. But it was for his Honour, and his Interests sake, that he reveng'd the Death of Darius, but chiefly for the sake of his Interest. For he put Bessus to death, to prevent the Conspiracy of his [Page 183] own Commanders against him. And this is no more than the Advice which Darius sent him some few Minutes before he ex­pir'd, that it would be no less Profitable than Honourable for him to prosecute his Revenge upon that execrable Parricide Bessus, as owing that Example to the World; and for that it was the common Cause of all Kings.

Less does it deserve the name of Gene­rosity, when seeing Darius lying all along dead in his Chariot, he cover'd his Body with his upper Garment, and bitterly be­wail'd the Misfortune of so Great a King, for coming to an end so unsuitable to his high Dignity. For it was no Sentiment of Generosity that made him bewail the evil destiny of his Enemy, for that Da­rius was none of Alexander's Enemy, but Alexander was Darius's, and had invaded his Empire; So that it was Alexander him­self who was the real Subject of his own Lamentations, who reflecting upon him­self in the Person of Darius, saw himself abandon'd by his own People, ass [...]ssi [...]ated by his best Friends, and over-wh [...]lm'd with those dire Misfortunes that usually attend great Prosperities.

[Page 184] Among these sorts of People who e­steem as Generous all those Sentiments, wherein there appears something of Grandeur of Mind, as the Contempt of Mony and vain Honours; some there are that vilifie this sort of Generosity; Fore-seeing, that almost all the World run after the Favour of Great Personages, and court their Kindness, not only with a rest­less credulity, but after a sordid and mis­beseeming manner, they steer a quite con­contrary course. They refuse all atten­dance upon those Great Men, to desire any Kindness at their hands, or so much as to speak to 'em. Or if any Minister be civil to 'em, where he meets 'em by chance; or sends 'em word that he has a particular esteem for them; instead of Answering these Cruelties with Respect, they be­come more haughty, and rigid against all Courtiers; for poor spirited People, giving no Quarter to those, who being free from the Corruptions of the Court, hold a friendly Correspondence only with the Prime Ministers, to preserve them­selves in their Employments, or out of a desire to advance themselves.

[Page 185] The Conduct of these false-hearted Ge­nerosities is only a vain affectation, and contempt of Favour, proceeding from a conceal'd displeasure, to see that there is no probability of being introduced into Court, either because the Employments which they desire are already full, or be­cause they believe that they who are in the Kings Favour are not kind to them. And that which begets in them this Opi­nion, is this, that they are altogether in­sensible of those marks of Favour shewn 'em by the chief Ministers, while they be­lieve that the Honors and Caresses which they receive, tend only to enslave 'em; Whereas not one of 'em but is easily in­creased, when a Favourite offers 'em in earnest his Amity and Confidence. This singularity of their Proceeding proves that it does not partake of any vertuous Princi­ple; For Vertue affects no particular Con­duct, nor does it absolutely renounce any; but always guides it self by the Rules which are prescrib'd by Decency and Rea­son. Besides, this is a certain Maxim, That all Singularity, under whatever for­ced disguises, proceeds from the Irregula­rity of the Mind, or some ambitious De­sire, [Page 186] or some Interest that lyes conceal'd in the Heart.

Therefore, as none but Christians have a sincere Love for those that hate 'em, that persecute 'em, that despoil 'em of their Estates, and [...]ear the very bowels of their Reputation, with Slanders and Calum­nies; so none but they alone are truly Ver­tuous and Generous; and their Genero­sity is an excellent proof of Christianity; For it is Christianity that has taught us to render Good for Evil, and to imitate God, who causes the Sun to shine upon the Just and the Unjust, and protects with so much Goodness the Lives of his Enemies.

MOst People confine Politeness to Language only, and will allow it no other Employment than to choose, to place and Muster up words together. Nevertheless, most certain it is, that Men may be very rude in their Behaviour, be Sots and meer Pedants, yet perfectly un­derstand Language. To Politeness therefore other Functions belong much more exalt­ed, especially those which it enjoys in re­ference to the Soul. For there it is that Politeness renders our Thoughts, our Re­lishes, and our Sentiments civil and de­licate: and there it is that Politeness cau­ses this Delicacy and Civility to cast a re­flexion on our Actions, our Proceedings, and all the exterior Behaviours of Men: So that it is no where to be found but at Court, where all things are in that de­gree of Perfection, where we observe some Persons so Polite, that they never act or [Page 188] speak any thing to be found fault with, or that give the least offence.

But they, who together with an excel­lent Education, have obtain'd a great Knowledge in the World, are not satis­fied with being Polite in reference to them­selves; nor does their Industry bound it self in the regulation of their own Actions and Words to that exactness, as not to give the least distast; but they find it necessary also to be Polite, in reference to others, and that it behoves 'em to study their Humors and Sentiments, that they may understand how to speak, and be­have themselves, to render themselves ac­ceptable in company.

Nor do they stop there, but as they are People that dive into the Breasts of every Man, and for that they know he is less con­cern'd for what flatters his Inclinations, than for what is serviceable to his Inte­rests, they not only take all opportunities to serve others, like those that go under the name of Double Diligent; but they accompany their Services with all that they can imagine to be most obliging, and most capable to please, because they believe it is with kind Offices and Servi­ces, [Page 189] as with Diamonds, whose value is in themselves, but their Lustre becomes more pleasing and delightful, according as they are Set by the Artist.

We must not wonder then, if they that have attain'd the perfection of Polite­ness, of which we have given the Idea, are so acceptable at Court, and so well received in all Companies. And the ra­rity of this sort of People contributes much to enhance their price. For if we consider the dispositions of the greatest part of men, how that to engage some to serve us in our most important Affairs, it behoves us to set all our Wits at work; how that when we have earnestly impor­tun'd 'em, we must frequently renew our Requests; how they will put us off from time to time, and at length give us a slight account of our Business; we are over joy'd to meet with People that seem to divine our business before we have discover'd it, and immediately untertake it as their own, and follow it close till they have ac­complish'd it, to the wishes of their Friends.

[Page 190] But whatever Encomiums Men may give this sort of Politeness, and tho we are perswaded that there is nothing so rare or worthy of esteem, we can easily prove it to be no vertuous Quality. First, because those Persons who are most applauded for it, are People so far from the pro­fession of Piety, without which there can be no sound and real Vertue; that we always observe 'em most deeply engag'd in all the Intreagues at Court, acting al­together according to the Fetches of Hu­man Policy: and some of 'em very irre­gular in their Manners, without Faith or Polity; which however we are still ready to pardon, provided they do our Business.

In the Second place we never meet with this Politeness but in Persons endued with abundance of Wit, and consequently ca­pable to apprehend all the effects of a Kindness don effectually, quickly, and with a good Grace: On the other side, that Men lose the Fruit of their Servi­ces, by long delay, or when they must be spurr'd on by Importunity, and tiresome Sollicitations; and that it is not the Ob­ligations, but the manner of obliging that engages People in our Interests.

[Page 191] In the Third place, They that surpass in the Art of Obliging, never do all they can do, but when they have to deal with Per­sons as quick as themselves, who are ca­pable to observe and value what is rare and singular in their management.

Lastly, They chiefly wait for Opportu­nities to serve such persons as are most considerable at Court for their Merit, their Quality, or their Fortunes. And then it is that they spare neither Care nor Indu­stry, to the end their good Offices and Services may be embellisht, with what­ever is capable to render their Seduli­ty valuable, and their Persons Graceful to their Employers.

These are certain Proofs that their Po­liteness is no vertuous Quality, and that we ought not to be so much dazl'd with the Wonders which they perform for the service of their Friends; but that all their Services, accomplish'd with so much Zeal, so much Diligence, so much Fidelity and Exactness, are but so many examples of Services to shew us after what a ready, exact and perfect manner they would be served themselves. If any question it, they need no more than call to mind the [Page 192] Complaints which they make themselves of Persons, who being oblig'd to their former Kindnesses, forsake 'em in their Business, or being entrusted in their Affairs, either neglect or sollicite 'em so carelesly, as if they never minded what became ei­ther of themselves or their Friends.

True Christians therefore are the only Persons in whom this sort of Politeness becomes a Vertue, and who are owners of all the Qualities that are attributed to it: For they have so great a value for their Neighbours, that they study all manner of Precaution to behave them­selves, as not to give the least Offence in any of their Words or Actions. They study all the Complacency imaginable, and they embrace the Interests of their Neighbours with an Affection so Sincere and Cordial, that in all they act for him it is visible, that they never seek them­selves. So that we may say that Charity, which is the Original of that Conduct which they observe toward their Neigh­bours, is the sole and only true Polite­ness, and real Civility, and that of all o­ther Men, Christians are the truly Polite and Civil People.

AS there are certain Vizards so fine and so natural, that they can hard­ly be distinguish'd from the Countenan­ces themselves; and others so clownishly and botche [...]ly, that they are easily di­scern'd. So there are some Vertues so well counterfeited that we take 'em fre­quently for currant; and others, of which the World easily discerns the Cheat. When we see a Person upon the Scaffold that faces Death with Resolution, and who chooses rather to suffer than to betray his intimate Friend by his Confession; to weaken such a convincing Proof of Friend­ship, it behoves us to have sounded the very bottom of that Mans Heart, to dis­cover that his Friendship had a less share in that action than his Vanity. But when we find People Vain in their Re [...]inues, Haughty in their Behaviour, yet always [Page 194] affecting the lower Hand, and upon all occasions pretending low Thoughts of themselves; there needs no such piercing judgment to discern their feigned Mode­sty, and their counterfeit Humility.

We may say, and that not untruly, that it was in the bosome of the Court, that this false Vertue was first bred. For it is the Court only that produces this sort of People that are asham'd and offended at the Encomiunts given them, that under­value themselves, and who being extream­ly troubl'd to receive Honors that are due to 'em, pay to others more than they are oblig'd to do. Which proceeds from hence, that it is properly at the Court, where Fortune enflames Ambition to shew the greatest Favours. For enflam'd Ambition causes Courtiers continually to assume new Shapes, and to all manner of Parts to obtain and extoll those Favors. In other places she dispences but petty Graces; Whence we observe, That Men are more Natural in the Country, that they do not force their Inclinations, and Study less to counterfeit old Vertues, and invent new ones.

[Page 195] To discover therefore the falshood of this Vertue, it behoves us to consider, That Pride is so much the absolute Master of Man, that it is the Prince of all his Inter­nal Inclinations, and of all his Actions. We are to observe moreover, not with­out astonishment, That it is equally the cause as well of his Emotions as of his Repose; and that after it has rais'd Sedi­tions in his Soul, it as suddainly calms 'em by a miraculous Power. For at the same time that Delicacy renders Man sen­sible of an Injury, Pride at the same in­stant kindles his Anger, and that he be­takes himself to his Arms to kindle his Resentment; and when his Transportments, and his Impetuosities disband him; Pride suddainly appeases him, and restores him to his first settlement. So that Aristotle's definition of Nature, perfectly agrees with Pride, as being the true principle of Mans Motion and Rest.

We are also to observe, that Pride is Morally invincible; that the meanest con­dition never abates it, no disgraceful or unfortunate accident humbles it, nor can any Puissance make it submit; So that a [Page 196] proud Person may well be trampl'd un­der foot, but never be tam'd.

If Pride then Governs and masters Man, and will never suffer him to be subdu'd, as we all find by experience; it is easie from hence to conclude, That when a Man despises and rebukes himself, his Words betray his Thoughts; and that every time he debases himself before others, 'tis only to exalt himself above others; and that he would never act so contrary to his proud and haughty Genius, were he not convinc'd that there was nothing more proper to advance him than his own vo­luntary unworthy Thoughts of himself.

There are other Marks to shew, that the Humility of the falsly Humble, is no more than Dissimulation. The First is, That at the same time that they seem to have such a scorn and contempt of them­selves, they continually observe the beha­viour of others towards 'em; they rigo­rously expect from others those Formali­ties and Respects which are their due, and revenge the least injuries done 'em. Where­fore Guarini said, That there was no fair Weather so deceitful, as that which ap­pears in the Countenances of Courtiers; [Page 197] in regard that at the same time that they seem'd calm and sedate, a Word, or a Gesture would change all their Serenity into Storm and Tempest.

A Second Mark is this, That they are smooth and supple, in respect of Persons useful to their Interests, haughty in their Behaviour to others. Cylla, said Plutarch, humbled himself before those of whom he stood in need, but wou'd be ador'd by those that stood in need of him.

The Third Mark is this, That they who so willingly affect the lowest Seats at Fe­stivals and publick Assemblies, never de­base themselves in that manner, but with regard to such persons who they know they can take place of when they please without contending for it; and that no Men are more jealous to preserve their rank among their Equals; and that it is a pain to 'em to submit to those whose quali­ [...]y superior to theirs.

[Page 198] The Fourth is, That among those Coun­terfeiters of Humility, who condescend to utter the meanst things of themselves, who acknowledge their Errors, their De­fect, and evil Inclinations; There is not one that makes these acknowledgments in order to his own Reformation, but on­ly to discharge themselves of some part of the blame which is laid upon 'em, and to lessen the shame which they ought to have for what they have done. And this petty piece of Politiques it is, that causes Wo­men to confess their entertaining of Gal­lants, that they may do it with more Li­berty and less Shame.

As for Errors and Defects, there is not one who accuses himself of any that are Essential, as to have neither Honor, or Pro­bity to be a Lyar or a Cheat. Only they blame themselves for not being prompt and quick, for being negligent, slothful, and such like faults that are no stain to their Reputation. The most perfect may have sometime return'd an idle Answer, or have been transported beyond the bounds of Moderation. But no body confess [...]s that he has robb'd or betray'd his Friends. And we are further to ob­serve, [Page 199] That they who make these Confes­sions with the least trouble, are persons of the deepest reach, for they understand better than others, that it is not so igno­minious to confess Faults that all the World commits, than to be so vain as ne­ver to acknowledg themselves in an Er­ror.

Now all these Marks confirm that Ora­cle of the Scripture, There is a wicked Man that hangs down his Head sadly, but is full of deceit: and that saying of St. An­stin, That false Humility is great Pride. They also shew, That the Humiliy of the People of this World is but a Piece of unstable Cunning to make themselves more esteem'd than they seem to desire by their words, and by their actions to make little accompt of themselves; so that their Humility is only a disguis'd Pride and a visible Hypocrisie.

‘But True Humility, says St. Austin, is a Vertue so particular to Christians, that the Pagan Philosophers never knew what it meant. I have read great Truths says the Learned Father, in the Books of the Platonicks; but none of those Books instruct us in the Knowledge of [Page 200] that humble Piety, which is no where to be found but among the Christians.’ For Pride shuts their Understandings a­gainst those Lights that discover'd Man to himself, and only carried 'em to the pra­ctice of those flattering Vertues that im­mortalize their Reputation; Only Chri­stians have the priviledge to humble themselves before God, through their acknowledgment of that Nothing, out of which Man was first Created, and of that miserable Condition to which Sin has reduc'd him.

And therefore we have great reason to wonder at the Mistake of Plutarch, who apprehends for a great action of Humili­ty, that of Thales, wherefore the Tripos of Gold with the Oracle, adjudg'd him as the wisest Man then living. For that Philosopher having labour'd all his Life­time to merit that Title, would by no means let go such a fair opportunity to shew that he was worthy of it. For being so Wise in the esteem of the World, he shewed by his refusal of the Tri­pos, that he was not so in his own judg­ment. Nor could he do otherwise with­out hazarding the Censure of being pre­sumptuons [Page 201] in regard that Bias, who was offer'd it before, had refus'd it in like manner. So that the Philosopher be­hav'd him like one emulous of Glory, while he aspir'd to the reputation of be­ing Wise, by making a semblance of be­lieving himself a Fool.

But then again, as for the Humility of Christians that tax themselves for many Defects, of which they neither are, nor believe themselves to be guilty; it is a false Humility; for that real Humility is never contrary to Truth. Nor does it con­sist in the Confession that a Man makes, that he is beholding for his Being, and all his Blessings both Natural and Supernatu­ral, to the pure Goodness of God; it be hoves him moreover to acknowledge that his Understanding is full of Error, that his Inclinations are all depraved, and that by Nature nothing in the Sight of God, he is become a Nothing in opposition to God, and in Arms against his Soveraign.

PLeasure not only causes the Irregula­rity of the most part of Humane Actions, but it is also the most usual Source of the Errors of Men. For as our Minds and our Senses follow its Allurements with an equal Zeal; so our Wits are always em­ploy'd in the search of what is most pro­per for its satisfaction. Whence it comes to pass, that we are still to sind out Satis­factions much more lovely in appearance, than they are indeed; nay, tho they be false and deceitful, provided they please, we always judge 'em to be real.

And this same perpetual Industry of Human Wit, to gratify its self with fair and lovely Objects, is the reason that it [Page 203] has found out Heroes with Divine Quali­ties; that there are Men, who by the strength of their Reason, triumph over Pain, Pleasure, Anger and Revenge; and that there are others endued with Senti­ments so Noble, that they are of them­selves enclin'd to undertake and perform all the Actions which the most Illustrious Vertues inspire.

We must not wonder then, if the World has such a high esteem for Liberality, which is in the number of those Vertues that cast abroad the brightest Lustre; and that they believe it not only to be a Vertue most sincere, but also rare and altogether extraordinary. Of this Men are so strong­ly convinc'd, and have such an Affection and Admiration for those that make a noise in the World by their Presents, and their Bounty, that at Court they seem to make publick Vows for their Advance­ment, provided they be cunning, and un­derstand the Liberality that pleases and obliges, and that they take their oppor­tunities to be profuse in the sight of those, by whom it is for their Advantage to be esteem'd. Princes, and all Persons of high Quality reap great Advantages from Libe­rality, [Page 204] since it distinguishes 'em from others in the same degree; and for that by their Benefits they oblige the more honest sort of People, and attract the Good Will of all Men. Avarice also gives it a Glori­ous Luster, and that Vice which renders so great a number of People Vile and Con­temptible, contributes not a little to en­haunse the value of those who are endu­ed with Noble and Generous Inclinati­ons; and who never value Mony, but out of the pleasure which they take to spend it.

If Great Personages, and generally all those who are high in esteem for their Li­berality, were really such as by Fame they are represented; If they valued the happi­ness of their Great Estates, only for the advantage▪ of bettering the condition of their Friends, or for being thereby enabl'd to gratify Persons of Worth and Merit; If they embraced all opportunities of do­ing good, so that we might say of 'em, ‘And the Good that secks 'em out, at the same time flies their sight;’ We could not then without extream Inju­justice refuse 'em the highest of Encomi­ [...]ms. But we shall find they are far dif­ferent [Page 205] from what they seem to be; if we refer our selves to the Testimony of those judicious and solid Persons, who never relying upon common Opinions, take par­ticular cognizance of the Manners of Men; for these Persons thus instructed and in­form'd, assure us, that those Persons whose Liberality we adore, are even at the brink of Despair, when there is any small Ex­pence requir'd at home, at the same time that they are so extravagantly profuse in the sight of the World. That they re­fuse even necessary subsistance to their Relations and Friends, when upon others they spend even to Superfluity; and that the Wages of their Servants are unpaid, when they give high Entertainments to Strangers.

And this is a strong proof, That Libe­rality that advances the Esteem of so ma­ny Persons, is a fallacious Vertue: And the force of the Argument consists in this, That the Character of True Vertue is to agree with all the other Vertues. Now the Liberality of those, whose Pu [...]se is al­ways open to their Friends, is visibly con­trary to Justice; for we know well that while they are so free of their Presents, [Page 206] and that they let no opportunity of Ex­pence escape, they not only never mind the payment of their Debts, but frequent­ly give away what they have borrowed, and sometimes robb'd, or got by violence from other People. And the same Argu­ment makes it out, That the Spirit which animates 'em is the Spirit of Vanity, which can always find Mony to supply a Vain­glorious Humor, but never to recompence a Servant grown old in their Service, nor to pay a Tradesman that hath furnish'd 'em with his Goods, to his Ruine.

Therefore these Persons so famous for their Liberality, are no more than Civil violators of Justice and Equity. Of which there are two sorts; Those that ruine them­selves by their Profusion, and deprive their Children of what they lavish away to strangers: And those that being advan­ced to high Employments, rob the Pub­lick to en [...]ich particular Persons, and Heads of Factions; who to gratify their Friends, and purchase the Favour of the Rabble, despoil the Estates of those that refuse to side with their Interests.

[Page 207] Now tho they all resemble one another in the injury they do to Justice both Publick and Private, yet the Motives that induce 'em to Liberality, are quite different. For the Liberality of some is purely Vain-glorious, which is the most usual sort of Liberality. The Liberality of others is Vain-glorious, but Politick withal; and such was Alexander's Libe­rality, who to out-do the Presents which Taxites, King of the Indies had sent him, made him a Magnificent Banquet, where he drank to him a Health of Six hundred thousand Crowns, or a thousand Talents, which he ordered forthwith to be paid him. And others there are whose Profuse­nesses are purely Political, as were those of Cesar, who kept open House, entertain'd a vast Retinue of Servants, and divertiz'd the People of Rome with publick Shews and Interludes at his own expence, on purpose to oblige 'em to give him their Suffrages to advance him to the chief Em­ployments in the Commonwealth; which was the first step to his Imperial Dignity. The Profuseness of Scipio was upon the same score, as appears by the reproaches that Cato the Censor made him. ‘Thou [Page 208] consumest, said he, even the Publick Revenue in excessive Gifts to the Soldi­ers and Officers, to gain their Hearts, and make thy self Master of the Army, not minding the Corruption of Military Discipline, and that thou art the cause, that their Courage grows Effeminate, while pamper'd by thy Luxuries.’

The Second Proof of the Falshood of Liberality is this, That assoon as a Man proposes Expence to himself, that he may appear Honourable, his Avarice opposes his Vain-Glory, and contends against it with all it's force. And altho the Con­test be conceal'd in his Breast, yet may it be discover'd by the Effects which it pro­duces. For we find every day that a Great Lord that has entertain'd in his House Persons of the same Quality, after he has given order that nothing be wanting that is in Season, Neat, Delicate, and Magni­ficent; the next day when he comes to reckon with his Steward, he disputes the price of Things, and shews by his Trans­ports his Vexation, and sometimes by his Repentance, that he had not been so splen­did, but that his Ambition got the upper hand of his Avarice, and that a Liberal [Page 209] Man is but the Martyr of his Vani­ty.

Affectation is a Third Proof that Li­berality is no sincere Vertue. This Af­fectation is visible in the foregoing Ex­amples. We have known a Great Lord of the Old Court, who having lost a great Sum at Play, left off of a suddain; and because People believ'd he left off to save the rest of his Mony, which was very considerable, he gave it away in cold Blood to those that supply'd the Cards, to the admiration of all the Company. We have seen a Governour of a Province, whose Train equall'd that of a Soveraign Prince, who orde [...]'d a prodigious num­ber of Cloaths to be made him, and ne­ver wore the same Suit twice; but after he had worn a Suit one day, gave it away to his Favourites, or to his Servants, which made him look'd upon in his Govern­ment, and over all France, for the most Liberal and Generous Person in the World.

The Fourth Proof is this, That they who are esteem'd for their Liberality, let all the World see what they do: Whence it comes to pass, that they are more or [Page 210] less Liberal, according to the opportuni­ties which they have to be so; but never shew it, unless they have remarkable Te­stimonies of their Liberality.

Play is the next Proof, that Man is ne­ver truly Liberal; for when the heat of Play has disorder'd him, and render'd him uncapable to conceal his ordinary Defects and vicious Inclinations, presently he cries out,

The hope of Gain kindles him in such a manner, and renders it self so suddainly Master of his Thoughts, that if he win, he feels at the bottom of his Heart, that im­mediately ascends into his Face: If he lose, he brooks his loss with an extreme Anxie­ty; So that the same Person that seems to throw away his Mony profusely, applies himself to his Game with all the eager­ness imaginable, and shews how truly he loves the Good, which he strives to de­spise.

The Sixth Proof is, That Persons who are accounted Liberal, never observe the Dictates of Reason in the distribution of [Page 211] their Gifts; for they squander 'em some­times to Persons of no Worth or Merit: They take no care to proportion their Fa­vours to the Nature of their Exigencies; they gratify the Rich, and leave those un­regarded to whom a small taste of their Vertue would be an incredible Relief. This mark of False Liberality is very con­siderable; Whereas on the other side, it is a certain sign that a Man is truly Libe­ral, if he prefer out of Choice for Objects, Persons of Merit and Vertue fallen under Misfortune; if he bestow his Mony upon poor Widows, burthened with a nume­rous Family; or to People imprison'd for small and trivial Debts.

In the last place we prove that no Man is Liberal, because there is not any Man but who is Covetous; for that all the Passions are predominant to some degree or other in the Heart of Man; and conse­quently Avarice as well as others: And tho it appear not equally alike in all Men, she shews her self in all, and at all times, or at least upon several occasions. We find also that Avarice is a Passion predo­minant in all those that are advanced in years; For as their Business increases eve­ry [Page 212] day with their Infirmities, and as their experience also has taught 'em, that there are a thousand ways to lose the Estate and Fortune which a Man thinks himself sureof, so they all bemoan their own Conditions, and study all the ways ima­ginable of Thrift and Sparing; So that after Ambition, Love, Envy, Jealousie, Hatred and Revenge have tyranniz'd over Man, Covetousness comes to torment him in her turn, and so concludes his misera­ble Life. This Passion that brings him so low, is the last Agitation that troubles his Repose, and shews him, That if he seek not for it in God, he must never ex­pect it but in his Tomb.

What has been said may serve to put us in mind of that admirable saying of Plato, who said, That the Vertue of Men was no more than an Exchange. For this defini­tion perfectly agrees with [...]iberality, since that which we exercise most usually, is but exchange of Mony for Honor, as we find in those persons who are prodigal of their own in the sight of Princes and Great Personages, meerly to oblige 'em to re­turn 'em their expences, in Pensions, Em­ployments, or Honourable Preferments: [Page 213] and so in these Men who are highly Am­bitious, who purchase the Suffrages of the People to obtain the Soveraign Power; it is an Exchange of Mony for Dominion; The Liberality of Lovers, who consume their Estates in Presents, and other idle Expences, is an Exchange of Mony for the satisfaction which they desire▪

But Christian Liberality is only true Liberality, and a sincere Vertue. For Christians always draw from an innocent Stock all the Presents and Benefits which they bestow, and never give to others what they owe, or what they have given to others. And in regard they do no­thing out of Ostentation, they conceal their Gifts with an extraordinary care, and in all things observe the Rules of Cha­rity, Justice and Prudence, which ren­ders their Liberality truly Vertuous, and that they are the same in their Hearts, as they appear in their Actions.

THere is nothing that flatters the vain­glory of Man so much, as his own Designs and Projects: yet generally all his Contrivances turn to his loss; Those of the Ambitious disquiet their Repose; Those of the Covetous, condemn 'em to those cares that feed upon their Bowels, while they live; and the Designs of those that build up pompous and stately Pala­ces, and go attended with Magnificent Trains, discover their Littleness, and their Indigence. For must not that Man think himself to be very little, and otherwise of no Merit or Worth, who rears up lof­ty Buildings, furnishes himself with Coach­es, and a numerous Retinue of Pages and Lacqueys, meerly to make an Addition [Page 215] to himself, and to aggrandize himself by that sort of means?

Magnificence therefore is but a haughty Sentiment, and a kind of Despair of ever finding our selves any thing Great, or of extraordinary Worth; which is the rea­son we have recourse to rich Moveables, Tapestries heightned with Gold and Sil­ver, as very low Women make use of Cork to raise themselves higher. Never­theless Aristotle extols this apparent Va­nity into a sublime Vertue, far surpassing Liberality: For he believes that it is with Magnificence in respect of Liberality, as, it is with Valour in respect of Boldness: For that of Boldness surmounts the Fears that disorder us, while Valour triumphs over those which are wont absolutely to terrify and subdue us. So Liberality en­clines us to moderate and order our Ex­pences, and Mauger our Natural Cove­tousness; but that it is Magnificence that carries us to Immense and extraordinary Profusion, and which gives us an entire Victory over Covetousness. But that which makes us question whether Mag­nificence have that advantage over Libe­rality, is this, That we find G [...]eat Per­sonages [Page 216] that have all opportunities to be profuse in their Buildings and Equipages yet are very pinching and sparing; and to whom it is a Trouble almost Invincible to be Liberal, but a pleasure to be Magnifi­cent. But this is certain, That there is no other difference between the Magnifi­cence and Liberality of this Age, than there is between Pride and Vanity; For what is the Magnificence of Princes, and opulent Persons? What are those Palaces where Gold, Marble, and Porphery do cast such a resplendent Luster? What are all those stately Fabricks in the Countrey where all the Rules of Symmetry appear? What are all those Gracious Parks, enclo­sing Woods and Rivers, but a haughty and pompous Shew of this high Condition and Wealth, of which, if we desire to be further convinc'd, we need but consider, that Moderation is only the aba [...]ement of this Loftiness and Excess, and that we give high Encomiums to those, who find­ing themselves advanc'd in Dignity, and loaden with Riches, practise that Vertue of Moderation in their Buildings, their Ha­bit, their Furniture, and their Table Ex­pences.

[Page 217] How then could it come into Aristotle's Mind, That a Man who consumes the best part of his Estate in vain-glorious and vi­cious Superfluities, should be a person not only worthy to be applauded, but also excellently vertuous? For can it be said, that a Magnificent Person may vertuously hold a stately and Magnificent Fabrick, unless he regulate his Expences according to his Estate, and that his Magnificence shews it self in lasting and durable Things, as Pillars and Columns of Marble, not in brittle Glass-windows? and provided he do not imitate the Megareans, who made splendid Banquets for their Comedians, and receiv'd 'em into their City with so much Pomp, that the very Streets as they pass'd along were cover'd with Purple. Is it not evident that all the Inconveniences which this Philosopher would have us to shun, serve only to preserve a Man from being ridiculous, but no way prevent his being vain-glorious, on bestowing such excessive Sums in Painting, Guilding and costly Furniture? Is it not certain, that if Magnificence have no other Limits than those to which Aristotle has confin'd it, there is no sort of superfluity which he might [Page 218] not have justified by the same Reasons? and that he would have been so far from disapproving, that he would have com­mended those prodigious Buildings of Lu­cullus, upon the Shoar of the Neopolitan Sea? The Mountain digg'd quite tho­row, and supported by a stupendious Arch, the vast and deep Moats to let in the Sea that surrounded the wondrous Pile? And that he never would have found fault with long excess in the infinite num­ber of Statues and Pictures, wherewith it was adorn'd, nor the more credible num­ber of Rooms and Apartiments neatly furnish'd; nor in those heaps of Gold and Silver Plate, adorn'd with precious Stones, in which Lucullus was continually serv'd? Yet these excesses were so generally blam'd in Rome, that his nearest Relations and his Friends, among the rest▪ Caron and Ci­cero were highly offended at his Extra­vagance; besides that, they were for a long time the Subjects of the publick Sa­tyrs, and Railery of the Town; as we find in Horace.

Therefore we must not attribute the War which the Cynni declare against Luxury, to their Malice and fantastical [Page 219] Humor. For this War is so far from be­ing particular, since it is no more than what the Wise Men of all Ages have done, who ever look'd upon the Pomp of Buildings, and the Curiosity of Furniture, and Ha­bit, as meer Vanity and Childishness. ‘We are true Children, said Aristotle, the Marble Pillars, and Statues delight us as painted Shells and Baubles please them▪ so that there is no other difference be­tween them and us, but that our Plea­sure and divertisements are much more costly, and our Childhood continues all our Lives.’ And thus from what has been said it is evident, how hard a thing it is to condescend to the Opinion of Ari­stotle, who so openly defends Luxury, with the solidity of so Great a Philoso­pher. ‘Aristotle, says St. Thomas, ex­empts from him those that are superflu­ous in their Expences, and I condemn as evil whatever is contrary to the Rules of Justice and Reason.’

If then Holy Reason condemns all those that Lodge, that Furnish, that Apparel themselves Magnificently, and of Gold, Marble, and other Precious things bewail their had Fortune, that Man makes use [Page 220] of 'em to support his Vanity, the same Reason shews us, That there is nothing he can do more worthy commendation, than to [...]lee [...] 'em from that Servitude; by consecrating 'em to God for the Orna­ment of his publick Temples. For that then it is that he is not Magnificent for his own Name, but for the Honor of God. And therefore it was, that there was nothing more beautiful, nor so full of Grandeur, as that Fabrick rear'd by the wisest of Kings, and Consecrated to the Veneration of the Almighty; and therefore it is, that we see so many Glorious Temples erected to the Honour of Christ, which remain as so many Monuments of the Piety and Magnificence of Christian Princes.

The Examples of Judith and Queen Esther make it appear, that they made a good use of their Vertue of Magnificence. For Judith who in her Widowhood cloath­ed her self suitably to her Condition, laid aside her Mourning Habit, and put on costly and magnificent Apparel to appear in all her Lustre before Holofernes; that she might have the fairer opportunity to give the stroak which God had reserved for her Arm. And Queen Esther, who [Page 221] call'd the Crown that she wore, The Sign of her High Estate, that she abhorr'd, yet put it upon her Head, and presented her Self to Ahashuerus, apparell'd and dress'd to preserve her Nation.

We have also learnt from the Conduct of the most Pious and Modest of Prin­ces, That it is most proper for Soveraign Kings to make Presents proper to the Gran­deur of their Dominions, to the Ambas­sadors of Princes their Allies; to make splendid and sumptuous Banquets, to ren­der their Treaties more solemn, and Mag­nificently to entertain those Kings that came to visit 'em, or that had occasion to pass through their Territories. And thus it was that St. Lewis received the Empe­ror Frederick at Campergne, where he order'd the Nobility of his Court to be pompously attir'd, and made himself a most Magnificent Entry. ‘This Holy and Devout Prince, says Mezerai, was mo­dest, and an Enemy to Luxury in his own Person, and Pompous and Su­perb in his publick Ceremonies.’ Charle­main, tho for the most part went like the meanest of his ordinary Subjects; was most sumptuously apparell'd when he gave Au­dience [Page 222] to Ambassadors, and gave a Crown glittering with Precious Stones. Lewis the Debonnaire observed the same Method. And the end which those Religious Prin­ces propos'd to themselves upon all occa­sions, where they appear'd with so much splendor, was to give an Idea of the Strength and Riches of their Kingdoms, that other Kings might be afraid to invade their Territories, and by that means to secure the Repose of the People, that God had committed to their Charge.

These are the Lawful employments of Magnificence, besides which, there are none that can be serviceable to us with­out perverting the Use of it, and beyond which, all the rest is but vain Glory and Ostentation. For tho Aristotle affirm that a sumptuous Palace is an Ornament to the Founder, Certain it is, that tho all the Palaces of Kings belonged to Him, he would neither be the Greater, nor the more Magnificent; That his Glory and Magnificence, as the Holy Scripture teaches us, ought to be within himself; and that it consists in the Use of these Vertues, with which his Soul ought to be adorn'd; so that as they who excell in Arts and Sci­ences [Page 223] are Famous without employments and preferments; So Men that excel in Vertues not to be found in other Men, are Magnificent without Houses, without Retinues or costly Equipages; and we re­verence 'em for their own sakes much more, than they that we behold, attended with numerous and gawdy Trains of Servants. He alone, said Epicurus, is truly Magnifi­cent, who has no need of Magnificenee.

THE Poets could never tire them­selves with heaping Aggravations on the daring Boldness of those that first attempted to cross the Seas, and trusting to a few weak and easily broken Planks which they fix'd together between them and Death, forc'd their way through those vast Abysses of Water.

But for my part, I find those to be far more bold, who first design'd living in Society together. And I am certain, that whoever does admire the daring Bold­ness of such an Enterprize, never consi­der'd, or never understood the Nature of Man, so far from being endu'd with Qua­lities proper for Union, that they make it their sole Business to persecute, tear in pieces, and destroy one another. In a word, A Great Assembly of Men is a dan­gerous [Page 225] Sea, more treacherous, and more tempestuous than the wild Ocean it self. And let the Winds be never so impetuous and so innumerable, the Passions of Men surmount 'em in Number, in Contrariety, and Violence.

Let us make good our Assertion, and affirm, That Men through their viciousness being become the same that the most wild and savage Beasts by Nature are, it was not an Enterprize so difficult to tame and civilize Bears, Tygers, and Lyons, as to Assemble Men together. There is also this difference, That the Cruelty of Brutes passes away with their Impetuosity; that they fall upon Men through the Motives of a Blind Instinct, and that they do not understand the Art of Mischief. Whereas Men keep their▪ Resentments a long time, that they weave and contrive Assassina­tions and Murthers, to execute 'em with more security, and that they are ingeni­ous to lay snares one for another.

The same Considerations perhaps made the Poets first imagine, that when our So­cieties were first establish'd, and that they set up their first Common-weal, Justice descended from Heaven to prevent it from [Page 226] becoming suddainly a dreadful Theater of Murthers, Assassinations, and Robbe­ries; for which reason they represent her with a Sword in her Hand, wherewith she menaces the Wicked, and punishes bad Offenders, and Persons daringly un­just.

This is as much as to say, that Justice is a Heavenly Vertue; whether we con­sider it in the Persons of Princes and Judges that dispence it, or in the rest of Men who make it the Rule of their Acti­ons; or whether we consider it in the Person of Good Men, who love and wil­lingly obey it; or in the Persons of the Wicked, who observe her Laws through constraint and fear of Punishment; For the Fear of Punishment is the Wisdom of the wicked, and the Vertue of those that have none.

This is the Opinion which all Men have conceiv'd of Justice. They believe that she drew her Original from Heaven, and the Wisest and most Understanding Persons have given her high Encomiums. ‘Ver­tue said a Pythagorean, is a Divine Ver­tue, that under several Names Governs the World; and all the parts that com­pose [Page 227] it. For so long as she maintains the World in order we give her the Name of Providence; The Name of Love, when she Rules advisedly Cities, Common-wealths and Kingdoms; And Vertue, when she disciplines Men into Order and Civil Conversation.’ Lastly, it is Vertue, says St. Austin, which has the priviledge to keep Men in subjection to God, and to prevent his Wrath from withdrawing us from under her Domini­on.

We must confess, that these Encomiums give us a fair Idea of this Vertue; and indeed we cannot imagine a more delight­ful Spectacle than to see Men equally, zea­lous, the one to press us to observe, the other eager to follow the Laws and Com­mands of Justice, out of a sincere Love which they have for her. But where shall we find thi [...] sincere Love of Justice? Shall we find it in Soveraign Princes, the most careful to uphold Justice within their Realms? What was that care of the Pa­gan Emperors, and what was afterwards the same Care of the Christian Princes, who only Govern'd themselves by the Maxims and Spirit of Christianity; but [Page 228] an ardent desire of Raigning, and a piece of Policy purely Human? What was it in several Others, but their Natural haugh­tiness, which not enduring those that adventur'd to raise Rebellions, and to Declare War against 'em, punish'd those bold Attempters with utmost severity? Is it not in others a love of their Repose, which makes 'em so diligent to stifle sedi­tious Enterprizes, and so exact to execute the Rigor of the Laws upon the Heads of Sedition? Nor is it impossible but that in some it may be an eager Desire to obtain the Sirname, of Just. For thô the Love of Titles be an Ambition very frivilous, yet is it to be reck on'd among Human Passi­ons; in regard that Man is vain and frivi­lous to that Degree which is not to be ima­gined. Of which Augustus was an evi­dent Proof, who wept for joy, when the Senate gave him the Title of Father of his Countrey.

The Integrity of Magistrates is a singu­lar Affectation of Reputation, or a desire to prefer themselves to higher Employ­ments. For as Self Love engages Men to make their Vices and their Vertues service­able to their Interest; Hence it comes to [Page 229] pass that corrupt Judges do justice to en­rich themselves, others to gain the esteem of the World, and that their Soveraigns may deem 'em worthy of higher Em­ployments.

The Justice of private Persons most ex­act and careful of doing wrong or injury to their Neighbours, is a fear of being re­taliated with the fame injuries that they do to others. For Man that sees himself engag'd in Society among Men, lives there­in with more Caution and Fear, than if he were in the midst of a Forrest full of Wild Beasts; for he is not only afraid of his Life, but of his Quiet, and his Repn­tation. Besides, that the Oppressions, Vi­olences, and Murders, which he sees com­mitted every day, redouble his Terrors; so that while he continually meditates how to secure himself from the accidents that threaten him; he finds no better means than to observe the Laws of others, in respect of others; and that upon good grounds; For he that behaves himself to­wards others with so much circumspecti­on, that he never prejudices any of their Interests or Concerns, obliges them for their own Reputation to let him live with­out [Page 230] disturbance, in peace and quiet. And besides, Men have not the heart to harm or injure a Person that behaves himself peaceably and justly toward all the World. Men of Justice make deep impressions of Reverence in others, that we dare no more presume to touch their Honour, than the Consecrated Vessels of a Temple.

Thus the Justice of Private Men is no more than a kind of Politick reserv'dness to secure their Lives, their Estates, and their Honors from injury and violence. ‘Wherefore, says Aristotle, We must not be precipitate in our Judgments, in pro­nouncing slightly as we do, that he who performs Acts of Justice, is always a Just Man. Just and equitable Actions deceive us, says Plato, because we de­rive this consequence from thence, That they who are upright, are lovers of Ju­stice, and are endued with better Incli­nations than other Men; For they are no less covetous and violent than others, only they put a force upon themselves, and do no injury to any one, lest any person should do injury to them.’

[Page 231] The Justice of the Philosophers, was on­ly a desire to distinguish themselves from all other Men, by the uprightness of their Dealings, and to shew that only they liv'd according to the Rules of Right Reason.

The Justice of the Jews, who only act­ed by the Spirit of the Law, was only a Fear lest God should withdraw his Prote­ction from 'em, deliver 'em into the hands of their Enemies, and blast their Corn-Fields and their Vineyards.

There is not therefore any Justice a­mong Men, since there is not any one that observes her for the Love of her self; but in Soveraign Princes that defend and pro­tect it, in Judges that administer it, in private People that exercise it, it has no other foundation than that of Interest and Ambition, since it was no more than Va­nity among the Philosophers, and in her most zealous Admirers among the Jews, a servile and interested Fear.

It was not therefore without reason, that the Ancient Poets, whom Lactantius calls the First Sages of the World, complain'd that Justice was return'd to Heaven, and frequently wont to cry out,

For they made not their Complaints and Exclamations to any other end, but this Divine Vertue is no longer now re­maining among Men. The Fables also in­form us the Truth of this; and the short continuance of the Age of Gold, and Saturns Raign, with which ended the Raign of Fidelity and Justice, clearly de­monstrate, that Justice did not long con­tinue upon Earth; and that after she was banish'd, it was only through Ambition, or Interest, or Fear, that they who call'd themselves Just, abstain'd from doing in­jury to others. And this Truth is farther also confirm'd by the frequent wishes and sighs of the Prophets, and Patriarchs, by which they conjur'd the Heavens to drop down, and the Skie to pour down Righte­ousness.

Heaven therefore it is that inspires all true Christians with Justice, which disco­vers to 'em the Beauty of that Celestial Vertue which attracts the Souls of all Men. To them it is that Heaven ren­ders it more pleasing, and delicious [Page 233] than Honey, and more precious than all the Treasures of the World, 'Tis only in their Minds that he causes this Divine Light to shine, which instructs 'em, that his Will is the Rule of all their Duty, and that we are no longer Just, than while we conform and submit to that. Where­fore none but true Christians are truly Just, either before God or before Men. ‘I would have all the World to under­stand, says Plato, That no Men are Just through their own Natural Inclinations, and that they cannot love Justice with­out the particular assistance of God.’

HOnesty, says Guarini, Is but the Art of appearing Honest. But the Judge­ment which the Poet gives of the Hone­sty of Women, is very unjust. For in re­gard his Intention is not to tax their Ho­nesty, because that most commonly it is through their Pride, and not through any commendable motive of Vertue that they continue honest; and for that it is only of their External Honesty of which he discourses; it is therefore false, that this Honesty is only an Art of appearing Ho­nest, in regard we find that a great num­ber of Women are effectually so; among whom there are some so modest, that it would be impossible to wound their Re­putation, [Page 235] to tempt 'em to betray their Chastity, tho they were assur'd that their failings could never come to the know­ledge of the World. Therefore this Censure of his had been better grounded, had he apply'd it to the Honesty and In­tegrity of Men. For it is no less rare, to see People so equally Religious, as well to act nothing contrary to Integrity when they are in private, as when they have many Witnesses of their actions; than it is to find valiant Men, that assault or repell the Enemy with the same Valour by Night as they do by Day in the sight of their Ge­neral. It is also very rare to find out Men so setled and resolute in their Inte­grity, as neither to be shaken by Threats, or tempted by Promises; or so powerful over themselves, as to resist the force of their Passions. And to be convinc'd that there are none such, A Man need only re­flect upon all the actions of his Life, and consider whether any Interest of Hatred, of Revenge, of Love or Ambition, had never so much power over him as to make him forfeit his Fidelity and Integrity; Whe­ther it never happen'd, That to gratify a Woman whom he idoliz'd, he reveal'd a [Page 236] ecret of Importance that was entrusted in his Bosom; Whether the fear of falling into Disgrace with a Favourite at Court, never hindred him to testify the Truth, when his Testimony was requir'd to save the Reputation of a Person accus'd; Last­ly, Whether Jealousie had never provok'd him to lessen the Merit of a Noble Acti­on, with the best of his Friends perform­ed in Battel. Certain I am, that if Men will but seriously examine themselves, few or none will be found innocent, and that must not be forc'd to acknowledge, that he has often fail'd in his Integrity, when he could do it without fear of Shame or Punishment, and that it redounded to his Advantage.

But tho we should Grant that there are some Persons whose Integrity is not to be corrupted; visible it is, that the Motives which excite 'em to the practise of it, will not suffer us to number it among the ver­tuous Qualities; because the Motives are altogether Human, and the chiefest of all is a criminal Ambition.

Now to shew what sort of Ambition it is, we must observe that the real Incli­nation of a Man over-rul'd by his Self-Love, [Page 237] desires that his Wit should surpass the Wit of all other Men, that every thing should yield to the strength of his Arm, and that all Men in general should submit to him. But finding in himself, and in other Men, an infinite number of Obstacles that oppose his Desire, he As­sembles and conceals it, as he sees more or less opportunity to satisfy it; and when he meets with none at all, he moderates and reduces himself to wish that he may only keep a considerable rank among those, of whom he cannot make himself the Ma­ster. Hence it comes to pass, that Great Personages labour to aggrandize them­selves still more and more, and when they find it impossible, they value themselves upon the Nobility of their Birth, and Teat the re [...]t of Men as if they were a Degree lower than they. There upon they who have no Descent to boast of, labour i [...]spite of Fortune, by the help of Ver­tue, to erect several Degrees among Men, and place themselves in the First Rank, by th [...]im [...]ans of their Integrity: To which Men give their consent, so much the more easily, because there is no living in any Society without Integrity, and because [Page 238] they love it proportionably to the [...]tred which they have for Treadhery and [...]n [...] ­delity.

They who exactly observe the Rules of Honesty, observe not only; that all the World agrees to rank 'em above others, through the necessity which they have of 'em, but they also find that Persons of Honor and Honesty are very rare; and this same scarcity is the reason by whom they desire to be most esteem'd, seek our their Company, and desire 'em for their Friends and Confidents; and that it is ve­ry requisite for 'em to preserve their De­gree and their Priviledges.

They also observe that there is nothing so publickly branded and ignomimous, as discovered Knavery and Falshood, and that they who are once found guilty of such Actions, never regain their Credit.

They find moreover, That tho Persons of Quality prosper not so frequently in the World, as Persons corrupt and Pro­stituted; nevertheless, that the success of Knavery and Treachery is not always in­fallible, that they are not rewarded every day; and that when they are, they that gain by their wickedness, pay for the Pro­fit [Page 239] which they reap by the Treason, but abominate the Traitors.

Upon these Considerations is grounded the Integrity of those, of whom we say, that they have Honest Souls. Interest produces the Integrity of Low and Mer­cenary People, and it is only a desire of Profit.

Some Persons deny that the Principle of Probity in Honest Men, is an Ambition to be eminent, without either Preferment or Dignity; but only to keep up a con­siderable Credit among Men: For that there are many People who practise both Fidelity and Integrity in private, and there­fore they act out of Integrity, and not out of any desire to be Honor'd and esteem'd of Men. To which we answer with St. Thomas, That there are some Men so happy in their compositions, that their very Tem­per of Body enclines 'em to Uprightness. In the next place, he who performs acts of Integrity, tho he conceal his Actions from the knowledge of the World, per­forms 'em out of a real desire to be ap­plauded by all the World. And to make the Paradox out, we must understand that Men are so Vain-glorious, and Cove­tous [Page 240] of Praise, that the most excellent parts of Knowledge and the most excel­lent Vertues please, them only, proporti­onably to the Esteem and Applause which they bring them. And therefore we may say, that in the Breasts of all those that are endu'd with extraordinary Vertues, there is one sort of Ambition resembling that of Victorious Captains, and that both the one and the other, aim in their way at the Conquest of Human Kind, with this difference, That Conquerors labour to subdue all Men, to be Masters of their Estates and Liberties: Whereas they who are endu'd with rare and singular Vertues, study to possess the first place in the esteem of the Vanquish'd. But the Philosophers, who were the First in whom this Ambiti­on appear'd, deeming it impossible to gain the approbation of all the World, (because the most part of Men have very little judgment, and are moreover Capri­cious and Unjust,) they bounded the pre­tences of Wisdom to be content with the Approbation of Men Judicious, Equita­ble and Vertuous. Afterwards observing that it was a difficult thing to gain the Appobation of Many, in regard the Va­riety [Page 241] of Judgments is as various as that of Tasts; they thought it enough for a Wise Man to have the Approbation of one sin­gle Person, provided he be a Person of a clear and solid Judgment, and in Credit with all honest Men. One single Person, said Democritus, is worth a multitude. ‘We flatter our selves more, said Epicurus, writing to one of his Friends, with the esteem which we have one for another, then with all the Acclamations of the People.’

This Opinion seem'd best to the Philo­sophers, even till Seneca's time, who best understanding what was most proper to gratify the Pride of Man, pronounc'd, That a Wise Man being capable alone to judge of the Merit of Actions, was the on­ly person fit to be Judge of himself, and that he had no need of any other Appro­bation. ‘A Wise Man, said he, ceases not to be perfectly contented, tho he has no witness of his Actions; for what mony of himself, and to be the Object of his own Admiration?’

[Page 242] All which clearly demonstrates, that he who performs Acts of Integrity unknown to the World, performs 'em out of a real desire of applause, seeing that his strong­est Passion being to be approv'd by him­self, he seeks after that Approbation which is to him most grateful, and which he pre­fers before all publick Applauses. Althô Glory consists not in the praise of a single Person, said Salust, Yet there are certain Persons, said St. Thomas, that establish their own Honor upon their own Esteem. 'Tis true, these Persons are very scarce, and if they do perform any private acts of Inte­grity, they nourish a conceal'd Hope that some favourable Hazard will bring 'em to light.

'Tis not then Integrity, but the Enco­mium's given to Integrity which Men af­fect; nor do evil Actions displease 'em; but they dislike 'em because they ruine their Reputation: And therefore when they are accus'd to have committed any ill Act, to the prejudice of Integrity, tho they know in their Consciences that they are guilty, they implore the assist­ance of their Friends, and try all the ways imaginable to justify themselves. We [Page 243] hear of several Magistrates, says Plato, who sell Justice, and privately take Bribes; but we shall never find one that will con­fess he has taken a Bribe; or that being accus'd of it, can patiently endure his ac­cusation.

Let us then confess, to the Glory of God, That it is he alone that infuses Ho­n [...]sty into Men, and that he alone is the only Caelestial Fountain of Integrity. For He, uniting 'em in the Bonds of Charity, puts 'em into such a Condition, that it is im­possible they should falsify their Word and Fidelity, or not acquit themselves of the several Duties which they owe one to another. And there is no doubt but the softness and force of this Tye, can re­strain and hinder 'em from Deceit and Treachery. The Bands of Human Friend­ship are too weak to resist the violence of his Passions; and too often we meet with ambitious Men, that underhand cross the designs of their best Friends, and who af­ter they have promis'd 'em the utmost of their assistances for the obtaining an Em­ployment, use all their Endeavours, and employ all their Craft and Cunning to deprive 'em of it. ‘There is no solid In­tegrity, [Page 244] says Plato, but that which is ac­companied with Piety and Holiness. Perfect Honesty, says Aristotle, is that which we practise out of a consideration of things Divine and Eternal.’

HOW wonderful are thy Works O God, the Prophet cry'd out in the Transports of his Admiration, when he beheld the several Wonders and Master­pieces of the Deity, that adorn'd the spa­cious World. In his Extasie to view so great a number of Creatures, their Beau­ty, their Riches, and their different Qua­lities. But their Magnificence was not the sole cause of his Admiration; For what he adds, Thou hast made all these things in Wisdom shews, that he was equally ravisht with that wonderful Order which God had setl'd among 'em. Seeing that after he had Created those various Beings, if he had not regulated their Motions, the [Page 246] World which was to be a perfect piece of Workmanship, to make known to us by its own, the Perfection of the Creator, would have prov'd nothing but Disorder and Confusion.

If Order then, without which the World would have been a Chaos, appear'd so Lovely and so Admirable, the Secret which the Wisdom of God found out to establish it, was no less worthy of Admi­ration. For he made the Creatures un­equal in their Perfection, to the end, the less Perfect might depend upon the more Excellent, and appointed to every one a Place suitable to the Degree of its Per­fection. To this end he plac'd the Sun in the midst of the Heavens, that he might diffuse his Light over all parts of the World; that his enliv'ning Heat might contribute to the Birth, the Growth, and the Preservation of Plants, of Animals, and Men, and that the Earth might every year be renew'd by his Influencies.

God has observ'd the same Method in respect of Men, he has ordain'd 'em to be Born, different in their Condition; he has rais'd some to a degree above others; and has order'd the Repose, the Preserva­tion, [Page 247] and the Happiness of those whom he has plac'd in subjection to depend up­on the continual Cares and Vigilance of those whom he has appointed for their Go­vernors: So that we may say, That as the Sun is the Eye with which all Men See, and without whose Light our Eyes would be useless to us; in like manner our So­veraign Prince is the Eye of his Realm; and such an Eye that continually enlight­ens his Subjects, so that without that Light they would always be groping and wan­dring in the Dark.

This Order of Divine Wisdom it is, that subjects the Multitude to one single Person, which Plato considering, it made him wish, That as God was the sole Go­vernor of the World, that all Men were under one Prince. ‘Mankind, said he, will never be truly and really happy, till they come under the Conduct of one sole Monarch: Then all the unhappy Causes of War cease altogether. No longer then shall Interest, Jealousie and Ambition Arm Soveraign Princes one a­gainst another. No longer then shall we hear the Moans of People, that in so many places groan under the Dominion [Page 248] of Tyrants, that oppress and despoil 'em of their Estates: No longer shall the Wicked, the Perfidious, the Villa­nous find Sanctuary in Foreign King­doms. For then so many different Na­tions shall be but as one Family which this same King, and only Father, shall love with a tender Affection, and en­rich with his Favours and Blessings.’

But God not only binds Subjects to their Soveraign, by that same Interest which obliges 'em to Obedience; for knowing well the Blindness and Inconstancy of Men, he found this Tye would not be strong enough; therefore he has engag'd 'em to Submission by the obligation of Conscience, and has made it a Religious Duty to be Loyal and Obedient to Sove­raign Princes. He has also so clearly ex­plain'd this Duty in so many places of Scri­pture, that it is visible he design'd to take away all pretences of its Violation; ha­ving Declar'd, that neither the evil Qua­lities, nor the severe Government of Kings, shall be any ground for Subjects to revolt from their Obedience. And it was necessary that God should so Declare himself. For that Fidelity which tyes [Page 249] Subjects to their lawful Princes, being the only cause of the Tranquility of King­doms and Empires, had God left 'em at their liberty to withdraw themselves from their Subjection upon all occasions, he had expos'd Kingly Government to the rashness of the Judgments of every one, and their Dominions to frequent Revolutions; and had he not rank'd in the number of his Laws, the obligation of Obedience to Princes, they could hardly have assur'd themselves of the Fidelity of their Sub­jects; for that the Dispositions of Men frequently alter, and for that their Natu­ral Inconstancy, and variety of Interests are such, that they cannot answer for themselves. And this Fidelity thus ex­plain'd, is an Obligation which God has laid upon us, not to be broken for the sake of any Interest, nor to be dispenc'd with­al by any Authority, nor upon any pre­tence whatever.

Great Politicians demand how Subjects ought to demean themselves, when Kings in their Treaties violate the Fundamental Laws of Monarchy. For example, What should the French have done, had Francis the First, been obstinate in observing the [Page 250] Treaty which he made at Madrid; by which he was engag'd to surrender Bur­gundy to Charles the V.

To this, one of the most Learned and ac­complish'd Politicians of our age makes answer, ‘That upon those occasions it ought to be the first Duty of the Sub­jects, to divert the King from his Inten­tion by Petitions, and Remonstrances; of which, if the King takes no notice, What can the Subject do more, but only receive his Commands, and his Orders, but forbear to put 'em in execution?’ Which was the Course which the French men took in reference to Francis the I. After that, the same Author adds, ‘That if it should happen, he should at­tempt to win by force, what he could not gain by fair means, and violently seek to constrain those that would not wil­lingly follow him, What should they do in such a strange Conjuncture? Shall they submit to the violence that threa­tens to overwhelm 'em, or shall they rise up in opposition? Shall they submit or resist? Shall they desert the common Good of the Publick, or make War, not against the Prince, for that is not lawful, [Page 251] but against the Will of the Prince? Which being certain Precipices, into which we must of necessity fall, and the Malignity of the raigning Constellation not being byany means to be appeas'd; What can they do but have recourse to their Arms, and call to their assistance the first Light of Nature, which is Self-Preservation?’

This Case thus resolv'd by a Person of so solid and clear a judgment, makes me think, that the Christians in respect of Hu­man Reason are no more then what the Pagans were, in respect to the Oracles of their false Deities. Those Oracles thought it their best course to cheat and delude the People, by the Obscurity and Ambi­guity of their Answers. In like manner, How experienc'd soever the Christians may be, that the determinations of Reason are deceiful and uncertain, they cannot for­bear consulting it, and nothing is able to make 'em sensible of their Error in con­fiding in it. And that for which they de­serve to be blam'd in an extraordinary manner, is this, That the Oracle of the Holy Spirit, which is the only infallible Oracle curses Man that confides in him­self, and who puts his Strength in his [Page 252] Weakness, that is to say, Who relies up­on his Reason, and prefers the crooked and dangerous Turnings which that discovers, before the sure, straight, and only Path which is taught us by the Law of God. Thus we find that Politicians are always floating and divided in their Judgments; never uniform in their Resolutions, while the plain well-meaning Person that puts his confidence in God; and guides him­self according to his Promises, walks with assurance. For the way of the Lord is the strength of the simple, saith the Scripture. And now let us apply this to our pur­pose.

When Princes by their Treaties have parted with Cities of Importance, or some considerable Province; upon such occa­sions what do the People do that pre­sume upon themselves? They consume and evaporate themselves in vain Reasons; they cry out, That the Subjects have a right to oppose themselves against such Trea­ties, and that they are not oblig'd to act as Subjects, where the King refuses to act as a Soveraign; they measure the extent of Royal Power, and that of their Du­ty, and stretch 'em out, and shorten 'em [Page 253] according to the diversity of their Thoughts; they enquire into the Rights and Prerogatives of Soveraigns, and la­bour to set up the Priviledges that Na­ture has given us. But what does the plain down-right Person do? He walks in the way that the Law of God has mark'd out; that Commands him to obey the King; he Obeys, while they endeavour to draw him out of the way by specious Reasons; they tell him the Prince goes about to ranvers a Fundamental Law of Monarchy; but he believes himself not able to give his Judgment in so difficult a Mat­ter; only he knows that Human Reason deceives us every day, but that the Law of God cannot deceive us. ‘A Man of Understanding, says the Scripture, trusts in the Law, and the Law is faithful to him.’

This Behaviour of a down-right Person, that is of a Good Man and a Christian, is not only the most safe in point of Con­science, but the most Just and Rational. For as it is impossible for Subjects rightly to understand the Case of Affairs, it is as impossible altogether for them to judge, whether it be profitable or prejudicial, to [Page 254] cut off a Province from the Body of the Realm; and as for the general Knowledge of this Matter, it obliges 'em altogether to Obedience. For they know that one Province may be given in exchange for an­other nearer and more commodious, or Surrender'd either for the prevention, or putting an end to some Great War. They are also well instructed, that they have no­thing to do to descant upon the Actions of their Soveraigns; and that they ought not to censure their Government without a misbeseeming Audaciousness. ‘It is not lawful for Subjects, says Tacitus, to condemn the Actions of Kings, nor to enquire into the hidden Reasons, and Mysteries of their Conduct: The Gods have made 'em Arbitrers of the Affairs and Designs of Empires; and have only left us the Honor to Obey. Besides, have the Subjects any reason to complain, that their Rights are invaded by the Surrender of a Province?’ Does the Kingdom belong to them? Is it not the Patrimony of our Princes? Have they not won by the Sword the greatest part of the Provinces that compose it? Four of our First Kings, especially Clouis? did not [Page 255] they alone conquer the greatest part of France? and is it not by Purchase, by Donations and Matches, that the rest of the Provinces are come to the Crown? And therefore especially in Hereditary Kingdoms, it is no such unjust thing for a Prince to alienate some part of his Domi­nions. Besides that, we are always to take it for Granted, that they never do it but when compell'd by necessity; or that they find a considerable advantage by it.

The opposition of the French to the Treaty which Charles the VI, made with Henry the V. King of England, and the War wherein they engag'd to prevent the Effects, are proofs already without any appearance of Reason, that Subjects some­times may oppose by force the Will of their Soveraign. For how can we say that the French upon that occasion, took up Arms against Charles VI. or what Validity could they imagine to be in a Treaty made when the Prince was troubl'd in his Mind, and by which his Son was depriv'd of the Crown, which was his Right. In a word, the Ambition of Henry V. the Revenge of the Duke of Burgundy, and Queen Isa­bel of Bavaria's hatred of the Dolphin, [Page 256] were the true and only Causes of that Treaty. So that there never was a War more just then that which the French en­tred into, as being against the Usurper of the Kingdom; and for that they took part with Charles VII. who was not only Successor, but in Possession, and Master of the Kingdom, his Father being civilly Dead, and not in a Condition ei­ther to Treat or meddle with any man­ner of Affairs.

As for the resistance of the French to the execution of the Treaty of Madrid con­cerning Burgundy, It is visible that Francis I. might easily have surmounted it, but that he cherish'd it, that he might have a pretence for the not observing a Trea­ty so disadvantageous. It is visible that he left Spain with a Resolution to break it; for so soon as he return'd into his King­dom, he summon'd an Assembly of the Estates to meet at Angoulesme, where after he had protested in the presence of La­ney (the Emperors Creature) That for his part he desir'd to observe the Trea­ty punctually, he submitted to the Argu­ments on the other side, that it was not in his Power to perform it; for that by [Page 257] the Fundamental Laws of Monarchy, Kings could not alienate any Right or Inheritance that belong'd to the Crown; and that having receiv'd the Monarchy entire from his Ancestors, he was oblig'd to leave it entire to his Successors. And of this Men may be soon convinc'd, if they consider, that Charles the VI. a Prince of less Courage, less Formidable, and of less Authority then Francis I. laugh'd at an opposition of the same Nature; and that Francis I. by the Trea­ty of Cambray, which was an Alloy to to that of Madrid, renounc'd his Pre­tentions to Flanders and Artois, and the Right which he had to Milan, and the Kingdom of Naples, contrary to the Re­solutions taken by the General Estates, and contrary to the Fundamental Laws of Monarchy. True it is, that these Argu­ments ought to be grounded upon some lawful Reason; and that King's would injure their Successors; if they parted with any Province from the Body of their Do­minions, without being constrained: But when they condescend to those Retrench­ments only by compulsion, or for the good of the Kingdom, their Subjects have [Page 258] no reason to complain; or, if they had, the greatest part of our Kings had more reason to complain of their Predecessors, particularly of the Children of Henry II. who by the Treaty of Careau-Cambre­sis restored near Two hundred Cities, or strong Holds to the other Party.

To this we must add, that it is a diffi­cult thing to observe that point of Gran­deur, alledg'd by the fore-mention'd Au­thor; that when Dominions are united, it is not lawful for kings to part with any parcel thereof; because it is not long since the settlement of our Monarchs, that France has been enlarg'd by the Con­quests of our Kings, or been lessen'd by those of our Neighbours. Moreover, the Princes of the First and Second Race have frequently diminish [...]d its Grandeur, by dividing it among their Children into se­veral Kingdoms. Lastly, not to mention all the Provinces that have been disunited from the Crown, it will be sufficient to remark, that Burgundy was disunited by Henry the younger Son of Hugh Capet, in favour of Robert his Brother, that it re­turn'd to the Crown under King John, who gave it in a short time after to Phi­lip [Page 259] the Bold, his Fourth Son, and after the death of Charles, the last Duke of Bur­gundy, Lewis the XI. made himself Master of it, so that it had not been re-united to the Crown above Fifty years, when Fran­cis I. was inclinable to have restor'd it back again.

Let us proceed to those other Pretences for dispensing with our Loyalty to our Soveraigns. Religion, the Reformation of the Kingdom, and the grievances of Impositions, are the pretences most fre­quently made use of to debauch the Sub­ject into Conspiracies and Factions. But a Loyal Subject ought to be careful of being deluded by specious Pretences, and to have always before his Eyes the saying of Tacitus, ‘That Liberty, and Ease of the People are specious Words which the Fa­ctious make use of to withdraw Subjects from their Obedience.’ Therefore to those that complain of the burthen of Taxes and Subsidies, we must answer, That God not only Commands Obedience to Princes that Govern their Subjects with Lenity and Mildness; but also to those that trample upon their Necks, and make an ill use of their Power. To those that [Page 260] Pretend Reformation of State, we are to affirm, that Disorder is not the way to Order, nor is the Cure of a distemper'd Kingdom to be wrought by such a vio­lent and dangerous Remedy as War, which is a Remedy far worse then the Distemper, which they pretend to heal; or, then they can pretend to have suffer'd for several years together.

The pretence of Religion is the most predominant of all; and whenever the Politic Heads of Factions pretend to co­ver their Ambition with that fair pretence, they fail not of wonderful success; Under this Veil were conceal'd the great Pro­jects and Designs of the House of Lorrain, when the Duke of Guise form'd that famous League against Henry III. And, the reason it got to such a head in so short a time: and therefore we find that it was the principal and continual care of the Duke of Guise, and after him of the Duke of Maine, to imprint in the Minds of the People, by the means of the Religious Orders, that Preach'd to 'em, and govern'd their Consciences, that Henry III. favour'd the Hugonots under-hand; and reduc'd the King to such a condition, that he was forc'd [Page 261] to League himself with the King of Na­varre, with whom he was no sooner agreed, but happen'd the deadly Blow at St. Clou.

The pretence of Religion had the pow­er to engage a prodigious number of Per­sons of Quality and Worth in that per­nicious League, and to kindle a War both in France and Germany; not only through the Industry of the Nobility, who made use of it to bring about their own De­signs; but also through Ignorance of the principal Maxims of our Religion; of which, this is one of great Importance; That we ought not to do an ill thing, to procure a certain Good, or to avoid an Evil. Now to rebel against our lawful Soveraign, is visibly Evil; therefore we ought not to Rebel in hopes of any Good whatever, nor for fear of any Damage or Evil that may ensue. And we must un­derstand, that how terrible soever those Misfortunes are intended, we are like to fall into, they are beneath the wounding of our Consciences.

This Religious submission to those whom God has set over us, remarkably appear'd among the Christians of the Four first Ages, who never swerv'd from their [Page 262] Obedience to the Pagan Emperors; no, not from those that furiously persecuted both them and their Religion, that stu­died their Extirpation, and put 'em to death with innumerable Torments. And which was a greater wonder, that seve­ral were the Emperor's Domestick Ser­vants, several that had great Preferments at Court, and so great a number that serv'd 'em in the Field, that Dioclesian had no less then Thirty thousand in his Army. They that were the Emperor's Servants serv'd him with Respect, Affecti­on and Fidelity; and they that were List­ed in their Armies, fought with so much zeal for the preservation of the Empire, that St. Sebastian, one of the Captains of Dioclesian's Guard, reproaching his Cru­elty toward the Christians, Thou exer­cisest thy Fury, said he, upon thy best Ser­vants, upon People that every day pray for thy Prosperity, and the safety of the Empire. St. Romulus, Grand Master of Trojan's Houshold, tax'd the Emperor in the same manner when he disbanded Eleven thou­sand Christians, and banish'd 'em into Ar­menia; and boldly reprov'd him for de­priving [Page 263] himself of the stoutest, and most faithful Soldiers in his Army.

Now in regard the Form of the Oath which the Christians took, when they were enroll'd, cannot be thought imper­tinent to our purpose; I thought it not amiss to recite it here, as we find it in Ve­getius.

‘We oblige our selves in the Name of God, of Christ, the Holy Ghost, and his Imperial Majesty, whom it behoves us to Honour next to God, to be faithful to the Emperor, to obey his Commands, ne­ver to desert our Colours, or refuse to dye, upon all occasions that call us to defend the publick Weal.’

This Form was admitted by all the Emperors, till the Reign of Maximian Hercules, who alter'd it, and Command­ed all his Soldiers to swear upon the Al­tars of his false Gods, that they would Fight couragiously against all that oppos'd his March. That Order was no sooner brought to the Theban L [...]gion, consisting of Six thousand six hundred Christians, but they left the Camp, and set up their Standards about three Leagues off. The Emperor understanding what had hap­pen'd, [Page 264] summon'd 'em to return, and rejoyn the Body of the Army. But St. Mauri­tius who Commanded that famous Legi­on, made answer to the Messenger, That he and his fellow Soldiers, were ready to expose their Lives in the Emperors Ser­vice; but that being Christians, they ac­knowledg'd no other Deity then the Li­ving God; and therefore could perform no Religious Act before inanimate Idols. Maximian having heard their Answer, commanded the whole Legion to be De­cimated, and every tenth Man to be put to death; which not prevailing to shake the Resolutions, either of the Comman­ders or Soldiers, he order'd a second Decimation; but proving altogether as ineffectual, in a fury he let loose his whole Army upon those innocent People, and Massacr'd every Mothers Son. Gregory of Tours writes, That the Memory of these Christians, and generous Warriours was Honour'd in the Ancient Church; and that there was a great Concourse of Pil­grims to the Place, where they suffer'd.

I have given this Portraicture of the Primitive Christians, that the Christians of our time may therein, as in a Mirror, be­hold [Page 265] the just Condemnation of their own Sentiments and Behaviours; that they may learn from thence, That the French, who made war against Henry III. because they thought him a Hugonot, and afterwards opposed Henry IV. because he was real­ly so, were guilty of High Treason, both Divine and Human; and Lastly, to con­vince 'em, That there is no difference of Religion, no Tiranny of Government, no Interest, no Reason, no Pretence what­ever, that can justify Rebellion. ‘Wise Men, says Tacitus, patiently endure the Government of bad Princes, like the Influences of evil Constellations; and look upon Oppression, Proscription, Poysoning, and those other Effects of their Cruelty, as Famine, Pestilence, and other Misfortunes that proceed from the ill temper of the Air.’ We ought to im­plore the Gods to send us mild and just Emperors; but we must be obedient to those the Gods have sent us, whatever they be.

The justice of this obligation never to withdraw from our Obedience to our Prince, is to acknowledge, even by the Hugonets themselves, the most zealous in [Page 266] their Religion, such as was the deceas'd Monsieur Gombaut, who blames the Ro­chellers for shutting their Gates against the deceas'd King, and constrain'd him to lay Siege to their City.

They should have set open their Gates, saies he, to their Prince, and only have employ'd their weapons of Faith against his Force.

The Theology of the Pagans agrees in this point with that of the Christians, and places the violation of Loyalty to Sove­raign Princes, among the Crimes which are punish'd by the Gods in Hell.

‘God, says Plato, has in himself the Beginning, the Middle; and the End of Things, and Condemns by his just De­crees all those that refuse to live humbly and peaceably in Obedience, but be­lieving themselves capable to conduct themselves, shake off their Obedience to their Soveraigns.’

But God having establish'd the Thrones of Kings for the benefit of the Publick, and to uphold Order among Men, has not on­ly forbid their Subjects to Rebel against [Page 267] em, but has also declar'd the Persons of Soveraign Princes to be Sacred, and that it is utterly unlawful to make the least at­tempt upon their Lives, how unjust, how violent and cruel soever they be. ‘Touch not, says the Scripture, those that are Consecrated to God by their being A­nointed, and consequently ought to be rever'd as Holy.’ And to the end we may not fail in our Duty to Kings, tells us he is so chary of their Honor, that he will not have it wounded so much as in Thought. "Curse not the King, no not in thy Thought, says Ecclesiastes.

We need not wonder then, if the Church instructed by the Holy Spirit, has such a particular care of Kings, and that it ap­peare by the great number of Decrees which she has made in their favour, that she employs all her Authority to preserve both their Lives and their Reputation. The Fathers in a Council of Constance, thunder'd out their Anathema's against the execrable Thesis of John Petit, who sub­jects the Government of Kings to the cen­sure of their Subjects, and exposes their Persons to Sacrilegious Attempts. That Doctrine, which the same Divine, cor­rupted [Page 268] by the Duke of Burgundy, ad­ventur'd to maintain, and to colour the Assassination of the Duke of Orleance, the only Brother of Charles VI. was so de­tested by all the World, that maugre the Power of the Duke of Burgundy, then Regent of the Kingdom, it was condemn­ed by the University of Paris, and the Writing it self publickly burnt before the Church of Nostre Dame. A certain Coun­cil in Spain Excommunicated all those that exclaim'd against the Government of Kings, and tore their Reputation with de­famatory Libels. But it would be too long to recite what we meet with in Ho­ly Writ, in Councils, and in the Writings of the Fathers upon this Subject.

There is no question therefore, but the Obedience which we owe to God and his Church, obliges us to a high veneration for Soveraign Princes, inviolably to preserve our Loyalty, and Religiously to perform their Commands. In the mean while, where are those Christians that Honor God in the persons of their Soveraigns, who are Loyal in discharge of their Consci­ences, and who obey their Commands with so much exactness, as if they had [Page 269] receiv'd 'em from God himself. Do we not see that there is little or no Fidelity in those that are so sedulous in their at­tendance upon Princes? only the desire and hope of their Favours, redoubles their Zeal for the Service of their King when they receive Rewards? That it grows remiss and weary when they find themselves slighted; that it is utterly ex­tinguish'd when they see no likelyhood of bettering their Fortune. And there­fore it is, that in all the motions of the Court, there are so many People that throw themselves into Parties, and en­deavour to put themselves into a condi­tion, as to be able to wrest by private Compact, and underhand Agreements, those Gratifications and Employments which are refus'd 'em, and which they believe to be due to their Merit?

What is this Loyalty in others, but the fear of those Penalties and Punishments inflicted upon those that violate their Al­legiance by Cabals and Factions prejudi­cial to their Prince, and by Conspiracies against their Persons? Which is apparent from hence that some Princes that loath the severity of spilling Human Blood, spare not [Page 270] sometimes the most considerable persons in the Realm, to restrain others within the bounds of their Duty, by the ex­amples of their Justice.

The Loyalty of Men of Judgment and Solidity, does it not proceed from their Knowledge, that there is nothing so great as the Power of Kings? and that the ve­ry thought of their destruction is not on­ly Impious, but void of Sense or Reason? They know that their very Guards which are a Body sufficient, and ready upon all occasions, will give no leisure to Rebellion or Sedition to grow to a head. They know moreover, that Kings are the dis­pensers of all those Favours, those Ho­nors, Dignities, and Employments, which Men so ardently seek after: So that they have always in their power, the infallible means to reduce those that are revolted from their Obedience. Lastly, they know that the greatest part of those Subjects who have forgot their Duty to their So­veraigns, have brought themselves to un­fortunate Conclusions, have waxed old in Prison, or spent the remainder of their days exil'd in Foreign Countreys with their Families.

[Page 271] Is it not also easie to be perceivd that the Loyalty of wealthy Persons, who are contented with their Estates, and have no other Ambition, them to taste the sweets of Life, is meerly out of Interest. For in regard, that War is chiefly a scourge to them, which others desire in hopes to gain Honour, or to enrich themselves, they stand fast to their Prince, as being the Person that continually watches over the Kingdom to prevent the calamities of Invasion or Rebellion; and they look upon him as the Tutelar Angel of their Tranquility and Happiness.

Can we have a better opinion of those who being the Kings Domestick Servants, and advanc'd to the highest preferments in the Houshold, can never prove disloy­al without loosing their Reputation, and ruining their Fortunes? and must we therefore believe their Loyalty to be un­spotted and truly virtuous?

[Page 272] What Idea can we form of the Loyalty of those accomplish'd Politicians, who at the first breaking out of a Civil War retire into the Countrey, there to ob­serve which way the scales will turn, and to take the winning side? and so cun­ningly behave themselves as to be fear'd, and consequently courted from the Court, lest they should joyn with the adverse Party?

In a word, the Loyalty of People is only a natural desire to live at ease and quiet: but as there are many with whom it is all one whither they live in Peace or no, we may be sure that all such People are equally dispos'd either to Obedience or Sedition; so that their Loyalty de­pends purely upon Seasons and Con­junctions.

Let us acknowledge then that the Loy alty of those who have given, and every day give notable Proofs of their Allegi­ance is built upon a slender and sandy Foundation, as depending solely upon the dispositions of the Heart of Man, who changes every time he changes his Inte­rest, or that he harbors new Thoughts in his Mind. For how can we relye [Page 273] upon a Person valiant and experienc'd in War, who in a civil Dissention takes the Kings side, out of a perswasion that it is usually the victorious Party, and that it will be doubtless most for his advantage? Is it impossible to convince him that he shall make a better Market by siding with the other Party; or to tempt him with a pro­mise of being their Chieftain? And more then all this, may not Revenge, or some other Passion provoke him to forget his Duty? How many secret Springs and Wires are there in the Heart of Man to move it to and fro, at the direction of commanding Passions and Pleasures?

From whence we may conclude, that if we desire to be Loyally Virtuous, and Virtuously Loyal, it behoves us to be ob­lig'd to our Prince, by the same ties that we are bound to God: and that we ho­nour Soveraign Princes as his Vicege­rents and living Images, as the Ministers of his Justice, and the Organs of his Will.

IT may seem that Men honour Fidelity as a Madam, because we have need of it. As the one is necessary for the Body, the Soul cannot be without the other. The Heart of Man, says an Italian Poet, is a vessel too small to contain all that fills it from without, and grows with­in it self: so that of necessity it must en­large it self; and happy are they that can find faithful friends, that are able to receive what their Hearts cannot contain, and to lodge it carefully.

But to say truth, it is not the smallness of Mans Heart that sets so high a value up­on Fidelity. Thus 'tis the condition of Man, whom Nature has produc'd so im­perfect, that he is not sufficient for himself. And therefore she allows him so great an [Page 275] inclination to Society. Man is therefore so prone to communicate and impart to others, that he would not be satisfy'd with his own Merit, if he did not hope to make it known in the World. This Hope it is that gives life to all his Senti­ments, and sets all his Inclinations at work. This is that which makes him toil after the Acquisition of Sciences; for he would nei­ther take any care to be Learned, nor any pleasure in being so, if he did not hope to make it appear.

Man therefore being thus pressed by his violent Inclinations, to communicate to others his Thoughts, his Opinions, his Knowledge, his Designs, finds that he can­not gratify his Inclinations, without ex­posing himself to the visible dangers that threaten his Honour, his Repose, his Inte­rests; that the Infidelity of Man is so great, and so general, that he cannot impart his secret designs, without raising obstacles at the same time, that may impede their accomplishment; nor without encountring Accidents, that sometimes injure the Re­putation of considerable Persons, not with­out some blemish to his own.

[Page 276] Therefore it is that he seeks out for per­sons Discreet, Secret, and Faithful. On the other side, They who are conscious of their Fidelity, well knowing how requi­site and necessary it is, put as high a value upon it as they can, to render it useful and profitable to their Reputation and Fortune. For which reasons they gene­rally apply themselves to persons of Cre­dit, or of high Quality, and lay hold up­on all opportunities to screw themselves in their confidence. That of Princes they easily obtain, because their idle hours and leisure require continual conversation; and besides that their Minds are sensible and impatient, and their Thoughts more live­ly and impetuous than those of other Men. So that through their impatience to satisfy 'em, 'tis a wonderful ease to their Minds that they are able to communicate, and tell what they know to persons that never betray their Trust. For this reason they love those that have the reputation of Secresie, and favour 'em upon all oc­casions, and highly honour 'em; because they find that persons of Secresie careful­ly preserve their Trust deposited in their [Page 277] Breasts; and not out of any real esteem that they have of their Fidelity.

And indeed this disesteem of Fidelity might be excusable, if they knew the mo­tives that obliged them to be faithful, whose Fidelity they have so frequently experienced: nor would they have such a value as they have for their Confidents, did they but consider that there is nothing so dear as to meet with Confidents that keep a secret to the utmost of exactness, without imparting it to any Soul what­ever living. And they would extremely distrust some of those Secret-keepers, were they but well inform'd, that there are some persons that make a Trade of keeping Se­crets, like Merchants that trafick for Pearls, which is a certain Truth, but such a one as requires something of Illustrati­on to make it evident.

All the world admires the prodigious vanity of Merchants in great Cities; and they cannot but wonder that the desire of Gain, has intermixed in Commerce [...] only what is necessary for the support and conveniency of Life; but also what i [...] ser­viceable to Luxury and Pleasure But [...] are [...]ew take notice that all Men are be­come [Page 278] Merchants; that they expose every thing to sale; some their valour and milita­ry Experience, to be accounted while they live, the Props of the Kingdom, and to im­mortalize themselves after death: others their Arts and Sciences, to make themselves famous; others their Wit, to render them­selves acceptable in all companies: others their dexterity in business, to gain credit at Court, and make a Figure. But what profit can they make of themselves that have no good quality, neither▪ Art nor Science, neither Wit nor Dexterity in bu­siness?

These people gain by their double dili­gence near some great Person, who at length heaves 'em into some good employ­ment. By their access to some Lady courted by all the World for the greatness of her Wit, whose approbation is to them instead of Merit. By the confidence which the Prince reposes in 'em; for having their Secrets at their disposal, he employs 'em to satisfy the Curiosity of some idle Lady, to awaken her Sences, and revive her out of that Languishment into which her sloth has cast her. Or else they oblige some Person considerable at Court, whose Ears [Page 279] itch after the rarity of News. Well—but are not these People soon discovered? No—For they never tell any Secret of importance committed to their charge, but to fuch as they are sure will never fail 'em, for fear of loosing the satisfaction of their Curiosity. In a word they are no Sives that can hold nothing that is told 'em: nor no Fools, that what they hear they tell to all people without distinctions, but such as are judiciously unfaithful, and pru­dent dispensers of a Secret.

But if there be any such as can keep a Secret so religiously, as to scruple the dis­covery of it to their most intimate friends, they never take this course but upon good grounds that regard their Interests. Of which the first is, that Fidelity is an ho­nest way to accomplish their ends: for thô all Men are govern'd by their Interests, yet the Interest of all Men are not the same. For in some the desire of Wealth predominates, in others the desire of being esteem'd and valu'd, is more prevalent than that of getting Riches. Hence it comes to pass, that the latter scorn to profit by Prostitutions, and mean Tricks, and that they only make use of [Page 280] honest ways to advantage themselves.

The Second Reason is, because it is a pleasant way. There being nothing so delightful to a vain person, as to be the Confident of a Prince; and to be frequent­ly with him in his Closet, while the Door is shut to all others.

The Third Reason is, because it is a safe way. For it is impossible but that the Persons entrusting must study the advance­ment of those into whose Bosoms they discharge the pleasures or Afflictions of their Minds; and with whom they have deposited their Lives, their Honour, and their Liberty.

The last reason is, their fear of being disesteemed, and to be depriv'd of the advantages of such Honourable Society. For they who reveal the Secrets commit­ted to their keeping, are despised by all the World, and excluded out of all com­panies.

These Human Considerations render us secret and faithful, not the esteem or love of Fidelity: much less, out of any Obedience to the Commands of God, to do as we would be done by. And there­fore the Fidelity of the wise Men of the [Page 281] Age is not out of any real Vertue; for that exact Fidelity is a rare thing; which made the Pagans complain, That there was no Fi­delity among Men.

Therefore only Christianity is to be lookt upon as a Renovation of the first Age of the World, where true Fidelity and Loyalty are re-establish'd. Which Vir­tues shin'd so brightly in the Manners of the Primitive Christians, that in the Por­traiture which Plinie the Second gives of 'em to Trajan the Emperor, he marks out their Fidelity for a Quality that render'd 'em highly valuable.

‘Their Life, says he, is very innocent, they keep their words inviolably, and faithfully restore whatever is committed to their charge.’

MEN admire those excellent Come­dians that understand so well to vary the tone of their Voice, their Ge­stures, and their Actions, that they seem to be two different Persons at one and the same time. But they would much more admire, were they but aware, how In­terest alone acts that infinite number of Persons which we see upon the Theatre of the World. 'Tis Interest that acts the cor­rupt Judge, and the Magistrate full of In­tegrity; the Modest, the Magnificent, the Covetous and the Liberal; which shew­ing it self under the shape of a Person that demands Counsel, appears at the same time in the likeness of a kind Friend that gives his advice.

[Page 283] If any Man question the truth of this, let him but nearly consider a Benefactor, and a Grateful Person. For thô the First may seemingly study to bestow his Gifts without any design but meerly to grati­fy his Beneficent Inclination; and that the other desires nothing more then to testify his Gratitude for the Favours he has re­ceiv'd; and yet neither Generosity or Gratitude can be ascrib'd either to the one or the other, while both drive directly to their own Interests.

To be convinc'd of the truth of this, we must first consider the carriage and tem­per of a Benefactor, who as soon as he has any employment or preferment to bestow, he not only studies who to gra­tify, but he is no less careful that the Pre­sent which he makes him, may not want any of those Circumstances which are pro­per to enhance the Price, and render it acceptable. To which end he casts his Eye upon some Person that never expects it, that never did him any service, nor ever spoke to him in his life.

Certain it is that this way of proceed­ing, if we examine and look upon it, as to the intention of the Benefactor, is so far [Page 284] from being frank and generous, that it is only a piece of fine spun Interest; That the Benefactor study'd not to loose his kindness, when he bestowed it with such a comly Grace, and that all his cares to render his proceedings fair and gentile, are the ties wherewith he desires to bind the Party engag'd. And therefore we have reason to wonder at the saying of Seneca; We look round about the Hou­ses of those to whom we lend our Money, or upon whom we bestow our kindnesses to see whither they have enough to an­swer us; for covetous Men are not more cautious of their Security when they lend Money, than others are when they bestow a Kindness; for that we never fix upon the Person, till we have a long time reckon'd up what service he may be able to do us, or till we find he may be useful to us in our business, or fit to accomplish our private designs. Upon those Consi­derations we prefer one Man before ano­ther; and it is to engage him in such a manner that he may not fail us, that we are so careful, that the most endearing cir­cumstances we can think of, may accom­pany our kindnesses.

[Page 285] For proof of this, let us but consider the Surprizes, the Indignation, the despe­ration of a Person that has met with an ungrateful return of his Favours, his se­cret Anxieties and publick Complaints against Ingratitude; in what dismal co­lours does henot set it forth? How he tears up his Reputation, and exclaims against him as a Person that had robbed him; other­wise, had he sought to please himself in the Kindness, he had had his pleasure: or if he aim'd at no advantage to himself, why is he so enrag'd at his loss? We must confess that his despair proceeds from this, that he finds all his hopes deluded; and for that he has not reaped the fruits of the t'others Promises. But there is no Man so simple to believe he hates Ingratitude for its self, or that he is so taken with the loveliness of the Virtue▪ that he cannot endure the deformity of the Vice.

From whence we may easily conclude two things; First, that we are very de­ceitful and hypocritical, to make the World believe we carry noble Souls, and aim at no gratification for the Favours which we bestow; but that we are fully satisfied, in finding our selves capable to [Page 286] do good to others. The Second is, that there would be no ingrateful persons, if this Maxim of Seneca were true, That Men are not oblig'd to acknowledge any other then the Favours done us freely, and without hope of recompence.

Now let us see what are the sentiments of a Grateful Person, and what is the se­cret Principle of his Gratitude. The First Sentiments then that arise in the heart of a Grateful Person, are so tender, so af­fectionate, and seem so naturally conceiv'd for his Benefactor, that an ungrateful per­son frequently deceives himself, and be­lieves he has for his Benefactor a friend­ship, not only sincere but cordial. But whatever he thinks, proceeds from his own Self-Love, and causes him to be thankful for the kindnesses he receives to those that are the Donors, not for love of them, but meerly upon the consideration of his In­terest. But the next succeeding Thoughts to these are quite contrary; For he that has receiv'd great kindnesses, presently perceives, that they are no Presents but only Loans; he begins to look upon his Benefactor as his Creditor that Dunns him, and all the obligations which he [Page 872] owes, as so many Chains and Fetters that load and oppress him. Which Condition is to him so insupportable, that his desire to free himself inclines him secretly to laugh at all his Obligations; and his In­gratitude would doubly appear upon the first occasion, did he not fear the ruine of his new pretensions.

This Fear, or rather Hope of some more considerable benefit, it it which inspires him with sentiments of Gratitude, which obliges him to publish the Generosity of his Benefactor, diligently to visit him; and to shew him upon all occasions, how highly, and how particularly he is behold­ing to him. Nevertheless, if any other Person, in the heighth of all this double diligence, shews him but the least glimmer­ing of some greater Preferment; he turns about immediately, and goes directly where his Interest calls him. However, he still carries himself outwardly very fair toward his Benefactors, till the fatal occa­sion gives him an opportunity to pick a Quarrel, and then without any hesitation away he dings to court his greater profit. Then his Interest declares it self, and his Ingratitude sallys out from the bottom of [Page 288] his Heart, and shews it self no less black then it is, notwithstanding all the care he takes to vail it with a million of preten­ces, and to lessen the benefits he has recei­ved.

Nor need we be surprized, that a Senti­ment so treacherous and base should breed in the Heart of Man: For more wondrous Sentiments breed there, if we may believe Aristotle. The Nature of Man is so wicked, that they who owe great summs, and they who have receiv'd considerable Favors, wish with an equal hatred, the one the death of their Creditors, the other of their Benefactors.

Which saying of the Philosopher con­cerning the malice of Men to their Bene­factors, will not seem incredible to those that understand the vastness of his Pride, and that all dependencies and duties are odious to him, but rather make it evident how far the Thoughts of Men are from sincere and virtuous Gratitude; and that when they do behave themselves grateful­ly, it is only in hopes of some newer Fa­vour.

[Page 289] Aristotle is so far convinc'd of this, as to assure us, that they on whom we bestow our Favours, have no affection for their Benefactors, only they admire the kind­nesses which they receive or hope to re­ceive. Which is the reason we do not ap­prehend the intention of Seneca, who takes upon him in several Treatises, to instruct how to bestow our kindnesses; supposing the ill choice of Subjects, to be the only cause why there is so little Gratitude stir­ring, when as it proceeds from the cor­ruption of Mans Heart, which is so ungrate­ful and unjust, that unless we could make Men in love with Justice, it is impossible to make'em Grateful. ‘If thou dost not inspire Vertue withal, says Plato, into those whom thou obligest, they will ne­ver be sensible of thy kindnesses.’

But Interest is not the only cause of Gratitude; there is also in the first place, the fear of that shame which attends up­on Ingratitude. For since Men are be­come the Soveraign Judges of Human Actions, they have adjudged far more Infamous those that offend or injure them, then they that violate the Laws of God; and because no Men are more hated, [Page 290] then they who do not equal with their Services the Obligations they have re­ceiv'd, but frustrate the expectations of their Benefactors: Hence it comes to pass, that they are look'd upon by the Benefi­cent, as Men unworthy to live, and that Ingratitude is branded, when Sacriledge and Impiety are honour'd.

These two sorts of Gratitude, the one proceeding from Interest, the other from Fear, are the most usual. Those sorts of Gratitude that proceed from Pride and Vanity, are not so effectual, but they are common enough. We find this sort of acknowledgment in those, who having been the Favourites of Kings and Princes, take all occasions to mention the benefits which they have received at their hands, and enlarge upon the circumstances, seem­ingly to shew that they preserve 'em still in their Memory; but indeed to let the world see that they were no mean Persons in those days.

There are some sorts of acknowledgment that proceed from malignity, and mur­muring Discontent. Such are those which some affect to shew before certain Persons whom they design cunningly to accuse [Page 291] for neglect of their Services: who express themselves after this manner. I have been hugely beholding to such a Prince, he has done me a thousand kindn [...]sses; but I took nothing so kindly, as that he still prevented my Requests. These Kindnesses thus ac­knowledg'd before great Persons, from whom they design to wrest particular Fa­vours, are usually cunning Accusations and Reproaches thrown upon 'em for their remissness, and private intimations of what they expect at their hands.

There are other Acknowledgments, Vi­cious and Criminal; Such are the acknow­ledgments of those who having a false Idaea of Friendship, believe that gives 'em a priviledge, and imposes an Obligation upon 'em to violate Laws, the most just and equitable, to espouse the unjust Quarrels of their Friends, to serve 'em in Duels and Revenges, and to assist 'em in the stealing of Fortunes, and to concern themselves in Intrigues and Confedera­cies contrary to their Duty.

Lastly, there are cunning and politic Acknowledgments which we testify to those that sollicite our Assairs, to oblige 'em to Fidelity and Diligence. For ex­ample, [Page 292] There was a Person at Court, who having oblig'd a Friend to serve him in a business of importance, that tended to the advancement of his Family, gave him full assurances of his acknowledgments, propor­tionable to the difficulties that presented themselve, so that when he saw him tir'd out with the pains that he had taken, and discours'd with the apprehension of new obstacles: ‘Sir, said the other, I am sensible of the trouble which I gave ye, but con­sider how much you oblige me; and were not I a person of an absolute good na­ture, yet had I but a grain of Grati­tude, it would suffice to make me eter­nally sensible of the Obligations you have laid upon me.’ And this he repeat­ed as often as he found the zeal of his Friend begin to grow cold. It is not re­quisite to recite the rest of this Story; it will suffice to tell ye, that the Person of Quality's business being accomplish'd, he soon cancell'd the Remembrance of the signal Service done him: so that indeed the more we study Men, the less we are able to apprehend, how they can live at peace with themselves. All that comes into his Mind is this, that while others ob­serve [Page 293] Vices in his Vertues, he perhaps may see Vertues in his Vices; and in his Acti­ons, look upon that for a great piece of Dexterity, which we rebuke for double-dealing and Imposture: Or else he may act like the Peacock, who always looks upon what he has most lovely.

But never minds his acts of Injustice, Infi­delity, and Ingratitude.

There are two sorts of Ingrateful Per­sons, as there are two sorts of Knaves. The First are ungrateful to the highest de­gree, and turn their Tails as soon as they have receiv'd a Kindness, fearless of the Disgrace or Infamy that attends it. The t'other sort fall off by degrees, and to render their Flight more Imperceptible, they turn their Flight into a Retreat. We find the first sort in the Countrey, where Men are more downright, and less able to disguise their Vertues. With the other sort we meet at Court, where they know how to put an honest Man upon the vilest and most wicked of Actions.

[Page 294] True Christians therefore both know and practice vertuous and real Gratitude. For besides that, they are sincerely touch'd with the [...] Goodness of those that favour 'em with their kindnesses; and that they are always ready most faithfully and cor­dially to retallate to the utmost of their power; their Acknowledgment stops not with their visible Benefactors; it re-ascends to God, who is the Author and Fountain of all their Happiness, as they are com­manded by the words of the Gospel. Call no man your Father who is on Earth, for your Only Father, and consequently the sole Benefactor, so bountiful to all Men, is God, who is in Heaven.