PART OF LUCIAN MADE ENGLISH FROM THE ORIGINALL.

In the Yeare 1638.

By IASPER MAYNE then Master of Arts, and one of the Students of Christ Church.

To which are adjoyned those other Dialogues of Lucian as they were formerly translated by Mr Francis Hicks.

OXFORD, Printed by H. Hall. for R. Davis. 1663.

TO HIS EXCELLENCY, WILLIAM MARQVESSE OF NEWCASTLE, Knight of the most Illustrious Order of the Garter, and one of the Lords of His Majesties most Honourable Privy Councell.

May it please Your Excellency,

THese Pieces of LUCIAN, which (as your Excellency can beare mee wit­nesse) were Translated for your pri­vate Entertainment above five and twenty yeares since, like Fugitive servants broken forth out of your Clo­set, do now returne to you in a more Publike way. And truly, My Lord, whether it were Malice or Mis­take I know not, but they were here in this place ta­ken for Wanderers; And when they went to the Presse, met the Whipping-post in their way, by [Page] the over severe persecution of some needlesly mo­rose.

I need not tell your Excellency, that Translations compared with their Originals are commonly pictures of very differing shapes; Or that the Conversion of the meanest Author from one Tongue into another is so hard a Taske, that the undertaker may as well contrive a Marriage between two disagreeing Elements; or beget a friendship between Fire and Snow, as reconcile the se­verall proprieties in which the severall. Tongues speake.

For as the Painter who would draw a man of a bald head, rumpled fore-head, copper nose, pigge eyes, and ugly face, drawes him not to Life, nor doth the businesse of his Art, if he draw him less deform­ed, or ugly then he is; Or as he who would draw a faire, amiable Lady, limbes with an erring pencill, and drawes a Libell, not a Face, if he give her not her just features, and perfections: So in the Translation of Bookes, He who makes a dull Author, Elegant and quick; or a sharp, elegant Author flat, rustick, rude and dull, by contrary wayes commits the same sinne, and cannot be said to translate, but to trans­forme. Now of all Authours, I know none more hard to be render'd like Himselfe then Lucian: whose Greeke is not of one uniforme Webbe, like Plato, Thucidides, Polibius, or Eunapius; but of such a new, and particular Stile, and Composition, that his best Interpreters into Latine, Erasmus, Sr Thomas [Page] Moore, Melancthon, and some others, after all their learned diligence have but made him speake like a raw Traveller from one Country to another, and to expresse his mind imperfectly in the broken language of the place. The sharpnesse of his wit, the salt of his Expressions, the humour of his stile, and the Ayre of His conceptions, which in all his Writings have a secret, charming mixture, will require a pen dipt often in the standish, and the very Soul and Genius of the Author transmigrated into the Quill and Fancy of the Transla­tour.

How great a Rhetoritian, and Orator he was, ap­peares by his Orations. Some of which for the weight of his Arguments, the Distribution, and close pursuit of the parts, the Roundnesse of his periods: the rare Art in the choyce of his words, and Transitions, natu­rally sliding into one another, and musically tyed toge­ther, in a full floud, and torrent of perswasion: and yet like an even, un-interrupted stream, every where like himselfe, without Inaequalities, or swellings, may, without disparagement to such great Princes in that Art, stand in competition with the best Orations in Demosthenes, or Isocrates; And do farre exceed any thing spoken by Gorgius, Leontinus, or Aeschi­nes, who in their Times were called the Eloquence of Greece.

'Tis true, His Subject, like Quintilian's in his De­clamations, is sometimes Poeticall, and Fayned. But so free from Impossibilities, both for the matter, and [Page] the Dresse, the same skill which made him plead for the Dis-inherited Sonne, in any reall Court of Iustice would have sent him victorious from the Bar, and have made the Iudges side with his defended Truth.

Perhaps some, who (without Rivals) do think them­selves great Oratours, may differ from me in Opinion. But surely more out of Pride, and Kindnesse to their own Meteor-compositions, then justice to Lucian: who, had he seen a self-conceited Preacher goe up bus­kind into the Pulpit, and there in a Tragicall stile, and voyce as Cothurnall, entertain his Hearers with a Romantick showre of words, which promised De­monstration, the great Mountain of Discourse, but brought forth an abortive, poor, topicall Mouse; If he should hear a Text of Scripture transformed into a Chaos, pursued without just order, & stuffed with Bom­bast, & confusion; sometimes flying aloft into a thin cloud of Non-sence, as if the Preacher aymed at some high preferment in the Moon; or else had stolne his Sermon from Lucian's true History, which speaks of Ants & Gnats as big as Elephants, and Whales; and de­scribes Battles fought by two Armies in the Sun; some­times puft up into such bubbles of Expression, as sound big to the eare, but are but bubbles to the eye, he would doubtless send such Garagantua, tumid Orators to the Doctor who cured his Lexiphanes of his Fustian dis­ease, who upon the taking of a purge was deliver'd of a Tympany, and made to vomit all his tuffe, affected words, his Anodynes, Efforts, and Exertions up againe.

[Page]But I do not wonder that such Opiniators should be sick of this Disease: who having succeded a canting Generation of men, whose Rhetorick was as rude, & mechanick as their persons, do defile the English Tongue with their Republick words, which are most immusicall to the Eare, and scarce significant to a Monarchicall understanding. Words which are the meer Excrements of Language; which proceeded from the late Body politick of this Vncivilized Nation, and were not allowed their legitimate concoxion, but broke forth into the World with Brutishness, and Re­bellion Coyned, & minted by those Seditious, Rump Grammarians, who did put their own impressions to the Kings Silver, and so committed Treason against their Prince, and their own rude stamp and sense to their Goth and Vandall words; and so committed Treason against His good people. Quem penes Arbitrium est & Ius & Normaloquendi.

Indeed it would make a man, who hath a true Taste in Rhetorick, and knowes from what fountains the wa­ters are to be drawn, what ancient Examples in that Art are to be followed, and what just measure of Oyle is to be powr'd into his Lamp, who will speak with success, fall into a fit of Indignation, when he hears a rumbling fellow, to whom a Trope or Figure is unknowne, much more the Laws which give power and strength to a Discourse, start up a Rhetorician with no other furniture but Face, Impudence, and Noyse. And affront the ears of his hearers with a lump & heap of [Page] such indigested stuffe, as hath no other excuse but that he spew'd it unpraemeditated. Such fellowes are only eloquent by faction; and nothing can pre­serve them from being like the tumultuary Orator, who bespoke a set of friends still to vote his speeches good.

How exactly skiled in all sorts of Philosophy he was, and how fit to sit down in the chaire, and be the Iudge of Controversies, your Excellency may perceive by his curious, and Logicall examination of all Sects, In his Hermotemus. From whence I know not whether Lactantius did not borrow his Christian Arguments to prove, that as they all grosly erred in their Notion of true Happiness, (concerning which there were as many Opinions, as there were severall Schooles and Sects) so they were all no less mistaken in their Notion of Truth. Both, like the Oracle, concluding Socrates to be the VVisest man for saying, That he only knew this one Truth, that he truly knew no­thing.

As for his Wit (a thing never yet perfectly defined) He hath had this previledge beyond most other Wri­ters, That as it never wanted a solid Ground and Foundation in Matter, so after so many Ages 'tis still Fresh and currant. Aristophanes, in a Comicall way, was doubtless one of the greatest wits of his Time. And the like might be said of Menander, if Time, which de­vours its children, had left us more thē his Fragments, to judg him by: yet their wit being only fitted to the Hu­mours [Page] and Persons of their own present Times, for the most part entred with the Prologue, and expired with the Epilogue of their Comoedies. And is now wit to none but those, who have taken the paines to be acquainted with the Manners of that Age; And can raise Laughter to themselves from the help of a Scholi­ast, to tell them, why Socrates was made ridiculous for being a grave man, or Cleon for being a Knight, and Senator of Athens.

The truth is, some kinds of wit are like some kinds of Garments, which hold fashion for a while, but grow old in the wearing, and are left off in compliance to a newer mode. Or as 'tis with small wines, which taste quick upon the place where they grow, but pawle, and dye, by the way, if they be transported by Sea into another Country.

Men of vulgar Iudgments, and sanguine aâry cōprehensions, think all wit cōsists in the sudden brea­king of a Iest, or the quickness of an Epigram, or the Tooth of a Satyre, or the Newness of a Saying, which was not heard before: but these are but the lighter Ingredients of wit, which like Squibs, flash, and blaze, and perish in the kindling. To make wit last­ing, and long lived, a well weighed mixture of Reason is required; A working Invention to contrive, and de­sign, a quick fancy to give the Edge, and a sharpe Iudgement to apply, and to shape, and square all this to present Subject, and Occasion. In all which this Au­thor was so great a Master, that his Compositions [Page] will be as lasting as the World. And his Images have already out-liv'd the Statues of Phidias, and Ly­sippus, though to give them Immortality, they were carved, and wrought in Marble, and Corinthi­an Brasse.

Notwithstanding all these Excellencies, set off with as great a variety of wit and matter, as can possibly match profit with delight; some Vineger men, at whose Births sure Saturne raign'd, and convey'd his leaden Influence into their Morosity and Manners, are not content in their dull, pedantick way to persecute all wit, as vitious, and profane, but seem wholy to incline to Sr Iohn Sucklin's opinion, who made a rich Alder­man of London to have the greatest wit, for being perfectly well gifted in the Art of getting Money.

And these are they, My Lord, who have most wretch­edly endeavour'd to change the fabulous Tradition, which goeth of Lucian's Death into true story; That returning from a Feast he was torne in pieces by Dogs. For first, among their other Ignorant aspersi­ons, they have not stuck to call him Atheist: But is it not strange they should accuse Him of Atheism, who so ingeniously drove Idolatry out of the World? Before whose wit the Heathen Images fell to the Ground, as Dagon did before the Arke of God in the Scripture? Who did the business of S. Paul, and the rest of the A­postles, by taking their Divinity from God's of wood and stone? Who stopt the mouthes of Oracles, quencht the fires upon their Altars, turn'd their Temples into [Page] Deserts, undisguised their Delusions, and taught the cosen'd World that they payd deare for Lyes and Cheats? Was he an Atheist who would not allow their Iupiter to be the Thunderer in Heaven, whose Sepulcher and Cradle were to be seen in Creet? Who thought no Religion was due to a Venus made of Ivory; or to an Aesculapius which was the Crea­ture of a Smith? Who laught at Gods made of the same Materials with their Altars; And thought an Apollo hewn out of a Tree not fit to be Worship't, but to Kindle an Oblation. If for this they call him Atheist, they cannot acquit themselves from being Infidels, and Heathens. They might as well affirme that Clemens of Alexandria, Arnobius, Iustin Martyr, St Austin, and as many Fathers of the Church, as armed their Pens against the Super­stitions of those Times, were bred in Lucian's Schoole: and like Him, were Atheists too. Since they onely in a sober way proved such Gods to be no Gods: He exposed them to the scorne and contempt of those who did adore them. So that for my part, I know not to whose writings wee more owe our Chri­stianity, where the true God hath succeeded such a multitude of false, whether to their grave confuta­tions, or to his facetious wit.

Next, they object That hee is too Satyricall, and puts too much Gall into his Inke. 'Tis much to be su­spected That They who thus object, are guilty of the Follies, Hypocrisies, and Crimes, which he with [Page] so much pleasant wit labours to reforme. For if they were innocent, why should they read his Workes with such trembling apprehensions, as if he were risen from the dead to pluck off their Disguises, and say, Ye are the men I meane? Why should any man who is not like the Fantasticke Gentleman, who thought the bare having of a great Library, which hee understood not, nor ever meant to studie, would make him a great Scholar, quarrell with a dead Author, and speake hardly of his Ashes, for telling a story of one sick of this Disease, who bought Epi­ctetus Candlesticks in hope it would make him a Philosopher? Or of one who at an excessive price bought Orpheus Harpe, thinking it would enable him to draw Beasts and Trees like Him, and without learning of the Art, would make him a rare Musi­tian? Why should they be troubled with his Descri­ption of a Feast, where a company of Wrangling Philosophers met; who began the meale with a grave Discourse of Vertue; then drank themselves drunke in praise of Sobriety and Fasting; Then, as their wine inspired them, proceeded to hard Notions; Then by vertue of a bigger Glasse to a comparison of Sects; From a comparison of Sects to most rude, un-manlike Raylings; which concluded in a Civil Warre, where Platters were made weapons, and were changed to pewter Syllogismes, throwne at one anothers Heads? Was he too much a Satyrist, who called such a meale as this, by the name of the Battle [Page] fought betweene the Lapithae's and Centaures? Or was his Character too Keene of such Hypocriti­call pretenders, for saying, that they were meere aequivocall Good men, whose Phylosophy and Ver­tue lay in their sowre lookes, their artificiall Gra­vity, their long beards, and formall Gownes? Did he bait his Hooke with too much Gall, who bai­ted it with Gold, by which he makes whole Sholes of such grave dissembling men, place Happinesse in Wealth, and swimme Captives to his Angle? If such Truths as these deserve the name of Satyre, I must confesse hee was the best Satyrist in the World.

But can they who thus reproach him with the sharp­nesse of his wit, say he was an Enemy to any thing but Vice? Was there ever a fairer Picture drawne of a truly Learned, Vertuous man then his De­monax? Or could Demosthenes himselfe speake more in praise of his Owne Eloquence, then Lucian hath done for him? Or was there ever such a Pi­cture of Beauty mixt with Vertue, as he drew of the Lady, which gave the Title to his Images? Yet some sowre formalists, who only want the long beards of his two faced Philosophers, to be as Pe­dantick, and perhaps as learned as They, have not onely without wit disparaged Lucian's wit, which hath beene the Delight and Admiration of all Ages, but have grinned at Mee for being his Translatour. 'Tis not a worke proper for a Divine, say they. 'Tis [Page] well St Chrysostome lives not in our Dayes. For if I be thus censured for turning a few pieces of him into English, what punishment did he deserve, who, being a Father of the Church, with a very pious Theft, converted severall parts of him into Homi­lies and Sermons? But to assure their Wisdomes that they have barkt in the darke, without the help of Moon-shine to direct them in their Snarling, your Excellency knowes, I was no Divine, but a young Student of this Colledge, when these Sheets past through my Pen. But Lucian wrote against the Chri­stians. 'Tis more tolerably spoken, and with lesse Ignorance then his, who said, Lucian was an Aerian, and wrote against Bishops. He might as well have sayd, that he wrote in Defence of Antichrist; Or that by the same Figure of wild Anticipation, He was an Arminian, because, In his Iupiter confuted, he wrote against Stoicisme, in the point of Fate, and Ab­solute Decree. The truth is, these men have taken popular error for their Guide. For if they will give credit to the Iudgement of Philander, Micyllus, Opsopaeus, Cognatus, and some others, who by the difference of Wit and Style, could discover a Spuri­ous Author from a true: the Dialogues in which the Christians are reproacht, were none of his. Or if they were, How am I to be accused, vvho have not made them English, but have left them lockt up in their owne untranslated Greeke? But he Wrote an Obscoene Lucius, and Meretricious Dilaogues, [Page] not fit for the Eyes or Eares of a Chaste, or Chri­stian Reader. These too I have left with their owne Curtaine drawne before them, and have not held a Candle to the Mysterious doings of a Stewes.

The truth is, My Lord, in this Translation I am guilty but of one great Offence, which these sharpe-sighted Men have most grosly overseene. And that is, not an Offence against them, but a­gainst your Excellency, for not Translating more. Which I had done, if the late barbarous Times had not broke into my Study. And by raising a Rebellion against Learning, and their Prince, had not called You away to lead an Army in the Field. Where I reasonably supposed, that in the Head of a Campe, you could not finde leisure for such Divertisements as these. But when a Powerfull Enemy was in view, and ready to joyne Battle, would have thought it a very incongruous Recreation to read such Bookes as these with your Sword and Helmet on; or to Issue forth your Or­ders with a Lucian in your hand. For the clea­ring, therefore, of the many Obligations, which beyond all requitall you have often layd upon mee, I beseech you to accept of my Will for the Deed; Nor to dispise this Sacrifice, because the Sheepe is taken from another man's Fold, or because the Sheafe grew in another man's Field. But to put the greater value upon this meane Addresse, which [Page] to show mee gratefull, hath put mee into the Num­ber of those very poore people, who are fayne to borrow the Money with which they pay their Debts.

Your Excellencie's reall Honourer, and much obliged Servant IASPER MAYNE.

An Answer to one that said, You are PRO­METHEUS in your Speeches.

PROMETHEUS am I then? If good Sir, you say so, because my works have Earth in them, I allovv the Compari­son, and confesse my selfe like him; nor refuse to be call'd a potter; though my Clay be much baser, and almost as barbarous and course, as that which lies in the street. But if over praysing my speeches for curious, and artificial, you entitle them to the wisest of the Titans, take heed lest some body say, you speak Ironie; and that you attire an Attick flout in a Commendation. But where, I pray, am I so curious? Or in which of my writings perceive you this overpolisht Promethean Wisedome? 'Tis enough for me that they are not wholy composed of Earth; or fit to be rewarded with Caucasus. But with how much more Justice may you be compared to Prometheus, who are so fam'd for your pleadings, and for making Warres against the Truth? Yours are living, breathing works, and carry a heat with them, which hath flame in it; wherein you truely imitate Prometheus, only here's the difference; most of you work not in Clay, but raise golden pieces. I, who addresse my selfe to the Multitude, and glory in their At­tention shew forth only some certain dead Images; And, as I said before, like puppet-makers, and potters, busie my selfe in clay; having neither life nor motion in my doings, [Page 2] but making my Recreation and Play my businesse. I cannot then, but consider, whether you call'd me not Pro­metheus, as the Comoedian call'd Cleon, when he said Cleon was an after game Prometheus. Or as the Athenians call'd all those who made pots and pans, and wrought in clay, Prometheus; alluding, I suppose, to their materials, and the baking of their vessels in the fire. If this be the meaning of your Prometheus, you have aimed your dart aright, and have tipt it with an Attick sharpnesse, and point. Since my works are as frail, and brittle as their pots, and are ready to shiver and break upon the least dash of a stone. But some man, for my encouragement, will say, in comparing my doings to Prometheus, you have praysed their Novelty, as following no Copie, or Exam­ple. As he when there were yet none, first invented, and framed Men; shaping and trimming his new Creatures so, as to be quick of Motion, and graceful in Aspect. Wherein though he were the Artificer, yet Minerva assi­sted; who inspired the Clay, and breathed a Soul, and life into the Workmanship. Thus may some man say, and give a fair construction to your Words. And perhaps this was your meaning. But this satisfies me not, if I be thought a Broacher of Novelties; since nothing can be na­med more ancient then that Originall by which my works are drawn. Yet if they wanted Gracefulnesse, or Beauty, I should both blush for them, and, would have you know, should tread them under foot. Who am not so taken with Noveltie, as not to despise it, if it come mis­shapen. Since, should I think otherwise, I were worthy to be torn by sixteen Vultures; Not understanding how much the Deformity of things is increased by their strange­nesse. Ptolomy, therefore the sonne of Lagus, having brought two strange things into Egypt, a Bactrian Camel all over black; And a man equally divided into two Colours, one halfe exactly black, the other exceeding white; and having assembled the Aegyptians in the Thea­ter, [Page 3] and entertain'd them with many other shovves; at last presented the Camel, and party colour'd man, think­ing to raise their wonder by the sight. But they much frighted at the Camel, were ready to runne away in Tu­mult: Though he were deckt all over with gold, had trappings of purple, and a bridle inlaid with Jewels; The wealth or Treasure perhaps of some Darius, or Camby­ses, or Cyrus. But at sight of the man many laught: Others turn'd away their faces, as from some Prodigie. Where­upon Ptolomy perceiving, that they took not as he inten­ded, and that the Aegyptians were not at all amazed with their strangenesse, bu [...] rather preferr'd things comely and well featur'd, caused them to be removed, not having the man afterwards in such value as before: And suffering the Camel to die neglected, he gave the two-colour'd man to one Thespis a Minstrell for playing well at a drinking. So I may well fear lest my works show like a Camel before the Aegyptians: However some men may admire their bridle, and purple. For that they are compounded of two excellent things, Dialogue, and Comedy, is not enough to give them Elegancy, and forme, unlesse there be agree­ment, and measure, and harmony in the Mixture. For from two Excellencies may arise a disfigured composi­tion, as is ordinarily reported of Centaures; which you will not call an amiable creature, but rather a Creature of Contempt: If we may believe painters, who alwaies limbe them amidst their drunkennesse, and slaughters. What then? may there not spring a well favour'd Com­pound, from two beauties mixt? As when Wine is mingled with hony, may I not say both are sweetly tem­pered? I will not earnestly affirme my writings to be such; But fear lest their Composition have corrupted their beauty. For Dialogue and Comedy, have not al­waies been friends, and matcht together, Since that kept at home, and delighted in solitary walks, and main­tain'd discourse but with some few; whereas this wholy [Page 4] giving over it selfe to Bacchus, lived in the Theater, and ther [...] raised sport, and laughter, darted jests, and danced to the pipe in numbers: Sometimes speaking in Anapaests; it scoft at those who studied Dialogue, calling them men of anxious Contemplations, and Romancers of high mat­ters, and the like; observing only one way of presentment, which was to jeer them, and with a Dyonisian Liberty to bring them in, sometimes walking in the Ayre, and con­versing with Clouds; sometimes measuring the jumps, and skippings of Fleas; as men who disputed light, Aery matters too subtly. On the other side Dialogue held reve­rend disputes of the nature of things, and of virtues of Philosophers; so that, according to the Proverb of the Musitians, there was twice the distance of all Gamut, from the highest note to the lowest and basest, between them; And yet have I dared to unite things of this distance, and to raise agreement from things disagreeing, and not well enduring fellowship: And from hence have reason to feare, lest I seem to have attempted something like to your Prometheus, in mingling a woman with a man, and do therefore undergoe your Arraignment. Nay, lest I have enterprized something worse, and conzened my Hearers by inviting them to bones cover'd with fat, and drest a Comick Laughter in the Gravitie of a Philo­sopher. As for Thee very; of all things you can never charge that upon my writings. From whom should I steal? unlesse there be some one, not yet come to my knowledge, who hath written of Chimaera's, and Gyants. Besides, what would would you have me do? 'Tis good to pur­sue an Enterprize once begun; since to change purposes belongs; to Epimetheus, not Prometheus.

An Epistle to Nigrinus.

Lucian to Nigrinus wisheth prosperity.

OVVles to Athens, sayes the Proverb; as if 'twere ri­diculous to carry Owles thither, where is such plen­tie. So for me to write, and send my book to Nigrinus accompanied with power and force of vvords, vvere to fall under the ridiculous Proverb, and to send Ovvles in­deed. My purpose being only to acquaint thee, hovv I am, and hovv thy Speeches have left such deep Impressions in me, I dissent from Thucydides saying, that Igno­rance makes men bold, and consideration fearfull: Since 'tis manifest that not Ignorance alone, but the desire and love of Conversation and Speech is the cause of this my boldnesse. Farevvell.

Nigrinus, or the Manners of Philosophers.

The Speakers. Lucian and a Philosopher.
LUcian.

Hovv venerable, and exalted you are return'd? neither vouchsafing to look on us any more, or to afford us your Company, or to mingle discourses vvith us, but are of a suddain transformed into One vvho con­temnes all men. I vvould gladly knovv of you, hovv you arriv'd to this Insolence, and upon vvhat reasons?

Philos.

What Reasons can there be, my friend, but fe­licitie?

Luci:

Hovv say you?

Philos:

Marry, that beyond my Expectations I am re­turn'd prosperous and happy, and to borrovv an Expressi­on from the Stage, thrice happy.

Luci:

O Hercules! in so short a Time?

Philosoph:
[Page 6]

Tis even so.

Lucian.

But what else is there which makes you so proud, as not to allow us to rejoyce at your good for­tune, or to hear the truth of your whole Story?

Philosoph:

Is't not a thing to be admired, think you, for a slave to returne free, a begger rich, a fool wise, and a mad-man recover'd?

Lucian.

Yes surely: Yet I understand not clearly what you drive at.

Philosoph:

I went into the City, then, to find a Surgeon for my Eyes; whose pain very much increased, and grew upon me.

Lucian.

All this I know; and wisht you might light upon a skilfull one.

Philos:

Having purposed also, of a long time to be­stow a visit upon Nigrinus, the Platonick Philosopher, rising early, I went to Salute him, and knocking at his door, a boy carryed in the Message, and I was sent for in. At my first Entrance, I found him with a book in his hand, beset round with the Images of the ancient Wise-men. In the midst of the room stood a ta­ble bestrewed with Geometricall Diagrammes, & figures; and a Sphere resembling the Universe. Sa­luting me very friendly, he askt me how I did; I ha­ving made him an account, for return, askt him how he did, and whether his resolution held for another voyage into Greece. He no sooner began to speak, and to open his mind, but his words fell upon me in such a showre of Ambrosia, that me-thought (if ever there were any) I was among Homers ancient Syrens, and Nightingales. So Divinely he uttered himselfe, when falling into the praise of Philosophy, and the Child thereof, Liberty, he laught at those things which the vulgar esteeme good; Riches, Glory, Kingdomes, and Honour, Gold also, and Purple; and those other things prized commonly by the most, and till then by me. Which I received with an attentive [Page 7] and open mind, saw not for the present, the thing to which I might compare my selfe: but was cast into a Distraction; sometimes greiving to hear those things most precious to me, Riches, Gold and Glory disproved; al­most weeping at their Confutation; now again accoun­ting them bale and contemptible. Much joyed, though, that I now began to look through the clouds, and Gloo­minesse of my former life: wherefore wholy forgetting the cure of my eyes, as a vanity, my mind by little and lit­tle began to be very sharp sighted, which till then I car­ried about with me blind; till passing on, I became the thing whereof you accuse me; a Man advanced, and carried aloft by his discourse, and unable ever since to submit to small contemplations. For that happen'd to me concerning Philosophy, which is reported to have happen'd to the Indians concerning Wine; who being naturally hot, upon their first taste of a liquor so enflaming, presently grew mad, and were twice as much enraged as other men. Just so doe I appear to you, drunk and reeling with all discourses; though this is not to be drunk, but discreet and sober.

Lucian.

I would faine, (if it may be without your trouble) hear his discourses reported, securing them from my disdain, being such a hearer as is both a friend to your selfe, and one who hath heretofore spent time in such lofty studies.

Philosoph:

I obey your desires Sir, since according to that halfe verse in Homer, you petition One already willing; who, if you had not prevented me, had volun­tarily craved your attention. For I desire to make you a witnesse to others, that I am not mad without reason; it being my delight to exercise, and make repetitions to my selfe, though no body be present; and twice or thrice a day solitarily to revolve what I heard. And as lovers supplie the absence of those they love with the re­membrance of their Words or Actions, and fixing their [Page 8] thoughts upon them, couzen their Longings with their memory, as if those they loved were present; framing to themselves imaginarie Dialogues, and takeing pleasure in those things which they then seem to hear, as when they were at first spoken; and applying their minds to the re­membrance of things past, busie themselves as if they lay before them: so I take no small satisfaction in recollecting those absent discourses of Philosophy which I once heard; and like Sea-men, or Travellers in the dark, do steer my Course by this Candle, alwaies imagining that man to be present to my Actions, and as it were still hearing his discourse; sometimes raising my Contemplation, me­thinks I have his face in my eyes, and his words in my eares; so truly did he verifie that of the Comedian, and left a sting in his Hearers.

Lucian.

Spare further Prefaces, admired Sir, and be­gin your storie; for you doe not a little torment and tire my expectation.

Philosoph:

You say true, my friend, and what is fit; But first I pray have you seen an ill Tragick or Comick A­ctor; those I mean who are hist, who spoiling good Poems with bad Actions, are at last pluckt off the stage, though the play, perchance, deserve Bayes and Clappes?

Lucian.

I know many such; But why aske you?

Philosoph:

Because I fear lest I seem to you to imitate them; whilest giveing no right order to my rehearsall, I corrupt his meaning by my weaknesse, and wrong the Play by repetition. As for my selfe your disallowance will not much trouble me; But I should be sorry a good argument should suffer in my delivery, or grow disfi­gured under my performance. Remember then, that through my whole Narration the Actors faults be not lai­ed upon the Poet, but remove him far from the stage, as not concerned by that which is done in the Theater. I, in the meane time, will give you a taste what a play­er [Page 9] I am for my memory; otherwise not at all differing from a messenger in a Tragedy. Wherefore if I report any thing imperfectly, think that which was left out, best; and that the Poet would have told it with more advantage: and then if you hisse me, I shall not much care.

Lucian.

An excellent exordium, by Mercury, and continued like a Rhetorician. You would adde now, that you stayed not long with him, and that you come unprovided to speak, and that 'twere better hear him make his own report; and that you brought not away all, but as much as was possible for you at that time to binde up in your memory. Were you not about to say thus? I shall therefore hold you excused, and desire you to think you have Spun a sufficient preface to your Story: Since I, for my part, am ready to give you my applause; whereas if you tire me longer, I shall remem­ber my vexation by the way, and hisse aloud.

Philosoph:

Surely 'twas in my purpose to say as much as you have past over; and to have added, besides, that to deliver things in this order, and to draw them into the like continued web, is to me impossible; since striving to make him speak with my voice, I should once more be like those players, who sustaining the person of Aga­memnon, or Creon, or Hercules, and being richly drest, and looking majestickly, and straining to speak bigge, come off in a slender, treble, womanish voice, much smaller then that of Hecuba, or her daughter Polyxena: least therefore their Accusations become mine, by acting a part too great for me, and thereby disgraceing my pro­perties, I will speak in my owne naked person; least where I slippe, that Divine personage, whom I repre­sent, should fall with me.

Lucian.

This fellow will never leave vexing me with similitudes taken from Tragedies, and the stage.

Philosoph.

I have done, and now come to the matter. [Page 10] The entrance to this discourse, then, was a Commendation of Greece, and of the students at Athens, who were equally bred to Philosophy, and want; neither vainly delighted with the sight of the Citizens; nor so taken with strangers as by their new fashions to corrupt their education; But if any came among them so disposed, they by little and little transformed him, and untaught him his former manners; and wrought him into a purer kind of beha­viour and carriage. I remember he told a story of one of those spanglers, and glittering men, who came to Athens very brave, and gallant, numerously attended, and va­riously apparelled; who supposed himselfe to be much ae­mulated by all the Athenians, and thought a Demi­god▪ but appeared to those a man much to be pittied; who presently began to instruct him, not harshly, or openly dis­swading him to live in a free Citty, as he pleased. But after he began to be troublesome to their Schooles, and Bathes, thronging all Passengers with his Crowd of followers, one in a concealed low voice, scarce able to reach him, would say, I was affraid least this gallant would have been smoother'd at washing: Another, the Bathes have enjoyed a long peace, what need of such an Army then? He in the mean time over-heard things as they were, and took in Instruction. Again when he took off his Imbroi­deries, and purple, pleasantly jeering his Flowers, and co­lours, some would say, The spring is come: others, From whence flew this peacock? others, Perhaps these feathers were his mothers, and the like. And so passing their scoffes on other things, sometimes they would flout the multi­tude of his Rings: sometimes the superfluous curling of his haire: sometimes the Luxury of his Diet, till insensi­bly he grevv discreet, and being thus publickly refor­med, departed much better then he came. Hovv little they are ashamed to professe poverty, appears by a pas­sage vvhich he recounted to me, vvhich happen'd pub­lickly at the celebration of the Athenian Games; [Page 11] vvhere one of the Town was apprehended and brought before the Judge of the sports, for coming to the shovv in a died suit; vvhich vvhen the rest savv, they pittied the man, and besought his pardon; and vvhen the crier proclaimed, he had broke the Law, which allowed no spectators so apparell'd, as if they had before consulted, they all cryed out with one voice, that liberty should be grant­ed to one so arrayed, seeing he had no more cloathes. Such passages as these he much extol'd; as also the free­dome of the place, the frugality of their Diet, the Calmes, and tranquillity of the people which they possesse un-envied. Assuring me withall, that their life was agreeable to their Philosophie; and was a­ble to preserve manners in their purity; and that to a vertuous man, and one who had learn'd to despise Riches, and had resolved to order his life by these things which were naturally honest, no place afford­ed such suiteable Conversation. But to a man that loved wealth, and took delight in Gold, and mea­sured happinesse by his power, and purple; who never tasted liberty, or made tryall of freedome, or beheld Truth, but was bred up in flatteries, and servitude, vvho sacrificed his soule in obedience to plea­sure, and loved luxurious feastes, or excesse of wine, or use of women, filling himselfe with Im­postures, Cousenage, and lies: As also to him who took pleasure in light Musicke, or in loose lascivious songs, the conversation of this place was most proper. For here every street, and market place is stored with the things which they most affect; and men are free to take in pleasure at all their gates and senses, their eyes, their eares, their smell, their palate, their Imbracements, and Touch; which running in one eter­nall, muddy, troubled stream, drownes and overflowes all passages; Adultery, and covetousnesse, and perjury, and such a tribe of pleasures, meeting there together in one [Page 12] chanell: whence the soule being over-whelmed by a deluge, modestie, vertue, and justice become utterly un­joynted, and lost; leaving the place void and empty, and in their stead a thirst, and spring of vices of severall kinds and formes. This character he gave me of this City, the nurse and mistresse of such vertues. I there­fore, said he, no sooner set sail from Greece, and ar­rived neer my owne shoare, when recollecting my thoughts I askt my selfe the reason of my returne; Applying that verse of Homer to my selfe, O most un­happy Wight, why leaving Phoebus light, (Greece you must suppose, and the happinesse, and the liberty of those parts) art thou come back? that thou mayest behold the disorder of this place, Sycophants, proud salutes, prolonged suppers, flatterers, murthers, ex­pectation of dead mens wills, and dissembled friend­shippe? or what wilt thou doe, who canst neither reforme, nor yet practice the bad Customes of the place? Reasoning thus with my selfe? as Iupiter did Hector, so I withdrew my selfe from the pikes, and slaughters, and skirmishes of the World; resolving ever after to keep at home, and proposing to my selfe this womanish, or (as some may call it) dastardly course of life. I hold discourses with Philosophie, Plato, and truth: And placeing my selfe as if I were in some populous Theater, I look downe from a­loft upon the Carriage of affaires abroad; partly as they are able to stirre recreation, and provoke laugh­ter, partly as they are able to prove the Constancie of a resolute man. For if it be seemly to speak in praise of vice, you cannot imagine where the exercise of ver­tue is greater, or where mindes undergoe stronger tri­als, then amid'st the manners of this City. For 'tis no small victory to resist so many temptations, so many charming spectacles, and attracting allurements: But like Ulysses to sail by them, not with hands bound, [Page 13] (which were cowardly) nor with eares stopt with wax, but with attention, and loose, requires a mind sublimated, and raised above them. You will admire Philosophie, if you set it in comparison with such mad­nesse; and contemne the Goods of fortune, beholding, as it were in a Scene, or varying Comedie, a servant sometimes to come forth a master, a rich man to become poor; And on the contrary, a beggar to become a Lord, or Prince; one man to be a friend, another an enemy, a third an exile. But the thing most deplorable is, that though fortune plainly testify that the businesses of mortals are her pastime; and though men daiely see that nothing is stable, and fixt, yet they still itch after riches, and great place, and still walke on in the pursuit of succeslesse hopes. Now whereas I told you 'twas fit to laugh and raise mirth from ordinary Occurrences, so I will give you some examples. Is't not good Comedie to see rich men display their pur­ple, brandish their rings, and bewray so much folly? But the great vanity of all is, that they salute those they meet by others mouthes, and account it a great favour to vouchsafe them a look. Others more venerable, and ex­pecting Adoration, are not to be saluted a far off, nor af­ter the Persian manner, but are to be approach't with a low obeysance; And in fashioning your addresse before you come neer, you are to signifie the humility of your mind, by the posture of your body; and then are per­mitted to kisse their breast or hand: which in those who were never so favoured, stirres a matter of emulation, and regard, whilest you, all the while, deliver your selfe over to be cousen'd. Where I cannot but praise their in­humanity, for not saluting us with their mouth. Much more ridiculous are those their retainers, and clients, who rising at mid-night, fetch a Compasse, and walke about the Citty; and after all are excluded by the ser­vants; and suffer themselves to be called dogges, flatte­rers, and the like. The reward of their tedious Circuit, [Page 14] is a troublesome supper, and the cause of many mischiefes; where eating much, and drinking more then is fit, and speaking many things not to be named, at last finding fault and discontent they depart, either blaming their entertainment, or disrespect, or the basenesse of the invitation: Bespewing the Lanes also, and Allies, as they passe; or quarrelling in vile baudy-houses; where­by most of them the next day are fain to keep their beds, and to send for Chirurgeons; others, most absurdly, scarce refrain making visits in their sicknesse. I, in the mean time, hold these who thus flatter, much more miserable and lost, then those who are flattered: as being the principall authors of the others pride. For when they admire their plenty, and extoll their wealth, and every morning beset their doors, and in their ordinary accost­ments salute them as their Masters, what must the others think of themselves? Whereas, if by common agreement they would forbeare, though it were but a while, this voluntary servitude, do you not think the rich would come a begging to poor mens doors, and make suit to them not to let their Felicity lie without spectators, and witnesses? or the bravery of their tables, and magnifi­cence of their Buildings, to stand uselesse and unregar­ded? For none are so enamoured of their treasures, as to think themselves therefore happy because they have them; since possession would give little value to stately palaces, Chests of Gold, and boards of Ivorie, were there not some body to admire them. 'Twere fit there­fore, for the Abatement of their estimation and power, to encounter rich men with contempt; since humouring of them increases their folly. But for men unletter'd, and openly professing ignorance, to doe thus, may perhaps be thought tolerable. That which most deserves a Satyre, is, that those who make profession of Philosophy, doe things yet more ridiculous. How think you, am I troubled in my soule, when I see a man of reverend years [Page 15] mingle himselfe with a troop of flatterers, and give his attendance to some great officer, and at supper to mix discourse with other retainers, yet the more taken notice of for his habits sake? Though I stomack most that they change not their garb, as well as act all the other parts in the Play. For as for those things which passe at such invitations, to which of the flatterers are they to be compared? Doe they not eate with much lesse modera­tion? Are they not much more apparently drunk? They alwaies rise last, and strive to carrie away more then o­thers: And if there be any one of them of a finer educa­tion, many times he will offer to sing. These things he observed as ridiculous, particularly also taxing those who taught Philosophy for reward, and sold vertue, as it were, in the market; calling their Schools shops, and shambles; and thinking it most reasonable, that he who taught others to despise wealth, should first render him­selfe above gaine: since it was his owne ordinary course, not only to instruct those who would learne gratis, but if need were to supply their wants out of his generous con­tempt of riches; being so farre from coveting things which did not concerne him, as not to bend his cares to the preservation of those things which were his owne; for many years not once vouchsafeing to visit a farme which he had neer the City. For first, he made question whether he might call it his owne: proceeding I suppose by this distinction, that by nature we are not Lords of any thing; but that by law, and succession, we obtain an uncertain possession, and use of things; and are for a little time called owners; and when our set terme is expired, that then they passe on to another, who bares that name. Many other exemplary things he had in him worthy of imitation; the plainnesse of his diet, the moderation of his exercise, the gravity of his person, the decency of his appa­rell, but above all the equall temper, and sweetnesse of his behaviour. His manner was to admonish such as resorted [Page 16] to him, not to deferre their amendment, (as many do; who set themselves certain feasts, and solemne times, from whence to beginne to leave off lying, and to do things which are honest) maintaining that the imbracements of vertue ought to be without delay. He also condem­ned those Philosophers very much, who placed the exer­cise of vertue in accustoming their young Schollers to the labours, and hardnesses which they were to resist; com­manding them sometimes to be bound, and whipt; o­thers, somewhat more elegant, used to cut prints in their flesh with a rasour: whereas, said he, 'twere much better to beget an hardinesse and courage in their soules first; that way of education being still to be preferred, which partly regards the minde, partly the body, partly the learners age, and former course of breeding; it being a great fault in Tutors to taske their Schollers beyond their abilities; since many too hard set have died under their impositions. One I knew, said he, who having tasted their cruell disci­pline, at the first hearing of more rationall discourses (as if he had then come to himselfe) irrecoverably forsook them, and lived ever after very contentedly. Here he past on, and speaking of other professions, at last fell upon the disturbances, and Justlings of the Citty; not omit­ting the Theater, the horse-race, Horsemens statues, names of great horses, and the Crackes made of them in by-Corners. For, said he, there is not a more usu­all madnesse then that of Horse-race; wherewith also many who weare the countenance of vertue are infe­cted. After this entring, as it were, upon another Act of the play, he toucht upon those passages which fall out at funeralls, and making of wills: Adding, moreover, that the Romans in all their life time uttered but one true word, meaning in their wills; so that the Testator never enjoyes the benefit of his owne truth. I could not refraine laughter, when he proceeded, and said, the Ro­mans desired to have their ignorance buried with them, [Page 17] and yet proclaimed their stupidity by their wills; whilest some command those cloathes of best value worn by them in their life time to be burnt with them; Others leave so many servants to attend their graves; Others give order for the crowning of their pillars with chap­lets; prolonging their folly beyond their funeralls; and lea­ving it to conjecture what they did alive, when they pro­vide for such monuments after their death. For these are they, said he, who buy only that meat which costs most, who at their entertainments drink wine with musick, and Odours; who in the midst of winter crown them­selves with roses, which they prize from their unseasona­blenesse, and scarcity; disdayning those as worthlesse which are of a timely and naturall growth. These are they who drink perfumes: where, by the way, he carp't at those who knevv not hovv to order, and use their plea­sures; but sinned by the preposterous shuffling, and con­fusion of them; suffering them utterly to trample upon and vvaste the soule; being, according to that saying of the Tragedy, themselves hurried beyond the mark. This he said, vvas a meere soloecisme in pleasure; Imitating Mo­mus, I believe, in his reprehension. For as he found fault vvith God for making a Bull, and not placeing his hornes before his eyes; so he blamed those vvho vvore Garlands, and knevv not their right place; For, said he, if they de­light in the Ayre, or sent of violets, and roses, they should vveare them just under their noses, and neer the place of breathing as may be, that the smell may strike their sense the stronglier. He laught also at those vvho spent their studies in the contrivance of curious entertainments; affecting unknovvn sauces, and variety of dishes, and put­ting themselves to so much charge and trouble for the love of a short transitory pleasure. For he made it a clear case, that all their paines vvere laid out upon the bredth of four fingers, vvhich, said he, is the measure of the lon­gest throat; For they cannot enjoy the pleasures of their [Page 18] dainties before they eat them; nor differ they in taste, though never so costly, from courser fare after they have eaten them. It remaines, then, that after their great sums, they bought meerly that short pleasure which they took in the passage and going down. And they are justly punisht, said he, for their ignorance, who understand not those true pleasures which Philosophy bestowes on the industrious. He discourst to me, also, many things concer­ning Bathes: How vainly they are frequented; what affronts are there offer'd; how some are carried thither upon their servants shoulders, as it were to their funeral. One thing ordinarily practised in the City, but most usu­all in Bathes, he much inveighed against: That is, to have some servants go before to warne them to look to their footing, as they are to passe over some hole, or by some place which jets out; most absurdly instructing them how they are to tread. A thing in his judgment much to be com­plained of: that since they did not dine or suppe with others mouthes or hands, nor hear with others eares, yet being in perfect sense they should imploy others eyes to see for them, and be guided by directions scarce fit to be given to men blind or lame; and this at mid-day, in the open street, when as they themselves have the managing of the state. This and much more he briefly past over, and so ended his discourse. I all the while listening to him like one entranced, and still fearing he should give over. For he was no sooner silent, but that befell me which happen'd to the people of Corcyra. Long fixt I mine eyes upon him like one inchanted; Then suffering in my selfe a great confusion, and Tumult, first I fel into a cold sweat, next labouring to speak, I sunk down, and was unable: my voice failed, and my tongue de­nied its office; and to conclude, for want of other expres­sion, I fell a crying. For his discourse did not lightly raze my skin, or leave in me a casuall impression; but the stroke was deep, and home, and his speech so rightly ay­med, that, as I may so say, it entred, and cleft my very soule. [Page 19] For if, under correction, I may now passe my judgment of Philosophicall discourses, this is my opinion of them: The mind of every ingenious man is like a loft delicate Butt; many Archers there are in the world, who carry quivers filled with discourses of all sorts; yet all doe not hit the marke: But some drawing their Bow too hard, give too much force to their Shaft, which flies home, in­deed, but stickes not; but through too much strength passes through the Butt, leaving a great gappe and wound in the Soule. Others again on the contrary through the weaknesse of their Armes, and slacknesse of their Bow, shoot not home; but their Arrowes languishing in their flight, fall down many times in the mid-way: Or if they chance to reach the marke, they doe but superficial­ly touch it, and leave no impression; as not being dis­charged with might enough. But a good Archer in­deed, and like him I spoke of, will exactly consider whether the Butt be not too soft, or too hard for his Ar­row: (for there are some Markes not to be pierced) and as he makes his discovery, dipping his Shaft (not in poyson, like the Scythians, nor in harmfull juyces, like the Cretans, but) in poignant, and soveraigne Medicines, he discharges; allowing such just aim to his shot, as to pierce and not passe through, but to remain and stick, till the vertue of the dart, diffusing it selfe, over-spread and season the whole mind. And this is that which at once stirres the delight, and teares of the hearers. As it then befell me, when I felt his Balsam gently creep over my Soule. I applyed therefore unto him that verse:

Still shoot, if unto men thy darts prove rayes.

For as those who hear a Phrygian Cornet winded, doe not all run mad; but those onely who are possest with their Goddesse, upon the sound of the charme, fall into their former distractions: so all who hear Philosophers doe not depart astonisht and wounded, but those only between whose Soules and Philosophie, there is some sympathy and alliance.

Lucian.
[Page 20]

What reverend, admirable, Divine things, my good friend, have you delivered! who are (now I confesse) return'd full of Ambrosia, and Myrtle: where­fore all the time of your discourse my Soule felt commo­tions too, and I now grieve you have done so soon; and can use your words and say, I am wounded. Nor let it stirre your wonder: for those, you know, who are bitten by mad Dogges, run not only mad themselves, but if they in their fury bite others, they whom they bite run mad too. For the rage conveying it selfe with the wound, one infection begets another, and spreads at last into a stream, and large succession of madnesse.

Philosoph:

You confesse your selfe toucht then?

Lucian.

I doe, and request you to finde out some common remedy for us both.

Philosoph:

We must doe then as Telephus did.

Lucian.

How's that?

Philosoph:

Aske our cure of him, who gave us our wound.

The Kings Fisher, or a Discourse of TRANSFORMATIONS.

The Speakers, Chaerephon and Socrates.
CHAEREPHON.

What sound is this, Socrates, which strikes our eares from yonder promonto­ry, and Cliffe? hark how sweet 'tis: what musicall crea­ture may this be?

Socrates.

A sea-Fovvle, Chaerephon, call'd the Kings-fisher, wholy made up of Complaints, and woes; of whom there goes an ancient Fable. For 'tis reported, that being once a Woman, Aeolus the Graecians daughter, and that loosing her Husband Ceyx the Trachinian, descended of Hesperus the Evening-starre, a beatifull sonne of a [Page 21] bright Father, when she was yet a Girle, out of extreame love, she much lamented his death; And thereupon, by the power of some God, was put into feathers; and hath ever since in the shape of a Bird flown about the Sea in search of him.

Chaerephon.

A Kings-Fisher call you her? I never heard her before; and therefore to me she seemed some outlandish fowle. Truely she sings in a very mourn­full tune; pray, Socrates, what manner of Bird is it?

Socrates.

Not great, Chaerephon, unlesse it be for the great honour she hath received from the Gods for her love to her husband. For all the while she sits, though in the middest of winter, the world enjoyes Halcyon daies, of a different calmenesse from other times; whereof this day is one. See you not how clear the Heavens are? and how the Sea without wave or billow, resembles for smoothnesse a mirrour, or Glasse.

Chaerephon.

True. This is, indeed, a Halcyon day; and yesterday was such another. But for Gods sake tell me, So­crates, may I give credit to what you said, in the begin­ning, that women have been raised out of Birds; or that Birds have been transform'd into women? It sounds to me altogether impossible.

Socrates.

O my friend, Chaerephon, we are but purblind Judges of what is possible, and impossible. For we pro­nounce according to the ignorant, faithlesse, dull abilities of men; And therefore, many things in themselves easie, seem to us difficult; and many things in themselves attai­nable, seem to us not to be attained: And this befalls us sometimes through unexperience, sometimes through the infancy of our mindes. For compared to the first cause every man, though never so old, is but a child; And com­pared to Aeternity our whole life is but a childhood, and spanne. How then can they who know not the pow­er of the Gods discourse of them, or precisely tell what is possible, and what is not? you saw the storme, Chaerephon, [Page 22] about three daies since, what lightnings, and Thunders, and tempestuous winds were there? some man would tremble at the thought of them, fearing least the whole world would have fallen to ruine: yet you see it ended in a wonderfull Calme, which lasts yet. Which, then, think you is the harder, and more unlikely, to raise a still­nesse out of a blustring tempest, and to cast faire weather over the world, or to change the shape of a Woman into the forme of a Bird? we see children every day raise se­verall figures, and shapes, from wax or clay. Then cer­tainly to God, who is too great and excellent to be brought into Comparison with our performances, all these things are most familiar, and easy. How much big­ger is the Heaven then you, can you tell?

Chaerephon.

No, Socrates, nor any man els: such com­parisons are not to be known, or taken measure of.

Socrates.

Well then! do we not see the vast dispropor­tions of some men compared with others, and how they differ in their impotencies, or strength? what wondrous difference is there between a man of mature age, and a child five or ten dayes old, both for their infirmity, and might; as also for all the Actions of life, whither they be the defence of those our walls so often assaulted, or any o­ther performances either of body or mind? which things cannot possibly enter into the apprehension of a child? Then, for greatnesse of strength, a grown man carries no proportion, or measure, to a child; vvho vvith one hand can easily overcome millions of them. For naturally men are born of an age at first altogether unexpert, and unfit for action. If, then, one man so much excell another; hovv much the Gods excell us, they may consider vvho have abilities for such contemplations. It vvill, therefore, I doubt not, seem credible to most, that as much as the whole world exceeds Socrates, and Chaerephon in ma­gnitude and space, so much doe they exceed us in power and providence, and wisdom. Many things, therefore, [Page 23] to you and me, and such as we are, seem impossible, which to others are easie. For to winde a Cornet well to those who cannot play, and to read or write to those who are ignorant of Grammar, showes more impossible then to make women of Birds, or Birds of women. Na­ture, we see, finding in a Comb of Wax a shapelesse worme, without Legges or Feathers, gives it Winges, and feet, and enamelling it with great diversity of fair coloures, produceth a Bee, the wise Architect of Divine honey: out of dumb senselesse egges she formes se­verall sortes of flying, walking, swimming Creatures, as­sisted (as 'tis thought) by the Sacred influence of the skie. We therefore, poor mortalls and infants, who can neither comprehend great matters, nor understand small, but doubt of most things, even of those which concern our selves, can say little concerning the power of the immor­tall Gods, or of their transformations of Kings-Fishers, or nightingales. Onely as the Glory of the Fable hath bin Conveyed to me from my Ancestors, so will I, to the praise of thy songes, O thou bird of mourning, convey it to posterity; and will often repeat thy vertuous love of thy Husband to my Wives Xantippe, and Mirto; not forgetting the honour bestowed upon thee by the Gods: and doe you Chaerephon, doe the like.

Chaerephon.

'Tis fit I should Socrates, since all your words carry double perswasions, and are able to instruct both sexes.

Socrates.

Now then, 'tis time we bid the Kings-fisher farewell, and returne into the City.

Chaerephon.

'Tis so, and therefore let us goe.

Prometheus or Caucasus.

The speakers. Mercury, Vulcan, Prometheus.
Mercury.

LOok Vulcan, yonder's Caucasus, to which wee are to nail this wretched Titan: let's finde out some eminent place, uncovered with Snow, where we may the firmelier chain him, and where he may hang most open to passengers.

Vulcan.

You say well Mercury: For if we chain him to some low place, neer the earth, his creatures, men, will come in to his succour; and if we fasten him to the Hill­toppe he will not be seen below: wherefore, if you think fit, let's crucifi [...] him here in the middle of the hill, which hangs over this valley, and let him stretch one Arme that way, and the other this.

Mercury.

'Tis well contrived, for here the Rock is craggie, and inaccessible, and inclining to a precipice; and the ascent so narrow, that you can hardly stand tip­toe; and every way fittest for his Crosse: make no de­layes therefore Prometheus, but mount and suffer your selfe to be fasten'd.

Prometheus.

Vulcan, Mercury, pitty me, who with­out desert am thus unfortunate.

Mercury.

Pitty thee Prometheus? why is't not enough for thee to be bound to Caucasus, unlesse Jupiter doom both us to the same punishment, for disobeying his De­cree? Stretch forth thy right hand: unmanacle him Vulcan, and nail him, and be sure to give strength to your Hammer. Now reach out thy other hand, that he may fasten that too: well done. An Eagle will fly hi­ther presently, and will prey upon thy Liver, and then thou wilt be fully rewarded for thy rare and most ingeni­ous peece of work-manship.

Prometheus.

O Iapetus, Saturne, and mother Earth, [Page 25] what tortures doe I feel, who never offended or com­mitted fault.

Mercury.

Dids't thou never offend, Prometheus? Who at a division of sacrifices, dids't deale so unequally and deceitfully, and stealing the best for thy selfe, left'st nothing for Jupiter but Bones cover'd with fat; As I re­member Hesiod tells the story so: Next thou madest men, a most slie and fallacious creature; but especially women: But above all thou stolest Fire, the most pre­tious treasure of the Gods, and bestowed'st it upon men. And after all these offences, can'st thou say thou art cause­lesly fasten'd?

Prometheus.

Methinks, Mercury, you as well as the Poet doe accuse the innocent; when you charge me with things, for which if I had Justice done me, I should be allowed a pension. If therefore, your leasure serve you, I will gladly wipe off your accusations, by show­ing how unjustly Jupiter hath given sentence upon me. Doe you, in the mean time, being both eloquent of speech, and skilfull in the lawes, make his defence as if he held equall Scales, in dooming me to be here cruci­fied neer the Caspian streights, upon this Caucasus; where I am a miserable spectacle to all the Scythians.

Mercury.

Thou spendest wordes in vaine, Prome­theus, and to no purpose; yet say on. For since I am o­therwise enjoyn'd to tarry till the Eagle alight, and feed upon thy Liver, 'twill not be amisse to fill up the time with listening to thy Sophistry, wherein thou art most expert.

Prometheus.

First, then, Mercury, doe you aggravate your charge as much as you can; and as well as you can defend your fathers justice. In the mean time, Vulcan, be you Judge between us.

Vulcan.

So help me, Jupiter, I will rather be thy ac­cuser. Doe you remember how you stole my Fire, and left my Forge cold?

Prometheus.
[Page 26]

Divide the accusation between you then, and doe you say all you can against my Theft, let Mer­cury plead against my Creation of men, and division of the sacrifice: you seem to be both your Arts-masters, and very able to speak.

Vulcan.

Mercury shall speak for mee; who am not for your pleadings, and Law Cases, but imploy my selfe about the Anvill, and Forge. For he is an Orator, and hath studied Rhetorick.

Prometheus.

I believe Mercury hath little to say against Theevery, and will not charge me with a thing, where­of himselfe is the Author. If you have, Mercury, 'tis time you produce your Accusation.

Mercury.

It would aske a long speech, Prometheus, and much preparation to repeate all your offences: It shall suffice me to recount onely their heads. First, being per­mitted to cast Lots for a Sacrifice, you kept the best for your selfe, and cheated the King; next, you made men, which was not fit; lastly you stole Fire from us, and bore it to them: wherein, in my opinion, you did very indiscreetly, to provoke Jupiter, who is such a friend to men. Now if you deny this, for your grea­ter convincement, 'twill be fit I enlarge my selfe, and try to make the truth of things yet plainer. If you confesse that you made a false Division of the Sacri­fice, and that you formed men, and stole Fire, my Accusation will be full, and I should but trifle to say more.

Prometheus.

Whither you have not spoken trifles all this vvhile, vve shall see anon; I, since you think you have made such a full accusation, vvill strive, as vvell as I can, to dissolve it: First, then, lend me your at­tention concerning the Sacrifice. I call Heaven to wit­nesse whether in making my defence, I blush not for Jupiter, to think he should be so poor spirited, and whining, as for one small Bone, which came [Page 27] to his share, to send hither so ancient a God, as I am, to be crucified; not remembring of what assistance I have been to him, nor weighing how childish the ground of his displeasure is, to be angry, and fret, because he had not the greater piece. Nor do I think, Mercury, that cheats of Entertainment are to be remembred, but that all faults committed at feasts are to be reckon'd sport; and that he was to leave his anger behind him at the Table. But to bury his hate till the next day, and to lay up a past injury, and keep it in fresh memory, is neither Kingly, nor like a God. For take away from Banquets wit, breaking of Jests, putting of Tricks, Jeeres, Comicall abuses, and laughter, and nothing will remaine but drunkennesse, surfets and silence; Things dull and unpleasant, and mis­becoming a Feast. I, therefore, could not imagine Iupi­ter could have remembred things the next day; much lesse have proved so Cholerick, or taken matters so hay­nously, if in the division of a little flesh, one should make sport with him, and make triall whither he knew how to choose the better part. But put the worst, Mercury, that I gave him not the lesser piece, but deceived him of all; must he therefore (according to the proverb) bring heaven and earth together, and project fetters, Crosses, whole moun­taines, and Eagles to devoure my liver? Look if such proceedings as these do not betray great weaknesse, and poornesse of Spirit, and inclination to revenge. If he do thus for a little beefe, what would he have done for the losse of a whole Oxe? Mortall men deal much discreet­lier in the like cases, then so; who should be proner to, wrath then the Gods. For never any yet crucified his Cook, for dipping his finger in the sauce, and licking it; or for cutting a slice of beefe from the spit, and eating it: but rather pardon'd him; or if he were very angry, gave him only a cuffe on the eare, or a blow on the cheek. But never any was crucified for things of this light nature. And thus much be spoken concerning the flesh; a matter [Page 28] unworthy of my defence, but much unworthier of his complaint. I proceed to speak next of my workmanship, and Creation of men: which falling under a twofold charge, I know not, Mercury, of which you acuse me most; whither because it was not fit for men to be made at all, but to have laine unformed, and the Earth to have remained unoccupied; or because they should have been made otherwise, and of another shape, and Fi­gure. I shall easily reply to both; and will first endea­vour to prove that the production of men is no hurt or dammage to the Gods; next that 'tis of much more conve­nience and advantage to them, then that the earth should lie desolate, and unpeopled, whereby it will plainly ap­pear, whither I have offended in my gracefull formation of men, the only creature of a divine and heavenly race. For the earth was a rude, shapelesse thing, grown over with thickets, and dark woods: the Gods had neither Altars, nor Temples, nor Images, nor statues; who are now every where adored with much reverence. I there­fore (for 'twas ever my care to provide for the common, and to advance the honour of the Gods, and to project things of ornament and beauty) did cast with my selfe, whither I could do better then take a peece of clay, and forme Creatures like us Gods, in visage and figure. For this, methought, was wanting to our Divinitie; that there was not a contrary, or foyle, which set in Comparison with us; might set off our felicity: which neverthelesse was to be some mortall thing, though otherwise most in­genious, understanding, and sensible of the best things. At length, according to that saying of the Poet, mixing earth with water, and working it into a soft mortar, I framed men; requesting Pallas to assist me in my work. This is my great offence against the Gods: and how great my punishment is you see, only because, forsooth, I raised creatures out of Clay, and gave motion to a thing which before moved not. And as if the Gods were the lesse [Page 29] Gods, because there are mortalls on earth, therefore Iu­piter is thus displeased, thinking the number of the Gods diminish't by the production of men: unlesse he be affraid least they should attempt a rebellion, and make warre upon the Gods, as the Giants did. 'Tis plain then, Mercury, that there is no fault either in me, or my work­manship. If you can show any though never so small, I will be silent, and will think I suffer deservedly. But that the Gods are hereby much benefitted, you may easily learn, if you be hold the Earth no longer untill'd or unma­nured, but adorned with Cities, Agricultures, and gene­rous plantations; the Sea navigated; Ilands inhabited; Altars every where erected, sacrifices offered, Temples and solemnities frequented; streets fill'd with Iupiter, and markets with men. Had I made this Creature for my selfe only, I had bin the wealthiest of all the Gods. But I wrought for the publick, and for the rest; especially for Iupiter, Apollo, and you Mercury; whose Temples are every where to be seen, but not one for Prometheus. Can you, then, at all perceive, that I have considered my selfe, and have diminisht or taken from the Common? Tell me, Mercury, can you think possessions desireable without a spectatour; or any peece of workmanship pleasant, or de­lightfull to the owner, if not seen and praised? which I therefore say, because if men had not been made, the beautie of the Universe had lackt a witnesse, and we should have possest riches neither admired by others, nor valued by our selves: Nor should we have wherevvith­all to comfort our selves, or understand hovv happy vve are, did vve not see others voide of our condition. Thus great things seem great by their comparison vvith lesse. But you, vvho ought to have honoured me for this pu­blick service, have revva [...]ded my endeavours and studies vvith a Crosse. But, say you, there are great malefactors among them, Adulterers, Rebells, men that marry their sisters, and plot against their parents. As if there vvere not [Page 30] the like among us, and that heaven might not be accused as well as the Earth, for producing us. But, you will say, there is a burden cast upon us to take care of their affaires. For the same reason a shepheard may count it a Burden that he hath a flock, because he is troubled to look after it. Though, indeed, this very trouble be season'd with plea­sure, and this care be delightfull in the exercise. Besides, how should we spend our time, if there were none to busie our providence? Sit idle, and do nothing but drink Nectar, and stuffe our selves with Ambrosia? But that which vexes me most is, that you inveigh most against me for making women, and yet love them, and are still descending to them, sometimes like Bulls, sometimes like Satyres, sometimes like swannes, and are content to make them Goddesses. But, say you, 'twas fit men should be made, but after another manner, and not like us. What other patterne should I propose to my selfe, then that which I knew to be most excellent? unlesse I should have made a witlesse, beastly, rustick creature. Besides, had they not been as they are, how should they sacrifice to us, or give us due honours? You, when you are invited to He­catombes, can saile sometimes the whole length of the Ocean, to the faultlesse Aethiopians. But you crucifie the Author of your honours, and sacrifices. And let this suffice to be spoken concerning men. I now passe on to the hay­nous stealth of fire. Answere me without delay in the be­halfe of the Gods, have we lost any fire since it came among men? you cannot say we have; since 'tis the nature of this Element not to decrease by communication, nor is one flame extinguish't by the kindling of another. 'Tis plain envy, then, to forbid the necessary use of those things which take nothing from us; whereas it becomes the Gods to be gratious, givers of good things, and free from all envie. But suppose I had stoln all your fire, and conveyed it to the Earth, I had not vvrong'd you much; for you need it not, being neither cold, nor accustomed to [Page 31] boyle your Ambrosia, nor used to the supply of an Arti­ficiall light; but to men fire is necessary, as for other uses, so especially for their sacrifices; not able else to perfume your temples, or to send you up clouds of incense, or burne their oblations on your Altars. Besides, I observe you are much delighted with their smoke, and much pleased with the smell, when a cloud of perfume ascends to heaven; you condemne then what you desire. Lastly I wonder you forbid not the Sun to shine, whose fire is much divi­ner, and hotter then mine; or that you blame him not for spending your treasure. I have said. If I have spoken amisse, I would have you, Mercurie, and Vulcan, correct or disprove me, and I will make a second reply.

Mercury.

'Tis hard, Prometheus, to contend with so ge­nerous a Sophister. But you may be glad Iupiter heard you not; who doubtlesse had sent sixteen Vultures to devoure your entrailes, so grievously have you accused him in your own defence. I marvaile, being a prophet, you did not fore­see your punishment.

Prometheus.

I did, Mercury; and do also presage that ere long a friend of yours shall come from Thebes, and shall shoot the eagle, which you say is to light upon me.

Mercury.

I wish to see it, Prometheus; and that you were releast, and making merry with us again, but not dividing a sacrifice.

Prometheus.

Be confident I shall once more feast with You, and Iupiter for his no small happinesse shall re­lease me.

Mercury.

What mean you? speak clearly.

Prometheus.

You know Thetis, Mercury. But I for­beare to say more; 'tis better to keep thee secret, till it bring me a reward for my punishment.

Mercury.

Do as you think best Prometheus: let us de­part, Vulcan; the Eagle is coming: expect you a while, Prometheus, for the Theban Archer, you spake of, to come and ease you of the Fowles tortures.

A Dialogue between Prometheus and Jupiter.

Promet.

RElease me now, Iupiter, for I have been mise­rably tortured.

Iupiter.

Release thee, saist thou, who deservest more shackles, and that all Caucasus should be laid upon thy head, and that thy liver should not only be gnawn by sixteen Vultures, but that thine eyes should be digged out, for making such Creatures as men, and women, and for stealing fire? I forbeare to mention the cheat you put upon me, at the division of flesh, allotting me bones cove­red with fat, and keeping the best for your selfe.

Prometheus.

But I have felt sufficient punishment, ha­ving thus long been chained to Caucasus, and fed an ea­gle, the cruellest, and worst of fowles, with my liver.

Iupiter.

This is the least part of what you ought to suffer.

Prometheus.

But you shall not release me gratis, Iupi­ter. I will reveale a secret which much concernes you.

Iupiter.

You play the sophister with me, Prometheus.

Prometheus.

What shall I get by it? if I deceive you, you know where Caucasus stands, and want no fetters.

Iupiter.

First tell me what ransome you will give me?

Prometheus.

If I tell you where you are now going, will you believe my other Divinations?

Iupiter.

How can I choose?

Prometheus.

You are going then to lie vvith Thetis.

Iupiter.

Well; and vvhat more? hitherto you have guest right.

Prometheus.

Have nothing to do Iupiter, with that sea Goddesse; For if she conceive by thee, the child will just deale with thee, as thou dealst with Saturne.

Iupiter.

Not expell me my Kingdome, I hope?

Prometheus.
[Page 33]

I wish he may not, Iupiter But your co­pulation with her threatens as much.

Iupiter.

Farewell Thetis, then. Vulcan, Prometheus, shall strike off thy shackles.

A Dialogue between Jupiter and Cupid.

Cupid.

IF I have offended pardon me, Iupiter, who am yet a child and lack wit.

Iupiter.

Art thou a child, Cupid, who art much older then Iapetus? or being so aged and cunning as thou art, wouldst thou be thought a child because thou hast not a beard, or gray hayres?

Cupid.

As old as thou saist I am, wherein have I wronged thee, that thou goest about to bind me?

Iupiter.

Consider, thou Varlet, if it be a small matter to make me thy pastime, since there is nothing into which thou hast not transformed me, a Satyre, a Bull, a Showre of gold, a Swanne, an Eagle: and yet never madest any woman love me againe; no not my own wife. But I was still faine to Court them in borrowed shapes, and to disguise my [...]elfe. And those who were enamoured of a Bull, or Swanne, if they saw me in my likenesse, died for feare.

Cupid.

And justly. Forthy presence, Iupiter, is too glori­ous for mortalls.

Iupiter.

How come Branchus, and Hyacinthus, then to love Apollo?

Cupid.

But Daphne fled from him, for all his bright haire and smooth chinne. If, therefore, thou wouldst be lo­ved, shake not thy target, and carry no lightning; But make thy selfe amiable, by letting thy locks on both sides hang curled and encircled with a mitre; weare purple robes, golden shooes, and dance gracefully to the pipe, or flute, and thou shalt see more will follow thee, then fran­tick women Bacchus.

Iupiter.
[Page 34]

No more, Boy. I would not thus effeminate my selfe to be beloved.

Cupid.

Then you must leave off wenching, Iupiter. 'Tis no hard matter.

Iupiter.

I will not; and yet I will enjoy with lesse trou­ble; and so for this time do let thee goe.

A Dialogue between Apollo and Vulcan.

Vulcan.

APollo, have you seen Maia's new born child, what a pretty infant 'tis, and smiles upon e­very body, and promises much to expectation?

Apollo.

Call you him an Infant, Vulcan, or imagine he will prove good, who for his Jugling is elder then Ia­petus?

Vulcan.

Whom could he cheat, being but newly born?

Apollo.

Aske Neptune, whose Trident he stole; or Mars who lost his sword out of his scabbard; I could tell you too, how he robb'd me of my bow and ar­rowes.

Vulcan.

One new born to do this, scarce able to goe, and in his swadling clouts?

Apollo.

Observe him, if ever he come to your shop Vulcan.

Vulcan.

He hath been here alreadie.

Apollo.

And have you all your Tooles? none lost?

Vulcan.

Not one, Apollo.

Apollo.

But search diligently.

Vulcan.

By Jove, I misse my tongs.

Apollo.

But you shall find them among his clouts.

Vulcan.

Are his fingers so quick, as if he studied the eve­ry in the womb?

Apollo.
[Page 35]

Do you not marke how talkative and voluble he is? He will needs be our messenger. Yesterday he call'd Cupid to him, and in wrestling, I know not how, trip'd up his heeles. And while Venus praised him, and would have hugg'd him for his victory, he stole her gir­dle; whereat Iupiter laughing he filch't his scepter. And had it not been too heavy and fiery, had stolne his light­ning also.

Vulcan.

This is a nimble youth, indeed.

Apollo.

He is a Musician too.

Vulcan.

How d' you know?

Apollo.

He found a dead Tortoise some where, and made a Lute of it; so ordering and disposing the pins, laying barres and covering them with a belly, then ap­plying strings, that he plaies most harmoniously; even to my envy, who have alwaies exercised my harp. His mother sayes he stayes not in heaven by night, but that he may be nimming, goes down to hell, and pilfers thereto. He vvas borne with wings, and hath made him­selfe a rodde, of strange force, wherewith he musters souls, and leads the dead.

Vulcan.

I gave it him in stead of a Rattle.

Apollo.

And for recompence he stole your tongues.

Vulcan.

'Tis well remembred. Ile fetch them again; and see if I can finde them, as you say, amonge his Clouts.

A Dialogue between Jupiter, and Vulcan.

Vulcan.

WHat am I to do now, Iupiter? here I am come at your command, and have brought an Axe sharp enough to cleave a stone at a blow.

Iupiter.

'Tis well done, Vulcan; prythee strike hard, and cleave my head asunder.

Vulcan.
[Page 36]

D' you think I am mad? speak truely, there­fore, what you will have me do.

Iupiter.

Divide my scull, I say. If thou refuse, thou shalt perceive this is not the first time I have been angry: strike with all thy might, therefore, and make no dela [...]es; For I am ready to die with the torments which whirle my head about.

Vulcan.

Take heed Iupiter, I hurt you not, For my Axe is sharp, and will not; like Lucina, be your midwife with­out blood.

Iupiter.

Strike boldly, Vulcan, I know what's fit.

Vulcan.

Against my will, then, since you are not to be disobeyed, have at your scull. What's this? An armed wench? I blame you not Iupiter, for storming, be­ing molested with such a head Ache, and lodging in your brain a Girle alive, and armed; your head was not a head, but a Camp. Look she capers, and dances the Mata­chine; clashes her buckler, and shakes her speare, as if she were divinely possest; nay, which is more she is grown handsome, and full statured of a suddaine; blew eyed, but her helmet turnes that to beauty: wherefore Iupiter, as the reward of my midwiferie, let her be my wife.

Iupiter.

Thou dost ask impossibilities, Vulcan; she re­solves to live a Virgin: how ever I will not be thy hinde­rance.

Vulcan.

'Tis all I desire, leave the rest to me. I will ra­vish her away with me.

Iupiter.

Do if thou canst; but I know thou lovest an Impossible.

A Dialogue between Jupiter, Aesculapius, and Hercules.

Iupiter.

CEase Aesculapius, and Hercules, to quarrell like mortalls; such discords misbecome the mee­tings of the Gods.

Hercules.

Shall this quacksalver then, Iupiter, sit down before me?

Aesculapius.

Yes, Sir, being your better.

Hercules.

Wherein, good Thunderstruck? Because Iu­piter for your knavery once slew you with lightning, and afterwards out of pitty restored you your immorta­lity?

Aesculap.

Have you forgot, Hercules, how you your selfe were burnt in Oeta, that you lay fire in my dish?

Hercules.

Lets compare the Actions of our lives; I am Iupiters Sonne, have undergone famous labours, vanquisht monsters, and subdued barbarous men: thou root-scraper, and Mountebank, able perchance to administer Physick to sick folke, art not famous for any manly perfor­mance.

Aesculap.

'Tis true, Sir, I have only cured your scalds, when you came up to us halfe burnt, and your body al­most turn'd to oinders by your Coate, and woodpile. Yet 'tis something that I never was a serving-man, like you; and that I never spunne at a distaffe, as you did in Lydia, when you wore a scarlet petticoate, and suffer'd your mistresse Omphale to correct you with her golden slipper; and that in a fit of madnesse I slew not my wife, and children.

Hercules.

Stoppe your fowle language, Sir, or your immortality shall not secure you, for I will cast you down headlong from heaven, and dash out your braines so as Phoebus shall not cure them.

Iupiter.
[Page 38]

Give over, I say, and disturb not the feast; or I will banish you both from the Table. 'Tis fit, Her­cules, Aesculapius should sit before you, who died before you.

A Dialogue between Juno and Jupiter.

Iuno.

I should blush, Iupiter, to have such a Sonne, so effeminate and lost in wine: who weares a Mi­ter, lies with mad women, more womanish then they; dances after Timbrels, Pipes, and Cimbales; and resembles every body more then you his Father.

Iupiter.

This Miter-wearer, and wencher, Iuno, not only subdued Lydia, and the Inhabitants of Tmolus; as also the Thracians; but went against the Indians, with his female Army, took their Elephants, possest their Coun­trey, and brought away their King, who made resistance, captive. And all this he did revelling and dancing, and carrying roddes twined with Ivye, and drunk, as you say, and beside himselfe. But those who reviled him, or blasphemed his rites, either he punish't with shackles of Vines, or caused to be dismembred, by their mothers, like Fawnes. Are not those valiant Acts, and worthy of me his Father? Nor let it be any disparagement that he mingled Maskes, and Revellings with his Conquests; But rather consider what he would do sober, who can do thus drunk.

Iuno.

Me thinks, Husband, you should have made a panegyrick of his invention of Grapes, and wine. Though you see how men reele when they are drunk, and incline to quarrels, and forget themselves in their drink▪ and how that Icarius, to whom he first taught the use of Vines, was kill'd by his Companions, and slaine with pitch-forkes.

Iupiter.

This is nothing to the purpose: For 'tis not Wine, or Bacchus which do this, but the excesse of wine, [Page 39] and drink taken in beyond fit measure. But whosoever drinkes moderately is cheered, and made the merrier. And as for Icarius it wrought not so upon any of his Compa­ny. But you show your jealousie, Iuno, and spleen to Se­mele, when you accuse Bacchus of those things which are most commendable.

A Dialogue between Venus and Cupid.

Venus.

VVHy, Love, dost thou Conquer all the o­ther Gods, Iove, Neptune, Apollo, Iuno, and me thy mother, and spare Minerva; towards whom thy Torch is flamelesse, thy quiver empty, thou without a Bow, and unable to shoot?

Cupid.

I am afraid of her, mother; she is so terrible, of such a sterne countenance, and of such a manly grimnesse; so that when I draw my bow, and aime at her, she shakes her plume, and so astonishes me, that I begin to tremble, and my arrow drops out of my hand.

Venus.

Is not Mars more terrible? and yet thou hast disarm'd and conquer'd him.

Cupid.

He willingly meets my shafts, and invites them, Mother; but Minerva perpetually frownes. I once una­wares brought my Torch neer her. If you approach me, quoth she, by my Father, ile thrust you through with my javelin, or take you by the legge, and hurle you down to hell, or peece-meale you. Many such threats came from her. Besides she looks fiery, and weares on her Brest a Gorgons head, hair'd with snakes, which much affrights me, and makes me run away at the sight.

Venus.

Thou saist thou fearest Minerva, and her Gor­gon, But fearest not Ioves lightning. But how come the Muses impenetrable, and beyond your shafts? Do they shake their Crests too, and weare their Gor­gons.

Cupid.
[Page 40]

These I reverence, mother, for they are venerable, and are allwaies busied in contemplations, or songs; so that many times I frequent their company, taken with their Musick.

Venus.

You spare these, then, because of their Gravity; but why wound you not Diana?

Cupid.

To satisfie you in a word, I can never find her but alwaies wandring in mountaines. Besides, she loves a Cupid of her own already.

Venus.

What Cupid? my Boy.

Cupid.

Marry, to hunt, and shoot wild beasts, stagges and Fawnes; which is her whole study. But as for her brother, though he be an Archer, and shoot well.

Venus.

Yet thou, my Boy, hast shot him often.

A Dialogue between Mars, and Mercury.

Mars.

DId you heare, Mercury, what proud, absurd threats fell from Iupiter? I, said He, if it please me, will let down a chain from Heaven, at which, pull you never so hard, you shall never draw me down: But if I list to pluck, I will not only draw you, but the Earth, and Sea aloft; with many the like brags, which you heard as well as I. For my part I should not denie him to be superiour, and stronger then any one: But that singly he should excell so many, as that we should not be able to weigh against him, though we took the Earth and Sea into our scale, is past my be­liefe.

Mercury.

Good words, Mars, 'tis not safe to speak thus; least your petulancie procure your punishment.

Mars.

D'you think, I would speak thus to any but your selfe, whom I know to be no teltale. 'Twas not in my power to conceale from thee, how ridiculous, me-thought, his threatning was. For I remembred, how not [Page 41] long since, when Neptune, Iuno, and Pallas, being but three, conspired to imprison, and cast him into chaines, how fearfully he varied himselfe through all shapes: And if Thetis out of pitty, had not call'd that hundred handed Briareus to his aide, they had bound him for all his Thunder and Lightning.

Mercury.

No more, Mars: 'tis neither safe for you to talke thus, nor me to heare.

A Dialogue between Jupiter and the Sun.

Iupiter.

WHat hast thou done, thou most wicked of all the Titans? who hast utterly ruined the world by trusting thy Chariot to a witlesse boy, who hath burnt some things by falling too neere the Earth, and starved others with cold, by with-drawing their Fire from them; And in a word hath left nothing undisturb­ed, and undisorder'd. So that had not I, beholding his Carreers, Thunder-struck him, not a man had bin left. And this skilfull Coachman and Driver, was of your sending forth.

Sun.

I was to blame, Iupiter; yet pray be not angry, since I was over-borne by my Sonnes importunity. A­las how could I foresee the mischiefe which followed.

Iupiter.

Did you not know what skill your place re­quires? And that upon the least aberration of your Wheeles all perishes? You knew not neither the fiercenesse of your Horses, and that they are to be hard reyned. For give them Bridle, they presently alter course; just as they hurried him sometimes to the left hand, sometimes to the right, sometimes quite contrary, now up, now downe, as they list themselves, he not knowing how to manage them.

Sun.

I knew all this, and withstood him a good while, and denied him my Teem. But when he joy­ned [Page 42] teares to his petition, & Clymene his Mother with him, I set him fast in the Box, and taught him how to drive; telling him how high he was to mount, and how low he was to fall; as also how to reyne his horses, and curbe their furies▪ I told him also the danger should he drive wrong: But he, child as he was, having mounted so much fire, and beholding such a vast dungeon beneath him, could not choose but be amazed; whilest the horses missing their usuall driver despised the Boy, and fell a wandring, and wrought all this mischiefe. He letting go the reynes, and fearfull, I believe, to fall, tooke hold of the Chariot: but he hath suffer'd already, and my sorrow Iupiter is punishment enough for me.

Iupiter.

Enough for such an attempt? Well, I pardon you for once; But offend so againe, and send forth such another Deputy, and you shall feele how much hotter my lightning is than your fire. Let his sisters also bury him neere the Po, where he fell, and let them be turn'd into Poplars, and weep Amber over him. Be it your bu­sinesse to mend your Chariot, (for the Axle is broken, and one of the wheeles is crackt) and having coupled your horses againe drive your selfe: and remember this Accident.

A Dialogue between a Cyclops and Neptune.

Cyclops.

O Father, how am I serv'd by my wicked Guest, who first made me drunke, then as­saulting me in my sleep put out my eye!

Neptune.

Who was't that dared this Polyphemus?

Cyclops.

First he said his name was No-body; but after his escape, when he was out of shot, he call'd himselfe Vlysses.

Neptune.

I know who you meane; he lives at Ithaca, and sailed now from Troy. But how could he attempt this, being such a Coward?

Cyclops.
[Page 43]

Coming home from my stock, I found a great Troop in my Cave, in all likelyhood lurking to steale my sheep: whereupon I bolted my doore, made of a huge rocke, and kindled a fire. No sooner began the wood, which I brought from the mountaine, to cast a flame, but they prepared to hide themselves. But I apprehending some of them, devour'd them as thieves. In the meane time that subtle Companion, No-body, or Vlysses, which you will, gave me a venemous potion to drinke, very sweet and fragrant, but most treacherous, and turbulent in operation. For I had no sooner drunk, but me-thought my Cave went round, and I was no longer my selfe; and at last fell into a deep sleep: he sharpening a Barre and stirring the fire, put out my eye, and ever since, Ne­ptune, I have been blinde.

Neptune.

You slep't soundly, my sonne, that the losse of your sight could not rowse you. But how scap't Vlysses? Me-thinkes he should not be able to roll away the rocke from the doore.

Cyclops.

I removed it, that I might the easier catch him going out. And planting my selfe at the hole, I grop't with my hands, letting onely my sheep passe, remitting my bu­sinesse to my Ramme.

Neptune.

Now I know his Device: he past under thee among them unperceived. But me-thinkes you might have call'd in other Cyclops.

Cyclops.

I did, and they came, and ask't me the traytors name. And when I told them, No-Body, they thought me madde and departed: and so the Caitiffe cosen'd mee with a false name. But that which grieves me most is, that upbraiding me with my hurt, he told me my Father Neptune should not cure me.

Neptune.

Take courage, sonne, I will revenge thee. And and he shall know, that though I cannot heale eyes bored out, yet 'tis in my povver to save or drown those that sayle. He is yet at Sea.

A Dialogue between Alpheus and Neptune.

Neptune.

VVHat's the reason, Alpheus, that of all the rivers which fall into the Sea, you onely, contrary to the courses of the rest, grow not salt, nor mingle waters, or diffuse your self; but gliding through the Ocean preserve your streame fresh, untainted, and pure; in some places, I know not how, diving like a sea pye, or Heron, and rising againe in other places, and show­ing your selfe?

Alpheus.

These are love tricks, Neptune; Therefore blame me not, you have loved in your time.

Neptune.

Is't a woman you love, Alpheus, or a Nymph, or some sea Goddesse?

Alpheus.

None of these Neptune, but a Fountaine.

Neptune.

Where springs it?

Alpheus.

In the Island of Sicily; they call it Arethusa.

Neptune.

I know it: believe mee, Alpheus, you have not made an unlovely choyce. 'Tis a cleare spring, and flowes in a pure Chrystall; and receives thus much or­nament from the pibbles among which it rises, that it showes like a poole of silver over them.

Alpheus.

I see you know it, Neptune; To it am I now going.

Neptune.

Goe; and be happy in your love: but first tell me one thing, where did you see Arethusa, you being an Arcadian, and she rising neere Syracuse?

Alpheus.

You hinder my journey, Neptune, by your im­pertinent questions.

Neptune.

You say well; passe on to your beloved; and when you rise againe from the Sea, mingle with your fountaine in one Channell, and become one Streame.

A Dialogue betweene Menelaus and Proteus.

Menelaus.

THat you should be converted into water, Proteus, is not incredible, for you are a Sea God; or into a tree, may be borne withall; or sometimes into a Lyon, is not utterly beyond beliefe: But how, living in the Ocean, you can transforme your selfe into a flame, is a thing which I admire, but believe not.

Proteus,

Marvaile not, Menelaus, for all those changes I under-goe.

Menelaus.

I have seen you. But, then, me-thought (as I may say to you) you jugled onely by drawing false presentments over your tricks, and casting a mist before your spectators eyes; not that you truly were what you appeared.

Proteus.

What jugling could there be in things so plain­ly done? Have not you seene with your eyes open into how many shapes I have transformed my selfe? If you will not believe that sense, but will still thinke you saw a delusion, or some Aëry appearance cast before you, when I next turne my selfe into fire, apply, generous Sir, your sense of touch to me, and then you will perceive whe­ther I be true fire, or fire in show.

Menelaus.

That would be no safe triall, Proteus.

Proteus.

In my opinion, Menelaus, you never saw a Polypus; nor understand the transformation of that fish.

Menelaus.

A Polypus I have seen, but would gladly learn it's transformation from you.

Proteus.

To whatsoever rock it fastens, or spreads its finnes, it becomes like; and throwing off its owne, as­sumes the colour of the stone; thereby lying concealed from fishermen, not at all differing, or varying in appea­rance from the rocke.

Menelaus.

So the report goes: but yours, Proteus, is a Paradoxe much unlikelier.

Proteus.
[Page 46]

I know not, Menelaus, whom you will believe, who will not believe your owne eyes.

Menelaus.

I saw what I saw; yet 'tis a thing to me pro­digious, how you should become fire and water.

A Dialogue betweene Neptune, and a Dolphin.

Neptune.

TIs wel done of you Dolphins, that you are such friends to men. For heretofore you car­ryed the son of Inus ashore the Isthmus, after he and his mother were cast downe from the Scironian Cliffe; now thou hast wasted a Musitian of Methymna, over to Taena­rus, keeping his Furniture, and Harp, and hast not suffer'd him to perish by the Saylers.

Dolphin.

Wonder not, Neptune, that we succour men thus; we of Men were made Fishes.

Neptune.

'Tis a thing I blame Bacchus for, that having overcome you in a Sea fight, he transform'd you; whereas it had beene enough to have taken you prisoners, and to have subdued you as he did others. But how, good Dolphin, came Arion to be thus endangered?

Dolphin.

Periander (as I imagine) delighted with his skill sent for him often. He being enrich't by the King, desired to saile home to Methymna, to show his riches, shipping himselfe with a crue of Pyrates, who knew he carryed much gold and silver about him: when they came about the middle of the Arches, the Saylers conspired against him. Well, quoth he (for I heard all swimming neere the Ship) since you intend to kill me, permit me in my bravest furniture to play mine owne funerall Elegie, and voluntarily to cast my selfe into the Sea. They consented. And he taking his robe, and playing most ravishingly, cast himselfe over-board, with a purpose to drowne himselfe. But I receiving him, and getting him on my back swam with him to the Promontory.

Neptune.
[Page 47]

I applaud your love to Musicke; 'Twas a fit reward for your Attention.

A Dialogue between Diogenes and Pollux.

Diogenes.

I Charge you, Pollux, assoone as you are risen (for to morrow I perceive 'tis your course to returne to life) that if you see Menippus the dogge, (whom you shall find in the Schooles at Corinth, or in the Lycaeum at Athens, laughing at Philosophers wrangling with one another,) you tell him, that if he have laught enough at the passages of the upper world, I desire him to come downe into the Lower; where he shall have much more to laugh at. For there our proceedings, which he laughs at, are doubtfull to him, and he meets with this frequent objection, Who knowes what shall befall us after the end of this Life. But here tell him, he shall never want sport▪ But laugh as I do, as often I see rich men, great Officers, and Tyrants humble and unrespected, and not to be di­stinguisht but by their unmanly degenerous howlings, at the remembrance of their life past. Tell him this, and bid him bring a knapsacke with him fil'd with beanes, and a supper (if he can find one) made for Hecate in some crosse way; or an egge, left after a lustration; or the like.

Pollux.

Ile deliver your Message, Diogenes; But for my better knowledge of him, what kind of man is't?

Diogenes.

A little, crabbed, old man, enclining to bald­nesse; wearing a torne Gowne, pervious to all winds, and varied with patches of severall colours. He alwayes laughs, especially at self-conceited Philosophers.

Pollux.

'Twill be easie to find one of this Character.

Diogenes.

Will you carry a Message from mee to those arrogant Philosophers too?

Pollux.

Speak your Errand, it shall not be any trouble to serve you.

Diogenes.
[Page 48]

In short, then, Counsell them to trifle no lon­ger, nor to dispute of wholes, nor cast one another into Dilemma's or horned syllogismes, nor give forme and mood to Crocodiles; nor breed their minds to such drie barren studies.

Pollux.

But they will say I am ignorant and unbred thus to condemne their wisdome.

Diogenes.

Bid 'em, then, from me Live scornd.

Pollux.

So much I shall tell them.

Diogenes.

Say to Rich men in my name, Why ye fooles do you treasure up your gold? and why do you torment your selves, by counting your use money, and laying talent to talent, who are shortly to come hither but with a penny fare in your mouth?

Pollux.

I shall tell them this also.

Diogenes.

Tell the spruce Gallants, and Hectors, Me­gillus the Corinthian, I mean, and Damoxenus the Wrastler, that here is no use of golden haire, black eyes, or red cheeks; or of bigge sinewes, or strong shoulders.

Pollux.

It shall not be burdensome to deliver this also.

Diogenes.

Bid the poor who are many, driven from their estates, and groaning under their wants, that they nei­ther weep nor howle, but that they consider the equality of this place, and that they shall see the richest here as poor as they. And if you think fit tell the Lacedemonians, that they are grown loose and effeminate.

Pollux.

Pray excuse me for the carriage of your mes­sage to my Countreymen, Diogenes; your errands to the rest I will deliver.

Diogenes.

Leave them out, then, it you think good; and convey my speeches to the rest.

Pluto, or a Complaint against Menippus.

The Speakers, Croesus, Pluto, Menippus, Midas, Sardanapalus.
Croesus.

TIs not possible for us to endure, Pluto, this in­sufferable Barker Menippus to be of our com­pany. Therefore remove him hence, or we will depart some where else.

Pluto.

What hurt can he do to you, being dead as you are?

Croesus.

When we howl, and sigh at the memory of our pleasures in the other world, Midas of his gold, Sarda­napalus of his Luxury, I of my treasures; he laughs and up­braides us, calling us slaves, and base villains: sometimes he drowns our howlings with singing, and in a word he is very troublesome.

Pluto.

What say you to this, Menippus?

Menippus.

Tis all true. These men I hate as degenerous and lost; who think it not enough to have lived wickedly, but remember and dwell upon the thought of those things above. Therefore I delight to plague them with themselves.

Pluto.

But you do ill; for they lament no small losses.

Menippus.

Are you mad too, Pluto, that you approve their whinings?

Pluto.

No, Sir. But I would not have you divide your selves.

Menippus.

Know this, O ye worst of Lydians, Phrygians and Assyrians, that I will never leave you; but wheresoever you go I will follow, vexing you, and singing, and laughing.

Croesus.

Is not this plaine Contumelie?

Menippus.

No. That was contumelie which you usu­ally practiced, suffering your selves to be adored, and abu­sing free people; not at all remembring your morta­litie: [Page 50] wherefore hovvle, novv you have lost all.

Croesus.

Where are my rich and Numerous posses­sions?

Midas.

Hovv much gold do I misse?

Sardanapalus.

And I hovv much pleasure?

Menippus.

So, this I like: vveep on; Ile joyne vvith you, and sing the old sentence, Know thy selfe. A fit dittie to be mingled vvith your mournings.

A Dialogue between Pluto and Mercury.

Pluto.

DO you know old Eucrates the usurer, who has not one child, but five thousand Gapers after his estate?

Mercury.

The Sicyonian you mean; what of him?

Pluto.

Let him live, Mercury, ninety yeers more to the ninety he hath lived allready, and longer if it be possible. But fetch hither his flatterers, young Charinus, and Damon, and the rest.

Mercury.

That would shew very preposterous.

Pluto.

Rather very just. For why do they pray so ear­nestly for his death, but that they may enjoy his estate? But that which is yet most base, is that at that very time when they wish his Death, they grossely observe, and Court him; And when he is sick, all men know what they desire, yet they vow sacrifices for his recovery. In a word, they have severall wayes of flattery. Wherefore let him be immortall, and let them die first, and loose their gapings.

Mercury.

Well, being such knaves their punishment shall be ridiculous: But methinks he lures them on pretty handsomly, and feeds them with hopes; allwaies dissem­bling, as if he were about to die, when he is much lustier then his Flatterers. They in the mean time dividing the in­heritance among them, are fed vvith the Image of a Phan­tastick happinesse:

Pluto.
[Page 51]

Let him therefore, like Iolaus, cast off his old age, and grovv young again. But let them in the midd'st of their hopes, be snatch avvay as it vvere in a golden dream, and like evill men die evill deaths.

Mercury.

Enough Pluto. I vvill send them to you one after another. I think they are seaven.

Pluto.

Call forth their souls, Mercury; and let him send them every one hither before him: but let him of an old man become a youth.

A Dialogue between Terpsion, and Pluto.

Terpsion.

IS this Justice, Pluto, that I should die, who am but thirty yeers old, and that Thucritus, who is almost an hundred, should live?

Pluto.

Great Justice, Terpsion; For though he lives, yet he wishes none of his friends dead; whereas you all the time you lived, laid nets for his estate.

Terpsion.

Was't not fit, being an old man, and no longer able to use his riches, he should die, and leave them to those that are younger?

Pluto.

You make new lawes, Terpsion, that when a man can no longer use his riches with pleasure, he ought to die. Fate and Nature decree otherwise.

Terpsion.

I accuse them, therefore, of disorder. For the businesse ought to run in this succession: The most aged to die first, then those who are next in years; And not to be inverted, or he to live who is decrepit, hath but three teeth left, scarce sees, is supported by four servants, distills at nose, hath eyes filled with rheume, hath lost all sense of pleasure, and is laught at by boyes as a living sepulchre; and the most beautifull, and lustiest young men to die. This is to make rivers run backwards. At least 'twere fit we knew the date of old mens lives, that they might not cousen us as they do. But now the old Proverb is brought to passe, the Cart leads the Oxe.

Pluto.
[Page 52]

These things are wiselier carried, Terpsion, then you are aware of. For what ailes you, that you yawne after other mens fortunes, and enslave your selves to child­lesse old men? you do, therefore, but make your selves ridiculous, and they bury you first; which to many is met­ter of great pleasure; for just as you pray'd for their deaths, so much delight is it to others to have you die first. For you have introduced a new Art, to make love to old women, and old men, especially to those who have no children neglecting those that have; whilest many of those who are courted by you, well acquainted with your aimes, if they chance to have children, pretend to hate them, that they may have observers. At length those who had for a long time wasted themselves in gifts, are shut out of the will, and the sonne, as there is good reason, enjoyes all: the rest cheated of their hopes gnash their teeth.

Terpsion.

You speak truth. Thucritus hath almost quite eaten my estate; still making me believe he would die. And as often as I came to visit him, he would groan, and sob inwardly, and counterfeit a noise like an abor­tive chick in the shell; wherefore by how much the nee­rer I thought him to his grave, so many gifts the more did I send him; least his other flatterers should exceed me in presents: many nights have my cares taken my sleep from me, numbring and disposing my fortunes. And in­deed care, and watching were the causes of my death: whilest he having swallowed my bait, assisted at my fu­nerall, and went before my beer laughing.

Pluto.

Maist thou live eternally, Thucritus, to grow rich, and laugh at such men. And maist thou not die, till thou have sent hither all thy flatterers before thee.

Terpsion.

It would be a pleasure to me too, Pluto, if Chariades should die before Thucritus.

Pluto.

Take comfort, Terpsion; Phido, Melantus, and all the rest shall die before him of their Cares.

Terpsion.

This I like. Live eternally Thucritus.

A Dialogue between Zenophantes, and Callidemides.

Zenoph.

BUt how died you, Callidemides? you know I, being Dinias parasite, did over-eat my selfe, and was choak't with a surfet: you stood by when I died.

Callid.

I did, Zenophantes. I died unexpectedly: you know old Ptaeodorus.

Zenoph.

You mean the rich Usurer, who hath no child, whose house you alwaies frequented.

Callid.

I alwaies observ'd him, and flatter'd my selfe with his death: but when I saw my expectation pro­longed, and that he began to be older then Tython, I con­trived a compendious way to gain his estate. For having bought poyson, I dealt with his Butler, that when Ptaeo­dorus next call'd for drink (and he usually drinks deeply) he should steal it into the bowle, having it ready, and give it him; which if he did, I swore to make him a free­man.

Zenoph.

And what happen'd? For me thinks you are about to tell a strange story.

Callid.

We went to bath our selves, where his Boy held two cuppes; one for Ptaeodorus, which held the poy­son, the other for me. But mistaking, I know not how, he gave the poyson to me, and the sound cup to Ptaeodorus: who presently drunk it off; when at the instant I fell down dead, and excused his funerall with my own. Why do you smile Zenophantes? you do not well to laugh at your friend.

Zenoph.

You have suffer'd things to he laught at, Calli­demides. But how lookt the old man at your fall?

Callid.

First he was frighted with the Accident. But being inform'd, I believe, how things were, he laught at what the Butler had done.

Zenoph.
[Page 54]

You did ill to make such short contrivances, for a thing which would in ordinary course much safelier have happen'd, had you made lesse hast.

A Dialogue between Cnemon and Damnippus.

Cnemon.

VVHy this is the old Proverb right, the Fawn beats the Lion.

Damnip.

At what do you chafe, Cnemon?

Cnemon.

At what do I chafe, do you aske? I have left an heire against my will, and am cousen'd, wretch that I am, and have undone my children.

Damnip.

How I pray?

Cnemon.

A little before my death, I applyed my selfe much to the rich, childlesse Hermolaus; who took my Ad­dresses not distastfully: and to show my selfe a wise fel­low, I made my will, and publisht it, and left all my estate to him; expecting that out of imitation he should do the like to me.

Damnip.

And what was your successe?

Cnemon.

What he wrote in his will, I know not; but I died suddenly by the fall of a house: since which time Hermolaus possesses my estate, like a Pike which carries away the hook with the bair.

Damnip.

Nay, you the Angler and all: wherefore you made a ginne for your selfe.

Cnemon.

It seemes so, and therefore I now mourne.

A Dialogue between Charon, Mercury, a company of dead men, Menippus, Charmoleus, Lampichus, Damasias, a Philosoper, and a Rhetorician.

Charon.

HEare how the case stands with you: My Boat, as you see, is small, and rotten, and [Page 55] leakes in many places; And therefore if it be not equal­ly trimmed, 'twill overturne. And yet so many of you to­gether are come hither, every one with a great burden; which if you bring in with you, you will repent it, espe­cially those who cannot swimme.

The Dead.

How shall we do then for safe waftage?

Charon.

Ile tell you, you must enter naked, and leave your carriages upon the shoare. And tis well if the Boat receive you all so. Be it your charge, Mercurie, to admit none but such as are slender, and cast away their Luggage: stand therefore at the ladder, and receive them with choice, and compell them to enter stript.

Mercury.

I will obey your Directions. Who is the first?

Menippus.

I am Menippus. Looke Mercury I have cast my wallet and staffe into the lake: as for gown, 'twas well I brought none.

Mercury.

Enter Menippus, thou best of men, and take the first and highest place in the Boat; from whence thou may'st see the rest. But what spruce youth is this?

Charmoleus.

I am Charmoleus, the lovely Megarian, who took two talents for a kisse.

Mercury.

Cast off your beauty, and lippes with their kisses, your long haire too, red cheeks, and whole skinne? 'Tis well; you are now fit, enter▪ But what grimme Sir is that, arrayed in Purple, and a Crown on his head?

Lampichus.

I am Lampichus, Tyrant of Gela.

Mercury.

Why thus loaden? Lampichus.

Lampichus.

Should a Prince come naked? Mercury.

Mercury.

A prince should not, but a dead man should. Therefore put off your ornaments.

Lampichus.

There lie my riches.

Mercury.

But you must cast off your pride; and stateli­nesse too, Lampichus. For if these enter with you, they will overcharge the Boat.

Lampichus.

Let me keep but my crown and robe.

Mercury.
[Page 56]

By no means, you must forsake them.

Lampichus.

There then: what more? you see I have cast away all.

Mercury.

You must cast off your cruelty too, and folly, and insolence, and fury, and the like.

Lampichus.

See, I am naked.

Mercury.

Now enter. What grosse fleshy fellow are you?

Damasias.

I am Damasias the wrastler.

Mercury.

So methought, I have seen you often at wrast­ling.

Damasias.

True, Mercury; receive me therefore naked.

Mercury.

You are not naked, my friend, who are clo­thed with all this flesh; put it off therefore: for if you put but one foot into the boat, you sink it. Cast away your Crowns, and praises too.

Damas.

See, I am naked, and slender, like other Ghosts.

Mercury.

You are now of a fit lightnesse; therefore enter. Do you Crato throw away your wealth, as also your effeminatenesse, and pleasures; and bring not vvith you your Epitaphes, and titles of your Ancestors: leave be­hind you too your pedigree, and reputation, and panegy­ricks bestowed upon you by the Citty, to which you have been a benefactour; the inscriptions of your statues also. And speak not of the great tombe they have raised for you, for these things gather vveight from their remem­brance.

Crato.

Well, I will put them off, because I cannot helpe it.

Mercury.

Blesse me! vvhat armed? vvhy do you carry that Trophie?

Crato.

Because I conquer'd and atchiev'd it, Mercury, and vvas therefore honoured by the Citty.

Mercury.

Leave your armes to the Earth; there's only peace in Hell, and no need of Trophies there. But vvhat venerable shade is that, of a grave presence, vvho knits [Page 57] his browes out of contemplation, and weares such a long beard?

Menippus.

A Philosopher, Mercury; or rather a jugler, and cheater: pray strippe him, and you will see many things very ridiculous hid under his gown.

Mercury.

Lay aside your gown, Sir, and all things else. O Iupiter! what arrogance, ignorance, contention, vain-glory▪ endlesse questions, thornie disputes, intricate notions, fruitlesse labours, whimseyes, trifles, and curious follies, he carried about him? Besides gold, and pleasures, and impudence, and choller, and wantonnesse, and luxurie. These things scape not my knowledg, Sir, though you should strive to conceal them. Cast off your lying, also, and your pride, and your conceit that you are better then others. For if you enter thus burdened, a pinnace will scarce carry you.

Philosoph.

I cast then all off, since 'tis your pleasure.

Menippus.

Let him put off his beard too, Mercury; which you see is both long, and slovenly, and weighs at least five pound.

Philosopher.

But who shall cut it?

Mercury.

Menippus shall shave you with the axe that mends the boat, laying your beard upon the sides of the ladder.

Menippus.

Not so, Mercury, 'twill be more ridiculous if you lend me a saw.

Mercury.

An Axe will serve.

Menippus.

So, you now look more like a man, having cast off your stink; shall I clip your eye-browes too?

Mercury.

Yes, for these he used to raise to the toppe of his forehead, when he strained himselfe. What, dost thou cry? varlet, and art afraid of death? enter then.

Menippus.

He still hath one thing strong about him.

Mercury.

What, Menippus.

Menippus.

Flattery, Mercury, which when he lived, stood him in much stead.

Philosoph.
[Page 58]

Do you then, Menippus, cast off your liberty, and boldnesse of speech; your jollity also, and jeering.

Mercury.

By no means: keep them still; for they are light, and of easy portage, and will advance our passage. Do you, Pleader, cast away your tedious speeches, and your Retortions; your similitudes also, and periods, and barbarismes, and other burdens of language.

Rhetor.

'Tis done.

Mercury.

'Tis well. Now set from the shore, and lets pull up the ladder, weigh anchor, and spread the sayle. Do you, Ferry-man, guide the sterne; and let's be merry. Why howle you ye vain people? especially, you Philoso­pher? because you lost your beard?

Philosoph.

No. But because I thought the soule had bin immortall.

Menippus.

He lies: he weeps for something else.

Mercury.

For what?

Menippus.

Marry, because he can be no more invited to costly suppers; and cannot steale forth by night unespi­ed, and muffling himselfe in his gown, go over his circle of whore-houses, and in the morning cheat his pupils, with his lecture of wisedome, and take their money. These are the things that grieve him.

Philosopher.

Art not thou troubled, Menippus, because thou art dead?

Menippus.

How can I, who hasten'd to meet death be­fore I was call'd? But hark, do you not hear a great noise from the earth.

Mercury.

Yes, Menippus, in more then one place. 'Tis a company met together, who make themselves merry at Lampichus death; The women also surround, and follow his wife, and the boyes throw stones at his children. Others in Sicyonia clappe Diophantus the Orator, for making a fu­nerall Oration upon Crato. Damasias mother also with other women make a lamentation for him: No body bewailes thee, Menippus; thou liest unmolested.

Menippus.
[Page 59]

Not so, you shall presently hear the dogges dolefully barking, and the Crowes beating their wings when they come to bury me.

Mercury.

Thou art a valiant fellow, Menippus. So, we are arrived at the shore: go all you straight forward to the Court of Justice. I and the Ferry-man will fetch others.

Menippus.

Farewell, Mercury, wee'l passe on. What will become of you my friends? you must all be arraigned; and they say there are grievous punishments here; Wheels, and Vultures, and restlesse stones: every mans life shall be open'd and ript up.

A Dialogue between Crates, and Diogenes.

Crates.

DId you know rich Moerichus, Diogenes? he that was so wondrous rich, and came from Co­rinth; who had whole fleets laden with Merchandise; whose cousen Aristeas being also very wealthy, used to repeat that peece of Homer, Do you kill me, or let me kill you.

Diogenes.

The two that alwaies courted one another, Crates?

Crates.

Yes, for their estates: being both alike aged, they publish't their wills. In which Moerichus, if he died first, left Aristeas heire to all he had, and Aristeas did the like if he died before Moerichus. This was recorded. They continued their Courtship, and strived, who should excell in flattery. The presagers, whether they took their con­jectures from the starres, or from their dreams, as the Chaldaeans do, nay Apollo himselfe also sometimes gave the victory to Aristeas, sometimes to Moerichus: so that the Ballance sometimes inclined to one, sometimes to the other.

Diogenes.
[Page 60]

What was the event, Crates? 'tis a thing wor­thy my hearing.

Crates.

They both died upon one day, and their estates descended to Eunomius, and Thrasycles their two Kins­men, not at all presaging so great a fortune. For sayling from Sicyonia to Cyrrha, a contrary winde and tempest tooke them in the middle of their Course, and sunk them.

Diogenes.

They were rightly served. But we in our life time did no such things to one another; neither did I ever pray for the death of Antisthenes, that I might inherit his staffe, though twere a strong one, and made of a Crabtree. Nor do I think, Crates, that you wisht me dead, that you might inherit my Tubbe, or Scrip, or two quarts of Lupines.

Crates.

I had no need of those things, Diogenes, neither had you. As much of Antistenes descended to you, as you had use of; and as much from you to me, as I had use of: which was much more, and more pretious then the Per­sian Monarchy?

Diogenes.

What do you meane.

Crates.

Wisdome, Contentment, truth, liberty, and free­dome.

Diogenes.

I remember I succeeded Antisthenes in those wealthy vertues; and left them amplified to you.

Crates.

Others neglected such possessions, and never courted us for our estates; but had their eyes fasten'd upon Gold.

Diogenes.

And good reason. For they could receive no such things from us; but being torne with pleasure, like old rotten purses, what ever wisdome, or liberty, or truth, is put into them, presently droppes out and runs through, the bottome being not able to hold it. Resembling Danaus Daughters, who powre water into a vessel full of holes. But gold they retaine with tooth and naile, and all the strength they have.

Crates.
[Page 61]

We, therefore, even here enjoy our Treasures: they bring but one single penny with them, and leave that too with the Ferryman.

A Dialogue between Alexander, Hannibal, Minos, Scipio.

Alexander.

'TIs fit I be prefer'd before you, Lybian, be­ing the better man.

Hannibal.

No, Sir, 'Tis fit I should be prefer'd.

Alexander.

Let Minos judge.

Minos.

Who are you?

Alexander.

This is Hannibal, the Carthaginian; I am Alexander the Sonne of Philippe.

Minos.

Afore Jove, both famous men. But about what is your contention?

Alexander.

About taking place. He saies he was a grea­ter Commander then I. I, as all the world knowes, not only excell'd this fellow, but all men els in Warres.

Minos.

Both therefore speak for your selves as well as you can: and do you begin, Lybian.

Hannibal.

I am glad Minos, that I have here learnt the Greek Tongue, that herein also Alexander may not excell me. I say, then, that those men are most worthy of re­nown, who from small Originals, have arrived to great Atchievements, and by their own power have made themselves worthy of Empire. With a small Troope I made an inrode into Spain at first, as Lievetenant under my brother; where I was held fit for the greatest imploy­ments and counted the best souldier. For there I conque­red the Iberians, and overcame the Gaules, and Hesperians; and having march't over great mountaines neer the Po, I over ran and demolish't diverse cities, wasted all the Champion Countrey of Italy, and led my army to the sub­urbes of Rome; and slew so many Romans in one day, [Page 62] that we measured their Rings by Bushels, and made Bridges over rivers with dead bodies: And all this I did, neither call'd the sonne of Ammon, nor faining my selfe a God, nor telling my mothers dreams. But confessing my selfe to be a man, I fought against tryed, experienced Captaines, and joyned battle with stout and warlike soul­diers; not with Medes, or Armenians, who flie before they are pursued, and yeeld the victory to any man of a bold spirit. Whereas Alexander, succeding his Father in his Kingdome, enlarged it, indeed, but by the current of For­tune; who when he had overcome, and taken the mise­rable Darius in the plaines of Arbela, contrary to the cu­stome of his Ancestors, would have been adored: And corrupting himselfe with the Persian Luxury, he slew his friends at Banquets, and assisted at their murthers. I had the rule of my Countrey too; yet when they called me home, because a great fleet of enemies sailed towards Lybia, I spee­dily obeyed, and render'd my selfe a private man: and when I was afterwards condemned, bore the sentence contentedly. And this I did, being but a Barbarian, and not bred to the Greek Discipline: who never read Ho­mer, like him, nor was instructed by Aristotle; but was led by my own excellent Genius. And these are the things wherein I pronounce my selfe better then Alexander. But if he think himselfe my superiour, because he hath en­circled his head with a Crown: perchance such ornaments may seeme venerable to his Macedonians; but it followes not that therefore he should be preferred before a valiant and Warlike Captain, who still went more by Counsell then Fortune.

Minos.

He hath made a generous speech for himselfe, and not to be expected from a Lybian. What say you to this, Alexander?

Alexander.

'Tis fit, Minos, I should make no reply to such a bold fellow: since fame can sufficiently instruct thee how great a Prince I was, and how great a Thiefe [Page 63] he: Yet consider how farre I excell him, who began my Atchievements, with my youth; when succeeding in a troubled and distracted State, I tooke revenge of my Fa­thers Murtherers. Afterwards, striking a terrour into all Greece by my conquest of Thebes, they chose me their Ge­nerall: nor was I content to straighten my selfe within the Kingdome of Macedonia left me by my Father, but pro­jected the victory of all the world. Thinking it poor not to raigne over the Universe, with a small Army I entred into Asia, and in a great battle wonne Lydia, Ionia, and Phrygia. And conquering all as I march't, I came to Issus, where Darius with an Army consisting of Myriads expect­ed me. After this, Minos, you may remember how many thousand shades I sent you in one day: The Ferry-man saies his Boat was not sufficient, but that he was faine to joyne boards together, and waft them over upon planks. And this I did, still exposing my selfe first to danger, and offering my selfe to wounds. And that I may not recount to you, what I did at Tyre, and in the fields of Arbela, I went as farre as India, and made the Ocean the period of my empire; tooke their Elephants; and brought away Po­rus Captive. Passing over Tanais, in a great horse fight I vanquish't the Scythians, a people not to be contemned: Rewarded my followers, and revenged my selfe of my foes. If men thought me a God, they are to be pardoned, being perswaded from the greatnesse of my Actions. After all, I died a King. Whereas Hanniball died Banish't in the Court of Prusias the Bythinian; A fit death for so de­ceitfull, and perjured a fellow. For I forbeare to tell how he overcame the Italians, not by valour, but by cousenage, perfidiousnesse, and stratagems. There being nothing just, or cleare in all that enterprize. But whereas he ob­jects to me my Luxury, he forgets what he did at Capua; where he had his Mistresses, and like an admired soul­dier voluptuously squander'd away the opportunities of warre. Had not I, out of my contempt of the Westerne [Page 64] parts, turned my march to the east, what great matter had I atchieved? Have taken Italy, perchance without bloud, or have subdued Lybia, to the utmost coasts of Africk. These were Countries below my Conquests, being alrea­dy terrified by my fame, and acknowledging me for their Lord. I have said: give sentence, Minos. And let these few Atchievements pick't out of many suffice.

Scipio.

Stay, Minos, till you have heard me too.

Minos.

What are you, Brave Sir? or from whence come you?

Scipio.

I am the Romane Scipio, who overthrew Car­thage, and in many great Battles subdued Lybia.

Minos.

What would you say more?

Scipio.

Marry, that I am inferiour to Alexander, but greater then Hanniball, who conquered, and pursued him, and compelled him to a dishonorable flight. He is there­fore very impudent to compare himselfe with Alexander, with whom I, who vanquisht him, presume not to rank my selfe in comparison.

Minos.

Afore Iove thou speakest rightly, Scipio: where­fore I pronounce Alexander to be first, next to him you Sci­pio; and, if you please, let Hanniball be third, since he is not utterly to be despised.

A Dialogue between Diogenes and Alexander.

Diogenes.

HOw now, Alexander, are you dead too like all us?

Alexander.

You see I am, Diogenes: nor is it strange, being a mortall man, I should die.

Diogenes.

Did Iupiter Ammon lye then, when he said you were his Son; or were you in earnest the Son of Phil­lip?

Alexander.

Of Philip it seems: had I been descended of Iupiter, I had been Immortall.

Diogenes.
[Page 65]

But there went a report of your Mother Olympia, that a Dragon should couple with her, and be seen in her Chamber; and that from thence she should conceive, and bring forth you; and that Philip was de­ceived to think himself your Father.

Alexander.

I have heard such a Report; but now I see that neither my Mother, nor the Priests of Iupiter are to be credited.

Diogenes.

Yet their lye stood you, Alexander, in good stead in your Enterprises: for many were struck with an opinion of your Divinity. But tell me, pray, to whom have you left your great Empire?

Alexander.

I know not, Diogenes. I had no more lei­sure to dispose it, then just at my Death to give my Ring to Perdiccas. But why laugh you, Diogenes?

Diogenes.

How can I choose? Have you forgot what the Grecians did, when at your entrance into your King­dome, they flatter'd and chose you their Prince, and Ge­neral against the Barbarians: and how some placed you among the twelve Gods, built Temples, and Sacrificed to you, as the Son of the Dragon? But tell me, where have the Macedonians buried you?

Alexander.

I have lain these three dayes at Babylon. But Ptolemy, my Armour bearer, hath promis'd, as soon as the Tumults now on foot will give him leisure, to carry me into Aegypt, and bury me there; that I may become one of the Aegyptian Gods.

Diogenes.

Shall I not laugh, Alexander, when I see you play the fool in Hell, and hope to be made some Anubis, or Osiris? Throw off your Ambition, Divine Sir, for 'tis not possible for any, who have once past over the Infernal Lake, and entred the mouth of the Cave, to re­turn; neither is Aeacus invigilant, or Cerberus to be con­temn'd. I would therefore gladly learn of you, how you bear the remembrance of the felicity you left above; your Guards, and Squires, and Peers, your Treasures and [Page 66] Countries which adored you: Babylon also, and Bactria; besides your Elephants, Honour, and Glory, when you were carried in Triumphs, your head bound about with a white Coronet, and your self clothed with Purple: doe you not relent at the memory of these things? why wee­pest thou, Fool? did not your wise Master Aristotle teach you, not to account any of the gifts of Fortune stable?

Alexander.

Call you him Wise, who was the basest of Flatterers? there's none knows so much of Aristotle, as [...]; what suits he made, and what letters he wrot to me, and how he abused my Ambition to Learning, soothing and extolling me, sometimes for my Beauty, as if it been a piece of the highest Good; sometimes for my Actions and Treasure; maintaining that Riches were Good, that he might, I believe, with the lesse shame refuse them. He was a Jugler, Diogenes, and Cheater. All that I gained by his wisdome is to grieve for those things you mentioned, as for the greatest goods.

Diogenes.

He teach you a cure for your sorrovv. Since there grovvs no Hellebore here, drink as great a draught of Lethe, as you can, and you vvill never after be troubled for Aristotle's goods. But look, yonder comes Clitus, and Callisthenes, and many others to dismember you, and revenge themselves for vvhat they suffered: vvherefore vvade over to the other Bank, and drink soundly as I bid you.

A Discourse of Followers, and such as are imployed for Reward.

HOw shall I, my Friend, describe to you the First and the Last, as they say, of those miseries, which they are fain to suffer and undergo, who are in pay, and retain to the Friendship of Rich men? if I may call Servitude, Friendship. For I know many, and almost all the evills [Page 67] which befall them. Not from my own experience, (for I was never forced to make tryal, nor may I ever, O ye Gods) but many who have been cast upon that course of life, have made descriptions to me: some, whilst they yet felt the thraldome, deploring the many and great in­dignities they endured: others, as if they had broke pri­son, recounting with some pleasure what they had suf­fered, much rejoycing to repeat the mischiefs they had escaped. These are the more to be credited, having been admitted into the secrets and mysteries of the Course, and seen all from the beginning to the end. I hear them there­fore not carelesly, or without attention, but as men who report an unlookt for deliverance from some Shipwrack; like those Saylers, whom we see in our Temples with shorn heads, who will tell you of waves, and billows, and steep swellings of the Sea, and tossings, and broken Masts, and torn Tackling; but above all of the Twinne Brothers, Castor and Pollux, (two necessary persons in the Tragedy,) or some other God unexpectedly sitting on their Sayles, or standing at the Sterne, who guided their Ship to some peaceable Shore, where it no sooner arrived, but by easie and gentle degrees sunk, whilst they by the favour and protection of their God, safely landed them­selves. Many such Tragical passages will they report to raise your Charity, presuming to receive the more, if they appear not only distrest, but affected by the Gods. But they who speak of their Domestick tempest, and waves, and, as I may say, of their third, fift, and tenth Billows: and how they first launcht into a calme Sea, and what they suffer'd in their voyage; Thirsty, Sea-sick, and over­come with the salt water: lastly, how their unhappy Ship dasht against an hidden Rock, or some sharp Promontory; and how they, wretches, were miserably fain to swimme to land naked, with the losse of all they had. When I hear such complaints as these, they seem to me to conceal many things for shame, as men willing [Page 68] to have them forgotten. But I, framing my conjectures from such and the like discourses, have found out the discommodities of such Attendances, which it shall be no trouble to me, my Friend Timocles, to decipher to you. For, me thinks, I have perceived you of a long time ben­ding to that course of life. For when not long since we fell upon this Argument, one of the company praised this Mercenary course, calling them thrice happy who had de­pendance on great persons at Rome, where they might feast shot-free, lodge magnificently, travail with all accommo­dation and pleasure, and lie along if they please in an Ivo­ry Sedan. Moreover, to be paid for their friendship and well-being, is no small felicity; so that without Sowing or Tillage, all things spring to them voluntarily. At this, or the like Discourse, I saw how you gap't, and presently held open your mouth for the Bait to drop in. Least there­fore you should hereafter blame me, or should say, that when I saw you about to swallow the Hook with the Bait, I saved you not, or pluckt not out the hook before it was fastend in your throat; or did not forewarne you, but staid, till it stuck and were fixt in you; and when I saw you intangled and caught without any redresse, stood by only and wept: least, I say, you should make these objections, not by me to be answered, should I not give you some premonitions, take with you this brief Chara­cter, and consider at your leisure, before you be wrapt and infolded in it, into what a mouthlesse Net you are to enter. Feel the tongue and point of the hook with your fingers, and apply for tryall the sharp Trident to your cheek; which if you find not sharp, and not to be escaped without wounds, but forceably attracting and irresistably holding what they catch, reckon me among Cowards and Beggars: and take you the boldnesse to be caught, and like a Sea-cob swallow the whole bait. Now though this discourse be intended for you, yet 'twill concern not only Philosophers, and as many as propose to themselves [Page 69] a life of Virtue, but Grammarians also, and Orators, and Musitians, and as many as live by their Learning, and teach for reward. Since all are of condition alike, then, and the same things happen to all, 'tis plain that Philoso­phers are not exempted, but are of worse condition, if they endure the same things which others do; and if these who have them in pay, hold them but in equal reverence. But vvhat discoveries soever my discourse make by the vvay, they are first in fault vvho offer such indignities, next they vvho endure them. But I am blamelesse, un­lesse Liberty and Freedome of narration be a fault. As for those of vulgar quality, as unskilful Flatterers, men of poor and abject spirits, 'tis belovv me to dehort them from such courses; or if I should, 'tvvere to no purpose. Nor is it fit I should condemn them for not forsaking their Hire, though much affronted by them; being made and cut out, and formed for such Imployments. Besides they have no other course to turn themselves to; so that if any man should take it from them, they vvould present­ly be void of businesse, turn slothfull, needy, and unpro­fitable. To such no Imployment seems base or dis­gracefull, though it be, as they say, to hold a Chamber-pot. For they are at first entertain'd to bear contempts, and 'tis their art to dissemble, and wink at what they suf­fer. But I cannot but distast such submissions in men of Learning and parts, and am to endeavour their conver­sion and restitution to Liberty: which I shall be the bet­ter able to effect, if I examine the reasons why some en­slave themselves to that kind of life, and shew their weak­nesse & infirmity; whereby they will be disarmed of their Defence, and of the ground on which they build their voluntary Bondage. Most men then, if they can pretend poverty, and the want of things necessary, think they have got a sufficient colour and veile for their entrance into that life; and think it excuse enough to say they do nothing which deserves not pardon, if they seek to free [Page 70] themselves from poverty, a thing to the life of man most intolerable▪ pressing upon all occasions that piece of The­ognis, Want kills all men; and such other affrightments from poverty, as the most obscure and abject Poets have delivered. And truly if by such dependances I should see them releas'd from their necessities, I would not so earnestly dispute with them about Liberty. But as the Orator said, being of Sick mens diet, how can they possi­bly clear themselves from having given themselves ill counsel, the reason of their course still remaining? For they still suffer want and need supplies, unable to lay up, or keep any thing over: but when they are paid their wages, (if yet they be paid) 'tis spent presently, and hard­ly defrayes their ordinary charges. 'Twere good there­fore not to invent such refuges, as cherish and assist po­verty, but such as take it away: which perchance was the meaning of Theognis, when he said, Poverty was to be cast headlong from a steep Cliff into the Sea. But if any man who serves for wages, and is still needy and poor, think this the way to avoid Poverty, he deceives himself. Others, say they, would not at all fear Pover­ty, if like other men they could sustain themselves by their labours; but having bodies weakned either by age or sicknesse, they are fain to betake themselves to the easie life of Serving-men. Let us see then whither they say truth; and whither their wages come to them easily, and not through harder tasks then other labourers. 'Twere indeed to be wisht, that without toil or sweat Silver would flow upon them. But this is so far from Truth, that no imploy­ments are fuller of labour, and sweat, and require more vi­gour & strength of body; which is every day wasted by a thousand businesses, and tired to the utmost. But of this I will treat in due place, when I come to speak of other grievances. For the present it shall be enough to have shown, that their pretences, are false. I come next to speak of the true cause (but unacknowledged) which makes [Page 71] men enter themselves into great families, that is, that they may enjoy pleasure, cherish large and ample Hopes, admire the abundance of Gold and Silver, fare deliciously; and partake the other happinesses of life, and without controule drink Gold. These are the things which en­tice men, and make them of freemen slaves; not the want of necessaries, as they pretend, but the thirst of superflui­ties, and itch of abundance: much like slie, and cheating mistresses, who entertaine their wretched, and unfortunate lovers and inflame them with a pretty disdaine, to Court, and observe them, and yet after their long service scarce allow them a short kisse, well knowing that Love is dis­solved by fruition; which they therefore keep lock't up, and impart sparingly, cherishing in their lovers some faint hopes, least despaire should lessen their flame, or unedge their desires; They therefore are alwaies affable, make faire promises, that they will performe, and be thankfull and acknowledge their costly presents. 'Till at length both grow old, ere they be aware, and become unfit; the one to Court, the other to be Courted; so that their whole life hath vapoured away in hopes. But to undergoe any course for the love of pleasure is not altogether blame­worthy, but someway pardonable in him who is incli­ned to it, and pursues all waies to compasse it; Though I must needs say, 'tis both base and unmanly to give him­selfe for it: For the pleasure which arises from libertie, is much greater. Yet as I say before, They deserve pardon, if they attaine the pleasure they aime at; But for the bare expectation of pleasure to undergoe so many incumbran­ces, is, in my judgement, ridiculous: especially seeing how certaine, manifest, and unavoydable, their pains are; and how the thing they expect, which is pleasure, after a long attendance flies from them; And, if they shut not their eyes to truth, is never likely to approach them. Ulysses companions having tasted of the inchanted bowle, neg­lected all things els, and preferd their present delight be­fore [Page 72] vertue; having some little reason to forget what was decent, their soules being possest by pleasure. But should some thirsty man stand by when another drinks of such a bowle, out of meere hope to get a tast, and yet get none, and fo forget what is fit and decent, He were most ridicu­lous and worthy Homers whipping-post. These, or the like, are the Causes which carry men into dependances, and suffer rich men to put them to what imployment they list. To which we may adde, that some think it a glory to retaine to illustrious persons, and persons of Ho­nour; as being thereby advanced above the condition of the Vulgar. For my part I would not belong to the greatest prince, or be seen in his retinue, if no other prefer­ment accompanied my neernesse to him. This, then, being the foundation of servitude, let us consider next, what they feele, and endure, before they compasse their ends; and what are the calamities of their life; and last­ly, what is the Catastrophe of their Tragedie. First they cannot say that though their imployments be burden­some, they are made easy by custome, and require no great trouble; or that to a willing minde businesse doth it selfe: many wearisome walks are to be made, their doores every morning to be visited, you the saluter to attend, though you are lock't out, or thrust from the doore some­times, if you grow bold, or pressing, by the Porter, who speaks broken Syriack, and are faine to bribe a Lybian No­menclator to remember your name. Then you must weare Cloathes above your Abilitie, for the credit of him you serve, and make choice of such colours as he delights in; and which differ not in Lyverie from his. Lastly, you must alwaies follow, or goe before, thrust and justled by the other servants, and as it were make one in a show, or Triumph; Whilest your Patron for many daies not once lookes upon you: or if it be your good fortune to be seene or call'd by him, and that he by chance speak to you, then you beginne to sweat, your eyes dazell, your joynts shake, [Page 73] the standers by laugh at your confusion; especially when he shall aske you who was king of Achaia, and you make answere he had a Thousand ships: which good natures will call modesty; bold men, cowardlinesse; unbred men, ignorance; whereupon you, having made a dangerous en­counter of his Familiarity, depart much accusing your bashfulnesse. And when you have lost many nights sleep, and past over many bloudy daies, not to recover a Helen, or to Conquer a Priamus, or Troye, but for the hopes of five groats; if by chance you light upon some assistant God in a Tragedy, you are examined whi­ther you be skill'd in the Mathematicks, a question frequent in the mouthes of rich men, who are, there­fore, much praised, and celebrated: whilest you out of astonishment think he gives sentence upon you, and calls your life in question. This thought comming crosse your minde, that no man will receive you, if you be disallowed or rejected by him, you must needs be cast into a thousand distractions, out of envy to those who are examined with you, and who stand in com­petition with you for your place: imagining you have answered imperfectly, and tost between your Hopes, and feares, you watch his countenance, and if he show any dislike of your Replies, you are undone; If he hear you with approbation, you take heart, and revive your hopes. Besides, it cannot be but that many should withstand your desires, and should strive to remove you, and place others in your Roome, and should dart at you underhand. Consider too what a sight 'tis to see a man with a long beard, and a white head ex­amined what a Scholler he is; and to some to ap­peare to have profitted, to others not. In the mean time your former life and age past is curiously searcht into. And if any acquaintance, or neighbour, upon some light provocation, shall accuse you of adulte­rie, or the like, he is heard as a witnesse produced [Page 74] from Iupiter's Table-book. If all report well of you, they will be suspected, thought vain, and hired by you: you must therefore have great luck, and meet with no rubs, or you will never compasse your aims. But put the case that fortune be your friend, and that your Lord approve of your parts, and that his best friends, upon whose authority in such tryals he most relies, strive not to divert him: suppose too you have his wives allowance, be not thwarted by the Steward, and that no man blemish your former Behaviour, but that, as they say, all things concurre to make a gratefull Sacrifice; you have conquer [...]d, happy Sir, and have won the Garland; you have taken Babylon as soon, or the Castle of Sardis, and may as well possesse Amalthae­as Horn, or milk the Fowls. For suppose the time now come, that you receive recompence answerable to your Service; and that your Garland prove not a Garland of fraile Oken leaves, nor your wages contemptible, but that it be seasonably paid you without much suit, and that you be preferr'd before your fellow attendants: more­over, that you be releas'd from your troublesome visits, attendances in the dirt, and watchings, and, according to the common Proverb, be allowed to sleep with your feet stretcht out, and for the future be imployed only in those easie businesses, for which you were at first hired, and taken in; which is but reasonable, Timocles; nor would a man grudge to bear an easie yoke, which were portable, and guilt; yet will you faile much, if not alto­gether, of your expectation. For there are a thousand things in such dependances, which mis-become an in­genious man: which, as you hear from me in order, judge whither they be to be born by any man who hath but tasted of Learning. I will begin from your first en­tertainment, from whence you may make a judgment of your future usage. First, a neat Serving-man is sent to invite you to Supper; whom you are to fee, and, least you [Page 75] be thought uncivill, are to clap into his hand at least a Crown: which he refuses with, Pray excuse me, I can­not take it, Hercules forbid; but is at length perswaded, and being gone laughs at you. You presently put on your best cloaths, trimme, and wash your self; and fear to be the first commer: for that is clownish, as to come last is troublesome. Having watcht therefore for fit oppor­tunity, you enter; and you are honourably bid welcome. Then comes one to you, and bids you sit down above the rich man that invited you, between his two old friends: but you, as though you were newly entred into Iupiter's Temple, admire all things, and are astonisht at every thing you see done, which appears strange, and unusuall to you. In the mean time the eies of all the Ser­vants are upon you, and the other Guests observe how you carry your self. Nor are you unwatcht by the rich man, who before hand charged the waiters to mark what by-glances or looks you cast upon his Wife, or Boies: whilst the rest that are invited seeing you for want of ex­perience amazed at what passes, smile at you, and conje­cture that you were never invited before; and that you were never till then used to a Napkin. Whereupon you out of distraction fall a sweating, and though you be thir­sty dare not call for Drink, lest you be thought a Tipler: and of all the variety of dishes which stand in order be­fore you, know not to which you are first or last to move your hand; but are fain to observe him that sits next to you, and to learn in what order you are to cut; and so pass over your meat distracted in your mind, and struck at all that's done. Sometimes you admire the rich man for his Plate, and Ivory, and pleasures; then again you deplore your own unhappinesse, in that you possesse nothing, and yet live: another thought presently flatters you, what a desirable life you shall lead to have the fruition of all those pleasures, and equally to enjoy them; and how all your Suppers will be Bacchanals. Besides, the wayters [Page 76] laughing at you in private, will make pleasant descripti­ons to you of the sweetnesse of your future conversation, and tell you that you will be alwaies singing those verses in Homer:

No marvaile if the Trojans and Greeks strong
Did their laborious war and siege prolong
For so much happinesse.—

At length you are invited to drink a Health: and one ta­king a great Bowle begins to you, by the name of Tutor, or some such like compellation; you receive the cup of him, and know not what answer to return, and so for want of experience are thought rustick, and unbred. Be­sides, that drinking to you stirs the envy of all the inviters old retainers, who are gall'd at your sitting down before them too; that being but a new commer, you should be preferr'd before men who served a prentiship: presently therefore they begin thus to mutter among themselves. This only was wanting to other Indignities, that we should be placed after those who are newly entred into the family. None but Grecians are respected at Rome; and what is there in them why they should take place of me? Is their Service more then ours, because they can prate? Did you not mark, sayes another, how much he drank? how he devoured all the meat that stood before him? an unbred, famisht fellow, who never dreamt of white bread, or Pheasants, or Partridges, and yet he left us no­thing but the bones. Peace, Fools, sayth a third, within this week you shall see him esteemed no more then one of us. He is now prized and valued like a pair of new Sho [...]s; but when he is worn a while, and hath been in the dirt, he will be neglected and cast aside, like us, and make a dinner for the Rats. These and the like speeches are tost among them, who from that time project com­plaints and accusations against you, and all the Discourse of the meal is of you: who not used to such meetings, ha­ving overdrunk your self in sweet, loosning wine, find [Page 77] your belly work, and are not well. Neither can you in good manners depart before the company, nor can you with safety stay. In the meane time, while the drinking is continued, and one discourse falls into another, and one show is presented after another, (for you must stay to see all) you are not a little tormented, and neither marke what is done, nor heare what is sung, or plaid by one of his Ingles. But are to praise all out of necessity, though you wish the house would fall with an Earth­quake, or that some body would proclaime it to be on fire, that the feast might be dissolved. You have the Character, my friend, of your first and most pleasant en­tertainment: which to me is not so pleasant as Onyons, and bay salt, of which I may eat freely, and as much, or little as I please. I omit to tell you of the rawnesse, and crudities of your stomach, and of your vomits in the night. Next morning you are to bargain what wa­ges you are to have by the year, and Covenants are agreed upon in the presence of two or three of your masters friends. Before whom he first bids you sit down, and then thus begins. You see what my estate is, how free from pompe, which I enjoy without any ostentation, in a moderate and vulgar way; I would have you, therefore, believe that all things shall be common between us. For 'twere ridiculous that I should trust you with the best part of my possessions, my life, or children, (if he have any) and not in an equall measure make you master of my Fortunes. But because we are to come to certainties, I shall complie with your moderation, and frugalitie. For I understand no desire of gain drew you to my house, but other considerations, as your affection to me, and the honour of your Relation, yet something I will allow you; and I should be glad your selfe would set the proportion: but consider first the gifts I shall bestow upon you at good times, which shall not be omitted, though they fall not within our bargaine; and you know there are many re­volutions [Page 78] in the yeer; These therefore consider'd, set to your selfe some reasonable price, or hire; For I know you men of learning despise money. By this Prologue he besieges you with Hopes, and renders you pliant, and flexible to his ends. You, who before fancied to your selfe Talents, and Millions, and whole Farmes, and pa­laces, secretly perceive his sordidnesse: yet believe and think his promises, that all things shall be common, are unfayling Oracles; not discerning that they proceeded meerly from his lippes, and not from his heart. At last out of Modesty you referre the summe to him, which he refu­ses to name; But desires one of his friends, there present, to deal between you, and to designe a price, neither too great for him to spare, out of his other necessary disburs­ments, nor yet too small for you to receive. Here his old friend, bred up with him in flatttery, askes you, if you think not your selfe the most happy man in the Citty, that you have lighted upon the good fortune, so much co­veted by others, to be admitted into dependance by such a person? To have the use of one of the greatest Fami­lies in Rome? which, if you have your modesty, is more then Croesus wedges, or Midas wealth. I know some, sayes he, of good quality, who would give money, only for the credit of the Relation, to belong to him and to be seen about him, as his followers or Friends. I cannot, therefore, sufficiently extoll your happinesse, who are to have pay to your good fortune. In my Judgment, there­fore, unlesse you be a spendthrift, so much is enough; And then sets some small price, farre below your expectation; which neverthelesse you must accept contentedly, since there is no escape for you now out of the Net. Grudg­ingly, therefore, you thrust your head into the bridle; yet carry your selfe gentle, not being much troubled, or gall'd, till you be a little accustomed to him. They abroad, in the mean while, emulate you, seeing you within the pale, and making your entrance without controule, and made [Page 79] one of the Family; whilest you know no reason why you should appear so happy in their eyes, but only that you flatter and rejoyce your selfe with the hopes and amendment of your fortune, which every day lessens and goes backward. At length as it were in a doubt, full light, you begin to perceive that all your wealthy hopes were but golden bubbles; but that your Toyles are reall, unavoidable, and perpetuall. But you will ask me what those toyles are? and tell me, that you discerne no such troubles in such dependances, or such intolerable imployments as I speak of. Heare, therefore, Gallant Sir, and weigh not only the trouble, but the basenesse, disho­nour, and servilitie of such imployments. For first from the time you are entertained, you are to forget your liberty, and parentage; and are to resolve, when you enter into such relations, to leave your descent, freedome, and Ance­stors at the doore. For Liberty cannot have admission with you, who are received into such low and ungenerous imployments. A servant, therefore, however you are troubled at the name, a servant you are necessarily to be, not of one, but many; and are to wait uncover'd from morning to night for contemptible wages. Besides, not being bred of a child to service, but coming to the trade late, and well stricken in years, you will hardly please, or be much valued by your Master. For the remembrance of your former Liberty will corrupt you, and prompt you to a relapse sometimes, and make your Thraldome much the heavier: Unlesse you think you are at liberty because you had not Pyrrhias, or Zopyrio for your Father; or were not sold, like a Bithynian, by some big voiced Cri­er. But, good Sir, to stand every new Moon with Pyrrhias, and Zopyrio, and hold out your hand like other servants, to receive what shall be given, is sale. For he needs no Crier who is his own Cryer, and of himself makes long suit for a Master. If therefore, you base fellow, (for I can­not but say so to one who professeth Philosophy) a Py­rate [Page 80] should take you at Sea, or if some Robber should en­slave you, you would deplore your self▪ as one who be­came unfortunate beside your merit. Or if one should apprehend you, and say you are his Servant, you would invoke the Lawes, use all endeavours to free your self, ex­presse great disdaine, and in a loud voice call the Earth and Gods to your assistance. And yet for all you are of an age, in which had you been born a Slave, 'twere time for you to look towards Liberty; and though you have been bred to virtue, and wisdome, for a few far­things you sell your self; never regarding the excellent Discourses utter'd by Plato, Chrysippus, and Aristotle, in the praise of Liberty, and dispraise of Servitude: nor are you ashamed to be reckoned with Flat [...]erers, Hirelings, and Buffoones; or among so many Romanes to go attired like a stranger, or to speak Latine barbarously, or to go to tumultuous, promiscuous Suppers, where the compa­ny is mixt and troublesome; and there to passe ridiculous praises, to drink immoderately, and next morning at the sound of a Bell to rise, break your sweet sleep, and trudg up and down with yesterdaies dirt yet about your heels. Do you feel such a penury of Beans, or Herbs, or have fountains left off to run, that despair should drive you to this course? No such matter, neither want of beans or water, but your desire of Juncats, and delicate fare, and odoriferous wines drew you, and like a Pike your gree­dinesse justly fasten'd a hook in your Gills: & so you suffer the reward of your licorousnesse; and like a Monkey chai­ned to a post by the neck, make sport to the Beholders; whilst you are much pleased to have Figs and Comfits thrown to you. But Liberty and Freedom, Stock or Pedigree, are vain, empty names, and of which you keep no remembrance. Yet the course were to be liked, if it had only this inconveniency of basenesse, to make a Free­man a Slave, and brought not other servile Imployments with it. But consider whither your taskes be more to­lerable [Page 81] then those which are enjoyn'd to Dromo, or Tibius. As for your Learning, for which you say he took you in, he little regards it: for according to the Proverb, what a­greement can there be between an Asse and an Harp? Do you not observe how they are possest with the desire of Ho­mer's Wisdome, Demosthenes Eloquence, and Plato's high Discourses? and yet should a man take out of their minds their thoughts and cares of Gold, and Silver, nothing would remain but Pride, Effeminatenesse, Luxury, La­sciviousnesse, Cruelty, and Ignorance; to all which you are uselesse. But because you have a large Beard, and are of a venerable aspect, and weare a decent Greek Mantle, and all men know you to be a Grammarian, or Orator, or Philosopher; he thinks it is for his reputation to mingle such a one with those who go before him, to grace and set out his traine: And from hence gains the opinion of a Patron of the Grecian Arts, and of a Friend to Learning, so that you are not hired for excellency of parts, or Dis­course, but for your Beard and Gown. And therefore are alwaies to be seen in his company, and never to be from him, but are to rise early every morning to present your self, and appear in your attendance, and not break your rank. He sometimes laying his hand upon you, prates any thing by chance, and makes shew to those he meets, that in passage through the streets he forgets not the Muses, but imployes the small leisure of his walke in ho­nest conferences: whilst you most wretchedly some­times going apace, sometimes softly, sometimes up, some­times down, (for such you know are the passages of the City) sweat, and put your self out of breath. At length he strikes into a house, to talk with some friend, whom he went to visit; where, for want of a place to sit down, you are fain to read a Book, to passe away the time. After this, having neither eaten nor drunk that day, discommo­diously washt, and at an unseasonable hour, about mid­night perhaps, you go to supper; and are no longer [Page 82] reverenced, or regarded by the rest. But if there be a new comer, you are set below him, and thrust into some obscure Corner, where you sit as a Spectator only of what is brought to Table; and like a dog gnaw the bones which descend to you, or out of hunger suck some withe­red Sallet, refused by those who sit above you. Nor is this all your disgrace; you are not allowed a whole Egge to your self, nor is it thought fit that you should be atten­ded still like the other Guests, and Strangers, (for that was your fond conceit) nor is the same Fowl set before you and others. But before your Lord stands a crammed, juicy one; before you, a young starved, tastlesse one: which is indeed no fowl, but an affront and reproach. Many times, if another want meat, one of the wayters takes away that which was set before you, and loo­king upon you, tells you, you are one of the house. If at any time a Pigge be cut up, or a Venison pasty, you had need have the Carver your friend, or you will divide with Prometheus, and nothing but bones will come to your share. For that a dish should stand before him who sits above you, till he be cloyed, and should passe by you in an instant, it is not to be endured by one that hath any ingenuity, or but so much Gall as an Hart. I have not told you, that when the rest drink the oldest and best, you are to drink the fulsome, pall'd Wine: and therefore are carefull to drink in a Silver, or guilt Bowle, lest the colour should betray what a con­temptible Guest you are. Yet this were also to be en­dured, might you drink your full: but if you call often, the wayter will not hear you. There are many other things which will vex you; but especially to see an [...]ngle or Dancing-Master, or an Alexandrian Jester, who writes Farces, preferr'd before you. For how can you expect to take equall place with them whose qualities are more de­lightfull, & who carry love-letters in their bosoms. You, therefore, sit in some hole at supper, & hiding your self for [Page 83] shame, secretly sigh, as 'tis fit, & bewaile your selfe, & accuse your fortune, for not allowing you a sprinkling of their favours; and could gladly wish your self a Poet to write amourous Ditties, or had the gift to sing those which were made by others; seeing for what qualities others are prized and esteemed before you: nor would you re­fuse for a need to act a Magician, or Fortune [...]teller, and presage, like them, great Fortunes, Empires, and mighty Riches. When therefore you see men of such condition esteemed, and much made of, you could even find in your heart to be one of them, to preserve your self from disesteem, and contempt. But because you are not so happy as to be framed for such Arts, you must of necessity give way, and silently mutter your grievances, and neg­lects to your self. For if some whispering Tell-tale Ser­vant complaine of you, that you praised not your Mi­stresses Page for dancing, or singing well, you are in no small danger. You are therefore like a thirsty Land-frog, to cry aloud, that you may appear the most forward, and remarkable in your commendations. And sometimes when the rest are silent, you are to have in a readinesse some fained Panegyrick, well powdered with Flattery. Next, tis a thing most ridiculous, that hungry, and thirsty, as many times you are, you should anoynt your self, and weare a Chaplet: for then me thinks you look like a Pillar erected over some ancient Carcasse, adorned with Offerings to the Dead; who though they be anoynted and crowned, yet neither eat nor drink the viands set be­fore them. Besides, if you light upon a Master who is jealous, and who keeps handsome Boies, or hath a young Wife, and that he find you no stranger to Venus, or the Graces, tis matter for a Quarrell, and your danger is not contemptible. For Kings have many eares and eyes, and do not only see Truths, but alwaies adde something over, least they be thought to connive. You are therefore to sit as if you were at a Persian Supper, with a downcast [Page 84] look, and to beware, lest some Eunuch catch you darting glances upon one of your Master's Concubines; or lest ano­ther Eunuch holding a bent Bow shoot an arrow through your Cheeks, whilst you are drinking, for casting your eyes aside. After you are risen from Supper, you are no sooner asleep, but at the first Cock-crowing you awake, and say to your self, O me most unfortunate wretch, what conversation have I left, what friends, what a quiet life, what untroubled sleeps, and free Walks, to cast my self headlong into a Dungeon! And wherefore, O ye Gods, have I entred into this course? or what splendid re­ward doth it bring me? 'Tis not possible the commodities of this life should countervaile those I forsook, when I enjoyed my liberty, and had all things in my own power. Now, as they say, I am led like a tame Lyon up and down in a string, neither knowing (which makes my case most miserable) how to give content, or able to make my self gratious; being ignorant, and unskilfull, compared to those men who make the Arts of pleasure their businesse. Besides, I am distastfull, and not fit for great Feasts, being unable to raise laughter; which makes my Master look discontentedly upon me because when he would be very merry, I carry my self tetricall, and grave; in a word, I shall never be able to piece with him. For if I endeavour to preserve my reverence, I am thought severe, and to be avoided: If I laugh, or strive to shew a cheerfull countenance, he presently grows dis­dainfull, and spawles at me; so that, me thinks, I act a Comicall part in a Tragicall dresse. Lastly, what kind of life shall I leave for my self, after I have spent my present age in the service of another? In the midst of this Soliloquie, the Bell rings, and you are to return to your former task of walking and waiting, Having first anointed your thighes, and knees, to enable you for your race. Then you have the same supper, and at the same houre; Till at length your unaccustomed [Page 85] diet, watchings, and tirings by degrees undermine you, and introduce a Consumption, or Ptissick, or paine of the Bowells, or some excellent Gowt: which you valiantly resist, and many times when you are to keep your bed, cannot be allowed; but your sicknesse is thought a pre­tence to avoid businesse. Hence it comes to passe, that you are alwaies paler then others, and look like one ready to die. And thus much be spoken of your sufferings, in the City. When you are to Travel any where, among other things, which I omit, you are by your place, and lot, to tarry for the waggon, and to come wet, and last into the Inne; where for want of Room you are lodged with the Cooke, or your Mistresses barber upon the straw. I'le tell you a passage which Thesmopolis the Stoick told me of himselfe, very ridiculous, but not incredible, or such as may not happen to any other. He lived with a wealthy delicate, proud Lady, in the Citty, who had oc­casion to take a journey; where he said the first contem­ptible accident, he ever suffer'd, was, being a Philosopher, to sit next in the Coach to her page, whom she kept sha­ven both chinne and thighes, and carried with her (it seemes) for her Credit. He told me his name was Chelidonius, or swallow. Now judge you what a sight it was for a severe, grave, ancient man, with a white beard (which you know Thesmopolis wore at full length) to be placed next to an effeminate Boy, whose eyes were painted, and lasciviously roll'd in his head, and his neck wantonly bent to one side; who more deserved to be call'd Vulture for his naked chinne then swallow; and who, had he not been at his entreaty disswaded, would have worne his head in a bagge. Innumerable he said were the disturbances which he suffer'd from the page, who all the way sung, and prattled, and, if he had not restrained him, would have danced in the Coach. He told me, also, of a certain charge, laid upon him by the Lady; who calling to him, Thesmopolis, quoth she, if you love [Page 86] me, you must not deny me a favour, which I shall ask of you, nor expect I shall ever request a greater. He, as 'twas fit, promised to obey her request. Then, quoth she, I pray, because I take you to be an honest, carefull, good natured man, take my little bitch Myrrhina into the Coach, and keep her for me, and see she lacks nothing; For she is very bigge with puppies, and is even ready to whelp, and my other servants are such Knaves, that upon the way they have neither care of her, nor indeed of me: you shall therefore not a little obliege me, if you will take care of a dogge so deare and pretious to me. Thesmopolis, at her earnest entreaty being almost ready to crie, received the Bitch. Here, then, was a spectacle most ridiculous, to see a little dogge peeping under his gown, just below his Beard, and bepissing him sometimes (Though Thesmopolis dissem­bled it) and barking in a small voice (for such dogges are most in fashion) and licking the yesterdaies fat which stuck upon the Philosophers chinne. The Page, who sate next him, having not unwittily at supper played upon others of the company, at last broke a jest upon Thesmopolis; All I can say, quoth he, of Thesmopolis is only this, that of a Stoick he is become a Cynick. For I heare when the little Bitch pupp't in his Gown. These are the Mockeries, or rather the affronts, which they fasten upon those who live with them, rendring them by little and little tame and patient of contempts. I knew a Carcharian Orator, who being commanded at a supper to make an Oration, declai­med not by an houre glasse, but by a Rundler of wine, very eloquently, gravely, and roundly, and with the accla­mation of those who in the mean time drank, and recei­ved two hundred Drachmes for his performance. Now such impositions are some way tolerable; But if he to whom you belong, be either given to Poëtry, or History, and be accustomed to repeat his own works at supper, how are you troubled to praise and flatter, and invent new waies of commendation? There are some, who [Page 87] will be admired for their Beauty; whom you must call Adonis, and Hyacinthus, though they have a nose a Cubit long. For if you commend them not, presently you are committed to Dionysius Dungeon, as one who wish them ill, and carry plots against them. You must call them Sages, and Orators too; who though they utter solecismes, yet they will be thought to make speeches full of Attick flowers, and Hymettian Honey, which ought to become patternes afterwards for men to speak by. But perhaps the carriage of the men is to be born with; but then the women affect too to have learned men in pay, who shall retaine to them, attending upon their Sedans; And think nothing conduceth so much to their other bravery; and pompe, as to be called Learned Philosophers, and better makers of verses then Sappho. And for the raising of such an opinion, they are still accompanied by pensionary Rhe­toricians, Grammarians, and Philosophers, who most ri­diculously read to them, either while they are dressing themselves, or curling their haire, or at meale time; for at other times they are not at leasure. Sometimes, whilest the Philosopher is in the midst of his Discourse, the Cham­bermayde enters, and delivers a letter to her Lady from her Lechour-servant; whereupon the learned discourse of chastity breaks off, till she have wrote an answer, and re­turne to her Lecture. After a long time, at the Feast of Saturne, perchance, or Minerva, if some thread-bare Cloak, or motheaten garment, be sent you, you must recieve it as a great present; And the servant first privy to his masters intention, who runs and acquaints you with his bounty, is not to be sent away without a reward for his newes. The next morning, at least thirteen more bring you the same message; every one reporting what he said to his Master, how he put him in mind of it, and that being in­trusted with the businesse he chose the most advantagious; who though they all returne fed, yet grumble that you gave them no more. Next, your whole pension comes [Page 88] not to above six Crownes, which if you demand you are thought impudent, and troublesome, and, therefore, before you can receive it, you must insinuate and flatter, and court the steward; which is one step of servitude more; nor is he to be neglected who is your patrons friend, and of his Counsells. And when you have re­received your salary, you are presently to pay it again to your Taylor, or Physitian, or Shoomaker; so that your rewards not only come late, unseasonable, and to no pur­pose, but great envy is kindled upon you, and by degrees the servants begin to hatch complaints against you; espe­cially finding their masters eares open to entertaine them: who by this time, perhapps, sees you worne out with bu­sinesse, and unfit for imployment, and troubled with the Gowt; And having gotten the most flowry and vigo­rous part of your age, and wasted your bodily strength, and worne you out like a torne garment, he looks about for some dunghill where to cast you, and entertaines another more able to drudg; accusing you with the en­ticements of his page, or alleaging that being an old man, you defloured his maid, or laying some such crime to your charge; for which in the night time you are thrust out of doores by the neck, forsaken of all, poore, and carry nothing away with your age but an incomparable Gowt; And having by length of time forgotten your first course of life and made your belly as large as a sack, it be­comes an insatiate and never to be contented mischiefe. Your stomach will expect it's usuall repletions, and grow enraged at denials. Besides no bodie will afterwards entertaine you, being of a spent age, and become like an ancient decaied horse, whose very skinne is of no use. The pretence, also, for which you were put away, carry­ing some possibility, will brand you for an adulterer, or a poysoner, or the like: So that your accuser, though he say nothing, will be believed against you, who are a Greek, of a light behaviour, and prepared for any mis­chief. [Page 89] For such they account us all, and not without good cause. For if I be not deceived, the reason why they hold such an Opinion of us is, because most of us who are taken into Families, for want of better knowledg, profess Magick, and Charms, and the Art to provoke Love, and to reconcile Enemies; which we call Learning, and set it off with a grave Gown, and a venerable Beard. Hence it comes to passe, that they have the like esteem of all, as they have of those whom they judg to be the best; espe­cially when they observe our Flattery, both at Feasts, and in our Carriage at other times, and our extream basenesse, to submit our selves to waies of gain. And therefore, not without cause, when they have turned them off, they mortally hate them, and seek all the waies they can to de­stroy them: as men who are able to divulge all the se­crets of their life, having inwardly known them, and seen them naked; a point which pricks them to the quick: For as you have seen some fair Books, whose Covers are enamell'd, and guilt without, but contain within Thyestes eating his children at a Banquet, or Oedi­pus lying with his mother, or Tereus deflowring two Si­sters: so these men are very glorious, and sightly without, but within hide many a Tragedy under their purple; whom if you rip open, and unwrap, you will find them lined with much Tragicall stuffe, not unlike that of Euri­pides, or Sophocles. However without, they shew guilt and enamell'd. Their Consciousnesse therefore breeds their hatred, and makes them seek the ruine of those who fall from them; as men who are able to represent them on the Stage, and give their true description. For a Conclusion then, like Cebes, I will draw you the picture of this kind of life in a small Table; that by looking towards it, you may know whither it be to be entred into or no. I could wish some Apelles, or Parrhasius, or A [...]tion, or Euphranor, would limme it: but because such excellent and exact Painters are not now to be found, I will, as well as I can, [Page 90] give you a slender Image and Draught of it. Let there, then, be drawn a high guilded house, not situated on any low place, but aloft on a hill; and let the ascent to it be so steep, inaccessible, and slippery, that those who many times hope to aspire to the top, tumble down, and break their necks. Within, let Riches dwell, of a bright and ami­able aspect. Let their Lover, having with much adoe climbed up, and attained the door, at first sight grow a­mazed. And let Hope (whom you may also imagine to be well favoured, and diversly drest) take him in this a­stonishment by the hand, and lead him in, and from his first entrance go before him: then let other women re­ceive him, namely, Deceit, and Servitude, and deliver him over to labour. And let Labour after long exercise deliver the Wretch over to Old age, diseased, and wittherd in his face, and colour. Lastly, let Contempt hurry him to Despaire; & from that time let Hope vanish, and forsake him, & fly away. Then let him be cast out, not at the Gol­den Porch, at which he entred, but at some Back-door, or dark Out-let, naked, hungry, pale, aged, with one hand covering his shame, with the other choking himself. At his ejection let helplesse Weeping and Repentance meet him, and double his misery. And let the Picture here end. Now do you, Timocles, having well weighed my di­scourse, consider, whither you be content to enter at the Golden Door, and be dishonourably thrust out at the Postern. And what course soever you undertake, re­member the saying of a Wise man; God is not to be bla­med, but your own Choice.

A Defence of those who are imployed for Reward.

I Have long considered with my self, Excellent Sabi­nus, what you thought or said, when you read my Book, concerning those who are imploied for re­ward. For I am verily perswaded you could not forbear laughing in the perusall. Though you made some obje­ctions by the way, which I will now answer agreeably to my writings. If my Divination faile me not, me thinks I hear you say; Is this he who wrote those things, and in­veighed so bitterly against this course of life, and yet un­mindfull of his own Satyr, upon the turning of the shell, as they say, hath voluntarily put himself into an eminent and illustrious Service? What Midas, or Croesus, or streams of Gold, could once tempt him to forsake his dear Liber­ty, bred up with him of a child? Yet though he be not far from Aeacus, and have one foot in Charons boat, now submits he himself to be tost, and drawn, as if he were fast­ned by the neck with a golden Collar, or some great mans chain of Corral? Surely there is a wide difference between this new course and his writings. Rivers me thinks do now run backwards, and the order of things is inverted. Recantations are made for the worse; and all this change is not for the fruition of a Helen, or the conquest of a Troy, but meerly that a good discourse may be subverted by an ill choice. Thus, in all likelihood, do you say to your self; and are, it may be, ready to give more seasonable and friendly counsell, and such as becomes an honest man, and a Philosopher. If therefore I personate you right, I shall think my self happy, and will sacrifice to Eloquence: if not, do you supply my defects. 'Tis time then we shift the Scene, and that I be a Mute, and patiently for my cure submit my selfe to be lanced, or if you [Page 92] think fit, feared by you; and that you apply your medi­cines, and have your knife, and burning Iron in readiness. Taking your Cue, then, to speak, thus you accost me: Heretofore, my friend, your Book (as it well deserved) was much valued, and, as the report goes, was well re­ceived both by the multitude, and by as many of the lear­ned as read it, or took it into their hands. For your com­position is faultlesse, your narration various, and such as both shews your experience in businesse, and your perspi­cuity in the delivery. But above all, as your writings are generally usefull, so especially to Schollers, who from hence are taught not to enter themselves rashly into Ser­vices. But when you shall alter your opinion, and pre­fer the contrary course, and bid a long farewell to Liber­ty, and practice that ignoble Iambick, That where gaine may be had, you are to serve against nature, take heed no man over hear you reading your own works, or meeting with them compare your present life with your writings. Pray also to Infernall Mercury, to besprinkle those who have heretofore heard of them, with the water of Obli­vion: lest, like Bellerophon in the Corinthian Tragedy, you prove to have written a Book against your self. For my part, I cannot see with what face you can defend your self against your Accusers; especially if they should mer­rily praise your writings, and the liberty of them, and see you the Author waiting, and voluntarily submitting your neck to the yoke: since they might probably enough en­title some more generous person to your Book, and say you are but the Iay, who triumph in borrowed feathers; or if it be yours, that you have done like Salaethus, who imposing a sharp Law upon the Crotonians against Adul­terers, for which he was much reverenced, was not long after caught in the Act of incest, with his brothers wife. So some man may not unfitly compare you to Salaethus; But that he was more excusable, who (as he urged for himselfe) was drawn by his affection, and did voluntarily [Page 93] cast himselfe into the fire: upon which reason the Croto­nians out of pitty gave him his choice of Banishment. Whereas you much more absurdly, having written an exact description, and inveighed against the servile con­dition of those, who retain to great persons, and cast them­selves into fetters, where they act and suffer a thousand Calamities, in your extreame age, when you are almost beyond the threshold, have made choice of an ignoble ser­vitude, and are ready to triumph in it. By how much, therefore, the more eminent, and advanced you shew, by so much the more are you laught at, as one whose life contradicts your writings. Nor shall I need to urge any other complaint against you, then that of the excellent Tragedian; I hate that wise man who is not wise for himselfe. Your Accusers, perhappes, will not lack other examples to compare you to. Some will liken you to Actors in a Tragedy, who are Agamemnon or Creon, or Hercules upon the Stage; but in the Tiring house when they have put off their properties, are Polus, or Aristodemus, fellowes hired to act, and many times hist, whip't and pluckt off the stage at the mercy of the Theatre. Others will resem­ble you to an Ape, which they say Cleopatra had; which being taught to dance, a great while footed it very comely, and gracefully, and maintained her postures with great admiration, and kept time and measure with them who sung, and plaid a Hymenaeall galliard: Till at length perceiving a Fig, or an Almond a farre off, she tore of her vizard, and leaping to the Fig bid [...]arewell to the fiddles, and dances, and fell to eating. So you, may some man say, who are no player, but a learned Author, and excellent Lawgiver, at the sight of a Fig have shown your selfe an Ape, and a Philosopher but from the teeth outward; who conceale some things, and speak other; and leave it to mens suspicion to conjecture, that what you say or are praised for, hath but only touch't your lipps, and never wet your Palate. Your punishment hath followed you there­fore; [Page 94] who, when you had audaciously insulted over other mens wants, not long after as good as sold your own Liberty by a Crier. And Adrastia was at your back, laughing at your Brags, and contempts of those indignities which you despised in other men: Because she foresaw, being a Goddesse, that you would in time fall upon their course; and because you did not first spit in your own bosome, before you blamed those who through the many changes of fortune have been cast upon that condition. Suppose Eschines, after his accusation of Timarchus should have offended and have been questio­ned for the same fault: would it not have stird the Laugh­ter of the Spectators to see him inveigh against Timarchus, for a crime of youth, and being an old man commit the same himselfe? Lastly, you are like the Apothecary, who boasted much of his medicine against the Cough, and promised to cure men at one taking, and was all the while shaken with a Cough himselfe. This and much more, may such an Accuser, as you, say, in an Argument so spatious, and replenish't with objections. 'Tis time then, I now turne my selfe to my Apology, and Defence, wherein my best way (who suffer voluntarily, and have submitted my back to the whippe, nor deny it to be a disparagement) will be, perhappes, to flie to the com­mon excuse, and pretend Fortune and Fate, and with their pardon to desire my reprehenders to consider that we are not our own Lords, but are swayed against our inclinations by some superior power, or one of the de­stinies, and are therefore excusable in all things which we either do or speak. But this way of defence is too Vulgar for you, my friend, to allow of; Though I have Homer for my Advocate, and those Verses from him,

No man could ever yet his fate eschew:
Assoone as we are borne fate rules our clue.

[Page 95] Laying aside, therefore, an Apology so unreasonable, if I say, that I was neither inticed by gaine or any such like expectation, to undertake my present attendance, but that meerly out of my admiration of the wisedome, valour, and noblenesse of the person to whom I belong, desired to be imployed in his affaires; I fear least to your former accusation you will think I flatter, and catch me, as they say, driving one naile with another, or a lesser fault with a greater [...] since flattery of all vices is the most servile, and therefore the worst. What remaines, then, if neither of these Defences be allowable, but that I confesse my selfe unable to make any sound defence at all? One An­chor more, perhappes, I have never yet cast, or wet, which is to pretend old age, sicknesse, and beyond both these poverty, vvhich persvvades men for it's avoydance, to do or suffer all things. And here I might seasonably call in Medea in Euripides to my assistance, and vvith a little detorsion make her speak for me in lambicks, and say,

The things I am about to do are ill,
But that my poverty withstands my will.

As for that peece of Theognis, 'tis knovvn vvithout my quotation; vvho saies, They are not to be blamed, who, to avoid poverty, cast themselves into the deep sea, or fall head­long from a steep rock. These are the colours vvhich ano­ther in my case would bring into his Apology; of which not one, I confesse, is specious, or well favoured. But be confident of me, my friend, that I will not make use of one of them. For Argos was never so opprest with fa­mine, as to consult about the ploughing of the sands of A­rabia; Nor am I so utterly unprovided of an answer, as to flee to such poore starting holes, for my defence. Consider, therefore, I pray, the great difference between one hired into a Rich mans family, to serve, and under­goe the drudgeries, set down in my book, and one who [Page 96] receives pension from his Prince to look after publick affaires, and imploies his parts in the service of the state. Consider this, I pray, and weigh these two conditions a­part, and you will find that they differ, as the Musitians say, the whole Gamut: And that there is as much resem­blance between these two courses of life, as between lead and silver, brasse and Gold, wild poppy and a rose, a man and an ape. 'Tis true both receive pay, and are under another; But then there is a vast disproportion in their imployments. The one undergoes a downright servitude, and is no better then a Mercenary houshold Drudg: whereas the other who handles publick mat­ters, and bestowes his Labour upon Citties, and whole nations, is not to be blamed, or to be drawn into resem­blance or made sha [...]er with the other in accusation, be­cause both receive pay. For then all great officers are to be deposed, nor should the Governors of Provinces, Rulers of Citties, and Captaines, or Generalls, of Troops, and Armies, be honourably thought of, because there is a reward set to their imployment. One exception, therefore, ought not to have the force of a generall disgrace; nor are we to place all those who take reward in equall rank. Briefly, I said not in my book, that all that took payment were of a miserable condition, but only pittied those who under the pretence of their Learning were entertained, and enslaved by great Families. My imploy­ment, my friend, is utterly different. For though we be equall in our Domestick dependances, yet abroad I share in Government with the Emperour, and cooperate my part. For, if you mark well, no small portion of the King­dome of Aegypt is under my government: who ordain their formes of Judicature, and impose orders upon the people; and take records of what-ever is done, or spo­ken, and judge of the pleadings of their Lawyers: and not only keep the Decrees of my Prince with all fidelity, after the safest and exactest manner, but deliver them to [Page 97] the people to be a perpetuall rule to their obedience. Nor is my reward private, but from the Prince; nor contem­ptible, but paid by talents. And hereafter if matters hit right, I cherish no vain empty hopes to be made Ruler of some Province, or to have some Princely Imployment cast upon me. I will yet take the liberty to clear my self from the Accusations thrown upon me by a more ample Defence; And dare tell you that No man doth businesse unrewarded, no not those of highest imployment: I will not except Princes themselves. I speak not now of their Customes, and Tributes, which are yearly paid by their Subjects; but of their greater re­wards, their Praises, publick Reverence, and veneration for their good Deeds. As also Statues, Temples, and Al­tars, erected to them by their Subjects: all which are pay­ments for the providence and care, which they sustain in looking after the Publick, and studying the common good. So that if you will compare small things with great, and beginning at the top of the Heap, descend by all the Grains whereof it is composed, you will see, that we below differ from those aloft, but as the lesse from the greater, being all Mercenaries alike. If therefore I had enacted a Law that none should suffer themselves to be Imployed at all, I might very well seem my self a Trans­gressor. But if there be no one such passage in my whole Book, and that it becomes every vertuous man to be im­ployed, how can he better busy himself, then in assisting his friends in the best Imployments, & in giving some clear publick tryall of himself, with what fidelity, care, and sweetnesse, he can discharge those affaires which are put into his hands, lest he fulfill the saying of Homer, and be an unprofitable load to the Earth? Besides, I would have my Reprehenders remember, that when they blame me, they accuse not a wise man, (if yet there be any wise man to be found) but one from among the people, who hath applied himself to learning, and therein attained some lau­dable [Page 98] proficiency, but never was practised to those sub­lime vertues, approachable only to great Schollers. Nor am I sorry for it, since I never yet met with the person, who in all things answered the Character of a Wise man. In the mean time I cannot but marvaile, if you should dis­like my present course of life; who long since know what great gains came in to me, when I was a pleader; at that time when you went to see France, and the Western Ocean, and met with me, who was then reckoned a­mong the most high priced Orators. This Apology, my Friend, have I, amid'st a thousand Imployments, made to you, as one who shall not slightly value your favourable and full acceptance. For as for others, though they all should conspire in their Accusations, my protection shall be the old Proverb; Hippoclides cares not.

The Tyrant-Slayer.

The Argument.

One got into a Fortresse, where a Tyrant lived, with a pur­pose to kill him. But, not finding him, kill'd his Son, and left the sword in his body. The Tyrant coming in, and seeing his Son dead, with the same sword kills himself. He that slew the Son demands the reward of a Tyrant-slayer▪

THough, O ye Judges, I have in one day slain two Tyrants; one aged and feeble, the other young and vigorous, and so the more apt to succeed in his Fathers op­pressions; yet I stand here to demand but one recompence for both. Of all those that ever kill'd Tyrants, I am the first who have freed you from two with one wound, and have slain the Son with my Sword, the Father with his Affection to his Son: who hath made us ample satisfacti­on for those things he hath done, in living to see his Son [Page 99] first murthered, and then (a thing till now strange) forced to be the Tyrant-slayer to himself. His Son dyed by my hand, and being dead, became my Engine to a second Murther: who in his life time partaked with his father in his Injustice, and at his death, as well as he could, became his Parricide. 'Tis I then, who have put an end to his Tyranny; and 'tis my Sword which hath wrought your deliverance. However I inverted the order of my slaugh­ter, and atchieved their murthers an unusuall way; killing him who was the stronger, and ablest to defend himself with my own hand, and leaving my bare sword to di­spatch the other. I expected therefore from you some­thing extraordinary, and that my rewards should in num­ber equall those I have destroyed: seeing I have not only freed you from your present calamities, but from all fears of future, and have establisht you in a firme liberty; there being no heir left of your mischiefs. But on the contrary, after such glorious atchievements, I am not only in dan­ger to be dismissed by you unrewarded, but am the only man who am denyed the recompence designed me by those Laws I have preserved. He, therefore, that with­stands my demand, in my judgment doth it not with re­flection upon the publick, but out of sorrow to those who are slain, and revenge to him who was the author of their death. Afford me therefore your attention, Judges, whilst I decipher to you (though you know them already) the miseries of a Tyranny: for thereby you will both discern the greatnesse of my benefit, and increase your joies from the apprehension of those calamities from whence you are releast. First then, we felt not a single Tyranny (as it many times befalls others) nor were enslaved in a single bondage, nor subjected to the desires of one Master; but of all others, who ever suffer'd the like, in stead of one Tyrant had two over us, and were miserably distracted by severall oppressions. The Father indeed was the more moderate, and hardlier to be [Page 100] enraged, slacker in his punishments, and slower in his lusts; his age having at length mitigated his violence, and cast a bridle on his desires. Nay at the very first, as it was said, he was contrary to his own inclination put upon his unlawfull practices by his Son; being not himself Ty­rannicall, but only in complyance with him: for how extreme dear his Son was to him, appeared by his death. His Son was to him all things; him he obeyed, oppress'd whom he commanded, punisht as he appointed, and ob­served him in all things. In a word, the Son was Ty­rant over the Father, and the Father was but an Officer to his Sons lusts. And though the young man, by reason of his age, let the old enjoy the Honour, and esteemed not the name of the Kingdome; yet he, in truth, was the head▪Tyrant. And though the Father fortified and secu­red his power by him, yet the Son alone enjoyed the fruits of the others Injustice. He it was who ordered the Guard, appointed Garrisons, cut off those who affected the Crown, and feared Conspirators. He it was, who made Eunuchs, violated Wedlocks, and deflowred Vir­gins. All Slaughters, Banishments, Exactions, Torturs, and Injuries, were his bold Contrivances: whilst the old man only obeyed, and countenanced, and applauded the wicked enterprises of his Son. This made our calamities insupportable. For when the desires of the mind are backt by supream power, they admit no limits of Irre­gularity. But that which grieved us most, was, that we foresaw a perpetuall Slavery growing upon us, and the common wealth likely to descend in a succession, from one Master to another, and the people in a direct way to be made the Inheritance of a wicked Tyrant. Whereas it hath been no small comfort to men in our case, to be able to discourse, and say among themselves, This Tyrant will not alwaies live, he will dye in time, and we shall ere long be free: vvhich fell not under our hopes. For vve had in our eyes a Successor in the Tyranny, vvhich made [Page 101] none of our Citizens dare to put in practice my adven­ture, though they were valiant, and had my attempt in their designe, and wishes: But Liberty was despaired of by all, and the Tyranny seemed inexpugnable, though many had inclinations to the enterprize. This daunted me not, nor was I dishearten'd by the difficulty of the Action, nor frighted with the danger. But unassisted, and single, I went against a strong and numerous Ty­ranny; or rather not single, but assisted by my sword, which shared in my slaughter of the Tyrant. Having death before my eyes, and the publick Liberty purcha­sed by my death before my apprehension. First then encountring the outer Guard, and not easily putting the keepers to flight, and killing him that came next, and offered to make resistance, I reacht at length the toppe of my adventure, the only strength of the Tyranny, and the spring head of all our miseries. And rushing into the kee­per of the Castle, after a valiant defence, and resistance of many thrusts, and wounds I slew him. At which instant the Tyranny ceast, and my enterprize had an end. And from that time we recovered our Liberty. No impedi­ment remained but an old, solitary man, unarmed, depri­ved of his Guard, especially of his great Protector, and unworthy to fall by a valiant hand. I, therefore, most equall Judges, made this discourse to my selfe; All things are fallen out succesfully, I have atchieved my enterprize, and accomplish't my designes. But how shall he that survives be slain? He is unworthy of me, or my hand, and if after my other glorious, valiant, and generous ex­ploit, I should kill him, he would shame my victory: we must, therefore, find out some publick executioner for him. But let him be first tortured, least he gaine by his punishment; let him see, and be rackt at the sight of my sword, to which I leave the farther accomplishment of my designe. Having thus consulted with my selfe, I left the place. He, just as I presage, kill'd himselfe, and [Page 102] put an end to the Tragedy. Hither, then, am I come, and have brought a Democracy with me, and do bid you take courage, and proclaime a generall Liberty to all. From henceforth enjoy the benefit of my performances. The Fort you see is dispeopled of Tyrants; There is none left to bare sway. 'Tis in your power now to preferre, sentence, or contradict, according to the Lawes. All which you are to ascribe to me, and my valour, and that one slaughter which the Father could not possibly survive: I cannot, therefore, but in Justice require a reward, answe­rable to my attempt: not that I am covetous of gain, or sordid in my desires, or one who would obliege my country to pay, but because I am willing to confirme by my reward, and not suffer my enterprize to die and passe away ingloriously, as imperfect and unworthy of re­compence. But here my adversary may reply, and say, 'tis not reasonable I should be honoured, or rewarded, who have not slain a Tyrant, nor accomplisht the Lawe, since something is imperfect in my atchievement, which should make me capable of recompence. Let me ask him, what more he can require of me? Was it not my plot? Enter'd I not the Fort? Did I not kill? procured I not your Liberty? Doth any man rule or domineer over you? are you threaten'd by any Master? hath any one of your oppressors escap't me? You cannot gainsay me, but must confesse, that you now enjoy a full peace; your lawes are restored; your liberty is apparent; a Democracy is setled; your marriages are unviolated; your sonnes un­prostituted; your Virgins safe; and the Citty free to cele­brate the publique felicity. And who is the cause, and contriver of all this? who removed your Calamities, and procured your welfare? If there be any who deserves to be honoured before me, I will decline my satisfaction, and resigne to him my reward. But if I alone did all, at­tempted, put my selfe in hazard, scaled the Castle, slew, tormented, and made one the engine to kill the other; [Page 103] why should he detract from my atchievement? or stirre the disaffection of the people against me? But I slew not the Tyrant, and therefore have no right to the reward provided by the law. Tell me, what difference is there between killing him, and being the occasion of his death? Certainly, none at all. Nor was the intention of the Law-maker any other, then meerly to aime at Liberty, popular goverment, and the removall of Usurpers; And thereunto to propose honours, and rewards: which you cannot deny to have been by me atchieved. For I slew him, without whom the other could not live; the slaugh­ter was mine. I gave the wound, he only lent the hand. Question not then overcuriously the manner of his death, nor examine how he died, but whither he be dead, and whither dead by my meanes. Otherwise by your inqui­ries you may detract from one who deserves well of the state, because he slew not the Tyrant with a sword, but with a stone, or a logge, or some other way. What if I had besiedged the Tyrant, and starved him to Death? Had it not been a legall murther, because I slew him not with my own hand? or would you say I had not satisfied the Law, though I slew him a more cruell vvay? The only thing, therefore, you are novv to make enquirie of is this, vvhat usurper is left? What seeds of fear? What impression of Thraldome? If all be clear, and calme, 'tis a peece of envy and detraction in any man, for vvant of one slight circumstance in an Action, to deny vertue, and valour its revvard. I remember the Lavves distinguish (if I have not forgot their vvords through a long bon­dage) of a double cause of Death; if one man kill another vvith his ovvn hand; or if he kill him not himselfe or vvith his ovvn hand, but be the contriver, or occasion of his Death. And hath equally provided a punishment alike for both. Decreeing very justly that in such cases the attempt shall be equall to the Fact; and passing by the manner of the Murther as superfluous. You think fit, [Page 104] then, that he who shall thus kill another, shall be punisht as a manslayer, and not have his pardon: and will you not allow me, who have in like manner saved my country, the rewards agreeable to one of such desertes? You can­not say I slew him unwittingly, and that my successe was fortunate beyond my expectation. For what could daunt me having slaine the stronger? Why did I leave my sword in the wound, but because I presaged what would afterwards come to passe? Unlesse you will say that he who is dead was no Tyrant, nor carried the name of one; and that you would not have awarded me any great re­compence for the exploit, if I had kill'd him. But you cannot say so. A Tyrant, then, being slaine will you not reward the Author, and occasion of his Death? O sub­tlety! Do you possesse your Liberty, and yet question hovv he vvas slaine? Or do you yet require more of him, vvho hath restored your popular government? But the Lavv, say you, enquires precisely vvhat is done, and considers not curiously the manner and means of the Action. But vvhat? shall not he that but expells a Tyrant be revvarded? He ought in Justice, having introduced Freedome instead of Bondage. But my fact is not a bare expulsion, or banishment, nor have I left them any hopes of future recovery, or restitution; But an utter taking a­vvay, and destruction of the vvhole Linage; and an eter­nall extirpation of all our miseries. Examine then, if you please, my whole enterprize from the beginning to the end, and see whither any thing required by the Law have been omitted, and wherein I have come short of being the killer of a Tyrant. First, to such an attempt is requi­red boldnesse of courage, and such an affection to ones Country, as refuseth not to encounter dangers for the com­mon good, or to purchase the publick safety with the losse of a private life. Have I failed hitherto? was I daunted, or did I sluggishly break through the perills, with which I foresaw I was to skirmish? You cannot [Page 105] say I did. Here, then, stay a little and consider, whither barely to intend, and project such an exploit were not glorious; and whither for my meer designe, I may not justly claime the recompence of a good Patriot; or if I had failed of my will, and another comming after me had killd the Tyrant, tell me, had it been unreasonable for you to reward me? or if I should say, My dear Countreymen I purposed, intended, attempted, show'd my good will, and am only worthy to be rewarded; what would you answer? But this is not all I can say; I scaled the Fort, Countreymen, and encircled my selfe with a thousand dangers, before I slew the Prince. For I would not have you think it an easy, or slight adventure, for one man sin­gly to break through a Troop, to vanquish a guard, and to put such a multitude to flight: But to account it the Toppe, and pinnacle of the exploit. For a Tyrant is no hard thing to be encountred, and overcome, but those who guard, and defend the Tyranny; which who so con­quers hath finisht his enterprize, and left little else to be at­chieved. I, then, had never approacht the Tyrants, had I not first vanquish't and overcome their Guards, and at­tendants. Upon which part of my adventure, before I go farther, let me dwell a little. I vanquisht their guards, I say, and overcame their attendants, and left the Tyrant naked, disarmed, and undefended. Am I yet, think you worthy of Honour, or do you require his slaughter too? if you do, I can satisfie your expectation. Behold the Bloud with which I am yet sprinkled, since the valiant, and stout murther of a youth of flourishing age, feared by all, by whom the Tyrant was secured from Treasons, and who was his confidence, and a greater protection to him then his Guards. And am I not yet, think you, worthy of reward, but shall I after all my great Actions, be sent away dishonourably? what if I had slaine but one of his Guard, or an attendant on his person, or some favourite servant? Had it not been a glorious Act to ascend [Page 106] a Fort, and in the midst of a Garrison to kill a near friend of the Tyrants? Consider next him who was slaine. 'Twas the sonne of the Tyrant; or rather the crueller Tyrant of the two; A master more insufferable, to revenge proner, in his injuries more furious; and above all the only heire of his father, and like to prolong our Calami­ties by his succession. Suppose I had only slaine him, and that the Tyrant had saved himselfe by flight. I de­mand a reward for that Action. What say you? will you deny me? was't not he you dreaded? was not he your cruel, intolerable master? If I have not yet done enough, consider the heart and utmost of my exploit; that which my Gainsayer requires of me, I have glori­ously atchieved, and through anothers vvound have slaine the Tyrant; not at one single blovv (vvhich perhaps after so much injustice he could have vvisht) but by a slovv, and lingring griefe, prostrating before his eyes the thing most deare to him, his sonne, I meane, vitious, but in the spring of his age, and flourishing, and, like his father, wallowing in his own bloud, and Gore. These are the right wounds of parents, these the swords of him who would truely kill a Tyrant; And this is the death which cruell Tyrants are to suffer; and this is a revenge fit for so many oppressions. To die presently, as it were in a short swoone, and behold no tormenting spe­ctacle, is a punishment too unworthy of a Tyrant. I was not ignorant, Judges, I was not ignorant, nor any man else, how passionately he was affected towards his sonne, and how he resolved not to survive him a minute. All parents are affectionate to their chil­dren; But he had a stronger and juster reason, having but him only to uphold, and preserve the Tyrannie; To ward, and shield him from conspiracies, and fix the scepter in his hand. 'Twas in my foresight, there­fore, that if his affection did not, his despaire would presently kill him; assone as he consider'd, that having [Page 107] lost his safety with his sonne, he had no encouragement to live longer. In one Troope I presented to his appre­hension his naturall affection, griefe, despaire, feare, and terrors for the future. These were the forces I raised a­gainst him, and drove him to that fatall execution of himselfe. In revenge to you he died childlesse, tortured, lamenting, and shedding teares. His sorrow indeed was not long▪ but enough for a father. But that which is yet most cruell, he fell by his own hand: A death much more miserable, and bitter, then if another had been the author. Here is my sword, who claimes it? whose wea­pon ever was it but mine? who carried it into the fort? who ever used it before the Tyrant? or who sent it to him? O Blade? thou partner, and successor, in my great exploits, after so many perills, and so many slaughters, are we neglected, and held unworthy of reward? should I demand a recompence for my sword only, and should say, Countreymen, when the Tyrant had a mind to kill himselfe, and for the time wanted a weapon, my sword supplied him, and became the instrument of all your Li­berties; you would certainly decide some honour, or re­ward to the Blade. Nay would you not have been thankfull to the master of so publick an instrument, and have enrolled him among those who have been be­nefactors to their Countrey? would you not have laid up my sword in your Temples, and have sacrificed to it as to the Gods? Consider, with me, I pray, what in likelyhood the Tyrant did, or said before he killed him­selfe. After I had stabbed his sonne, and thrust him through with many wounds, in the most open, and re­markeable places of his body, the more to torment his father, with the spectacle, and rack him with the sight, he pittifully cried out and invok't his father, unable to assist, or rescue him, being both old and feeble, and having but just sight enough left to behold the Calamities of his house. I, in the meane time, the contriver of the whole [Page 108] Tragedy, conveyed my selfe away, and left him a woun­ded body, stage, sword, and all things else for the fini­shing of my part. He entring, and seeing his only sonne gasping, and welring in his bloud, strugling with death, having received wounds all over, and many of them mor­tall, fell into this exclamation: O my dear sonne! we are destroyed, butcherd, and slaine as Tyrants. Where is the Murtherer? For whom reserves he me? or what intends he to do with me, who am already slaine in Thee? doth he despise to kill me by reason of my age? or is it to prolong my punishment, and lengthen my death, and spinne out my slaughter? Thus saying, he lookes about for a weapon, (being himselfe unarmed, as still having his sonne for his defence) which was there ready for him, prepared before, and left by me for the en­suing Tragedy. Having drawn forth the sword out of the wound, Thou hast halfe slaine me already, said he, now kill me outright. Be thou the reliefe and succour of a forlorne father; assist my decrepit hand with thy-edge, and stabbe me, whilest I am yet a Prince, and deliver me from my sorrowes. Would I had received thy first stroke, and had died first: Though I had died as a Tyrant, yet I had left a revenger; whereas now I die not only with­out a sonne, but without one to kill me. Having thus said, he stabbed himself, trembling and unable to thrust home; having a desire, but not strength enough for the attempt. How many punishments were here? how many wounds? how many deaths? how many slaughters? how many Garlands due? To Conclude, then, you have all seen the sonne prostrated, and slaine; no small, or easy atchievement. You have seen the fa­ther fallen on his sonne, and mingling blouds together. Both the triumph of my sword, and made one sacrifice to your Liberty, and my Conquest. You have seen my sword lying betwixt them, and approving it selfe wor­thy of me its master, and witnessing how faithfully it [Page 109] dispatcht my businesse: which had been lesse from my hand, and increast its glory from the strangenesse. Lastly, I am he who have removed the Tyranny, though the car­riage and progresse of the atchievement, like so many parts in a Tragedy, were divided among many. The chiefest part [...] acted; the next, the Son; the third, the Father: my Sword was Engine and Servant to us all.

The Dis-inherited Son.

The Argument.

A Dis-inherited Son learnt Physick, and caring his Father of a Phrenzy, after he was given over by other Physitians, was restored to favour. Afterwards being commanded to cure his Step-Mother of the like Phrenzy, and refusing, he is dis-inhe­rited the second time. He defends himself.

THat which my Father hath now done, O ye Judges, is neither new nor strange; nor is this the first time he hath been carried away by his displeasure; but hath heretofore made use of this Law, and is practised in his proceedings against me at this Tribunall. All that is new in my present Misfortune is, that having committed noe offence, fit to be brought into Accusation, I am in danger to be punisht for my Art; because it cannot in all things obey his impossible commands. Then which what can be more unreasonable? For he requires that my Skill should be as great as his Injunctions, and that I should work Cures, not as my Profession is able, but as he is plea­sed to impose. I could, therefore, wish there were not only Receipts in Physick to recover people distracted, but those also who are without cause inclined to passion: that so I might cure my Father of one disease more; who being perfectly freed from one Distraction, is carried by his an­ger [Page 110] into another. And to make my c [...]se the more deplo­rable, he is recovered to every body else; only against me, who recover'd him, he still retains his fury. You see how I am rewarded for my Cure, who am cast off by him, and made a Stranger to his Family the second time. As if he had only restored me for a while, that to my greater in­famy he might often banish me his house. To those cures which fall within the compasse of my skill, I expect not to be commanded; who voluntarily, and unsent for, wrought his recovery: but where the Malady carries de­spair with it, I would not willingly be an undertaker. Of all others I have good reason not to attempt the cure of this woman: considering what I am likely to suffer from my Father, if I miscarry; who, for not daring to adventure upon her, am dis-inherited. I cannot therefore, O ye Judges, but bewaile my Step-Mother in the case she is in; for she was a vertuous woman: next my Father, who suf­fers in her Madnesse; but especially my self, who am thought disobedient, because I cannot effect what I am required, both for the greatnesse of the disease, and the smallnesse of my skill. To be dis-inherited, then, for not undertaking a cure, which I am not able to effect, I hold most unjust: and desire you to judge from these present proceedings, upon what grounds I was cast off hereto­fore. Though I doubt not but for the clearing of them, my Behaviour and life have long since been my Defence. To those things whereof I am now accused, I will answer as well as I can; having first briefly acquainted you with the state of my case. At that time, when my Father ceas'd not to proclaime me for a stubborn, rebellious, disobedi­ent Son, the disgrace of my Parents, and infamy of my house, I thought it best, not to make only a short Defence, but leaving his house, thought my best remedy and appeal would be to my future carriage, and life; when it should appear how free I was form his aspersions, and in what honest studies I imployed my self, and what vertuous com­pany [Page 111] I kept. For I then foresaw, and had it in my suspi­cion, that my Father being of no very sound mind, would at some time or other without my desert grow furious, and hatch false accusations against me. And some there were who construed those proceedings, as the beginning of his Distraction; and judged his causelesse hatred of me, his froward carriage, his meditated railings, hard censures, clamorous fits of anger, and extreme inclination to Chol­ler, as so many threats, and forerunning darts of an ap­proaching Phrenzy. Wherefore I thought it would con­cern me to learn Physick with all speed: and thereupon went to Travell, and acquainting my self with the most approved Physitians of other Countries, with much la­bour and diligent study I learned the Art. At my return I find my Father plainly distracted, and given over by other Physitians, who do not sound, or make any exact judg­ment of diseases. I, therefore, as it became a pious Son, neither remembred my Abdication, nor staid to be sent for; having, indeed, nothing personall to lay to his charge, since his ill dealings with me, were not his own, but the faults of his disease. Offering, therefore, my self, as I said, unsent for, I proceeded not presently to his cure; which had been to depart form my usuall practice, and from the lawes of our Profession, by which we are taught first to examine whither the disease be cureable, or incureable, and exceed the limits of our Art. And then if it be under­takeable, we apply remedies, and imploy our whole stu­dies about the recovery of the Patient. But if we find the Malady too strong, and not to be conquer'd, we forbear to prescribe at all; but observe their ancient Rule, who were the Inventors and Fathers of the Art, who forbid us to medle with overgrowne diseases. Finding, therefore, my Father nor past hope, nor his distemper past cure, ha­ving first weighed all circumstances, I undertook him, and confidently gave him Physick. Many of the standers by suspecting my prescription, spake in disparagement of the [Page 112] cure, and were ready to call me into question: my Step-Mother also was present, fearfull, and distrustfull, not of hate to me, but care to him; whom she perfectly knew so ill disposed, having long converst, and been a witnesse to his Distemper: yet I not at all discouraged (knowing his Symptomes did not lye, and that my Art could not deceive me) at fit times stole a cure into him. Though some, who were my friends, disswaded me from undertaking; lest miscarrying in my attempt, I should draw a fresh ac­cusation upon my selfe, and be thought to have poisoned my Father, in remembrance of my Injuries. In a word, in a short time he recovered, and grew sober again, and had the perfect use of his understanding. His neighbors and friends marvelled, my Step-Mother applauded me, and publickly congratulated, me, for my good successe; him, for his recovery. He also (for so much I can witnesse for him) without any delay, or consultation with any bo­dy, no sooner understood things from those who were present, but cancell'd his Abdication, made me his Son againe, calling me his Preserver and Benefactor? confes­sing he had now received an exact T [...]yall of me, and ex­cusing himself for what had formerly past. This much rejoyced many of the company, those especially who were honest. Though it grieved others, for whom the reje­ction of a Son made more then the Reconcilement: so that all were not a like affected. But I could see some change colour, and appear troubled in their looks, and angry in their countenance, the sure marks of Envy, and discon [...]tent. We in the mean time, as 'twas fit, enterchanged joyes and embraces, being now reconciled to one another. Not long after, O ye Judges, my Mother in law fell sick of a cruell and desperate Distemper. For, as I observed from her first surprize, it was not a slight, or superficiall kind of Madnesse, but an ancient and inveterate, which had long lodged in her soule; and having got the victory, then broke forth, and discover'd it selfe. We have many [Page 113] other signes to know who are incurably madde, but the common one I observed in her, which is this; that to all others she is quiet, and calme, and as long as they are present falls into no ragings: But if she see a Physitian, or but hear his voice, she presently falls a raving at him, which is an infallible signe that she is irrecoverably di­stemper'd. All I could do, was to bemone and pitty her, as it well became me, who without her merit became thus distracted. Yet my father out of his want of skill (for he neither knowes the spring nor cause, nor growth of the distemper) commands me to cure her, and to prescribe her his potion: supposing it to be the same kind of madnesse, and the like disease to his, and a di­straction of the same nature, and the same way cureable. And when I tell him, that which is most true, that 'tis not possible to restore her, and confesse my selfe overmaster'd by the disease; he fumes, and chides, and saies I refuse of purpose, and deny her my help, and so makes the weak­nesse of my Art a Crime. Agreeing herein with all others opprest with sorrow, that they grow angry to hear truth plainly and freely told them. I, then, as vvell as I can, vvill make my defence, and ansvver both for my selfe, and profession: and vvill take my beginning from the Lavv, by vvhich he vvould disinherit me; vvhere it shall appeare, that his povver is not the same as 'tvvas before. For the Lavvgiver, my good father, hath not given this povver to all, nor intended that all sonnes should be dis­inherited, as oft as the father list, or upon vvhat discon­tents he lift. But as he hath allowed parents in some ca­ses to be displeased, so he hath provided that children without their Desert shall not be rejected. And for this reason, he permits not punishments to be Arbitrary, or without judiciall Trials; but hath appointed a Tribunall, and Judges, to determine things without prejudice, or passion. For he saw that many men were many times moved to anger upon unjust grounds: one out of his be­liefe [Page 114] to a false report, another upon the misinformation of a servant, or a malicious wife: He thought it not fit, therefore, that matters should passe without Legall ex­amination, or that children without any defence should presently be condemned; But the houreglasse is set up, reasons are shown, and nothing is left undiscussed. All the power, therefore, which a father hath, is to appeal to you, O ye Judges: The power to Judge whither his complaint be reasonable belonges to you: Consider not then, yet a while, what my crime is, for which my Father is displeased; but consider, first, whither he have authority to disinherit me again, having once cast me off; used the power of the Law; accomplish't the Domi­nion of a parent; and after all this received me into his family, and cancell'd his Abdication. For my part, I can­not but think it most unreasonable, that the punishments of children should be numberlesse, or that their Doomes should be infinite, and their fears perpetuall: Or that the Law should permit parents, sometimes to Cashiere, afterwards to recall their Act, then again put it in force; and so shuffle and tosse the Law up and down as they see occasion. 'Twas fit, indeed, the Law for the first time, should make the parent Lord of his childes punishment, and should give authority to his displeasure. But when the parent hath once spent his authority, and sufficiently used the law for satisfaction of his anger, and hath once again restored his sonne, out of his perswasion of his a­mendment; he ought to be constant to his pacification, and not fall back, or alter his resolutions, or make void his Act. At Nativities, whither he that is born will prove well or ill, I suppose cannot fall under any certain know­ledge. And for that reason 'tis permitted to parents, to cast off those who degenerate from their descent. But when a Father, not constrained, but out of his own au­thority and choice, shall approve, and restore his sonne, what device can he have for his inconstancy, or what far­ther [Page 115] use is there of Lawes? For thus will the Lawma­ker say; If your sonne were vitious, and worthy of re­jection, why did you restore him? why did you receive him again into your house? why did you frustrate the Law? You were free, and Lord of your own Actions. You are not to play with the Lawes, as you list, nor are statutes to vary with your Changes; nor Acts of state to be sometimes of force, sometimes invalid, or Magi­strates to sit as witnesses only, nay as officers of your plea­sure, to punish or absolve at your Discretion. You begat your sonne once, and gave him education once; and, therefore, 'tis once permitted you to reject him, provided you do it upon just reasons. But to assume an endlesse, perpetuall, frequent, and arbitrary power to your selfe, is above the Commission of a father. Wherefore, O ye Judges, be it farre from you to grant, that having made a voluntary reconciliation, and dissolved his first sentence, and made voyde his displeasure, he should have Liberty to revive his past punishment, or have recourse to the Do­minion of a Father, which is longe since expired, unpri­viledged, forcelesse, and spent. Consider, also, the practices of other Courts, where Judges sentence by Lot, which if any man think unjust, the Law allowes him to appeal to another Court. But if any voluntarily assigne their own Judges, and referre their cause to Umpires, 'tis other­wise. For their Decisions, which at first might have been refused, after they are once chosen Arbitrators, are in Justice to be stood to. So you, my father, (in whose choice it was whither you would have restored me, till I had been thought worthy of my Ancestors) out of your beliefe of my reformation, having once restored me, can­not again disinherit me. For by your own Testimony I have been judged unworthy of the like rejection, and acknowledged worthy of your favour. You are not, therefore, to repent of your restitution, but to confirme your reconcilement, after your severall judgments and [Page 116] two sentences: one when you ejected me, the other when you revok't your purpose, and took me again into your Family; Cancelling your former Decrees, and esta­blishing future. Be constant then to your own Acts, and make good your own Ordinances. Since your pur­posed, profest, and oblieged your selfe to be one, be still a Father. Were I not a naturall, but an adopted sonne, I should think 'twere not lawfull for you again to disinherit me. For what was once in your power to do or not do, being once done, is not in your power to be recalled. How can it, then, be reasonable to expell often, or to de­prive a naturall sonne of his relation, having by a volun­tary election and decree calld him back from expulsion? Suppose I were your servant, and you upon your suspicion of some misdemeanors should cast me into [...]etters, and afterwards out of your perswasion of my innocence should make me a free man. Do you think 'twere Lawfull the next time you are displeased to make me a­gaine your servant? Tis not in your power. The Lawes decree that such Acts shall be firme, and for ever inviola­ble. Though, then, I have many reasons to prove that a father having once cast off his sonne, and afterwards re­call'd his rejection, cannot again cast him off, yet what I have said is sufficient. Next, consider, I pray, what kind of sonne he disinherits. I forbeare to tell you, that he did cast of one unletter'd before, but a Physitian now, (for I seek not refuge from my Art;) or that I was then a youth, but am now a grown man, and have given proof that I have done nothing unbeseeming my age. For these would seem slight pleas. For heretofore when I was cast off, as I had committed no offence, so I had deserved no great favour. Now I am expel'd a preserver and bene­factor. And what greater peece of ingratitude can there be, then for one newly saved by my skill, and delivered from a dangerous distemper, to reward his cure with such dealings; and without any reckoning at all to forget his [Page 117] recovery, & to banish him who dutifully obeyed, when he was unjustly cast off; & not only forgot his expulsion, but cured the expeller, & setled him in his right mind again? For 'tis no small or vulgar benefit, O ye Judges, I conferred upon him, yet am thus ill rewarded. And though he were senselesse of his distraction, yet you all know what he did, and suffer'd, and how ill he was affected when I undertook him; and when other Physitians gave him o­ver, and his own Servants fled from, nor durst come near him, I recovered him as you see, and inabled him to ac­cuse me, and discourse of the Laws. Or if you require an Example, My Father, when, not long since, you were just crazed, as your wife is now, I reduced you to your Wits again. 'Tis not equall then, that my Duty should be thus recompenced▪ or that your Recovery should be my Ruine. The greatnesse of my Benefits will clearly appear from those things whereof you accuse me. For if you hate me, because I do not cure your Wi [...]e extremely crazed, and at the point of Expiration, why do you not much rather love me for releasing you of the like Distem­per, and confesse your self obliged for your delivery from such Distractions? But you, against all equity, no sooner come to your self, but presently question me; and are no sooner recover'd, but you fall to your old punishments, re­turn to your former hatred, and proceed by the same law. Is this your fair Requitall of my Skill, or meritorious Re­compence of my Administrations, to recover only for the undoing of your Physitian? Will you permit him, O ye Judges, to punish his Preserver? to expell the Author of his safety? to hate him, who gave him his understan­ding? and to take Revenge of his Recoverer? you will not, if you be Friends to Justice. Had I at this present com­mitted some heinous Offence, yet my former obligations upon him were such, that the memory and apprehension of them ought to have excused me, and have gained his pardon: especially vvhere the benefit is so great, as to be [Page 118] put in Ballance with all after Accidents: as mine was to him whom I saved, and who owes his whole life to me; whose gift it is that he is, is sober, and understands; espe­cially, when all other Physitians despaired of him, and confest themselves too weak for his Cure. And to raise the merit of my benefit yet one story higher, at that time when I was not his Son, and had no necessary tye upon me, but was free, and a stranger, and discharged of my naturall obligation, yet I neglected him not, but came vo­luntarily, unsent for, and of my own accord; succoured, relieved, cured, restored, observed him as my own Father; purged my self from my Abdication, allayed his displea­sure by my application; abrogated the Law by my piety, purchased my readmission into his family by the greatness of my Benefit; declared my Fidelity towards my Father in a time of perill; insinuated my self into him by my Art, and shewed my self a naturall Son in the midst of his ca­lamities. What travailes, and toiles, think you, did I un­dergo, who continually visited, attended, watcht my op­portunities; sometimes giving way to my Fathers ragings, sometimes applying my skill according to the pawses, and intermissions of the disease? 'Tis the hardest and most dangerous part in Physick, to cure, or be neer men so af­fected, who many times as they are inraged by their Fit, discharge their Fury upon the standers by. Yet I, not at all daunted, or affrighted, attended him; and after a long and various conflict with his disease, at last I vanquisht it by Physick. Nor let any man who hears me, presently say, What a great piece of work 'tis to administer a Purge? Many things are first to be done: way is to be made for the Potion, the Body to be prepared for the Reception, and to be carefully ordered; sometimes taken down and macerated, sometimes raised by fit diet; sometimes to be put into gentle motion and exercise; sometimes to be cast into a reposednesse, sleep, and left solitary: to which cour­ses in other diseases the Patient in many times obedient. [Page 119] But men distracted by reason of the liberty of their minds, are unruly, and intractable, dangerous to their Physitian, and obstinate against his prescriptions: whereby, many times, when the Cure is almost finisht, and we are almost Master of our Hopes, some small error gives new force to the distemper, perverts all our former proceedings, sets back the Cure, and defeats our Art. After all these un­dertakings then, after my wrestling with an enragement so dangerous, and my conquest of the most invincible di­sease of all other, will you yet give him power to disin­herit me, and permit him to interpret the Lawes, as he pleases, against his Preserver, and suffer him to make war with Nature? I, out of obedience to Nature, O ye Judges, have cured & saved my Father, when his Injuries were u­pon me. If he, therefore, taking the advantage of the Law, as he saies, ruine a Son so deserving, & cut him off from his Family, he is a Child-hater, I a Lover of my Parent: I fulfill & imbrace the laws of Nature, he breaks & violates them. O Father unjustly displeased! O Son more unjustly obser­vant! for I cannot but, compell'd by my Father, blame my self, that being in his hatred, I love him undeservedly, and beyond his merit. Nature commands Parents to love their Children, more then Children to love their Parents: yet this man wilfully shuts his eyes against the Lawes, which forbid the expulsion of faultlesse children; and con­temns Nature, which hath planted in Parents such strong affection to those whom they beget. For notwithstan­ding I have the greater Title to his affection towards me, yet he neither makes the greater return, nor yet (which is lesse) takes example by me, or imitates the expression of mine to him: but rather (which is the height of calamity) hates me for my affection, expells me for my piety, injures me for my Merits, disinherits me by those Lawes which were made for my relief. O war, where the Lawes are made to combate Nature! Things are not as you suppose, my Father, you misinterpret just Laws, which are not to [Page 120] fight with naturall affection. They conspire, and are of mutuall assistance in their protection from Injuries. In wronging one that deserves well, therefore, you commit an offence, both against Nature, and the Lawes, which of themselves are equall, just, and favourable; but that you draw them from their institution, and arme them a­gainst one Son as against a multitude of Offenders, and presse fresh punishments from them, which are willing to exact no more then the obedience of Children to their Pa­rents; nor were at all made against the Innocent. But, certainly, they allow men to sue others, who are not thank­full to their Benefactors. In stead of thanks, then, to pu­nish for benefits received, is worth your consideration, whether there can be a greater piece of Injustice. By this time, then, I hope 'tis clear, that 'tis not in his power to dis­inherit the second time, who hath once exercised that pow­er, and taken the full advantage of the Law; nor is it rea­sonable to cast off one, to whom he is so much engaged for courtesies; or to deprive him of his family. Let me now proceed to the cause of my expulsion, and examine the quality of my Offence: where 'twill be fit I once more have recourse to the Intention & mind of the Law-maker. Here, should I a while grant it to be in your power to dis­inherit as often as you please; nay should I grant you this authority over me, from whom you have received great Benefits: you cannot simply, and for every light cause pro­ceed to Expulsion. For the Law-maker doth not say upon whatsoever complaint of the Father let the Son be expelled; as if his bare will, or accusation were enough. For then what need were there of your Tribunall? but it bids you, O ye Judges, enquire whether the Fathers dis­pleasure have any weighty, or just ground, or no. And this for the present I desire you to consider. I will begin from what hapned upon his recovery. He no sooner, then, came to himself, but his first act was to cancell his Abdication; acknowledging me for his Preserver, Re­storer, [Page 121] and what not? There was no Offence, I suppose, in all this. Afterwards, what can he complaine of? what respect, or observance of a Son did I omit? when did I ever lye abroad? what unseasonable meetings, or drink­ings can you object? who ever complain'd of my Intem­perance, or quarrell with a Pimp? No body. Now these are the chief disorders for which the Law permits Expul­sion. But my Step-Mother fell sick. Was that my fault? or am I to be punisht for her Phrenzy? No, say you. Why then? Because being commanded to cure her, you re­fused; and therefore deserve to be cast off for your disobe­dience to your Father. Give me leave a while, Judges, to open to you those things wherein I could not obey him, and for which I am undutifull. First, then, let me in short tell you, that the Law allowes him not to enjoyne what he list, nor am I bound in necessity to obey all his Impositions whatsoever. For some Commands may be refused, though others are allowed their punishments. As if my Father should be sick, and I should forsake him; or should commit the businesse of his house to me, and I should neglect it; or enjoyn me to look to his country af­fairs, and I should refuse▪ These, and the like, were just colours and pretences for the complaints of a Father. Other things, concerning their Arts, or the exercise of them, are left to the liberty of the Children, especially where the Parent is not endammaged. If a Father should say to his Son, who is a Painter, Limne this piece, and not that; or being a Musitian, should bid him play one Lesson, and not another; or should say to him being a Carver, Worke me this Statue, and not that; would any man think it fit he should dis-inherit his Son for denying to submit his Art to his Directions? I believe not. By how much then Physick is more honourable, and usefull for the life of men, by so much ought the Professors to be the more free. Since 'tis but Justice, that an Art for its Exercise and use, should be priviledged, and not inforced, or commanded, being [Page 122] a thing sacred, profest by the Gods, and studied by wise men; and therefore not to be prostituted to the Law, and made lyable to the fear and punishment of the Magistrate, much lesse to the pleasure, threats, or anger of an illiterate Parent. If then I had boldly, and openly said to you, I will not cure her, though I can; I have learnt my skill on­ly for my self, and you my Father, to all others I will be unexpert: what Tyrant is so cruell as to force me against my will to use my Art? Offices of skill, if I be not de­ceived, are to be obteined by Courtship, and intreaties, not by Lawes, Quarrellings, and Courts of Justice. A Physitian is to be perswaded, not compell'd; to come vo­luntarily, not to be drawn by terror; nor to be forced to a Cure, but willingly to undertake it. An Art, then, is free from the Authority of a Father, or the payment of Tribute; Common wealths having decreed Honours, Precedencies, Immunity from Taxes, and priviledges to Physitians. Thus might I say in defence of my Art, though you had taught me, or had spent much care, and cost in my study of it; and though this cure were possible, and yet I should refuse it. Consider, then, the Injustice of your dealing, who deny me the liberty, and use of that, which is purely my own. I learnt this Art when I was not your Son, nor subject to your lawes; yet I learnt it for your cure. You were the first, who reap'd benefit by it, though you contributed nothing to the Acquisition. What Tutor had you in pay? what laid you out in Re­ceipts? nothing at all: but poor, and distressed as I was, only by the pitty of my Teachers, I attained my skill. All the allowance I had from you towards my studies, was Sorrow, Solitude, Poverty, Hatred of my Acquaintance, and avoidance of my Kindred. For these good deeds you would have me imploy my skill, and would be Master of that Knowledge which I got when you were not my Master. Let it suffice, that heretofore I have voluntarily and no way obliged, bestead you; when I could not, af­ter [Page 123] I had done, demand so much as Thanks for my pains. 'Tis not fit my Benefit should ever after prove my neces­sity: or because I once befriended you with my Will, you should from thence take occasion to enjoyn me tasks a­gainst it; or that it should be drawn into a custome, that when a Physitian hath wrought one Cure, he should for ever be bound to cure as many as the party cured should enjoyn. For then we should make our Patients our Lords, and enslave our selves, and our reward should be to serve and obey them in all their Commands. Then which, what can be more unequall? Because I recovered you from a dangerous distraction, do you therefore think you have authority of my Skill? Thus might I plead for my selfe, had my Father commanded me something possible, and I had not precisely, and necessarily obey'd him. But now, I pray, consider the nature of his Imposition. Because sayes he you cured me of my Lunacy, and my Wife is ta­ken with the same Distemper, (for so he thinks,) and is given over by other Physitians, as I was; and because you have given a clear Tryall, that you can heal all Infir­mities, cure her also, and ease her of her distraction: which being barely so spoken, especially before a man unlearned, or unskilld in the profession, would sound very reasonable. But if you will give me leave to speak for my Art, I shall desire you to consider that we are not om­nipotent, nor are the natures of all Diseases alike, nor their cure the same; nor have our Prescriptions in all the like powerfull successe. And then the difference will appear between an unwillingnesse to cure, and a disability. Wherefore lend me a while your attentions, whilst I play the Philospher, and present you with a discourse of things, neither unpleasant, fruitlesse, or impertinent to my profession. First then, the Natures and tempers of all Bodies are not the same, though plainly arising from the same elements. But some partake more one element, [...]ome lesse: which I speak with application to the Bodies [Page 124] of men, which are not alike, or the same in all, either in Temper, or Constitution; but differ both in magnitude, and forme. Whence it necessarily falls out, that the diseases bred in them sometimes are slight, and meet their Cures, sometimes are desperate, especially in those bodies which easily take in Infection, and are afterwards as strongly di­stemper'd by it. He, therefore, who thinks all Feavers, or Consumptions, or Ptifficks, or Distractions to be alike in all bodies, is neither of those who are wise, nor discursive, nor experienced in these matters. That which is easily cureable in one, is not so in another. For example, the same Corn sown in severall grounds; in a champion, deep, moist, sunny, windlesse, and well manured field, springs up in a full eare, and yeilds a glad and abundant harvest. But 'tis otherwise in a mountanous, rocky, sunless, h [...]lly country, according to the diversity of Soyles. So diseases, according to the soyles where they are received, prove ei­ther fruitfull, and grow; or wither, and pine. Yet my Father passing all this over without consideration, thinks all di­stractions in all bodies alike, and their cure the same. But for an addition to all, I have yet said, that a womans body differs much from a mans, both for diversity of distemper, and hope or dispaire of Cure is not hard to be known. For the bodies of men are well knit, and sinewy, accustomed to labours, motion, and exercises abroad: but the bodies of women are washy, loose, bred in the shade, pale for want of bloud, scarcity of heat, and superfluity of cold hu­mors; and are therefore more lyable to diseases then men, more impatient of Physick, and more disposed to phren­zies. For having in them much cholerick, light, provoca­tive matter, and small strength of body, they eas [...]ly slide in­to distempers. 'Twere unreasonable, therefore, to require of a Physitian the same Medicine for both, seeing how much they differ from their very births, both in their whole manner of life, all their actions, exercises, and stu­dies. When you speak of madnesse, thefore, adde withall, [Page 125] that 'tis a womans madnesse. And confound not severall distractions under one and the same name; But distin­guish them, as nature hath: and then consider how farre they severally admit cures. We Physitians, as I said before, have first regard to the complexion, and temper of the patient, and do examine what humour he most partakes of; whither he be cold or hot; young, and vigorous, or decayed and acient; of great, or little stature; grosse or slender; and the like: which he that shall exactly consider, is worthy to be credited, either when he despaires of a cure, or undertakes it. For there are numberlesse kinds of phrenzies, springing from numberlesse causes, of diverse compellations. To dote, and to be beside ones selfe, is not the same; And 'tis one thing to rave, 'tis another thing to be crazed. Though all these names be but higher or lower degrees of the same distemper. Besides, men have one cause of their distraction, women another. Again, among men, the cause in young men is different from that in old: their ragings spring most commonly from su [...]fers; the others from their importunate spleen, and frowardnesse, which they many times discharge upon their family; and which first makes them disquiet, then by degrees converts into distraction. But infinite are the distempers in women, which makes them so easily runne madde; Though the chiefe be their extreame hatred, or envy at the successe of their enemy; sometimes griefe, and for the time anger: Any of which, after a long growth, and nourishment, end in madnesse. This, my father, is your wives case; who in likelihood hath con­tracted her phrenzye, from a long sadnesse. For she showes no signes of envy, no not in her fits. And, there­fore, is not to be cured by the skill of any Physitian. If any will undertake, and recover her, my disobedience will deserve your hatred. Though thus much I must tell you, that though her distraction were not quite so despe­rate, but that there were some hope of recovery, yet [Page 126] would I not willingly meddle with her, nor venture to give her Physick; for fear of my successe, and the ill re­ports of people. You see 'tis the generall opinion, that all children are odious to their stepmothers, though ne­ver so good natured; who are thought peculiarly to inhe­rit the distemper common to all women kind: which might breed a suspicion in some, if the disease should prove incurable, and my prescriptions faile, that I jugled, and dealt treacherously in my Administrations. But with your wife, my father, thus stands the case, and I speak from my experience, she will not be better, should she take a thousand purges. 'Twere, therefore, folly to undertake her: unlesse you be earnest with me to loose my labour, and have a mind to pull disgrace upon me. Let me still be the envy of those of my profession. And if you will again expell me, though I be forsaken of all, yet shall there be duty in my wishes. But suppose, (which the Gods forbid) your distraction should return, (for distempers of that nature upon the least provocation grow again,) what am I to do then? You know well I would cure you then also; nor will I ever neglect the obligation imposed upon me by nature, nor forget my Originall, and descent. But whither after you are again recover'd, I may believe your reconciliation, Judge you. In the meane time doing as you do, you invite your di­sease, and refresh your madnesse. You were but yester­day, or the day before recover'd from your distemper, and you now rage againe, raise clamour, and, which is worst, fall into choller, give way to your Hatred, and re­call the Lawes. O, my Father, these were the entrances to your former madnesse.

Alexander, Or the false Prophet.

PErhaps, my dear Celsus, you think you have set me a light, and easy task, when you enjoyn me to send you Alexander of Abonwall, the impostor's life, Trickes, Adventures, and cousenages, written in a book. But he, who shall exactly describe them all, shall find it an enter­prize as hard as to write the deeds of Alexander the sonne of Philippe: the one being as eminent for his villanie, as the other for his valour. Yet upon condition you will read me with pardon, and supply the defects of my nar­ration with your own Additions, I will undertake the work: and will endeavour to purge, if not all, yet as much of Augea's Oxstall, as I can, by carrying forth some few Baskets full of filth; that from thence you may guesse how great and unmeasurable the Dung was, which three thousand Oxen were able to make in so many years. Though I cannot, in the mean time, but blush both for you and my selfe. For you, who think fit a person so wicked should be committed to memory, and writing: For my selfe, for imploying my labour in the History and Actions of a fellow not worthy to be read by Schollars, but to be seen in some populous and ample Theatre dis­membred by Apes, and Foxes. Yet if any shall accuse us, we can defend our selves by example. For Arrianus, Epictetus Schollar, a man much reverenced at Rome, who spent his whole life in study, shall in like case be our A­pology. For he refused not to write the life of Tilliborus the Thiefe. But I am to speake of a Thiefe much more famous, and cruell: who robbed not in woods, or moun­tains, but in Cities; nor made Mynia only, or Ida his walk, or beset some few wild places of Asia, but (as I may so say) overspread the whole Romane Empire with his Rob­beries. First, then, I will give you a draught of his person, and dravv his picture to you as vvell as I can; though I be [Page 128] no very skilfull Painter. For his Bodily character, he vvas tall of stature, vvell set, of a goodly aspect, and, to say truth, of a Divine presence: vvhite of Complexion, his Beard not thick: his Hair partly native, partly artificiall, but so resembling the naturall, that many took it for his ovvn. His eyes sparkling, and expressing a Divine pos­session, or rapture: his voice svveet, and clear. In a vvord, for his Lineaments, Shape, and Figure, he vvas every vvay faultlesse: but for his Soule and Mind, Let me, O Hercules, thou expeller of mischiefs, and thou, O Iu­piter, preventer of sad Accidents, and Castor and Pollux, ye Tvvin-Protectors frō Shipvvrack, rather fall into the hands of Enemies, then have to do vvith him. For in vvit, pro­jects, and sharpnesse, he exceeded all others: he had curio­sity, quickness of apprehensiō, memory, & aptness to all the Sciences in excesse. All vvich he imployed to the vvorst; & furnish'd vvith those naturall helps, quickly became the Top of all the famous Rogues that ever vvere, & excell [...]d the Cercopians, Euribatus, Phrynondas, Aristodemus, and So [...]stratus. For vvriting upon a time to his Son in lavv Rutili­anus, his modestest expression vvas the comparing of himself vvith Pythagoras. Nay with Pythagoras, pardon, though he vvere a vvise man, and of a Divine understand­ing, had he lived till novv, he had (I believe) been thought but a Child to him: vvhich I desire you not to take as spo­ken in disparagement of Pythagoras, as if I compared them together for the resemblance of their Actions. But let any man summe, and compute the vvorst, and most reproach­full things vvhich passe in slander of Pythagoras (to vvhich I cannot give any credit as Truths) they vvill not make the least part of Alexander's Impostures. For you are to present him to your Imagination as one; the temper of vvhose Soule vvas various, compounded of Lyes, De­ceits, Perjuries, and Juglings; active, daring, flexible, in­dustrious to pursue projects, persvvasive, apt to gaine beliefe, and to act vertue, and to professe that vvhich he had [Page 129] least in designe. No man, therefore, but at first acquain­tance departed with this opinion of him, that he was of all men the most excellent, just, severe, and farthest from Tricks. Then his aimes were alwaies high, not petty, or poor, and his mind alwaies bent to great enterprizes. When he was yet a Boy, being, as I have heard, and as far as I can judge of the Springe by the Stubble, of very beautifull lineaments, he prostituted, and let himself out to as many as would hire him. Among others, he was entertained by one of those Impostors, who professe Ma­gick, and Inchantments, the Art to provoke Love, be­witch Enemies, find Treasures, and obtein Inheritances, who, perceiving him Toward, and apt to act a part in his Imployments, and as much enamoured of his devices, as he was of his Feature, taught him his Art; and from that time used him as his Officer, Prentice, and Servant. His profession in publick was Physick, having learnt of Thoon the Egyptian's Wife, many Receipts to cure, many to kill, all which he afterwards bequeathed to the other as his Heir. This enamoured Doctor was by birth a Cappadocian, and one of those who accompanied, and converst with Apollonius Tyaneus, through all the passages of his Tragedy. You see, then, what man I describe to you, for his School, and Company. After his Masters death, Alexander, whose Beard was now grown, being reduced to great poverty, and unable by his handsome shape, which now began to wither, to maintaine him­self, betook himself to no small designes: but joyning ac­quaintance with a certaine Byzantine Chronographer, (naturally the greatest Impostor that ever yet entred upon the course) whose name, if I be not deceived, was Coc­conas, went about with him, practising Cheats, and flee­cing Grosse men; for so do these Juglers in their Canting language call the Vulgar. Among the rest, lighting upon one Macetis a rich woman, well stricken in years, yet de­sirous to be thought lovely, they pickt a maintenance [Page 130] from her, and attended her from Bithynia into Macedonia. For she dwelt at Pella, a flourishing Country under the Macedonian Kings, now inhabited only by a few obscure Villagers. Here beholding Dragons of a wonderfull greatnesse, and yet so gentle, and tame, that they were fed by women, lay with Children, sufferd themselves to be trod, and crush'd without reluctancy, and like Infants suck'd milk from the Brest, (for many such there are in that country, from whence in likelyhood sprung the fable, that when Olympias conceived Alexander, she had copula­tion with a Dragon) they for a small summe bought one of the fairest; And, in the expression of Thucidides, From hence began the war. For these two most wicked, adventrous men, and prepared for any mischievous at­tempt, entring into Conspiracy, easily perceived that the two great Tyrants over the life of man were Hope, and Fear. And that he that could imploy them to advantage, might suddenly grow rich. For they savv, that both to him vvho vvas troubled vvith Fear, and him vvho nou­risht Hopes, Prophecie, and Presage, vvas most necessa­ry, and desireable. Thus Delphos anciently increased its riches vvith its fame. Thus Delos also, and Claros, and the Priests of Apollo grevv vvealthy; men being dravvn to their Temples by the forementioned Tyrants, Hope, and Fear, vvith desires to foreknovv future events; for vvhich they sacrificed Hecatombes, and offered golden plates. Having vvell discours'd, and tost the Plot, they resolved to erect an Oracle; confident, that if their designe pros­pered, they should in short time enrich, and make them­selves happy: vvhose successe vvas aftervvards far greater then they at first expected, and indeed beyond their hope. Their next consultation, therefore, vvas, vvhere they should lay their Scene, and hovv they should begin their enterprise. Cocconas thought Chalcedon to be the fittest place; being a country of Merchants, and bordering upon Thrace, and Bithynia, and not far from Asia, and Galatia, [Page 131] and other neighbouring people. But Alexander rather preferr'd his own country: affirming (as the truth was) that the first broaching of such an Adventure required dull, simple men, and easie of entertainment: such as are the Paphlagonians, who dwell at Abonwall, who for the most part are superstitious, and grosse, that if but a Sive-pro­phet appear among them, with a Fidler, Trumpetter, or one that plaies on a Cymball in his company, they present­ly flock together, and gape at him, and admire him, like some Divine person dropt from Heaven. ‘After some con­troversie, at last Alexander overcame: yet to Chalcedon they went (a City, as they thought, conducible to such a de­signe) where, in Apollo's old Temple they buried some brazen Meddals, which prophesied, that ‘ere long Aescu­lapius, and his Father Apollo should come into Pontus,and dwell at Abonwall. These Meddals thus purpose­ly found, presently cast a rumor throughout all Bythinia, and Pontus, but especially among the people of Abonwall; who presently decreed to build a Temple, and began to lay the foundation. Cocconas was left at Chalcedon, where he wrote ambiguous, doubtfull, crosse Oracles: and shortly after dyed of the sting of a Serpent. Whereupon Alexander was sent for, who came in curl'd haire, clad in a changeable Cassock of Purple, and white; over which was cast a white Ephod, holding a Sickle, like Perseus, from whom he derived himselfe by the Mothers side. The stupid Paphlagonians in the meane time, though they knew both his Parents to be of obscure and base quality, yet gave credit to an Oracle which said,

Phoebus friend, Podalirius bloud you see,
One who from Perseus draws his Pedigree.

This Podalirius was naturally so lecherous, and given to women, that he was enticed by Alexander's mother from Tricca into Paphlagonia. There was another Oracle, as if written by some Sybill, foretelling, [Page 132]

That neere Sinope, on the Euxine sand,
Not farre from Tyrsis should a Prophet land,
Whose medicinall name should these foure numbers hold,
One, thrice ten, five, and twenty three times told.

A while after Alexander, with his puppet-play, in great bravery, and pomp, arrived in his owne Country; where he sometimes counterfeited him selfe possest, and foamed at mouth; which was easie for him to doe, having first chewed sope weed roote, with which wooll is scoured. His foaming shew'd to the spectators both divine, and terrible. Before his arrivall he made a linnen head to his Dragon, visaged like a Man, and painted like one, which open'd, and shut the mouth, with horse haire: having also, like other Dragons, a blacke forked tongue, which was also stir'd, and moved by haire. This Dragon he had in readinesse, and fed secretly, with a purpose, when he saw occasion, to produce him; and to assigne him his part in the play; or rather to make him the chiefe Actor. When 'twas almost time to begin, he contrived this plot: com­ming by night to the foundation of the Temple newly digged, where stood water, either risen from some spring, or fallen in some shower, and bringing with him a hol­low goose egge, which held a little serpent, newly hatcht, he sanke and buried it in the mudde, and so de­parted. Next morning running naked into the market­place, with only a golden towell about his soynes, carry­ing also his sickle in his hand, and shaking his loose bayre, like one possest by the mother of the Gods, he got upon an Altar, and proclaimed the happinesse of the Citty, which was presently to discover the foretold Dei­ty. The spectators, which were all the men, women, and children of the Citty drawne together, were amazed, fell to their prayers, and adored him, whilest he uttering some unsignificant words, in Hebrew perhaps, or the Phoenician Language, much more astonisht them who [Page 133] understood nothing he said, but onely that he often named Apollo, and Aesculapius. From hence he distractedly ran to the newly begun Temple, and to the pitt, and spring, digged there to lay the foundation; and descending into the water, in a lowd voyce, sung the praises of Apollo, and Aesculapius, and invited the God to enter with good for­tune into the Citty. Demanding also a shovell, which was reacht him, he no sooner dipt it in the water, but brought up wrapt in water, and mud together, the egge, which inclosed the God; indiscernably stopt, and cemen­ted with white waxe, and chalke, which taking in his hand,, now, quoth he; I will show you Aesculapius. They stupidly wondred, what would be the event, and much admired the egge found in the water. Till he brea­king it in the hollow of his hand, tooke out the young snake. Which when they saw stirre, and ros [...] it selfe a­bout his fingers, they presently gave a great shout, and saluted it as a God, and congratulated the good fortune of the Citty: every one also conceiving a petition, and prayed to him for wealth, riches, health, and the like. He speedily ran home againe, carrying w [...]h him his new hatcht Aesculapius, borne now the second time, whereas men are borne but once. Hatcht, I say, not by some Coro­nis, or Daw (which was his mothers name) but by some Goose. All the people followed, divinely inspired, and distracted with their hopes. He for some dayes kept at home, hoping as indeed it came to passe) the same would draw great confluence of Paphlagonians. When the Citty began to be filled with people, voyd both of understan­ding, and braines, and no way resembling men who lived by bread, nor differing at all from beasts, but onely in shape; he, sitting in a little roome, upon a Couch, attired like a Priest, held his Pellaean Aesculapius in his bosome; which was, as I said before, of a faire, and goodly mag­nitude. For winding him sometimes about his necke (which he patiently suffer'd) and letting onely his tayle [Page 134] hang downe, and hiding his head under his arme, he trayled upon the ground: sometimes from under another part of his Cassock, he would let the linnen head peep out, which was verily thought to be the Serpent's. For you are to fancie the house where he made his presentments, nei­ther stately, nor over lightsome: then the presse of people, which thronged to see him, squeezing and crowding one another, and anticipating the show with their asto­nishment. For comming with rais'd expectations, it must needs seem a miracle to them, to see a little, small serpent, in a few dayes become a great Dragon; faced like a man, and withall so gentle. No spectators stay'd long, but be­fore they had an exact view, were thrust out by new commers, who continually resorted. Just against the doore, where they entred, stood open another doore, to let them out. In imitation of the course practiced by the Macedonians, when Alexander lay sick, and ready to dye, and great troops prest into the Pallace to see him, and take their last farewell. 'Tis reported of this Cheater, that he many times made these presentments, especially to strangers which were rich. And to say truth, my deare Celsus, you are to pardon those dull unletter'd Paphlagoni­ans, if they were cousen'd when they touch't the Dragon, (which Alexander permitted to as many as would) and saw a head by a false doubtfull light, so artificially open­ing and shutting the mouth, that ▪twould require a Demo­critus or Epicurus, or Metrodorus, or some other of a hard, flinty faith towards such things, not to believe, or to make a true conjecture of what he saw. And if he could not find out the mystery, yet to come with a perswasion that the wayes, and secrets of the Imposture, were above his discovery, though all he saw were a Delusion, and Im­possible to be done. In short time, Bithynia, Galatia, and Thrace were drawne to the spectacle, upon the report of those who confidently affirmed, they saw the God newly hatch't, and touch't him after he was in few [Page 135] dayes growne very great, and that he had the face of a man: Pictures also, and Images, and Statues were taken of him, some carved in Silver, others in Brasse. At last they gave him a name, and call'd him Glycon, warn'd in a verse by a divine Oracle, thus utter'd by Alexander,

I Glycon am from Jove Third, Mortalls light.

It now began to be time (which was the great hinge of the Plott) that he was to give Oraculous answers, and to Prophecy. Alexander, therefore, taking his pattern from Antilochus in Cilicia, who after the death of his father Amphiaraus at Thebes, being banish't his Countrey, went into Cilicia, where he lost not by his change, but prophe­cyed to the Cilicians, and tooke monyes for his predicti­ons. Taking I say, his coppy from him, he told all com­mers that his God would shortly give Oracles, and assign­ed a day, bidding every one write, what they had a de­sire to learne, or know in a little booke, and to winde it about with thred, and seale it with wax, clay, or the like: And that he taking the bookes, and presenting them be­fore the Tripod, (for by this time an Oracle was built, and a Curtaine hung up) would call them in order by a Cryer, or Priest, and as he was instructed by his Deity, would restore to every man his scrowle, sealed, as it was, with an exact answer subscribed by his God, to every pet [...]tion. Which Device, to such a man as you, or (with­out ostentation) as I am, were palpable, and easy to be found out, but appeared to blunt men, and as they say, to such as blew not their noses, a very prodigie, and wonder. For having invented severall wayes to open the Seales, he read the contents, and framing agreeable answers, bound up the papers againe, and returned them sealed, to the great admiration of the receivers: who thus reason­ed with themselves. How could he know what I gave him, lockt under seales so impossible to be counterfeited, if he were not a God, who knowes all things? You will aske mee now what art he used. 'Tis worth your hea­ring, [Page 136] that you may be instructed against such juglings. His first way, my deare Celsus, was to heat a needle, with which melting the waxe under it he tooke off the seale; and having read the inside, with the same needle melted the waxe which was upon the outside of the thred, and clapt on the seale againe entire. His next way was by Collyrium, a thing Compounded of Berytian pitch, lime, specular stone pounded, waxe, and masticke; which he warming at the fire, and applying to the seale, first an­nointed with tallow, brought away the impression; and as soone as it was cold and hard, having nearly open'd the paper, and read it, applying his stamp to fresh waxe, gave it a print, as it were, with a stone seale, exactly re­sembling the Originall. His third device was, to mingle chalke, with the ordinary glue, with which letters are sealed; which he wrought into a waxe, and applying it soft to the print, presently tooke it off; which aftervvards grovving as hard as horne or Iron, he used for a seale. Many other contrivances he had, vvhich I cannot stand to report, lest I seeme tedious; especially since you in your Commentaries concerning Magicians, vvhich are excellent usefull, and able to make their Readers vvife, have delivered many more passages of this nature. O­racles, then, he gave and Divinations; vvhich vvith great Art, and Subtlety he still drest in probable colours. Giving to some Questions Oblique, and intricate ansvvers. To others, ansvvers darke and unintelligible. A course, as he thought, most suitable to an Oracle: some he fright­ed, and encouraged others, as he found it made for his pro­fit. To some he prescribed Medecines, and dyets, being (as I said before) variously skill'd in receipts. Among vvhich he chiefly extold Cytmides, vvhich is the fayn'd name of a playster made of Beares grease. The ansvver to hopes, successes, and successions in Inheritances, he still put off to another time; Adding though, that they should accomplish their expectations, vvhen he thought [Page 137] fit, and when his Priest Alexander should pray or petition for them. The rate set upon every Oracle was a Drachme & two pence: which you are not, my friend, to call a small gaine, rising yearly to 70. or 80. thousand Drachmes. Some men out of their greedinesse, and thirst of satisfa­ction, paying for ten, some for fifteen Answers. What he received he kept not wholly to himselfe, or treasured up, but maintained many associates, and servants, some were emissaries, some projected Oracles; some subscribed An­swers; some made and applyed the Seales; some inter­preted; all were more or lesse sharers according to their place, or imployment. His Emissaries he sent into farre Countries, who did spread the fame of the Oracle among the Nations; and reported that he foretold future events, recall'd fugitive servants, discover'd Theeves, and Rob­bers, revealed where treasures were to be digg [...]d, cured all diseases; and raised some from the dead. Whereupon followed great resort, and confluence from all parts; Sa­crifices were offer'd, and double presents made to the Priest, and Disciple of the God. For now an Oracle to this purpose was divulged:

Honour my Priest and Servant, I you charge;
Gayne I despise, yet let his gaynes be large.

At length, when many recovering their wits from a deep intoxication, conspired against him, especially those who were of Epicurus sect, and the whole cheat and pa­geant by little and little began to be open'd, he threatned them with terrible misfortunes; and sayd, that Pontus was now overspread with Atheists, and Christians, vvho vvere not afraid to speake blasphemies of him, charging those, vvho came to consult him, as they expected the fa­vour of the God, to drive them avvay vvith stones. Upon Epicurus himselfe he past this Oracle, vvhen one enquired vvhat he did in Hell; He sits in mire (said he) in leaden [Page 138] fetters chained. Can you yet vvonder at the spreading of the Oracle, vvhen you heare vvhat sage and learned enquiries vvere put up? His quarrell to Epicurus vvas ir­reconcileable, and not vvithout cause. For vvith vvhom in reason should a Jugler, Friend to Monsters, and enemy to truth, make vvarre, but vvith Epicurus, a man perfectly studied in the nature of things, and alone able to distin­guish vvhat vvas truth in them? The follovvers of Plato, Chrysippus, and Pythagoras, he counted his friends, and vvas in deep, peace vvith them. Onely intractable Epicurus (as he call'd him) vvas perfectly in his hatred: and good rea­son; For he vvould have converted those things into laughter, and sport. Of all the Citties of Pontus, therefore, he most hated Amastris, because he heard those vvho came vvith Lepidus, and many others of the like-breeding li­ved ther [...]: vvhich vvas the reason vvhy he never gave Oracle to any that came from thence. But endeavour­ing upon a time to give an Oracle to the Proconsul's brother, he vvas ridiculously disappointed, neither able to invent a fit one himselfe, nor any for the present to compose one for him. For intending to bid him, for the cure of a paine in his stomacke, eat a hogges foot drest vvith Mallovves, he thus utter'd the prescription;

Take Malwickes in [...] di [...]ine hogge Syrrupe steept. Ma­ny times (as I said before) he shovv'd his Dragon to those vvho desired the sight; not all, but his tayle, and some more of his body: still keeping his head in his bosome invisible. And that he might the more astonish the mul­titude, he promised they shoud heare his God speake, and give Oraales vvithout an Interpreter. For that purpose vvithout much difficulty, he so order'd the vvind-pipe of a Crane, that being dravvne through the Artificiall head, another stood behind the curtaine, and speaking through the Artery, gave ansvvers to the Questions; conveying the voyce through the linnen Aesculapius. These vvere call'd Selfe-Oracles, and vvere not spoken to all promiscu­ously, [Page 139] but onely to those who were rich, bravely clad, and offer'd well. The answer which Severianus received concerning his expedition into Armenia was a selfe-Oracle, who was encouraged to make an Invasion after this manner,

Thou Medes, and Parthians, with quick war shalt waste,
Then back to Rome, and Tybers streams shalt haste,
Wearing a Chaplet, which bright beames shalt cast.

Vpon which perswasion, after the studpid Gaule had made an incursion, and was with his army slaine by Othryades, that Oracle was dasht out of the Catalogue, and this other insetted;

Make no warre with Armenians, 'Tis best,
Lest a man, in a womans garments drest,
Thee with his bow, of life and light devest.

His plot herein was by after Oracles craftily to heale the former which miscarryed. For many times a little before their death he promised recovery to sick persons; Af­ter whose deaths he had this recanting Oracle in readi­nesse;

Henceforth aske no cure for thy helplesse paine,
Death is at hand, to thinke to scape is vaine.

Learning by intelligence that some at Claros, Didymae, and Male, were famous for such divinations, he made friendship with them, and sent many thither, saying;

To Claros goe, and heare my Fathers voyce.

Againe,

At Male Amphilochus shall you resolve.

Thus much of the Scene lay within his owne Coasts, though in it Ionia, Cilicia, Paphlagonia, and Galatia had parts. But when the fame of the Oracle once pierced Ita­ly, [Page 140] and arrived at Rome, every one strived to be first. Some presently went in person, others sent; especially Senators, and such as bore great offices in the State. The first of note, and reputation, was Rutilianus, a man otherwise honest, and prudent, and approved in many Romane battles for his valour: but indiscreetly superstitious towards the Gods; of whom he had taken in such improbable perswasions, that wheresoever he saw a stone anointed, or crowned, he fell downe, and worshipt, and made long prayers to it, and petitioned for good fortune. He, therefore, hear­ing what was reported of this Oracle, almost resolved to leave his Army, and make a voyage to Abonwall. But however sent thither messengers after messengers. They who were sent, being servants of small capacity, and easi­ly deceived, at their returne reported what they had seene; and some things which they feyned to have seene, and heard; much enlarging their relation, the more to endear themselves to their Master. Much was the unfortunate old man enflamed, and cast into a violent phrenzy, who go­ing about to all his friends (of which he had store, and powerfull) told what he heard from his messengers, be­sides some additions of his owne. The report presently fill'd, and astonish't the Citty; especially many of the Court, who presently sent to be instructed in their affaires Alexander received the messengers very affably; and re­turned them with presents, and gifts of great value: who not onely reported their answers, but sung the prayses of the God; telling prodigious lyes, both of him and his Oracles. One plot he had in ordinary practise, too inge­nious, and subtle for a vulgar Cheater: which was to open the Tickets which were sent, and if, in the reading, he found any thing unsafe, or dangerous, he kept, and ne­ver restored them, with a purpose to keep the Inquirers obnoxious, and to awe them with their owne feares, when they reflected upon their enquiries. Foreseeing that men of great riches, and quality, would aske the most [Page 141] dangerous questions. From these, therefore, he exacted great rewards, knowing themselves caught in his net. I will repeat to you some of the Oracles he gave to Ruti­lianus, who consulting the Oracle what Tutor he should choose for the education of his sonne by his first wife, who was now growne ripe for the Arts, was thus an­swered;

Pythagoras, and he who Battles sings.

A few dayes after the child dyed; and he was much troubled to defend himselfe to those who accused him of an Oracle so apparently confuted. But Rutilianus being a religious man, prevented him, and excused the Oracle; Interpreting the meaning of the God to be, that no living Tutor should be chosen, but Homer, and Pythagoras, long since dead, with whom his sonne in hell probably held conversation: and who now can blame Alexander for cheating such men? Inquiring another time whose soule he possest; 'Twas replyed:

First thou Achilles, then Menander wast,
Next thy selfe; shalt a Sun-beame be at last;
An hundred fourescore summers once being past.

But he died of Melancholy at threescore and ten, and tar­ryed not for the promise of the God; though this were a selfe Oracle. Another time enquiring about his marri­age, he received this answer:

VVed Alexanders daughter borne o'th' Moone.

For there went a stale report, that the daughter he had was begotten of the Moone, who grew enamoured of him, as he lay asleepe. A thing usuall with her to love beautifull men in their slumbers. Rutilianus, like a wise man, presently sent to the wench, and proceeded to a wedding, though he was a Sexagenary Bridegroome, [Page 142] bedded her, and sacrificed whole Hecatombes to the Moone his Mother-in-Law. Reckoning himselfe now among the Gods. Alexander, in the mean time, ha­ving intelligence how the report tooke in Italy, applyed his mind to greater matters: and dispersed Emissaries through all the Romane Empire; who scatterd Oracles; forewarning Citties to take heed of Plagues, Combusti­ons, and Earth-quakes: For the eversion whereof he pro­mised infallible remedies. In the time of Pestilence, the Oracle he sent to all Nations, which was a selfe-one, was comprehended in this one verse;

Phoebus th' unshorne infectious clouds expells.

Which was every where written upon doores, as a charme against the Plague. But the successe was contrary. For it happened that those houses which had the Inscription were most depopulated: which I bring not into obser­vation, as if the verse encreased the Infection, but so it fell out by chance; and many, it may be, relying on the Charme, were carelesse and negligent of their dyet, using no remedies against the Plague, but th [...] Oracle; but thought the Syllables would protect them, and unshorne Apollo with his dart would dispell the Contagion. At Rome he had many Spyes, who were of the conspiracy, who certified him of every mans purposes, what doubts, and enquiries they would propose, and what resolutions they desired: which, before they came, gave him time to provide Answers. And these were his plots upon the Italians. Lastly, he instituted certaine ceremonies and rites, especially the carriage of Tapers in solemne proces­sion for three dayes successively. The first day, in Imitati­on of the Athenians, was made this proclamation; If any Atheist, or Christian or Epicurean, become as a Spye to these solemnities, let him depart: But let such as reverence the Gods be initiated in our mysteries: whereupon divi­sion [Page 143] was presently made; And Alexander in front cryed out, away with the Christians, and the whole multitude in a lowd Acclamation ecchoing him, cryed, Away with the Epicureans. Then was Acted Latona's Delivery, and A­pollo's Birth; then his mariage with Coronis, and the birth of Aesculapius. The second day was Acted Glycons Epi­phany, and Birth. The third day Podalirius mariage with Alexander's mother; whose name was Dadis; and the Tapers were then lighted; the whole Solemnity ended with the Moone's and Alexander's love, and the nativity of Rutilianus Bride. In which Alexander's part was to hold a Torch, and, like another Endymion, to personate himselfe asleep; Then from the roofe, as from her orbe, descended to him one Rutilia, representing the Moone; A beautifull woman, and wife to a great Officer about Caesar, who courted Alexander, and was courted by him againe; openly, and before her besotted husband's eyes exchanging kisses, and embraces; and had the Tapers been away had perchance acted out the whole part. Af­ter this, putting on his properties of a Priest, in deepe si­lence he enter'd, and then sang in a loud voyce, lô Glycon. To which many Paphlagonians, well throated, who fol­lowed him, in high shooes, and stunk of Garlicke, reply­ed, lô Alexander. Many times, as he danced in Processi­on, his Cassock of purple flew open, and revealed a gol­den thigh; covered, I believe, with some gilt skinne, which glitter'd against the Torches: which raised a great dispute between two foolishly wise, whether he were informed by Pythagoras soule, since he had a golden thigh, or by a soule like his. The doubt was brought to Alexander, and was thus decided by Prince Glycon;

Pythagoras soule felt often Transmigration;
But my Priests soule had sacred generation,
Dropt by my father for mens preservation.

[Page 144]Againe:

Soules, from Jove's lightning cast, returne to Jove.

He used to forbid the unnaturall use of Boyes as a hey­nous sinne; though his prohibition were attended with this plot. He commanded the Citties of Pontus, and Pa­phlagonia, every third yeare to dedicate so many of their sonnes to his God, to sing his praises; and those to be ap­proved and selected by him, of noble birth, delicate age, and beautifull feature. Which hee keeping in a kind of Seraglio, like so many bought Captives, variously abu­sed, and prostituted to his lust. He made a Law, also, that none above the age of eighteene, should touch his mouth, or salute him with a kisse. To such, therefore, he onely vouchsafed his hand, reserving his lips only for those who were handsome: who from thence were cal­led the admitted within the kisse. In this manner he cousen'd simple people, corrupted their wives, and pro­stituted their children: who accounted it a great mat­ter, and much to be wisht, if he would cast a glance up­on their wives. But if he would vouchsafe them a kisse, they thought deluges of good fortune would flow into their houses. Some there were who bragg'd they had conceived by him, which was confirm'd by the testimo­ny of their husbands. I will report to you a Dialogue which past between Glycon, and a Tyanean Priest, whose wisdome you may perceive by his Questions. I read it in golden letters in the Priests house at Tion. Tell me, sayd he, Prince Glycon, who art thou? I am, answered he, the lesser Aesculapius. Distinguisht from the former? Speake 'Tis not lawfull for thee to know. How many yeares wilt thou stay among us, and give Oracles? A thousand and three. Whither wilt thou goe then? To Bactra, and the Regions about it. For 'tis fit the Barbarians should should enjoy my presence. Have the Divinations at Di­dymae, Clare and Delphos, Apollo for their Author, or are they [Page 145] false, counterfet Oracles? 'Tis not lawfull for thee to know. What shall I be after this life? First a Camell, then a Horse, then a wise man, and a Prophet equall to Ale­xander. This was the Dialogue between Glycon and the Priest: whom at last, knowing him to be a friend to Le­pidus, he sent away with this Oracle wrapt up in this verse,

Believe not Lepidus, his fates are dire.

For (as I said before) he much feared Epicurus, as an An­ti-plotter, and Anti-juggler to his cheats. A certaine Epi­curean, therefore, not a little endanger'd himselfe for con­futing him in a publique Assembly: where setting upon him in a loud voyce, he said, Thou Alexander didst per­swade a Paphlagonian to accuse his servants before the Pre­fect of Galatia, for the suspected murther of his son, who went to schoole at Alexandria; yet the young man lives, and is safely come home, but the servants are executed, and by this meanes have bin cast to wild beastes. The oc­casion was this. The youth, sayling a good way up into Aegypt against streame, was perswaded from thence to sayle on to India. After a long stay, his unfortunate ser­vants supposing him either drowned in the Nile, or slain by theeves, (of which there was then store) returned home, and reported he was lost; whereupon the O­racle was consulted, and they condemned: presently af­ter return'd the youth, and reported his voyage. He had scarce done speaking, but Alexander, much provok't by his confutation, and unable to heare truth longer, com­manded the multitude to stone him, as they meant to a­voyd the wicked name of Atheists, and Epicureans: which they presently attempted. But one Demostratus, who so­journed in Pontus, interposed himselfe, and rescued him from Lapidation; who had else bin deservedly slaine: for why would he offer to be the only discreet man among so many distracted, and expose himselfe to the madnesse of [Page 146] the Paphlagonians? you see what he got by it. Alexanders custome was, the day before he gave Oracles, to call in order those who had given in their Inquiries, and a cryer standing without the curtaine, ask't him if he were pleased to answer them. And if he gave this reply from within to any man's name, To the crowes with him, none after­wards received such a one into their house, or admitted him, as they say, either to their fire or water. But he was forced to wander up and downe forreine Countries, as an Atheist, a man hated of the Gods, and an Epicurean, which was the height of infamy. He did one thing very ridiculous. Having got Epicurus select Sentences, which, you know, is his best Booke, and the Abridgement of his whole Philosophy, he carryed them into the middest of the Market place, and burning them, in stead of the Au­thor, cast the ashes into the Sea, with this Oracle, The pur­blind old man's workes I doome to the flame. Not consider­ing of what use, and instruction that booke was to the Readers; and how it quieted, settled, and freed their minds from vaine feares, phantasmes, prodigious appre­hensions, empty hopes, and swelling desires, and planted vertue in their stead; truly clearing, and purging the soule, not with a Taper, or Brush, or such other trifles, but with right reason, liberty, and truth. Among his other Pranks, you shall heare now one of the greatest the Rascall ever play'd. Having, by Rutilianus procurement, gain'd no small reputation in Caesar's Court, in the heat of the Ger­man warre, when Marcus was to joyne battle with the Bohemians, he divulged an Oracle, which commanded two Lyons to be cast alive in Danubius, with many o­dours, and perfumes, and magnificent sacrifices. But 'tis best to repeat the Oracle as 'twas deliver'd;

Into Danubius, when most swolne, and vast,
Let two of Cybel's wood bred Teeme be cast,
VVith fragrant flowers crown'd, which in India grew,
Then Conquest, Peace, and Triumph shall ensue.

[Page 147]All things being performed as the Oracle directed, the Lyons swamme over to the enemies shoare; which the barbarous people tooke for forreine dogges or wolves, and chased them away with clubbes. But a great defeat, and slaughter befell us, to the losse of twenty thousand men: presently after, the like befell us at Aquileia; where we had almost lost the Citty. He coldly vvrested the Delphicke Oracle, vvhich vvas delivered to Croesus, to this Accident, and said, the God did indeed foretell a great vi­ctory, but explain'd not himselfe vvhether it should befall the Romans, or the enemy. When the Citty of Abonwall began at length to be so surcharged vvith the great conflu­ence, and resort of people, which came to consult the O­racle; that it was not able to supply them with victuals, he invented a new kind of Oracles; which were call'd night Oracles. For taking their Tickets, and sleeping with them, he gave such answers as he said his God re­vealed to him in his dreame; which, for the most part, were darke, ambiguous, and confused; especially if the Ticket were exactly sealed. For then, without the danger of opening, he subscribed any thing by chance, which was obscure, and agreeable to an Oracle. To these kind of Answers belonged certaine Interpreters; who recei­ved no small rewards, from those who askt their expo­sitions, and farmed their places of Alexander; to whom they every one paid yearly an Attick Talent. Sometimes, when none came, or were sent to enquire, he gave vo­luntary Oracles, to astonish the simple people, of which this was one;

The page, to thee most deare, at home unspyed,
Commits adultery with thy faire cheekt Bride.
'Tis but a just revenge of sinne with sinne,
He Cuckolds thee, who hath thy pathick bin.
Drowsie Charmes, also, they in secret places,
To make thee stupid to their loose Imbraces,
[Page 148]Under thy bed, neere to the wall have laid,
Assisted by Calypto, thy wives maid.

What Democritus would not be troubled to have names, and places thus punctually discribed? And yet would not smile assoone as he knew the plot?

He many times gave answers to barbarous people, though they enquired in their owne language; in Syriack, perchance, or French. But his manner vvas, vvhen he could not easily find one of that Country, to take the Tic­ket, and to keep it, till he met vvith an Interpretter; vvhich made a long space sometimes betvveene the Inquirie, and Ansvver; A Scythian once received this Oracle;

Morphi Ebargulis, into the shade,
Chnenchichranc, his light shall fade.

Another time, vvhen no body appear'd, or vvas present, he gave this ansvver in Prose; Returne, he that sent thee is this day slain by his neighbour Diocles, assisted by three theeves, Mangus, Celer, and Bubulus, who are caught, and fetter'd. Novv heare some of the Oracles vvhich vvere given to mee. One of my questions vvas, (vvhich I sealed openly and exactly) vvhether Alexander vvere bald. To vvhich this night ansvver vvas subscribed; Sabar, Dalachi, Ma­lach, he was another Attis. Another of my Questions vvas, (vvhich I vvrote in severall Tickets) and sent under seve­rall names, vvhere Homer vvas borne. In one paper, de­ceived by my Boy, vvho, being askt for vvhat he came, told him, he came for a cure of the paine in his side, he vvrote;

Take Beares grease, mingled with Latona's Dew.

In another paper, being told by the Messenger, he came to enquire vvhether I vvere best goe into Italy by land or sea; He gave this ansvver, nothing at all to Homer,

Returne borne by thy feete, not by thy sayles.

Many such tricks I put upon him, inclosing sometimes [Page 149] the same enquiry in eight severall notes; to which I feined as many names, and sent them by eight severall messen­gers, with as many groates, and what more was to be paid: he perswaded by his gaine, and the Inscription of the notes, to this one Question, in which I ask't when Alexander the Impostor should be discover'd, gave eight severall answers, as farre distant as heaven and earth, senslesse withall, and hard to be understood: which comming afterwards to his knowledge, and because I formerly disswaded Rutilianus from marriage, and from giving any credit to his Oracles, he hated mee, as he had reason, and accounted me his mortall enemy. Vpon a time, therefore, Rutilianus enquired of the Oracle some­thing concerning me, and was thus answered;

He spends his night with whores, in obscure stewes.

And, to say truth, he deservedly hated mee. Afterwards, having intelligence of my comming to the Citty, and that I was Lucian (now I brought two Souldiers in my company, one armed with a Lance, the other with a Hal­berd, lent mee by the Governour of Cappadocia, my espe­ciall friend, for my sa [...]e conduct to the Sea) He with much civility, sent for mee: when I came, I found many with him, and by good fortune brought my Souldiers with mee. He, as his manner was, reach't me out his hand to kisse; which I respectfully taking, and offering to kisse, gave it such a bite, as almost maim'd him. The standers by presently attempted to beat, and choke mee, as an irre­ligious person; having before taken it very ill that I did salute him by the name of Alexander, not of a Prophet. But he very generously interposing himselfe, appeased them, and promised by the help and power of his God to heale my distraction, who, said he, is able to asswage, and winne those who are most tempestuous against him. Then putting them all out of the roome, he began to ex­postulate with mee, telling mee he knew vvhat counsell [Page 150] I had given to Rutilianus; and asking mee how he had deserved such carriages from mee, seeing it was in his power to contrive great matters for mee? I was much o­vercome with his friendly behaviour; considering in what danger I was; And after some small stay went out with him reconciled. The sudden alteration strucke deepe astonishment into the beholders. Not long after, I resolved to take ship; and being alone with Zenophon, and having sent my father, and my other company be­fore to Amastris, he sent me great gifts, and presents, and offer'd to provide me a ship, and marriners to row mee, which I accepted as proceeding from a cleare, and honest intention. But when we came into the middle of the Sea, I saw the Pilot weepe, and earnestly contest with the Say­lers; which were no very good presages of my safety. The truth is, they were hired by Alexander to throw us over board: which had they done, he had amply revenged himselfe upon mee. But he that wept prevailed with them not to execute their designe; who in these words addrest himselfe to mee, I have lived, as you see, to the age of threescore yeares, a religious, innocent life; and will not now at this great age, having wife and children, defile my hands with murther. Intimating for what purpose he tooke us into the ship, and what plot Alexander had layd. Having set us ashore at Aegiali, made so famous by Ho­mer, he sayled backe againe. Not long after sayled by the Bosphoran Embassadours, sent by their King Eupater with the Tribute mony which was yearly paid into Bi­thynia; To whom after I had told our danger, and escape, they courteously tooke us into their ship, and transpor­ted us safe to Amastris. So neare my death was I. From that time I tooke Armes against him, and raised all my forces to revenge my self; who before this Trechery hated him, and accounted him my enemy for the wickednesse of his life, and manners. Nor had I failed to question him, and joyned vvith others in his accusation, especially vvith [Page 151] the Schollers of Timocrates the Her [...]clean Philosopher, had not the Governour of Bithynia, and Pontus, vvith much intercession, and intreaty dissvvaded us, vvho out of his respect to Rutilianus profest he could not punish him, though his Impostures vvere never so plainly proo­ved: vvhereupon I supprest, and suffer'd my revenge to coole, dispairing of my successe before a Judge so partiall. Of vvhom, to his other bold attempts, Alexander adven­tured to aske leave, that Abonwall might change its name, and be called Ionople; and obtained povver also to coyne mony, stampt vvith the Image of Glycon, on the one side, and of Alexander on the other, holding the Badge of his Grandfather Aesculapius, and Perseus sickle, from vvhom he derived himselfe by the mother. At last he publish't this Oracle concerning himselfe; That 'twas decreed by the Fates that he should live an hundred and fifty yeares, and that then he should dye miserably struck with lightning. But he dyed under seventy of a Gangrene, (as it became Podali­rius sonne) vvhich did eate from his foote to his thigh; and almost devoured by vvormes. At vvhich time hee vvas discover'd to be bald, by permitting his head to be bathed by Physitians, for the head-ache: vvhich they could not do, and not pluck off his Perivvigge. Thus en­ded the Tragedy of Alexander, and this vvas the Catastro­phe of the vvhole play. Through vvhich there seemed to run a Thred of Providence, but all vvas casualty, and chance. That vvhich follovved vvas an Epitaph upon him, expressing the vvorthinesse of his Actions, and Life, and a contention among his principall Camerades, and fellovv Cheaters, vvho referr'd themselves to Rutilianus vvhich should be preferr'd, and chosen to succeed in the Oracle, and vveare the Propheticke Crovvne, and Robe. In vvhich number vvas one Paetus of that Citty, by pro­fession a Physitian; vvho by such a competition disgraced both his profession and vvhite haires. But Rutilianus, the Master of the Game, dismist them all vvithout Gyrlands, [Page 152] and reserved the Propheticke place for himselfe, after his departure thence. These few things, of many, my Celsus, have I written both to give you a tast of the man, and to gratifie you, who are my acquaintance, and friend, and whom I hold in speciall regard, for your Wisedome, Love to Truth, Sweetnesse, and moderation of Carriage, serenity of Behaviour, and Affability toward those with whom you Converse. As also (a thing much in your wishes) to vindicate Epicurus; a man of a divine and in­spired wit, who alone knew truth, and honesty, and de­liver'd it, and infused liberty into all those who tasted his Conversation. Lastly, I doubt not but this peece of my writings will be of this use to the Readers, that 'twill confute, and cleare false opinions, and confirme those who are already rightly informed in true.

Toxaris,

Toxaris, or a Discourse of Friendship.

The Speakers Mnesippus a Greeke, Toxaris a Scythian.
Mnesipp.

WHat say you, Toxaris? do you Scythians Sacrifice to Orestes, and Pylades, and take them for Gods?

Toxaris.

We Sacrifice to them, Mnesippus, but hold them not Gods, but good men.

Mnesipp.

Have you a Custome, then, to Sacrifice to good men departed as to Gods?

Toxaris.

That's not all; we honour them with Festi­vals, and solemne assemblies too.

Mnesipp.

Vpon what designe? your oblations cannot draw good influences from them being dead.

Toxaris.

'Twere not amisse, if the dead were propitious to us. But we thinke we much advantage the living by our Commemoration of excellent men; and do therefore honour them dead; out of our perswasion that many of us will thereby be wrought into their example.

Mnesipp.

You do well. But why do you so much admire Pylades and Orestes, and equall them to the Gods, being but strangers to you, or, which is more, enemies? For be­ing cast ashore by shipwracke, and apprehended by the Scythians of those times, to be Sacrificed to Diana, they as­sail'd their Keepers, forced the prison, slew the King, sur­prized the Priest, ravisht away your Goddesse, and sayl'd away with her, to the contempt and scorne of your pub­licke Scythian Lawes. If for this you adore them, 'twill be easie for you to drawe many into their Imitation. With reflection, therefore, upon this ancient passage, consider whether it would be safe for you that more Orestes's [Page 154] and Pylades's should land in Scythia. For methinkes you would thereby in short time become irreligious, and A­theists; should your Gods, which remaine, in like manner be transported from your Country: and should you in their stead Deifie those who came to transport them; and reward their sacriledge with oblations. Or, if for this you worship not Pylades and Orestes, but for some other good confer'd upon you, why, holding them not anci­ently for Gods, do you now give them divine honours, as if they were? and why doe you sacrifice to them, who themselves had like to have beene made sacrifices? This to mee seemes ridiculous, and contrary to your former pra­ctice.

Toxaris.

These, which you have repeated, were their generous exployts, Mnesippus. Who being but two durst put themselves upon such a bold attempt, as being so farre distant from home, to sayle the Pontus, a sea not tryed before by any Graecians, but those who made the expediti­on into Colchos in the Argo; neither daunted, nor affright­ed with the fables which goe of it, or with those names which call it Inhospitable, from the savagenesse, I believe, of those rude nations which inhabit the Coasts. And when they were apprehended, to take courage from their misfortune, and not to thinke a bare escape enough, but to revenge their wrongs upon the King, and to sayle away with our Diana, how can such valiant Atchievements but raise Admiration, and deserve divine honour from all men who have any taste of vertue? Though we hold not Ore­stes and Pylades for Demi-gods, and worthyes from those reflections.

Mnesipp.

Say, then, what other brave or divine enter­prize was wrought by them. For as for their navigation and travels, I can show you many Merchants much divi­ner then they. For instance, the Phoeincians, who sayle not onely into Pontus, Maeotis, and the Bosphorus, but mea­sure all seas, both Graecian, and Barbarous, and making, [Page 155] as I may so say, and yearly search after all Coasts, and shoares, returne home late in Autumne. Whom for the same reason you may style Gods, though perhaps they be but Hucksters and Fish-mongers.

Toxaris.

Heare, then, admired Sir, and consider how much our opinion of good men, who are Barbarians, is nobler then yours. For no famous monument of Orestes and Pylades is to be seene at Argos, or Mycenae. But wee can show a Temple equally, as 'twas fit, built to both, as they were friends; where sacrifices are offer'd, and other rites of honour are performed. Nor do vve thinke them good men the lesse, because they vvere forrainers, and not Scythians; nor do vve examine, so they be vertuous, and honest, from vvhence they are, nor repine at great Acti­ons, though vvrought by men not our friends: But ra­ther applauding their adventures, entitled them to our selves by their deeds. But that vvhich in those men vve do vvith most admiration extoll is, that they appeared to us a paire of unequall'd friends; and made their example a Lavv to others, Hovv, vvith their friendship, to partake in all fortunes too, and thereby gaine the veneration of the best Scythians. Whatsoever, therefore, they mutually suffer'd for, or with one another, our Ancestors engra­ven in a pillar of Brasse, which they erected in Oreste's Temple, and made a Law that their childrens first lesson and peece of education should be to remember what was there carved. So that it is easier for them to forget the name of their father, then be ignorant of the deeds of Orestes and Pylades. In the porch of the Temple, also, is to be seene shadowed in Antique Imagery all that is written on the pillar. Orestes sayling with his friend, then their ship broken, and wrack't against steepe rockes; then he apprehended, and drest for Immolation, and both consecrated by Iphigenia. On the opposite wall he is drawne freed from his shackles, slaying Thoas, and many other Scythians; Then hoysing sayles, and conveying a­way [Page 156] Iphigenia, and our Goddesse. Then the Scythians vainly striving to stop the floating Barke, by laying hold on the Sterne, and labouring to get aboard. Lastly, Failing in their attempt, some wounded, others for feare returning to the shoare. But the most remarkable passage is the mutuall friendship they show'd in their Skirmish with the Scythians. For the Painter hath limbed them both se­verally carelesse of his owne assaylers, and solicitous only to encounter those who beset the other, and to divert his darts; not at all weighing his owne slaughter, so he might save his friend; and interposing his owne body to receive those strokes which were directed to the others. This their mutuall assistance, and communion in misfortunes, Their fidelity in friendship, ruth and constancy of affections, ap­peared to us no mortall vertues, but endowments of a mind advanced above the vulgar: who in prosperous times will take resentment at their friends, if they share not in their successes; But let the wind blow a little ad­versly, they fly away and leave them solitary in their dan­gers. For you must know, that the Scythians prize no­thing so much as friendship, nor will a true Scythian think any thing so glorious as to succour his friend, and partake in his distresses: And therefore among us no infamy is so great, as to be held a Traytor in Friendship. The reason, then, why wee honour Orestes, and Pylades, is, because they excell'd in Scythian virtues, and were approved in friendship, a thing most in our admiration. From these proceedings of theirs we have given them a name, and call'd them Coraci; which in our Language is as much as to say, the Gods of friendship.

Mnesipp.

Believe mee, Toxaris, you Scythians are not onely good Archers, and better warriers then others, but the best perswaders, and Oratours too. For though I once thought otherwise, yet now, methinkes, 'tis but ju­stice that you have placed Orestes and Pylades among the Gods. This only I knew not, that you were a good pain­ter [Page 157] too. Trust mee, you have most livingly described the peeces in Orestes Temple, as also their Encounters, and wounds received for one another. But I thought friend­ship had not beene so sacred among the Scythians; but that being a people barbarous and wilde, they had nou­risht mutuall strifes, quarrels, and disagreements, and had not held friendship with their neerest Alliances and Do­mesticks; Being led to this opinion by that report, which among others I have heard, that they eate their departed Ancestors.

Toxaris.

Whether, as in other things, so in the reve­rence of our Ancestours we be more religious, and pious then you Greekes, for the present I dispute not. But that Scythian friends are much faithfuller, then Grecians, and that friendship is more regarded among us then you, I shall easily make appeare. By the Gods of Greece, therefore, I desire you not to heare mee impatiently, whilst I recount what I observed during the large time of my conversa­tion here. You, indeed, seeme abler then others to talke of friendship; but, contrary to your high discourses, doe so neglect the works of it, that you hold it sufficient to praise it, and to show what an ample vertue 'tis. But when you should come to use it, you fall from your words, and ta­king wing, I know not how, shift your selves from the practice. And when you see such rare friendships pre­sented on the stage in a Tragedy, you applaud, and clap hands; and when you see them mutually engaged in one anothers dangers, many of you shed teares: yet you your selves attempt nothing praise worthy for your friend. But if he chance to be distrest, presently, like dreames, all the Tragedy you saw flyes away and vanishes; and leaves you like those hollow, and dumbe vizards, which broadly di­stend their mouth, and gape widely, but speake not the least word: whereas wee, by how much we come short in our discourses of Friendship, by so much we excell you in the practice. If you like the motion, therefore, let us [Page 158] passe over those ancient friends which lived heretofore, and which either you, or we are able to muster up: be­cause herein you overcome us, being fortified by many authenticke authorities, especially Poets, who have sung the friendship of Achilles, and Patroclus, Theseus and Pe­rithous, and others in most excellent Poem and verse. And let us select, and produce some few among our selves, and report the deeds, I of Scythians, you of Greekes. And let him that overcomes, and produces the best examples in friendship, be Conquerour, and divulge his conquest, as having vanquisht in a most glorious combate. For my part, if I be worsted in the Duell, I had much rather have my right hand cut off (the punishment among us of the vanquish't) then be thought inferiour to any Grecian in Friendship, being my selfe a Scythian.

Mnesipp.

'Tis no small enterprize, Toxaris, to enter the Lists with such a Warriour as you are, so well appointed with darts and arrowes of Language, yet will I not in­gloriously upon the first encounter betray my Countrey▪ and yield to you. For 'twere most absurd that two should overcome such Troopes of Scythians, as the Histories and ancient pictures which you just now so exactly described, testifie; and that so many Greeke Nations, and Citties, should without defence be vanquish't by you single; which should I permit, 'twere fit, that not only my right hand, as your custome is, but my tongue should be cut out. But by what account shall wee proceed; by the number of adventures in Friendship, or shall he that can give most instances of Friends be held the Conquerour.

Toxaris.

By no meanes: victory ought not to be reckon'd here by multitude. But if your examples appeare more excellent, and piercing then mine, though their number be equall, they will with more advantage wound mee, and I shall willingly mee [...]e your strokes.

Mnesipp.

You say well: let us agree then upon the num­ber.

Toxaris,
[Page 159]

I thinke five for each sufficient.

Mnesipp.

So do I. Begin then; but sweare first to speake nothing but Truths. Otherwise, 'twill not be hard for you to coyne such examples as are not capable of dis­proofe, but being sworne 'twere irreligious to distrust you.

Toxaris.

Let us both take an oath, then, if you thinke fit.

Mnesipp.

By which of our Gods shall I sweare? doe you like Iupiter Philius?

Toxaris.

I doe: and will sweare in my language by ano­ther of my Country Gods.

Mnesipp.

Be Iupiter, the Protector of Friends witnesse, then, that what I shall now report to you, either I have my selfe seene, or, upon the most exact information to me possible, I have received from others, and that I will faine nothing of my selfe. First, I will relate the Friend­ship of Agathocles, and Dinias, famous among the Ioni­ans. This Agathocles, by birth a Samian, lived not long since. A man unequall'd in friendship, as he gave good Testimony, though in other things, as Pedigree, and greatnesse of fortune, he nothing differ'd from the other vulgar Samians. He was from his childhood friend to Dinias, the Ephesian, the sonne of Lysio. This Dinias was left exceeding rich. And as it falls out with men newly come to greatestates, had many acquaintances about him fit to associate him in Potations and Drinkings, and con­versations of Pleasure; but were mere strangers to Friend­ship. Among those was Agathocles, who converst and drunke with them, not pleased with the course. Nor did Dinias value him more then his other flatterers. But at length became offended with his frequent reprehensions, and held him troublesome, for remembring him of his Ancestours, and counselling to keepe what his father, with much industry possest, and left him. So that hee no longer admitted him to their Revellings, but continued [Page 160] his disorders privately with them; though with some con­cealment from Agathocles. It happen'd that the unfortu­nate man was perswad [...]d by his flatterers that he was be­loved of Chariclea, the wife of Demonax, a man of great Quality and Office, among the Ephesians; letters, also, were brought to him from the woman, and chaplets halfe wither'd, and apples just tasted, and whatsoever Bawdes usually project for the enticement of young men, when they would insinuate affection into them, and in­flame them with an opinion that they are first beloved. For such Arts prevaile much▪ especially with such as think themselves handsome, till unawares they fall into the net. This Chariclea was a Courtly woman, but extraordinari­ly a whore; alwaies his, who approach't her upon the least suite. If any man but glanced at her, she presently returned a consent; so little feare was there of her denyals. But withall, she was more artificially cunning then all o­ther whores, to allure her servant [...], and to keepe him doubtfull, till she had wholly vanquisht him. And when he was once caught, to whet him on, and enflame him sometimes with quarrels, sometimes with enticements, soone after with disdaine, and jealousie, of her inclinati­on to another. In a word, she was every way expert, and practiced in the arts how to deale with her Lovers. Her, then, Dinias flatterers projected for the youth, and laid many traines to kindle his love towards Chariclea. She, who had already beene the ruine of many such▪ and had acted innumerable affections, and like a changeable, and exercised mischiefe, had subverted many families, ha­ving got into her hands a youth, simple, and unexperien­ced in such stratagems, suffer'd him not to escape her clut­ches, but inclining, and ensnaring him on all sides, when she had wholly caught him, she herselfe seemed taken in the snare, and became to miserable Dinias the originall of numberlesse mischiefes. For, first, she sent him letters, which were frequently seconded by her maid, who told [Page 161] him how her Mistris wept, and broke her sleepes; Last­ly, how she, wretched woman, meant to strangle her selfe for Love. Till hee became perswaded that he was most happy, amiable, and beyond measure affected by the Ephe­sian wives. At length, with much intreaty, he gave her a meeting, and from that time you may guesse how ea­sily he was to be caught by a woman beautifull, of a plea­sant behaviour, skill'd to weepe when shee list, and to mingle compassionate sighs with discourses, to twine a­bout him at his departures, and to meete his approaches; to adorne herselfe in Dresses of most enticement, and some­times to sing, and play on her Lute; All which arts shee imployed upon Dinias. But when shee perceived him once perplext, and sufficiently steept, and melted in Love, that shee might utterly ruine the wretch, shee contrived this plot: she fained her selfe with child by him, (a sure device the more to inflame a besotted Lover) and forbore farther visits, out of a pretence that she was observed by her husband▪ who had some Jealousies of their Love. He unable to beare the separation, and impatient when he savv her not, vvept, and assembled his flatterers, and dolefully invok't Charcilea's name, and embracing her statue made of Alablaster, made pittifull lamentation. At last, he cast himselfe downe, and rould himselfe upon the floore, and fell into a perfect distraction. Hereupon gifts vvere sent to her, not in value like her Apples, or Chaplets, but entire houses, farmes, servants, embroyder'd garments, and gold as much as she desired. What shall I say more? In short time Lysios family, the most renovvned among the Ionians, vvas vvasted and spent. She having thus dravvne him dry, forsooke him, and layd her engines for a certaine rich Cretan young Gentleman, to vvhom she re­volted and made Love, vvhich he believed. Dinias thus neglected not onely of Chariclea, but of his flatterers, vvho also applyed themselves to the Cretan Lover, addrest him­selfe to Agathocles; vvho all the vvhile vvas a spectator of [Page 182] the miscarriage of his affaires. After some expressions of shame, he told him the passages of his Love, wants, the womans disdaine, and his Cretan Rivall; and in briefe, how he could not live without Chariclea's conversation. He, holding it at that time unseasonable to expostulate with Dinias, why of all his friends he excluded him, and preferr'd his flatterers before him, [...]old the onely house he had, left him in Samos by his father, for three Talents, and brought him the price: which he no sooner received, but he left off to be obscure to Chariclea, and became once more amiable. The maid was againe sent with letters, and a complaint for his strangenesse. His flatterers also resor­ted to him, with much insinuation, seeing he had yet something to give. Dinias promised to come to her, and came about the time of the first sleep. But, whither by his voluntary foreknowledge, or by designe with his wife, for both are reported, Demonax, Chariclea's husband was within: who rising, as it were, from an Ambush, com­manded to shut the doores, and to take Dinias; threatning fire, and whips, and drawing his sword as against an A­dulterer. He seeing in what danger he was, snatcht up a barre which lay neare, and slew Demonax with a blow on the head, and next Chariclea; but not with one blow, but iterated strokes which he gave her, partly with the barre, lastly with her husbands sword. The servants in the meane time stood speechlesse, and astonish't at the no­velty of the enterprize. But endeavouring at length to ap­prehend him, he no sooner made resistance with the sword but they all fled. Dinias, after his great atchieve­ment, conveyed himselfe privately away, and lodged till morning with Agathocles, where they discoursed what had happen'd; and considered what might be the issue. 'Twas no sooner day but souldiers beset the house, (for the fact was by this time divulged) and tooke Dinias; whom, not at all denying the murthers, they brought before the then Governour of Asia; who sent him to the great [Page 183] King, who not long after doomed him to Gyarus, one of the Cyclad Ilands, there to remaine banish't during his life. Agathocles, who had assisted at his other mis-fortunes, say­led with him also into Italy, and was the onely friend that stuck to him at his arraignment, and failed him in no good office. Nay after Dinias was banish't, he was not forsaken of his friend; who voluntarily sentenced him­selfe, associated him in the Isle, and shared in his banish­ment. At length wanting all necessary sustenance, and supplyes, he hired himselfe to certaine purple dyers, to dive for them, and nourisht Dinias with his gaines; and at­tended him also in a lingring sicknesse; and after his death he refused to returne into his owne Country, but tarried still in the Isle; holding it a reproach to forsake his friend though dead. These were the Acts of a Graecian friend, not of any ancient performance; For I know not well whether it be more then five yeares since Agathocles dyed in the Island.

Toxaris.

I could wish Mnesippus, you had told this sto­ry unsworne, that I might not have believed it. For in A­gathocles you have decipher'd a Scythian friend, I feare you have not such another example.

Mnesipp.

Heare, therefore, another, Toxaris; And it shall be Euthydicus of Chalcis; whose story was told me by Simy­lus, a Pilot of Megara, who swore he was witnesse to the whole passage. He said, he sayled from Italy towards A­thens, about the setting of the Pleiades, and transported a mixt Company of Passengers. Among whom was Eu­thydicus, and with him Damon of Chalcis, who was his friend, of equall yeares; onely Euthydicus was the lustier and stronger, Damon was pale, and feeble, and appeared like one lately recovered from a long sicknesse. They say­led, said Simylus as far as Sicily with prosperous winds; But upon their passage from that Sea into the Ionian, they were surprized with a great tempest; And not to spin out the Story vvith the descriptions of the vast risings, and Bil­lovves, [Page 184] and the other calamities of the storme; vvhen they vvere neere Zacynthus, sayling vvith a naked yard, and holding by the Tackling, the better to receive the fury of the vvaves, about midnight Damon, distemper'd vvith the tossing, stoopt dovvne to vomit into the sea, and the ship, as I guesse, at that time shelving much on that side vvhere he stood, and driven by the storme, he fell headlong into the sea, not naked, vvhich might have advantaged the unfortunate man in svvimming. Being almost stifled, he cryed out, and vvith much labour raysed himself above the flood: vvhich Euthydocus no sooner heard, vvho by good fortune vvas then naked on the deck, but he cast himselfe into the Sea, and laying hold on Damon then gasping, (for by the moone-shine vve beheld the vvhole adventure) he svvamme by him, and held him up. They in the Ship stri­ved to succour them, out of pitty to their mutuall distresse; but could not, being ravish't away by the violence of the winde. All they could doe, was to throw many Corkes, and poles to them, on which if they could lay hold, they might support themselves; and after all they let downe a Ladder of no small length. Consider, now I pray, what stronger testimony of affection could any man show to his friend, then by night to cast himselfe into a Tempestuous sea, and to partake in his death. Lay, I say, before your imagination, the swelling of the waves, the horrid murmure of the Billowes rolling together, the foame boy­ling round about, the night, and dispaire; then the one beginning to be choakt, and hardly able to beare himselfe above water, or to reach out his hand to his friend, the o­ther presently leaping overboard, and swimming by him, and fearing lest Damon should perish before him; and you will perceive that this Euthydicus whom I have reported to you was no degenerous friend.

Toxaris.

Were they both drowned, Mnesippus, or did some unexpected deliverance befall them? for I have all this while assisted them with my feares.

Mnesipp.
[Page 185]

Take courage Toxaris, they were both saved, and do now study Philosophy at Athens. All that Simylus ▪ could report was, what he saw by night, the one tumbling over-board, the other leaping after him, and both swim­ming together, which was all the spectacle he could have of them in the darke. The rest of the escape is told by Eu­thydicus himselfe; As first, that having lighted on some Corkes, they supported themselves by them, and with much difficulty kept themselves floating; At last, towards morning, when they saw a Ladder let downe, they swam to it, and ascending the vessell, they safely sailed on to Za­cynthus. Next to these examples, not vulgar, as I suppose, lend me your Attention to a third, not at all inferiour to the other two. Eudamidas, the Corinthian, held straight friendship with Aretaeus of Corinth, and Charixenus the Sicyonian: being himselfe as poore as they were wealthy▪ At his death he left a will, in the judgement of others, per­haps, ridiculous, though I know not whether it will ap­peare so to you, who are a good man, and value friend­ship, and therein deserve to be rankt with the foremost. The purpose of it was this. I bequeath to Aretaeus my mother, to be maintained, and cherisht in her old age. And to Charixenus my daughter, to be bestowed vvith as great a dovvry as he can possibly give vvith her. Novv he had a mother very aged; and a daughter ripe for marriage. And if, said he, either of them shall die in the meane time, let the other take his burden. When his vvill vvas read, they vvho knevv onely his poverty, and knevv not vvhat friendship vvas betvveene Eudamidas and these tvvo men, made it matter of sport: and there vvas no man vvho de­parted not smiling at the Legacies bequeathed to rich Are­taeus, and Charixenus; and saying, that they vvere to pay Legacies to Eudamidas, and that the survivers vvere to give inheritances to the deceast. But the heires, vvho vvere thus left, came assoone as they heard of the vvill, and rati­fied it in all the particulars. Onely Charixenus survived [Page 186] him five dayes, and dyed. Whereupon Aretaeus, the gene­rous successor of both, tooke upon him both his ovvne, and the others charge: and maintaines Eudamidas's Mo­ther, and not long since matcht his daughter; and of the five talents vvhich he vvas vvorth, he gave tvvo vvith his ovvne daughter, and tvvo vvith his friend's, and caused their marriages to be celebrated upon the same day. And novv Toxaris vvhat thinke you of this Aretaeus? Hath he not given a noble instance of friendship, to inherit such Legacies, and not to frustrate his friends will? Is he, think you, In just account to be reckond among the five?

Toxaris.

He is a rare example. Yet I much more admire the confidence of Eudamidas in his friends: whereby he gave proofe that he would have done the like for them, though charged by no will, and had prevented others, though hee had not beene written heire to such Lega­cyes.

Mnesipp.

You say well. The fourth, then, of whom I shall speake is Zenothemis, the sonne of Charmoleus, borne at Marcelleis. He was showne to mee in Italy, when I was there Ambassadour for my Country. Hee seemed to be a man of goodly presence, bigge, and wealthy. By him in Coach as he travelled sate his wife, every way deformed, especially lame of her right side, blind of one eye, a Hagge perfectly loathsome, and not to be approacht. I wondring that one so proper, and beautifull, should have the pati­ence to wedde a woman so mishapen, hee who show'd him to mee told mee the occasion of his marriage; exactly knowing all passages, being himselfe of Marcelleis. Zeno­themis, said he, was friend to Menecrates; this ill-featured womans father, whom he equall'd in wealth and honour; though he abounded in both. It came to passe that Me­necrates was ruined in his fortune, and made uncapable of honour by the sentence of the sixe hundred, as one that had given Judgement contrary to Law. For so, said he, do wee of Marcelleis punish those who pronounce cor­ruptly. [Page 187] Menecrates was much grieved, both for his doome, and that in an instant of a rich man hee was made poore, and of a great man dishonourable. But above all his daughter troubled him most, now marriageable, being eighteene yeares old, whom not with all fortunes which her father before his sentence possest, any, either rich, or poore, would vouchsafe to marry, of such affright­ing lineaments: was she. She was said too, to have the fits of the falling evill, at every increase of the Moone. When Menecrates layd all this open to Zenothemis in one complaint: hee bid him take heart, and told him that he should neither want accommodations, nor his daughter a husband worthy her descent. And so saying he tooke him by the hand, brought him to his house, divided his estate, which was very great, with him, and made a feast, where he entertained his friends, and among them Menecrates, as if he had prevailed with one of them to accept the wench in marriage. The meale being ended, and grace said, de­livering to him a full bowle, Take, said he, Menecrates from thy sonne in law a pledge of Alliance; for to day I will mar­ry Cydimache thy daughter: I have formerly received five and twenty Talents as her dowry. The other replyed, the Gods forbid, It must not be Zenothemis, nor must I be so mad to suffer you, a young man, and amiable, to be joy­ned to a deform'd, opprobrious girle. Thus saying, the o­ther tooke his bride, led her into his chamber, and a while after brought her forth unvirgin'd, and from that time lives most affectionately with her, and carries her every where, as you see, about vvith him; And is so farre from taking shame at his match, that hee makes it his glory to shovv hovv much he contemnes the beauties, or deformities of the body; Riches also, & opinion, and reflects onely on Menecrates, his friend: vvhom he thinkes not the lesse capable of his friendship for being sentenced by the sixe hundred. Though fortune have for this requited him. For a very faire sonne hath been borne to him of a very fowle [Page 168] mother. 'Tis not long since his father tooke him, and car­ried him into the Court crown'd with a green chaplet, and clad in mourning, the better to winne pitty to his Grand­father. The Infant smiled upon the Judges, and clapt it's hands: whereupon the Court was so taken with him, that they forgave his Fine, and restor'd him to his honours, o­vercome by such an advocate. Thus much the Marcilean affirm'd Zenothemis to have done for his friend: wherein you find nothing ordinary, or done like you Scythians; who are said to choose onely the most beautifull your Mistresses. I passe on to the fift. Nor thinke I it fit to speake of any other and to omit Demetrius the Sunian. This Demetrius sayled in company into Aegypt with Anti­philus of Alopece; who was his friend of a child; and with whom he grew up, and was bred to the study of Cynicke Philosophy under Rhodius the Sophister; Antiphi­lus to Physicke. But at this time Demetrius went into Ae­gypt to see the Pyramides, and Memnon's Statue. For he had heard that from their great height they did cast no sha­dow; and that Memnon at every Sun rising was vocall. Drawne, therefore, with the desire of those spectacles, in August hee sayled up the Nile, and left Antiphilus tyred with travell and heat; who, in the mean time, fell into a misfortune, which required the assistance of a generous friend. For one Syrus his servant, so stiled from his Coun­try, by conspiracy with certaine sacrilegious thieves, broke into Anubis Temple, and stole the God, two golden Cha­lices, a guilt Cad [...]ceus, diverse dogges heads of silver, with other things. All which they left to be kept by Syrus. Soone after being apprehended selling some things, they confest all upon their first torture upon the wheele. And being carried to Antiphilus lodging, they produced the things stolne, secretly under a Couch. Syrus was present­ly bound, and his master Antiphilus ravisht from his Tu­tor as he was then at Lecture. No man assisted him, but they who were but till then his friends, shunned him as a [Page 169] robber of Anubis Temple, and thought it Impiety either to drinke or to eate with him. His other servants, who were two, rifling all that was in the house betooke themselves to flight. Long time lay miserable Antiphilus in shackles, of all the malefactors there imprisoned held the greatest. The Goaler, also, an Aegyptian, a man superstitious, thought he pleasured and revenged his God by being harsh to An­tiphilus. If at any time he defended himselfe, and denyed the Fact, he was held impudent, and became so much the more odious. This drew on a sicknesse, and cast him into a disease. And no marvaile, lying nightly on the ground, and not able to extend his legges lockt up in the stocks. For by day he was inclosed in a cage, and but one of his hands manacled, but by night he lay wholly in fetters. Adde to this the stinke, and ill ayre of the house, arising from so many close prisoners, thrust into a narrow roome, and scarce able to breath; Then the sound of Irons, and broken sleepes, all which were grievous, and intolerable to one unpractised, and unaccustomed to so hard a kind of usage. As hee thus languisht, and refused to eate any meat, Demetrius return'd, ignorant of what had happen'd. But assoone as he knew how things stood, he presently ran to the prison, but was not permitted entrance. It being then night, and the Goaler having long before lockt the doore, and gone to sleepe, and commanded his under keepers to watch. In the morning, after much intreaty, he was let in; and comming neere, 'twas long before he could finde Antiphilus, so much disguised was hee with his misfortunes. In search of him, therefore, hee viewed every prisoner, like those who seeke the wither'd bodies of their dead friends after a slaughter. So that had he not aloud revealed himselfe to be Antiphilus, the sonne of De­nomenes, he had beene long unknowne who he was; so transformed was he by his calamities. But assoone as he answered to his Friends voyce, and, as he came near, strokt aside his hayre, which hung fowle, and knotted over his [Page 170] face, and discovered who he was, both fell downe a­mazed at the strangenesse of the spectacle. After a while, both comming to themselves, Demetrius enquired of him exactly how he fell into that mishap. And bid him take courage, divided his mantle, and wore one halfe himselfe, the other he gave to him; and stript him of his owne tot­ter'd ragges. And from that time giving him his best as­sistances, he tooke care of him, and attended him. For hi­ring himselfe out from morning till noone to certaine Merchants, who then lay in the Haven, his gaines were not sma [...]l which he earn'd by carrying burdens; and still when he returned from his labour, part of his gaines he gave to the Goaler to mollifie and make him gentle, the rest plentifully serv'd to supply his friend. By day, there­fore, he kept Antiphilus company, and comforted him; and when night came, he reposed himselfe not far from the prison gate upon a bed made of grasse and boughes. Thus a while they lived; Demetrius had free accesses, which much mitigated the afflictions of Antiphilus: Till at length, upon the death of a certaine thiefe in the prison, it seemes, poyson'd, the gates were strictlier kept, and no man was any more permitted to enter into the house, whereat Demetrius much perplext, and troubled, and ha­ving no other way to relieve his friend, went to the Ma­gistrate, and accused himselfe for one of those who broke into Anubis Temple. Upon which confession he was pre­sently carryed to the prison, and brought to Antiphilus; and with much petition obtained of the Keeper that he might be chained next to him in the same [...]ives. Here, then, was a rare expression of friendship, to dispise his owne mise­ries, and though he were himselfe sicke, yet he tooke care that the other might sleep quietly, and undisturbed. Thus lessen'd they their misfortunes by communion; Till not long after an Accident happen'd which did almost put a period to their sufferings. For one of the prisoners, having, I know not from whence, got a file, and made most of [Page 171] the other prisoners of the conspiracy, filed asunder a chain to which they were fasten'd by a row of shackles, and let them all loose. They having easily slaine their Keepers, being but few, issued forth in Tumults, and presently di­spersed themselves severall wayes as they safeliest might, though many of them were afterwards taken. Demetrius and Antiphilus remain'd, and stay'd Syrus, ready to follow the rest. Next morning, the Prefect of Aegypt, knowing what had happen'd, sent pursuers after them; and sending for those who were with Demetrius releast them of their shackles; much praysing them that they onely refused to make an escape. They were not at all pleased with their manner of dismission Demetrius, therefore, proclam'd both himselfe & friend much injured, if being taken for malefactors, they should be thought worthy of pitty, or praise, or releasement, because they did not breake pri­son. To conclude, therefore, they compelld the Judge more exactly to reexamini the business; who finding them innocent, with great praises of both, and admiration of Demetrius acquitted them. And as a recompence for the punishment, and shackles, which they unjustly suffer'd, he gave them large gifts; ten thousand drachmes to Anti­philus, and twice so many to Demetrius. Antiphilus is now in Aegypt. But Demetrius bestowing his twenty thousand Drachmes on his friend, went into India to the Brachmans; saying onely thus much to Antiphilus at his departure, that he hop't he was excusable if he then left him; and that he needed not mony as long as he was of a composition to be content with a little; nor that hee any farther wanted a friend, whose affaires were so well accomplish't. These were Graecian Friends, Toxaris. And here, had you not in the beginning noted us for high talkers, I could repeat to you the many excellent Orations spoken by Demetrius at his Arraignment, where he made no defence for him­selfe; but spent teares and supplications for Antiphilus; and tooke the whole offence upon himself, till Syrus urged [Page 172] by scourging acquitted both. These few examples of many famous, and constant friends, as they first offer'd themselves to my remembrance, have I reported to you. 'Tis now time that finishing my Narration, you should begin yours, whom it will concerne to produce Scythians not of inferiour, but of much more eminent example, if you intend your right hand shall not be cut off. Be con­stant to your selfe therefore; For 'twill show most ridicu­lous in you, having, so like a Sophister, extoll'd Orestes and Pylades, to show your selfe a bad Oratour for your Country.

Toxaris.

You do well, Mnesippus, to invite me to speake, and not to show your selfe afraid, that vanquisht by my narrations, your tongue shall be cut out. I begin, then, not like you, with Trappings of speech, (a thing unusu­all to Scythians) since the realities of my stories shall be more eloquent then the Historian. Nor are you to expect from me stories like yours, who have magnified a man for wedding a deformed woman, without a portion; Ano­ther for giving two Talents in Marriage with his friends daughter; a third for casting himselfe voluntarily into shackles; knowing he was shortly after to be releast. All which are slight passages, and have nothing high, or man­ly in them. I will recount to you slaughters, warres, and deaths undergone for Friends; whereby you shall per­ceive how childish your undertakings are compared to ours. Yet it is not without cause that you admire your own small adventures, since living in a firme, establisht peace, you want those Heroick opportunities, by which friend­ships are to be tryed. As you cannot judge in a calme of the Abilities of a Pilot, which are best discovered in a storme. Whereas we have continuall warres, and do ei­ther invade others, or are invaded our selves; or joyning battle do fight for pastures, or prey. Hence stand we most in need of good friends, whose Armes become uncon­quer'd, and impregnable from the strictnesse of our friend­ships. [Page 173] First, then, let mee tell you, that the Ceremonies by which wee initiate friends, are not, like yours, perform'd in Bowles, and Potations; or with our equals, or neigh­bours: but when we see a man valiant, and able for great Actions, wee all presently affect him; and the same course which you take to win your wives, do we take to beget friends. We court them much, and omit no application, which may defeat us of their friendship, or render us de­spised. And when choice is made of a friend, articles are next entred into, and a solemne oath taken, that they shall mutually live, and, if need be, die, for one another. Next, having open'd a veine in our hand, we receive the blood in a cup, in which wee dippe the points of our swords; then both drinke, nor can any thing afterwards divide us. These leagues at most consist of three: wee account of him who is a friend to more, as we do of common adul­terate wives, and never thinke his a firme lasting friend­ship, which is divided among many. I will begin, then, with the late Deeds of Dandamis. This Dandamis seeing his friend Amizocas taken prisoner in a skirmish with the Sarmatians— But first I will take my oath as we agreed in the beginning. By this Ayre, and Sagar, I will report no untruths, Mnesippus, of our Scythian friendships.

Mnesipp:

I might very well spare your oath, Toxaris, if you sweare by none of the Gods.

Toxaris,

Why? Do not you take the Winde, and Sagar for Gods? or know you not that to Mortalls nothing is greater then life and death? wee sweare by those two as often as we sweare by the Winde the cause of Life, and a Sagar the cause of Death.

Mnesipp:

If this be a good reason, you may have many such Gods as your Sagar; as a Dart, Speare, and Poyson, and a Rope; for death is a various and numerous Deity; and is by endlesse wayes attained.

Toxaris.

See what a caviller, and wrangler you are, thus to trouble, and divert my discourse, who all the while you spoke kept silence.

Mnesipp:
[Page 174]

You deservedly chide mee, Toxaris. Hereaf­ter, therefore, I will not interrupt you. Proceed, therefore, in your story; you shall have mee as silent, as if I were ab­sent, to your Relations.

Toxaris.

The fourth day, then, after Dandamis, and Ami­zocas had joyned friendship, and confirmed it with a mu­tuall draught of blood, the Sarmatians entred our Coun­try with ten thousand Horse, and thirty thousand foote. We, surprized with their invasion, were put into a di­straction: some, vvho made resistance they slevv; some they led avvay alive; none scap't, but such as svvam crosse the River, vvhere lay halfe our Army, and a great part of our vvaggons. For our Commanders, I knovv not for vvhat designe had at that time lodged their Troopes on both sides of Tanais. They, therefore, easily made their prey, led avvay captive, ransackt our Tents, tooke our Chariots vvith the men, and ravisht our vvives, and con­cubines before our eyes. The accident much troubled us. But Amizocas, as he vvas led captive, and manacled, loudly invok't his friend, and remembred him of the cuppe, and blood. Which Dandamis no sooner heard, but vvithout delay in the sight of all he svvumme over to the enemies, vvho cast shovvres of darts at him; and had vvith one assault thrust him through had he not cryed out Zizis: At the pronuntiation of vvhich vvord they slay no man, but receive him, as yielding himselfe to be ransomed. Being brought to their Generall, he deman­ded his friend, and he demanded his ransome, and refused to give him liberty but at an excessive price. Then said Dandamis, all my possessions and fortunes you have taken from mee. If naked, as I am, I can make you satisfaction, I am ready. Make your demands. Take mee, if you please in exchange, and abuse mee as you list. 'Twere needlesse, replyed the Sarmatian, to keepe thee who didst voluntarily yield thy selfe. Give something which thou now possessest in ransome of thy friend, and take him. [Page 175] Dandamis bid him aske what he would. He required his eyes; which the other presently submitted to be pluck't out. Which being done, and the Sarmatians allowing it for a ransome, hee returned, leaning on his friend, and swimming with him back againe safely arrived at us. This Action struck spirit into the Scythians, who now thought themselves not vanquisht, since the thing by us most valued was not conquered by the enemy; but that our courage, and Constancy to our friends, was still un­subdued. The Sarmatians, on the contrary, were much terrified, when they consider'd what men they were to encounter upon preparation; though they then overcame them by surprize. 'Twas therefore, no sooner night, but leaving most of their spoyles behind them, and burning our Chariots, they betooke themselves to flight. Amizocas in the meane time, disdaining the use of his eyes, after his friend had lost his, made himselfe blinde. And now sight­lesse, as they are, they are observ'd, and kept with all ho­nour at the publicke charge of the Scythians. I doubt, Mne­sippus, whether you could equall this example, though I should allow you to joyne ten more to your five; or if un­sworne you should have liberty to use what fictions you list. I have deliver'd nothing but naked story, which in your narration had, I know right well, been painted with all variety of circumstances; How affectionate Danda­mis intreaties were; how gladly he lost his eyes; what he sayd, how he return'd, and with what acclamations he was received; with other passages, wherewith you artifici­ally worke on your hearers. Heare, next▪ the story of Belitta, Cousin German to Amizocas, equall to the former. He beholding Basthes his friend, at a hunting, pluck't from his horse by a Lyon, who infolding him in his pawes, be­gan to teare his throat, alighting from his horse leapt upon the Lyons backe, forcibly rayned backe his head upon himselfe, spurr'd, and provok't him, thrust his fingers into his mouth; and laboured with all his strength to free [Page 176] Basthes from his Jawes, till the Lyon leaving him halfe dead turned upon Belitta; and griping him in his pawes kill'd him, who dying, had onely the power to thrust his sword into the Lyons paunch, and so all three expired. Whom we have buried, and erected two neighbouring monuments, one to the two friends, the other just oppo­site to the Lyon. My third relation shall be of the friend­ship of Macentes, Lonchatas, and Arsacomas. This Arsaco­mas became enamoured of Mazaea, daughter of Leucanor, who raigned in Bosphorus, at that time when he was sent Embassadour thither to demand the Tribute, which the Bosphorans are obliged to pay us; but were then be­hind three months beyond their accustomed day. For ha­ving sight of Mazaea at a feast, a goodly, and amiable La­dy, he was enflamed, and much struck with her. The bu­sinesse of the tribute was now transacted, and the King having given him his answer, and entertained him at a banquet, was ready to give him his dispatch. 'Tis the custome in Bosphorus that suiters wooe openly at Table, where they declare their Quality, and to what fortunes they can bring those they desire to marry. It happened that there were many suitors then present, both Kings, and Kings sonnes; Among whom were Tigrapates, Prince of Themiscyra, and Adyrmachus, Duke of Maclyna, hand many others; every wooer having revealed himself, and showne upon what confidence he came thither a suiter, is to feast with the rest, and to sit silent. The Feast ended, he is to take a cuppe, and to powre wine on the Table, then to addresse himselfe to the Bride, and to enlarge his owne praises, by declaring his Pedigree, wealth, and power. Many having perform'd the Ceremony, and extoll'd their Dominions, & estates, at last Arsacomas requesting the cup, spilt no wine (for we hold it reproachfull to the God to spill him) but taking it off at a draught, give me thy, daugh­ter Mazaea, O King, said he, to wife, who for my riches, and possessions am much to be preferr'd before these; where­at [Page 177] Leucanor wondring, and knowing Arsacomas to be but a poore vulgar Scythian, ask't him, How many head of Cattle, and wagons have you, Arsacomas? for herein you Scythians are onely rich. I have, said he, neither waggons nor flocks; but I have two rare, and excellent friends, such as no Scythian hath besides, which raised their generall laughter, who contemned and thought him drunke. In the morning Adyrmachus was prefer'd before the rest, who shortly after purposed to carry his Bride into Maeotis to his Machlyans. At his returne Arsacomas reported to his two friends how dishonourably he was refused by the King, and laught at in the banquet for his poverty. Though, said he, I told him what great Treasures I had in you Lon­chates, and Macentas, and in your friendship, which is much more pretious, and powerfull then all the Bosphoran forces, whereat he laught, and dispised us Scythians, and gave his daughter in marryage to Adyrmachus the Machlyan, for boasting himselfe to have ten golden Cuppes, eighty four­seated Chariots, besides sheep and oxen in abundance; preferring before valiant men heards of Cattle, wrought bowles, and massie Chariots. Two things, then, my best friends, torment mee, my love of Mazaea, and affront in so publique an assembly, where, I suppose, you also e­qually injur'd; s [...]nce every one severally is interested in the third par of the dishonour, if we live as vve begun at our first conjunction, three made one, and doe resent and re­joyce at the same things. More then so, said Lonchates, in your sufferings the vvhole injury vvas offer'd to every one of us in particular. Hovv, then, replyed Macentas, shall vve order our revenge? let us divide, ansvvered Lonchates, the businesse among us. I dare undertake to bring Leuca­nors head to Arsacomas, be it your taske to bring him his daughter. I accept the division, ansvvered Lonchates; and do you, said he, Arsacomas in the meane time (for the en­terprize must in likelihood engage us in a vvarre) stay here, and raise vvhat Armes, Horses, and Forces you can: [Page 178] which will be no hard matter, being your selfe a stout man, and our Allyes being not few, but especially if you sit upon the oxe hide. The designe pleased; and Lon­chates presently tooke the next way into Bosphorus, Macen­tes to the Machlyans, both well horst. But Arsacomas stay'd at home; and imparted the adventure to his equall [...]quaintances, and put some Companies of his familiars into armes; and lastly sate downe upon the oxe hide. Now our custome of the hide is this; when any man is inju­red by another, and would redresse himselfe, and is un­able to wage warre, he sacrificeth an oxe, whose flesh he divides into parcels, and roasts it; then spreading the hide upon the ground, sits on it, holding his hands behind him, like those who are pinion'd. And this with us is the most passionate way of petitioning. Then the flesh of the oxe roasted being set to the publike accesse, his neere acquain­tances, and whosoever else will, assemble to him, and ta­king every one a piece, and treading on the hide with their right foote, promise ayd according to their abilities; one to find five horse at his owne charge, another ten, another more, another as many Armed foote souldiers, as he can; and he that is poorest, himselfe: so that sometimes great troopes are gather'd to the hide, and an Army thus raised is of firmest combination, and as inviolable to the enemy, as if they were knit by Sacrament; for to tread upon the hide is with us an oath. Thus did Arsacomas order mat­ters; to whom repair'd about five thousand horsemen, and promiscuously armed twenty thousand foot. Lon­chates, in the mean time, passing unknowne into Bospho­rus got accesse to the King then busie in affaires of State; and told him that he came publikely sent by the Scythians, but that the greatnesse of his message requir'd to be de­liver'd in private. The King bidding him speake his em­bassie. As for their common, dayly grievances, said he, the Scythians forbid that your shepheards any more passe beyond your owne plaines, but feed their flocks within [Page 179] Tracho. Next, they deny those theeves, whereof you accuse them for over-running your Country, to have any pub­like warrant; but say, they rob for their owne private gaine, and that if any of them be taken, 'tis in your power to punish them. And this I have commission to tell you from them. But from my owne private Intelligence I do informe you, that Arsacomas, the sonne of Mariantas, who was lately embassadour here, will shortly make a great in­vasion upon you, the cause, I guesse to be your refusall of him when he desired your daughter, which he takes as a dishonour, and hath already sate seaven dayes upon the hide; and contracted an Army not contemptible. I have heard, sayd Leucanor, that forces were assembled to the hide, but knew not that they were raised against us; or that Arsacomas ruled the expedition. Against thee, said Lon­chates, is the preparation made. But Arsacomas is my ene­my, and takes resentment that our Elders should preferre mee before him; or that I should in all things eclipse his reputation; If therefore, Thou wilt contract thy o­ther daughter Barcetis to mee, who am not unworthy of the Alliance, ere long I will returne and bring thee his head. I do here promise said the King, exceedingly fright­ed, knowing the cause of Arsacomas quarrell to be the de­nyall of his marriage. Besides, the Scythians had ever been dreadfull to him. Sweare, said Lonchates, to keepe cove­nants, and never to deny them, which the King preparing to do, and being ready to sweare with his hands lift up to heaven, forbeare thus openly, Sir, said the other, lest some of the beholders make interpretations of your Oath. But let us enter into this Temple of Mars, and shut the doores, that none may overheare you: for if the least re­velation be made to Arsacomas, I feare, he will begin the warre with my sacrifice, being already fortified with no small Regiments. Let us enter, said the King; and keepe you distance, nor let any approach the Temple whom I shall not call. Being enter'd, and the guard farre removed, [Page 180] Lonchates drew his Sagar, and stopping his mouth with the other hand to suppresse cryes, stabb'd him in the brest. Then cutting off his head, and carrying it under his cloacke, he went forth, making as if he spoke to him all the while, and saying he would presently come againe, as if he had beene sent by the King upon businesse. And so returning to the place where hee left his horse tyed, mounting he rode back into Scythia. But no pursuit was made after him, because 'twas long before the Bosphorans knew what was done; and when they knew they grew factious for the Kingdome. Thus accomplish't Lonchates his atchievment, and fulfilled his undertaking by the de­livery of Leucanors head to Arfacomas. Macentes having intell [...]gence by the way of the Bosphoran affaires, past on to the Machlyans, and vvas the first reporter of the Kings death. But the people, said he, call on you, Adyrmachus, being his sonne in Lavv, to accept the Crovvne; By vvay of Anticipation, therefore, things favouring you by their distraction, shovv your selfe unexpectedly, and assume the Empire. Let your vvife by Coach follovv after: vvhose presence, being Leucanors daughter, vvill give you a quick interest in the vulgar Bosphorans. As for me, I am both an Aliance, and of affinity to your vvife by the mo­ther. For Leucanor married Mastera from my Country: from vvhose brothers at Alania I am novv sent vvith commission to exhort you to make all hasty dispatch into Bosphorus; and not to suffer the Crovvne to fall on Eubia­tus, Leucanors base brother, a long friend to the Scythians, and disaffected to the Alanes. Thus said Macentes, resem­bling that people both in his habit, and speech. for there is onely this difference betvveene them, that the Alanes vveare not their haire so long as the Scythians; vvhich Macentes having nevvly cut, past easily undistinguish't, and gained credit to his disguise, under vvhich he vvas taken for Mastera's, and Mazaea's kinsman. And novv, said he, I am ready, Adyrmachus, as you please to command mee; [Page 181] either to accompany you into Bosphorus, or to stay, and as occasion serves to conduct your wife. I had much ra­ther, replyed Adyrmachus, that being of her alliance you would convey my wife. For by accompanying mee into Bosphorus you shall but adde one horseman more to the Troope: but in conducting my wife you will serve in stead of many. Things thus resolved, he presently began his journey, and left Mazaea yet a virgin, to be brought after by Macentes; who by day carried her in a coach. But when night came, by designe with one of his servants, who followed him with horses, he set her on horse-back, and mounting himselfe, kept not any longer the way to­wards Moeotis, but turning aside to the Mediterranean, and leaving the Mitraean mountaines on his right hand, appeasing the young Lady the best hee could, in three dayes passage through the Machlyans, he arrived in Scythia: where his horse no sooner finish't his course, but after a short stand expired. But Mecentes delivering Mazaea to Ar­sacomas, Receive, said he, from mee my promise; and when the other much astonisht at the unhop't for spe­ctacle prepared to thanke him: Forbeare, said Macentes, to make me any other then your selfe, For to acknowledge your selfe obliged to mee for what I have done, is as if my left hand should give thankes to the right, for curing it wounded, and affording it friendly attendance. Twere, then, most ridiculous in us, if after a long conjunction, wee, who as farre as 'tis possible became one, should put great values upon any thing adventurously atchieved by a part for the whole. Since being but a part, the good wrought for the whole, was wrought for the part too. Thus said Macentes to Arsacomas, preparing to give him thankes. But when Adyrmachus heard of the plot, he broke off his journey intended for Bosphorus; for there Eubiotus was Crowned, called home from Sarmatia, where hee sojourn'd, and returning to his Country rais [...]d a great Army, and through the mountaines made an invasion [Page 182] upon Scythia. Shortly after he was seconded by Eubiotus, who led a promiscuous Army of Greekes, Alanes, and choyce Sarmatians, consisting of 20000 of each, which joyned to Adyrmachus Troopes, made an Army of ninety Thousand; whereof the third part were Horse Archers: we on the contrary, (I bearing a share in the expedition, to which I with others assembled to the hide contributed an hundred well appointed horsemen) having gather'd a body, little lesse then thirty thousand, with our Cavalry attended their assault, having Arsacomas for our Gene­rall. As they made their approach, we march't Counter, placeing our forces of Horse in front. After a long un­certaine battle, we were put to the worst, and our Squa­drons routed; And at last the Scythians being divided in­to two bodies, one part fled, as if apparently vanquish't, but in a kind of retreat, so as the Alanes durst not pursue them farre, but incircling the other part which was the weaker, with help of the Machlyans, made great slaugh­ter with their showres of Darts, and Arrowes: so that our men thus besieged were very much distressed, and many of them threw away their Armes; in which number by chance were Lonchates, and Macentes; who more forward then others to put themselves upon dangers, were both wounded, Lonchates with a poyson'd dart which burnt his thigh, Macentes with a stroke of a Battle axe on the head, and a halberd on the shoulder, which when Arsa­comas understood, who was then with us in the other part of the Army, holding it dishonourable not to relieve his friends, putting spurres to his horse, with loud cryes and his sword drawne he broke through the enemy, nor could the Machlyans resist his fury, but gave him passage. He having brought off his friends, and given new cou­rage to the rest, rusht upon Adyrmachus, and striking him on the neck with his whineyard, cleft him downe to the girdle, upon vvhose fall the vvhole Army of the Machlyans vvere disorder'd, and soone after the Alanes, and [Page 183] after all the Grecians. So that by an after Battle wee con­quer'd, and pursued them with a great slaughter, to which onely the night gave a period: next day came Embassa­dours from the enemy with petitions of League. The Bosphorans covenanted to pay double Tribute, the Mach­lyans promised to give Hostages; the Alanes in discharge of that invasion undertooke to subdue the Syndians anci­ent enemies to our State. To these Articles wee agreed, led chiefly by the consents of Arsacomas, and Lonchates, who sway'd the rest, and a peace was concluded. These, Mnesippus, are the exployts of Scythians for their friends.

Mnesipp.

They are very Tragicall, Toxaris, and sound like Romances; your Sagar, therefore, and wind by which you swore must grant easie pardons, and not blame him much that shall not believe you.

Toxaris.

Take heed, generous Sir, your envy cause not your infidelity: yet shall not your hardnesse of faith di­vert mee from reporting the like enterprizes perform'd by other Scythians of my knowledge.

Mnesipp.

Be not tedious, then, I beseech you, excellent Sir, nor let your discourse be Errantry, or sometimes wan­der up and downe Scythia, and Machlyna, then passe over into Bosphorus, at last returne home to the vexati­on of my silence.

Toxaris.

You shall be obeyed in your impositions and I will be briefe, lest your attention should tire in following my Digressions. Heare then what a friend of mine call'd Sisinnes did for mee. When I tooke my voyage for A­thens, out of my desire to the Greeke education, I stroke in at Amastris, a Towne of Pontus, lying just in passage to those who saile from Scythia, and not farre distant from Carambe. Sisinnes bore mee company, my friend of a child. Here wee saw certaine Merchandizes brought into the Haven, which carrying ashore we bought, not suspecting any mischance. In the mean time, some theeves broke open our trunkes, and stole all we had, and left us not [Page 184] enough to supply us for that day. At our returne from our Lodging, understanding what had happened, we thought it not fit to question the neighbours being many, or our Hoste, out of our feare to be taken for Braggarts, if wee should have complain'd that foure hundred Daricks, diverse suits of rich apparell, and hangings, and whatsoe­ver else we had, had beene stolne from us. Wee consul­ted, therefore, what men thus impoverisht were to doe in a strange place my resolution was to kill my selfe, by fal­ling on my sword, before I was cast upon base wayes of reliefe, either by thirst or famine. But Sisinnes by his bet­ter counsels diverted mee from such a fact: And said hee had found a way to sustaine us. That day his gaines for carrying wood from the wharfe supplyed us with victu­als. Next morning, as he walkt in the market place, hee saw (as he tells the story) a gallant show of stout young Gentlemen, who man by man were chosen for a prize set, to enter combate the third day following. Ha­ving well instructed himselfe in the conditions, hee came to mee, and said, Toxaris, hereafter call not your selfe poore, for three dayes hence I will enrich you. Wee passing the time in miserable reliefes, at the day of the show came thither as spectators. Inviting mee abroad he carried me to the Theater, as to some delightfull spectacle of the Grae­cians. Having seated our selves, we saw first some wild beasts peirced with javelins, and hunted with dogges; o­thers let loose upon certaine men bound, whom wee guessed to be malefactors. When the combatants entred, the cryer produced a young man of vast size, saying, if any man will enter duell with this Champion, let him stand forth, and as the reward of the fight he shall receive ten thou­sand Drachmes. Sisinnes presently rising up, leapt our, undertooke the combate, and required armes; and recei­ving the mony deliver'd it into my hands; saying, If I overcome, Toxaris, when we depart this shall be our via­ticum. If I be slaine, bury mee, and returne to Scythia. The [Page 185] words drew sighs from wee, whilst hee taking the Ar­mour, put it all on but the helmet, and fought bare hea­ded. In the first encounter he was wounded with a re­verst blow in the hamme; at which much blood issued, which halfe slew mee with feare; but hee stoutly obser­ving his adversaries assaults, ran him through the brest, whereupon hee fell presently at his feet. And hee faint with his wound was forced to sit downe upon his con­quest; so neere was he expiration. I running to him, rais'd him, and gave him heart. And after hee was declared victor, tooke him upon my backe, and carried him home: where he lay a while under cure, but is now recover'd, and lives in Scythia, marryed to my sister, onely he is still lame of his wound. This, Mnesippus, was not done a­mong the Machlyans, or in Alania, which might give you colours for your distrust. But the Amastrians have yet in fresh memory Sisinnes combate. I will conclude my first narration with the story of Abauchas. This Abauchas ar­rived at the Citty of the Borysthenians, and brought with him his wife, whom hee exceedingly loved, and two children, one a sucking boy, the other a girle, of the age of seven yeares. He had besides in his company a friend, one Gyndanes, who lay sick of a wound received by the way from certaine theeves which as [...]aulted them. By whom in the skirmish he was hurt in the thigh, and dis­abled from standing by the paine. One night as they lodg­ed in an upper chamber, and were all asleepe, a great fire happen'd, which shut them in, and surrounded the house. At which Abauchas awaking, left his children crying, and thrusting away his wife, who cleaved to him, and bid­ding her save her selfe, taking his friend upon his shoul­ders, he carryed him downe, and broke with him through the flame untoucht. His wife bearing the little infant fol­lovved, and bid her daughter follovv her, but halfe burnt she vvas constrained to cast the child from her armes, and yet hardly so escap't the flame; her daughter also [Page 186] which closely follow'd was almost smother'd. After­wards, when one objected to Abauchas, that he betray'd his wife, and children, and saved Gyndanes, 'Twill not be hard for mee, said hee, to beget more children; besides 'tis doubtfull how they will prove: but it must be a long time before I can find such another friend as Gyndanes; of whose affection I had so many tryalls. I have sayd, Mnesip­pus, and have reported five examples of many. 'Tis now time to pronounce whether I be to loose my right hand, or you your tongue; who shall be Judge?

Mnesipp.

That wee did not agree upon. But Ile tell you what we will doe; since we have all this while shot with­out a marke; let us upon a new agreement choose a Mo­derator, and report before him other examples of friend­ship. and as the conquest is decided, let either my tongue, or your hand be cutt off; or if such decision be too savage, since you seem to be an admirer of friendship; and since I hold nothing more excellent, or desirable to men, why should not wee two combind betweene our selves, here­after become friends, and for ever enterchange affecti­ons, being both conquerours, and both receiving the highest reward, instead of one tongue and one hand, two apiece; foure eyes also, & foure feet, & in a word, all things double? For two or three friends joyn'd become the Ge­ryon described by writers to be a man vvith sixe hands, and three heads. But I suppose them three men vvho did all things in common as it becomes friends.

Toxaras.

You say vvell, be it so then.

Mnesippus.

To confirme our friendship, then, vve need not use a svvord, Toxaris, or blood. Our present discourse, and sympathy is much more povverfull then your Cuppe: since such friendships require affection not necessity for their ground.

Toxaris.

'Tis true. Be vve then mutually friends, and hostes, you to mee here in Greece, I to you vvhensoever you come into Scythia.

Mnesipp:
[Page 187]

Assure your selfe, I would take a much longer voyage to gaine such a friend, as you, Toxaris, by your discourse have showne your selfe.

Anacharsis, or a Discourse of Exercises.

The Speakers Anacharsis and Solon.
Anarcharsis.

VVHat Custome is this among you, So­lon? some of your young men mutu­ally closing, trip up one anothers heeles; others take their companion by the Throat, and tosse him; others tumble, and rowle themselves in the mire like swine. But first I observed that unclothing themselves they shave and annoint one another very peaceably; and presently, I know not upon what quarrell, they fall to pushing, and to dash foreheads like rammes. Looke, yonder one ha­ving lift his fellow up by the thighs, hurles him to the ground, and falling on him, suffers him not to rise, but drawes him into a puddle, and screwing his legges up to his belly, and infolding his neck with his arme almost stifles him; another beats him on the backe; requesting him, I suppose, not to be chok't; nor care they to loose their oyle, or to be fullied; but bemiring, bedaubing, and putting themselves into a great sweat, make mee sport, like so many Eeles slipping away betweene the holders fingers. In like manner, others here in the Court yard, rowle not themselves in puddle, but in the deep sand, and tumble together into a pit, where like so many cocks they bedust one another, to hinder dis-imbracements, I suppose, & to avoyd slipperynesse; and by drying his body, to streng­then his hold on his adversary. Others, keeping posture, and dusted all over, beat and kick one another. See how [Page 188] yonder poore wretch sprinkled with sand bleeds with a blow on the face, and is ready to spit out his teeth; nor doth their Captaine (for so I guesse him by his purple) offer to part them, or compose the quarrell, but rather pro­vokes them, and praises the striker: others, farre off, with much speed seeme to runne races, yet keepe the same place, and kicke up their heeles into the ayre. I would, therefore, know to what end they doe thus. For to mee these agitations seeme plaine madnesse; nor shall any man easily perswade mee that they, who do thus, are not distracted.

Solon.

'Tis like enough, Anacharsis, that these exercises carry such appearances to you, being strange, and diffe­rent from your Scythian customes, and formes of exercises; which to a Graecian spectator, would seeme as forraigne, and strange. But censure fairely, I pray, These are not ex­ercises of distraction; nor doe they beat, or rowle in the mire, or besprinkle one another with dust out of quarrell, but out of a delightfull necessity, to encrease the strength, and vigour of their bodies: nor doubt I but, when you have stay'd a while in Greece, you will be one of those who tumble in the mire, and sand, and will take both pleasure and profit in the exercise.

Anacharsis.

The Gods forbid, Solon, I bequeath such Recreations of profit to you. Should one of you offer mee such affronts, he should feele I wore not a sword in vaine. But pray tell mee, what doe you call these kind of Horse-playes? what name may wee give to these pas­times?

Solon.

That space yonder, Anarcharsis, is call'd the Schoole of Exercise, and dedicated to Apollo Lycius: whose statue you see leaning to a pillar, holding a bow in the left hand, and sustaining his head with the right, as ta­king his rest after a long wearinesse. These exercises, which you see performed in the mire, wee call wrestling, as also those in the sand. Those that you see thrust, and [Page 189] beate one another are called Hurlers: we have many o­ther kinds of exercise, as Cuffing, Quoites, and Jumping; wherein wee propose games. In any of which the con­querer is held the most Generous, and carryes away the prize.

Anacharsis.

And what are your prizes?

Solon.

In the Olympicke games, wee give a Crowne of wild Olive; in the Isthmian of Pine; in the Nemean of Parsely; in the Pytihan, the Priests of the God give Apples; wee Athenians give Oyle of Olive. Why do you smile A­nacharsis, are these Trifles thinke you?

Anacharsis.

Noe, you have reckon'd up rewards, Solon, very honourable, and worthy both of their proposers for their magnificence, and of the contenders, who so earnest­ly strive for them. For Apples, then, and Parslye, they toyle, and endanger themselves, thrusting and beating one another: nor, though they should long, may they with­out much contention eate Apples, or be crown'd with Parslye, or Pine; unlesse they bedaube their faces with mire, or receive kicks in the belly from their Antago­nists.

Solon.

But wee, good Sir, doe not barely looke upon the meannesse of the rewards, which are but signes of vi­ctory, and markes, whereby to know the Conquerours; who preferre the glory which accompanies them above all things else. And, therefore, they who seeke Reputation from their dangers, thinke it honourable to be kickt. For fame is not purchased without labour; But it behooves him that courts it, to undergoe many difficulties at first, and to pursue, and sweeten his end with sufferances, and toyles.

Anachar:

Call you their end, Solon, sweet, and gain­full, who are crown'd in publique Assembly, and extol'd for their victory, who just before were pittied for their patience? or can they be happy, who for so much danger, are paid with Apples, and Parsly?

Solon.
[Page 190]

You are still unexperienced in our Customes: ere long you will change your opinion, when you have beene once at our Games, and there see a numberlesse multitude gather'd, to the spectacle, the Theatre fill'd with thousands, the exercisers shouted, and the Conquerour e­quall'd to the Gods.

Anachar:

This makes their case the more deplorable, Solon, not to suffer such indignities before a few, but be­fore so many spectatours, and witnesses of their affronts, who pronounce them not happy till they see them stream with blood, or throttled by their Antagonists. And this you call the felicity of their conquest. But among us Scy­thians, if any strike a Cittizen, or justle him out of the way, or tare his garment, the Elders fine him very deeply, though the injury were offer'd but in the presence of few, and not in such publique Theatres as Isthmus, and Olympia. Nor doe I onely pitty your exercisers for their sufferings, but your spectators; who, you say, being of great quali­ty, resort from all places to the show. For I cannot but wonder that they should neglect their serious affaires, and find leasure for vanities. Nor can I understand how it can be a spectacle of pleasure to them, to see men strucke, and beaten, and throvvne downe, and trampled by one another.

Solon.

Were this the time, Anacharsis, of our Olympick, or Istmian, or Athenian Games, the things there done would teach you that our studies of them are not vaine. For no man by my descriptions can so instill the pleasure of those sights, as when you your selfe making one of the spectators, behold mens valour, the goodlinesse of their persons, their admirable dexterity, prodigious skill, invin­cible strength, courage, emulation, unavoidable sleights, and indefatigable desire of victory, which I know you would incessantly praise, shout, and clap.

Anarchar:

By Iupiter, Solon, I should incessantly flout, and laugh, to see your whole Catalogue of vertues, bodily [Page 191] force, shape, and courage mis [...]imploy'd, and spent to no end: when neither your Country is endangered, nor your Coasts invaded, nor your friends injured. For, to mee, those whom you call valiant, appeare the more ridi­culous for their vaine sufferings, afflictions, and deface­ment of their lineaments, and personage with dust; and tramplings, that their victories may be rewarded with Apples, and Pine-leaves. I cannot, therefore, thinke of such prizes but they are my sport. But tell mee, have all excercisers the same reward?

Solon.

Noe; He onely that conquers.

Anachar:

Do the rest, then, toyle for a doubtfull, un­certaine victory, knowing there can be but one Conque­rour; And that the conquered, who are many, endure all those beatings, and wounds to no purpose?

Solon.

You seeme, Anacharsis, to know nothing of a well ordered Commonwealth; otherwise you would not so slightly value the best customes. But whensoever you give your mind to know how the best State is to be governed, and how the best Cittizens are to be made, you will then praise those exercises, and emulations so much practised by us, and will discerne the commodities min­gled with those sweats, though they now seeme labours in vaine.

Anachars.

I had no other purpose, Solon, to my jour­ney from Scythia hither, in which I measured much Land, beside the tempestuous Euxine Sea, but to learne the Grae­cian Lawes, and to instruct my selfe in your customes, and study the best forme of Government. Of all the Atheni­ans, therefore, and forreiners, I chose you by your fame for my acquaintance, after I heard you were a giver of Lawes, and an inventer of excellent customes, and an introducer of usefull institutions, and fashioner of a com­monwealth. You cannot therefore, more desire to teach, and to make mee your Scholer, then I shall be rea­dy, without eating or drinking, to sit as long as you [Page 192] are able to speake, and greedily attend your Lecture of Lawes and States.

Solon.

To give you a just account in a briefe narration were not easie. You shall, therefore, by degrees and steps, know what opinions wee hold of the Gods, of our pa­rents, of marryage, and other things; As also what wee decree of our young men, and how wee breed them, when they they once begin to know what is best; and arrive at such a strength of body as to endure labours. All which I will unfold to you, that you may be instru­cted, why wee set them those Games, and compell them to exercise their bodies; not meerly for the Games fake, or the glory of the prize (for few attaine to it) but for a farre more excellent good, which hereby growes to the whole Commonwealth, and to themselves in particular. For there is a more publique prize, and crowne proposed to all good Cittizens, not made of Pine, or wild Olive, or Parsly, but which comprehends the common hap­pinesse of men; namely, the private liberty of every one, and publique of the State; besides riches, glory, fruition of solemne Assemblies, security of friends, and whatsoe­ver Blessings else men would aske in their prayers of the Gods. All which are woven into the Garland, I spoke of, and accompany that prize, to which those exercis [...]s, and labours lead.

Anachar:

Why then, most venerable Solon, having re­wards of such value, did you tell mee of Apples, and Pars­ly, and boughs of wild Olive, and Pine?

Solon.

Even these, Anacharsis, will not be of slight con­sideration to you after you understand what I am about to say. For these have the same purpose, and end, and are but lesser portions of that ample and happy reward, and Garland I mentioned. But my discourse, hath, I know not how, broke order, to begin with things done in the Isthmian, Olympick, and Nemean Games, I, therefore, since my leisure and your patience meet; will dravv things [Page 193] from their first principles, and lay for my originall that publique reward to which all these exercises aspire.

Anachar.

You shall do well, Solon, if you use no more digressions by the way; And thereby I shall the easier be perswaded not to laugh any more when I see one stalke Majestically crowned with wild Olive, or Parsly. If you please, therefore, let us withdraw into yonder shade, where wee may sit undisturb'd with the noyse of the exercisers. For (not to dissemble) I am impatient of the scorching Sun-beames striking on my bare head, and left my cap at home, that I might not be the onely man seene among you in a forraine Habit. Besides, now is the time of the yeare that the scorching starre, which you call the Dogge, raignes, and burnes all things, and renders the Ayre sultry and enflamed; The Sun also now at noone, be­ing verticall, casts an insupportable raye on our bodies. So that I wonder, you being an old man, do not, like me swet, nor appeare molested with the heat, nor looke about for some cool place to retire to, but patiently brook the season.

Solon.

Those foolish exercises, Anacharsis, and frequent tumblings in the mire, and open contentions in the Sands do harden, and fortifie us against the Sunne; nor need we cappes to protect our heads from his beames. But let us withdraw. I expect not you should consent or bind your whole faith to every thing I speake as Law, but when you think I speak amisse presently to contradict, and rectifie my discourse. For in one of those two I will not faile, either to make you of my opinion, if you meet with nothing to be contradicted, or learne from you how erroneously I have beene the author of those customes; For which the whole Citty of Athens will give you ample thankes. Nor can you more oblige them then by disciplining, and instilling righter opinions into mee. which I will not conceale, but will presently make them publique, and standing in open Assembly thus bespeake the Citty. I, O yee Athenians, have heretofore written [Page 194] Lawes, which I thought most necessary for the State, But this stranger (pointing at you, Anacharsis,) being by Coun­try a Scythian, yet a wise man, hath otherwise instructed mee, and taught mee better principles, and institutions. Let him, therefore, be registred your Benefactor, and erect his brasen statue among the persons most of honour in the Citty, neere Minerva. Hereupon assure your selfe, A­nacharsis, the Athenians will not be ashamed to be taught better rules by a Barbarian, and a stranger.

Anachars.

I heard as much before of you Athenians, that you were great scoffers: For how should I, being a rude, wandring man, living in a waggon, and travailing from one Country to another, who never inhabited, or till now saw a Citty, discourse of policy, or teach men borne and bred in an ancient State; where for so many successi­ons they have lived under the best forme of government? especially you, Solon, whose study, they say, it hath al­wayes beene to lay the best foundations of a Common­wealth; and to know under what Lawes it would most flourish? 'Tis fit, therefore, your Authority, being a Law­giver, should sway mee. And, therefore, if I oppose you, where you seeme not to speake reason, it shall be that I may be the firmlier instructed. See we are now sheltred in this Arbour from the Sunne; this coole marble also of­fers us a pleasant, and seasonable seat. Begin your dis­course then, and say, why you breed your children to those hard labours; or how puddles, and exercise can make them gallant men; or how dust, and tumblings in the mire can advance their vertues. This I first desire to know: you shall informe mee of other particulars in their place and order. Remember I pray withall in the structure of your narration that you speake to a Barbari­an; which I tell you, that you may neither involve, nor prolong your discourse. For I shall be apt to forget the beginning, if your narration be too much lengthened.

Solon.

Your admonition will be timelier, Anacharsis, [Page 195] when you find mee darke in my expressions, or digres­sing from the purpose. It shall, therefore, be in your power to aske what questions by the way, and to cut off what superfluities, you please. But where I am pertinent, and rove not from the marke, you must give mee leave to be copious; and to observe the practice of my Country, allow'd of even by the Areopagus, where matters of the highest nature are decided. For in that Court the Judges being entred, and placed, to determine of murthers, in­tended wounds, and conflagrations, Liberty is given both for the accuser, and the accused to speake by turnes, either themselves, or by their Advocates, retain'd to plead for them: who, as long as they speake to the businesse, are heard with silence of the Senate. But if any shall of­fer by a preface to render the Judges favourable, or to draw pitty, or powerfulnesse to his cause, (which are the ordinary arts of young Oratours) presently a Cryer stands forth, and enjoynes him silence, and suffers him not to trifle before the Senate, or to colour the businesse with e­loquence, but to present it naked to them. So I doe con­stitute you, Anacharsis, the Areopagite of my present dis­course; and give you power to heare mee according to the Lawes of my Court; and where you find mee over Rhetoricall to silence mee; but where I speake agreeable to the businesse to suffer mee to enlarge my selfe. For wee hold not Dialogue now in the heat of the Sunne; And therefore let mee not seeme tedious, if I prolong my nar­ration, since wee are now in the thicke shade, and are both vacant.

Anachar:

You speake reason, Solon, and I give you no small thankes, that by this Digression you have taught mee the the passages of the Senate; which, truly, are ad­mirable, and such as befit wise men, who order their suf­frages by Justice. Proceed, then; and since you have made mee one of your Areopagite Judges, I will heare you like one.

Solon.
[Page 196]

First, then, you are briefly to marke how wee define a Citty, and Cittizens. Wee take not a Citty for the buildings, such as are the Walls, Temples, and houses: For these are but, as it were, a constant immoveable body for the receipt, and safety of the Inhabitants. All Authority is seated in the Cittizens; who fill, order, perfect, and pre­serve the other, as the soule doth every one of us. Vpon these considerations wee extend our cares, as you may observe to the Body of the Citty, which we adorne to the utmost show of magnificence, with elegant structures within, and secured with the strongest Rampires, and Fortifications without. But the chiefest part of our pro­vidence is, that the Cittizens may have vertuous minds, and strong bodies: whereby being enabled for go­vernment, they may be mutually usefull to themselves in peace, and defend the Citty, and preserve it free, and hap­py, in warre. Their first education, therefore, wee assigne to their Mothers, Nurses, and Schoolmasters, to breed them to the Liberall Arts. But when they are growne up to understand what vertue is, and when modesty, bash­fulnesse, reverence, and desire of the best things is implan­ted in them, and when their bodies, by patient exercises, are confirmed, and strengthened, and brought to a manly consistency, then wee teach, and propose to them other knowledges of the mind, and exercises of the body: which wee accustome and inure to other labours. For wee thinke it not enough to be borne, as wee are, with bodies, and soules; but are to perfect both with Disci­pline and sciences: by which naturall endovvments be­ing reduced to order, are much advanced, and defects are beautified, and corrected. Wee take our patternes from husbandmen, vvho vvhen their plants are lovv and ten­der, cover, and digge about them, to protect them from the vvinde; But vvhen they are vvell grovvne, they cut off the supersfluous boughs, and exposing them to be tost, and shaken by the vvindes, render them the more fruitfull. [Page 197] The first elements of our childrens education are, musicke, Arithmeticke, how to forme letters, and exactly to pro­nounce them. Afterwards, we repeat to them the sayings of wise men, ancient exployts, and usefull discourses made illustrious by verse, that they may the better be remem­bred. They hearing the deeds, and memorable Atchieve­ments of famous men, are insensibly inflamed, and pro­voked to an imitation, that they may be celebrated, and admired by posterity. Of which nature are many things deliver'd by our Hesiod, and Homer. When they are ripe for government, and are ready to be call'd to the handling of publique Affaires— but this is besides the purpose. For I intended not at first to show how wee manured their minds, but why wee thus imployed, and exercised their bodyes. I doe, therefore, enjoyne my selfe silence, without the reprehension of a cryer, or such an Areopagite as you, who out of modesty, I believe, have all this while heard mee trifle beside the purpose.

Anachars:

Tell mee, Solon, why your Areopagus doth not punish those who omit things materiall, and passe them by in silence?

Solon.

Pray make mee understand why you aske this Question.

Anachars:

Because you passe over the best things, and which I most desire to heare, Namely the exercises of the soule, and proceed to the lesse necessary labours and exer­cises of the body.

Solon.

Herein I am constant to my first purpose; For should I suffer my discourse to wander from the scope, I should confound your memory by my digressions: yet I will give you as briefe a draught as I can of those also. For an exact description of them, would require a parti­cular discourse. First, then, wee lay in our childrens minds excellent sentences; Afterwards wee teach them the Common Lawes, which in capitall Letters are openly hung up to be read; commanding what is to be done, [Page 198] and what to be avoided; That the company of good men is to be used, from whom they may learn to speak what is fit; to observe justice in an equality of Conver­sation; not to covet things dishonest, but to desire honest; and not to offer injuries. Now these men are with us stiled Sophists, and Philosophers: we bring them, also, into the Theater, where wee publikely teach them by the virtues and vices of former ages presented in Co­moedies, and Tragoedies, which they are to shunne, which to embrace; we give liberty, also, to our Comick Poets to personate, and inveigh against those Citti­zens, whose lives are infamous, and disgracefull to the Commonwealth; whereupon some grow reformed by Libells, and forsake their faults which would hereby fall under the reprehension of the vulgar.

Anachars:

I understand you, Solon; your Tragoedians, and Comoedians were those who wore Socks, and Bus­kins, and were changeably apparell'd, and adorn'd with golden fillets, having on their faces ridiculous, wide ga­ping vizards; under which they spea [...] big, and stalke, I know not how, unknown in their [...]skins. At which time, if I erre not, you celebrated your feasts of Bacchus Your Comoedians were not so exalted, were lower shod, and spake in a lesser tone, and more like men; only their vizards were more ridiculous, and rays'd the generall Laughter of the Theater. But those Buskin'd Actors were heard with a generall sadnesse, out of pitty, I sup­pose, to the vveights, and Cloggs of their feet.

Solon.

'Twas not pitty to them, Sir; but the Poet, perhaps, represented some ancient, calamitous story, which cast into Tragicall language, and action, moved the Teares of the spectators, and hearers. 'Tis likely, also, you saw Fidlers, and Singers placed together in a Ring; neither are their voices, and cornets, void of profi­table use; but by such and the like incitements, we whet, and sharpen, and better our soules. As for our bodies, [Page 199] which you next desire to hear, we thus discipline them, when they are once compact, and past their tender­ness; First, by going naked sometimes we expose them to the Ayre, and so acquaint them with all seasons, as neither to dissolve with heat, or shrink with cold. Next, we annoynt and supple them with oyle, to make them the more active and pliant. For 'twere unreasonable that dead hides, and Leather softned by Oyle, and tan­ned, should be lesse capable of ruptures, and last longer, and that we should think such Oyntments lost upon ani­mated bodies. Next, we invent exercises of severall kinds, to which we assigne severall Teachers; one for Fencing, another for Wrastling. That, being accusto­med to such exercises, we may both know how to de­fend our selves from blowes, and not shunne wounds through Cowardlinesse. Two great advantages do hence arise; our young men, by not sparing their bodies are made valia [...]t against dangers; and possesse a firme consistency of health, and strength. For those that wrastle, do thereby learn to fall safely, and to rise nimbly, to cast off, imbrace, tosse, strangle, and lift their adversary aloft. These, then, are not exercises to be neglected, whose chiefe and great end, which they infallibly attain, is, that bodies thus exercised gain higher patiences, and vigour. Their next end, not inferiour to the other, is, that hereby our young men may be experienced against the necessities, and Accidents of Warre. For 'tis clear, that a souldier by his skill in wrastling▪ will more easily o­verthrow his enemy, or being overthrown rise again himself. All these personated combates, then, we referre to that greater of the Warre; out of our opinion, that men thus practiced are fittest for Armes, whose naked bodies we have first by Oyntments, and labours, confirmed, and fortified, and thereby made agile, and dextrous, and offensive to their encounterers. For you may easily ima­gine what those men would do in Armour, who can [Page 200] naked strike a terrour into the enemy; when they see bodies neither overburden'd with white unsupportable flesh; nor pine'd with leanesse, and palenesse; like the bodies of Women, which withering in the shade, trem­ble, and flow with sweat, and pant under a helmet; espe­cially if the Sunne, as now it doth, shine hot at Noone. For what service can they be fit, who are impatient of thirst, and dust, and faint at the sight of bloud, and expire before they come within shot, or en­counter of the enemy? Whereas our men, dy­ing their naturall rednesse by the Sunne into a brown, show manly countenances, great Heights of spirit, and flames of valour. Being by the goodnesse of their composition, neither too grosse, nor too thinne, nor overclogged with weight, but wrought into a mea­sure by their sweats, by which they evaporate the use­lesse superfluities of their flesh, and retaine only that which gives strength and vigour, without mixture of defects. For the like effects which winnowers have upon Corne, have those exercises on our bodies; they blow away the Chaffe, and husks, from which they separate the pure graines, and gather them into heapes. Hence comes it, that we are so sound, and so able to endure long Labours; Or that one thus bred, is so hardly provok't to sweat, and so rarely cast into a Distemper: As if one should set fire to Wheat, Straw, and Stubble, (for I return to my former comparison) I suppose the Stubble would presently be consumed, but the Corne would by degrees, without any great pyramids of flame, not at one blaze, but by insensible clouds of smoke after sometime be it selfe burnt; so neither diseases, nor wea­rinesse invading a body thus exercised will easily in­feeble, or overcome it; Being so well prepared within, and so impregnably fortifyed against them without, as, to withstand their entrance and to encounter heats and colds without dammage of the person. For by those [Page 201] Laborious exercises, much heat being taken in, and of a long time provided, and laid up, as it were, for necessary use, it administers sudden supplies, and renders the body indefatigable. For these praelabours, and Toyles, do not destroy the courage, but encrease, and enlarge it by provocation; we breed our young men to races also, and enable them by custome to hold out in long courses, and by their speed, and activity in short. Nor do we allow them to runne on firme, equall ground, but in deep sand, where they can neither fix, nor fasten their feet, but are ready to slippe at every stride. We teach them, also, if need be, to leap Trenches, and other places of hinderance; which they practise to do with leaden weights in their hands. Sometimes, also, they strive who shall hurle a Spear farthest. You have seen, also, another brazen weight in the place of exercise, round, and made in the figure of a little shield, having neither handle, nor string; which you poysed as it lay in the mid'st, and it felt massy, and hardly to be taken hold of by reason of the smoothnesse. This they sometimes fling aloft into the Ayre; sometimes straight forward, striving who shall hurle farthest, and outthrow the rest▪ which kind of exercise doth much strengthen their shoulders, and beget a vigorous spring in their Armes. Hear now, venerable Sir, why they exercise in the mire, and sand, which to you, at first, seemed ridiculous. The first reason is, that they may not be thrown on the hard pavement, but may fall softly without hurt; The next reason is, because their slipperinesse by their sweating in the mire is much increased, which you compared to Eeles; but 'tis no matter of contempt, or laughter: For hereby their strength and vigour is not a little perfected, when thus besmeared they are forced to take stronger hold of one another to hinder escapes: For you must not think it easy to hold fast one bemired, sweating, sleekt with oyle, and strugling to slip from your fingers. [Page 202] All which slights do much conduce to warre; whither a wounded friend be without impediment to be fetcht off, or an enemy taken prisoner to be borne away. Upon these considerations, we exceedingly exercise them, to the most difficult labours, that they may the more dex­trously undergoe the easier. We practice them in the dust for a contrary reason, that they may not slip from their entwinings. For being inured in the puddle to grasp their adversary, for all his sleeknesse, they learn to slippe out of his hands themselves when they seem caught: Now dust sprinkled on distilling bodies, drinks up the sweat, and much enables them not to tire. 'Tis a kind of crust to them too, and protects them from the wind striking on their tender, and naked flesh. Besides, it scoures off the filth, and makes the man much cleanlier. Should I, then, bring in presence together one of the de­licate pale men, who alwaies live in the shade, and one of those, whomsoever you shall choose, exercised in the Lyceum, and washt from his Dust, and mire, I would ask to which you would choose to be like. I know you would presently at first sight, though unacquainted with the education of either, choose to be strong, and solide, then to be of a broken, and melting constitution, and pale with the poverty, and retirement of your bloud to the inward parts. These are the exercises, Anacharsis, to which we breed our young men; whereby, we think, we enable them to defend their countrey, to secure us in our liberty, and vanquish our invaders, and make us ter­rible to our neighbours; who for the most part are sub­ject to us, and pay us tribute. In times of peace our use of them is no lesse excellent, between whom spring no base aemulations. Nor have they leisure to be injuri­ous, but spend their whole time, and imployment in these exercises. Now (as I said before) The common good, and highest felicity of a state consists in the best preparation of youth, both for Peace, and Warre, which [Page 203] is only to be effected by Studies of this excellent Na­ture.

Anacharsis.

So then Solon, when you are invaded, you meet your enemies in your Oyntments, and dust, and encounter their Armour with your hands, and fists; who in the mean time struck with terrour fly from you, fearing, least if they should gape, you should cast sand into their mouth; or coming behind them should trippe up their heeles, or twine their legges about their middle, and your Arme about their neck and stifle them? And though they shoot Arrowes and hurle Darts at you, yet you, like so many Statues are impenetrable; be­ing tainn'd in the sunne, and stored with so much bloud. For you are not men of straw, or stubble, to yield at the first onset; but are hardly brought to loose bloud, though pierrced with deep and mortall wounds. For so you said, if I mistake not your resemblance. Or, perhaps, when you goe out to battle, you Arme your selves like Comedians, and Tragedians, and put on gaping vizards, that you may appear terrible, and like so many Goblins to your enemies; and wear high buskins, which, if you have occasion to flie, are light; And if you pursue your foes, are unavoidable, bringing you so fast upon them. But consider, I pray, whither these fine slights, and de­vices, be not frivolous, and childish, and the exercises only of young men, void of better imployment, and given to sloth. For if your ayme be to be free, and happy, you should prescribe true, and reall exercises, and such as are practised in Warre. Where the Combate is not in jest be­tween Companions, but against enemies; with whom they are to fight, with danger exercising their valour. Laying aside your dust, and your oyle, therefore, teach your young men the use of their Bow, and Pike; nor accustome them to slight darts, which are carried away by the wind; but to massy speares, which sing and whistle in their discharge; To stones also which fill their hands. [Page 204] Let them wear also a Sagar on their side, a shield in their left hand, a Brest-plate also, and Helmet. For as you now are, you appear to me saved by the favour of some God, who have not all this while perisht by the incursion of any slight invaders. For put the case, I un­sheathing this short Sword, which I wear at my girdle, should singly set upon all your young men; doubtlesse I should raise a generall shriek, and take the School, or put them to flight, none daring to look back upon my weapon, but standing behind statues, and hiding them­selves behind pillars, they would by their teares, and affrigh [...]ments be the Argument of my laughter. Then should you see their bodies no longer red, as now they are, but they would presently wax pale, and discoloured with fear; For a long peace hath so soften'd you, that you cannot resolutely endure the sight of one plume in an enemies Crest.

Solon.

The Thracians, Anacharsis, Who under the con­duct of Eumolphus took Armes against us, spoke not thus, nor your Amazones, who having Hippolyta for their Ge­nerall, made an expedition against our Citty. Nor o­thers, who have had trials of us in Warre. For we do not so make our young men exercise naked, as to expose them to dangers unarmed; But when they grow perfect, they afterwards practice in Armour, which by these pre­parations, they much more easily mannage.

Anachars.

And where is your School where you thus exercise in Armour▪ I have survey'd your whole Citty and cannot discover it.

Solon.

When you have converst longer among us, A­nacharsis, you will see every house furnisht with Ar­mour, which in times of necessity we use; Crests also, and Caparisons, and Horses, and Horsemen, to the fourth part of the Cittizens. To bare Armes, or wear a Sword in time of peace, we hold superfluous; and punish those who needlesly carry a Weapon, or appear armed in pub­lique: [Page 205] which in you is pardonable, who spend your whole lives in armes. For dwelling in places unforti­fied, you cannot but lie open to incursions, and create many Warres; nor are you certain, but that some neigh­bours may slay you, as you sleep in your Waggons. Be­sides, your mutuall Distrusts, and association together without any common bonds of Law, or Government, makes it necessary for you alwaies, to have your Sword in readinesse to prevent injuries.

Anachars.

Without cause, then, Solon, to wear a Sword, you hold it superfluous; and do favour your Armes, least with frequent use, they should be worne out: you lay them up, therefore, in your Armories, and bring them forth only upon occasion. But in the mean time, with­out any imminent danger you commit the bodies of your young men to mutuall beatings; who weaken them­selves by sweat, not forced by necessity, but vainly spend their courage in the mire and dust.

Solon.

You seem, Anacharsis, to have the same opinion of courage, as you have of wine, or water, or some such liquid thing, which makes you imagine, that by frequent exercises, it will insensibly leak away, as through some broken vessell, and leave the body empty, and dry, ha­ving no spring within to replenish it. But herein you are mistaken. For the more courage is drawn forth by Labours, the more it overflowes. Like the fable which you have heard of Hydra: who having one head cut off, was presently supplyed with two. 'Tis true, a body ori­ginally unpracticed, and feeble, and wanting sufficient naturall matter, is presently tyred, and consumed by ex­ercise, as we see in fire, and Tapers; with the same breath you kindle the one, and in an instant blow it into a grea­ter flame; but extinguish the other, not having compe­tent strength of matter to encounter your blast, or a strong root to sustaine it self.

Anacharsis.
[Page 206]

I do not well understand you, Solon; your Similitude is too subtle for me, and requires an exact consideration, and a sharpe sighted mind to conceive you. But pray tell me, why in your Olympick, Isthmian, Py­thian, and other Games, where, you say, there is such confluence of Spectators to behold your young exerci­sers, do you not make them contend in Armour; but pro­ducing them naked, expose them to kickes, and beatings, and then reward the Conquerors with Apples, and O­live boughes? I would faine know the reason of your Custome.

Solon.

We think, Anacharsis, we hereby more inflame, and animate them to such exercises, when they see the vanquishers honoured, and shouted in a Ring of Grae­cians; And therefore, they who thus contend naked, are provident of their bodily habit, and blush not to strip themselves; but every one strives to make himselfe most worthy of victory. Nor are they, as I said before, small revvards to be cried up by the Spectators, and held the most honourable, to be pointed at by passengers, and voiced the most valiant among equalls. Many of the beholders, therefore, vvhose age is not past exercise, depart not a little enamour'd vvith their vertue, and Labours. Should any man, then, banish the thirst of Glory from common life, vvhat mark should vve have to our desires, or vvho vvould covet to performe any high Action? From hence you may conjecture hovv they vvould be­have themelves in Warre, armed for the defence of their Countrey, Children, Wives, and Temples, who naked for a wreath of wild Olive, or Apples, are enflamed with such a serious desire of victory. How would you be affected, should you see our Quayle, and Cockfigh­tings, and our solemne studies of them? perhaps, you would laugh; especially if you knew that our Custome were built upon a Law, which commands all of docile Age to be present; and to behold the Fowles contend [Page 207] to their utmost rigour. But 'tis no argument for Laugh­ter. For hereby an insensible contempt of Dangers steales into their soules, who mean not to appear more dege­nerous, or cowardly, then Cocks. And are hence taught, not to yield to wounds, wearinesse, or other dif­ficulties whatsoever. Now to make the like trialls of them in Armes, and to behold their mutuall slaughters, were savage, and inhumane. 'Twere great improvi­dence also to destroy those valiant men, whose courages would be better imployed against an enemy. Because, then, you resolve, Anacharsis, to see other parts of Greece, pray remember when you arrive at Lacedaemon, that you laugh not at them also; nor think them vainly busied, when met together in the Theater at Ball you see them strike one another: or assembled in a place surrounded with water, and divided into Battalions, naked, as they are, they make a formall Warre upon one another, till one side, namely the Lycurgians, drive the other, namely the Herculeans out of the Island, or force them backward into the mote, whereupon followes peace, and no man is afterwards struck; especially when you see them whipt at an Altar, and streaming with bloud, their Fathers and Mothers standing by, not at all moved with the Spectacle, but threatning them if they shrink under their stripes, and intreating them to hold out to their utmost patience, and to take courage from their sufferings. Hence many die under the scourge, disdaining to faint in the presence of their familiars, as long as they have life, or to favour their bodies. To whose honours you shall see statues publickly erected by the Spartans. When, therefore, you see this done; think them not madde, or that they thus discipline their Children without just cause, because no Tyrant is feared, or enemy neer. For Lycurgus their foun­der will give you very good reasons, why he instituted such cruell customes, being neither enemy, nor carried by his hatred, to the unprofitable destruction of the youth [Page 208] of the state, but desirous to render these, who were to defend their Country, stout, and of courage above their sufferings. Or suppose Lycurgus should say nothing, yet you your selfe know well, that none such taken in warre, did amidst the tortures of the enemy, ever discover any secret of the Spartanes; But smiled when they were rackt, and strived with their Tormentors who should be first tired.

Anacharsis.

Was Lycurgus himselfe, Solon, in his young daies bred to the Whippe? Or without trialls of his own was he only the author of the Discipline?

Solon.

He was very old before he wrote his Lawes, and came thither from Creet: where he had so journed a while, because he heard they had the best Lawes, ha­ving Minus the Sonne of Iupiter for their Lawgiver.

Anachars.

Why, then, Solon, do not you imitate Lycur­gus, and whippe your Children? An education wise, and worthy of you.

Solon.

Because we hold our own native exercises sufficient; and think forrain imitation below us.

Anachars.

Or rather because you understand, I sup­pose, how ridiculous 'tis to be whipt naked, and to sup­plicate with erected hands; without profit either to him that is vvhipt, or to the state. If I come to Sparta, there­fore, at a time vvhen they discipline, they cannot but forthvvith publiquely stone me; for I shall laugh to see them scourged like Theeves, Pilferers, or such like male­factors. For clearly a Citty accustomed to such ridicu­lous sufferings, in my Judgment should be purged with Hellebore.

Solon.

Think not, generous Sir, being alone Orator, and solitary, and no repliers present, you have vanquisht▪ you will meet those at Sparta who will give probable satisfaction. Since, then, I have made you a just report of our Customes, which you have entertained with no great approbation; Let me not seem unreasonable if I [Page 209] request a brief report from you, how you Scythians do breed your children, and by what exercises you make them stout and valiant.

Anacharsis.

'Tis but Justice, Solon. I will, therefore make you a narration of our Scythian Customes; not so glorious perhaps, or gratefull to you as your own: for we are not so valiant as to strike one another on the cheek; yet such as they are you shall hear. Till to mor­row, then, if you think fit, let us break off our Discourse; that in private I may the better recollect what you have said, and furnish my memory with what I am to say. Here, then, put we a period to this conference, and depart; For the evening cometh on.

A Discourse of sorrowing for the Dead.

'TIs worthy the Observation, what many, in their sorrow do, and say; and what is said by those that comfort them; how they account some accidents in­tollerable, both to those that mourn, and to those that are mourned. When (by Pluto and Proserpina) they not at all understand, whither they be evill, and deplorable, or gratefull, and desireable to the sufferers; but make fashion and custome, the rule of their grief. For when any body dies, this is their manner. But first, I will tell you what opinions they hold of Death. Whereby it shall appear upon what grounds they are thus superfluous. The greater part of people, whom the wise call Idiots, building their faith upon Homer, Hesiod, and other Fablers, and making their Poetry their Law, imagine a certain deep place, or hell under ground, large, spacious, darke, and sunlesse; yet so lightsome in appearance, as to represent to them every thing there. In this vault (as one of them [Page 210] told me the story) raignes Iupiters brother, call'd Pluto; honour'd with that stile from the store of Ghosts where­with he is enricht; whose forme of Commonwealth, and the life of soules infernall is thus ordered. It fell to him by Division, and Lot, to rule over the Dead▪ which, as he receives, he binds in unavoidable Chaines; and permits none to return, but some few once in an Age, upon weighty reasons. Through his Countrey run Ri­vers, great, and terrible from their very Names, called Cocytus, and Phlegeton, and the like. And what is yet worse, the entrance to it is the Lake of Acheron: which first receives all Commers, and is not to be past, or sayled over without a Ferryman; being for depth not to be waded, and for breadth not to be swumme over. In a word, the Ghosts of Fowles departed cannot fly over it. In the Descent, seated in a Gate of Adamant, sits Aeacus, the Kings Cousin German, who commands the passage. Neere him lieth a dogge with three heads, of great fierce­nesse; who on Arrivers casts a gentle, and peacefull eye; but barkes at those who endeavour to escape, and frights them back into their Dungeon. Those that are wafted over the Lake are received into a spacious meddow, set with Daffodills; through which glides a stream enemy to remembrance, and for that reason called Lethe. For these are the relations of them, who have anciently re­turn'd from thence; Alcestis, and Protesilaus, two Thessa­lonians; Theseus also, the Sonne of Aegeus ▪ and Homers Vlysses; very reverend and credible witnesses: who sure­ly drunk not of the forgetfull Spring, for then they had not remembred such descriptions. Pluto, then, and Pro­serpina, as they report, raigne there, and have the whole Dominion of the place. Though they have many At­tendants, and Ministers of state, as Furies, Punishments, Horrours, and Mercury, (who is not constantly resident) under-rulers also, and Peeres, & two Judges, Minos, and Rhadamanthus, both of Creet, and Sonnes of Iupiter. Who [Page 211] when a Competent number of good men, & just, who have lived a life of vertue, are arrived, send them like a Colony into the Elysian fields, there to live a life of felici­tie. But wicked men they deliver to the Furies, to be con­veyed to the region of Malefactours, there to be punish't according to their offences. In which place what mise­ries do they not suffer? tortur'd and burnt, and gnawne by Vultures, and tost upon wheeles, and forced to roll relapsing stones against steep hills. Tantalus stands in a Lake, yet is wretchedly in danger to dye with thirst. O­thers of a middle kind of life (of which there are store) wander in a meddow without bodies, being meere shades, which touch't vanish like smoake. These are nourisht by our sacrifices, and oblations powred on their graves. So that he who hath no friend, or Allye left on earth, wanders among them famisht, and starved. These dreames have made such strong impressions in some, that when one of their friends dyes, first they put a fare in his mouth, which hee is to give the Ferry-man for his wafrage. And do not first consider whether the money be currant, and will passe below; or whether with Ghosts, an Attick, or Macedonian, or Aegina coyne beare most value; or whether it were not much better to have no fare at all to give. For so being refused by the Ferry-man, he may be sent back, and returne to life againe. Af­ter this, they wash him, (as if the Infernall marrish were not B [...]th enough for those that come thither) and em­balme his body with rich oyntments, for the expulsion of ill smells; then crowning him with Orient flowers, they lay him out gloriously apparrelled; lest, perhaps he should take cold by the way, or be seene naked of Cerbe­rus; Then follow the howlings of women, teares of ac­quaintance, percussion of brests, tearing of haire, cheekes bloudyed, garments rent, and heads sprinkled with dust. So that the living are more to be pittied then the dead. For they many times roll themselves on the floore, and dash [Page 212] their heads against the ground, whilst the other, adorn'd and trimm'd, and gloriously crown'd, lyes aloft, and sublimed, like one drest for a triumph. Lastly, his mo­ther, and father, surrounded with their kindred, goe before him, to whom turning sometimes (you must imagine him to be some gallant young man, for the greater solem­nity of the play) they utter abortive, senslesse sounds, to which the dead party would make answer, were he able to speake. For his father, drawing out every word vvith interruptions, and sighes, thus bespeakes him. My deare sonne, thou art lost, dead, and before thy time snatcht from mee; leaving mee alone, solitary vvretch: Thou vvast nei­ther married, nor hadst children, not practised to the Camp, or plough, or arrived to thy old age; never more, my child, shalt thou feast, be amorous, or drunke a­gaine vvith thy companions. Such and the like com­plaints he povvres forth, out of an opinion that his sonne after death needs, and desires such things, but is denyed the fruition. But vvhy mention I such trifles? Hovv ma­ny are there, vvho at such funeralls doe sacrifice his horses, concubines, and butlers, and burne, and bury his robes, and cloathes of ornament, vvith the deceased party, as if hee vvere to use, or enjoy them belovv? Novv the old man, vvho thus laments, speakes not this, and much more, nor is thus tragicall vvith reflection on his son, (For hee knovves he cannot heare him, though hee should cry as loud as Stentor) or on himselfe, for then his bare in­vvard thought, and contemplation, vvere sufficient vvith­out a voyce. For no man needs to be clamorous to him­selfe. It remaines, then, that he acts this distemper for the spectators sakes, since he neither knovves vvhat hath be­falne his sonne, nor vvhere he is, nor vvell examined the course and state of his life. For, then, he could not reckon his departure hence among calamities. Well, therefore, might his son, having obtained leave of Aeacus, and hell, to raise his head a while out from his dungeon, for the [Page 213] quieting of his distracted father, say thus to him, Forlorne man, what meane thy clamours? Why dost thou trouble mee? cease to teare thy haire, and to rent thy face. Why art thou so injurious to call mee miserable, and unfortunate, who am much better, and happier then thou? Is it, think­est thou, any calamity to mee, that I am not arrived at thy decrepit age, or have not a bald head, wrinkled face, crumpt backe, and slack knees, or am not wither'd, and decay'd by so many Triacades, and Olympiades of time, or betray not my follies before so many witnesses? Fond man, What canst thou call desirable in life, which wee shall not afterwards enjoy? perchance thou wilt say deli­cious potations, feasts, rich garments, and the pleasures of Venus; whose denials thou fearest are my misfortunes. Dost thou not understand how much better 'tis not to thirst, then to drinke? or not to be hungry, then to eate? or not to be cold, then richly cloathed? Since, then, I per­ceive thee ignorant, I will truly teach thee how to grieve. Begin thy Lamentations againe, and say, My wretched child, never more shalt thou thirst, never more shalt thou hunger, never more shalt thou freeze. Thou art lost, un­happy boy, and hast escaped diseases, needest not hereaf­ter feare feavers, enemies, or Tyrants: Love shall no more torment, nor venery tempt thee; nor shalt thou twice or thrice a day consume thy selfe. O calamity! Thou shalt not be scorn'd, when thou art old, nor thy sight be thought troublesome to young men. Shouldest thou, O my father, say thus, would not these complaints seeme much truer, and more ridiculous then the other? Be not, therefore, troubled at the consideration of our night, and great darknesse; nor imagine mee stifled when I am shut up in my tombe. But thinke rather, that my eyes being perisht, and burnt (if yet you have burnt mee) need nei­ther darknesse, nor light to see by. But suppose your owne private complaints reasonable, how am I better'd by your howlings, or by so many brests, as it were musi­cally [Page 214] strucke, or by the immoderate Lamentations of so many women? why doe you lay a stone strowed with Garlands on my grave? or to what end do you powre wine upon mee? Do you thinke 'twill distill to us, and soke through to Hell? As for your funerall sacrifices, you your selves, I suppose, plainly see that the most pretious part, which is intended for us, is carried up in smoke to heaven, and profits not us below. Nothing remaines but dust altogether unusefull, unlesse you thinke wee can eate Ashes. Pluto's Kingdome is not so barren, or un­fruitfull, nor are we so voyd of Daffodils, as to translate your meales hither. I sweare, therefore, by Tisiphone, I have had a longing desire to exclaime against your Actions, and speeches, but was hindred by the win­ding sheet, and wooll wherewith you stopt my utte­rance: He made an end, and then death clos'd his eyes. But for Iove's sake tell mee▪ should one departed returne, and leaning on his elbow speak thus, would you not think he spoke reason? yet these senslesse people do both howle themselves, and hire some Sophister, whose trade is la­mentation; who mustering up many old calamities, is imploy'd as the leader, and captaine of the franticke so­lemnitie; and where he begins, they follow, and make up the ridiculous consort. Their lamentations have all one manner of folly; But severall Nations have severall manners of funerall. The Greekes burne their dead; the Persians bury them; the Indians anoint them with Lard; the Scythians eate them; the Aegyptians salt and powder them: where I have seene a dead body well dryed, and season'd set at meale, and made a guest. Nor is it un­usuall with an Aegyptian, when he lacks mony to supply his wants, to pawne his father, or brother for a time. For as for tombes, Pyramides, Pillars, and fading Epitaphs, are they not superfluous, and childish? Others ordaine funerall Games, and make Orations at Sepulchers. As if they pleaded, or gave testimonials of their dead friends to [Page 215] the infernall Judges. After all comes in the funerall sup­per; to which are invited the deceased persons friends, who comfort his parents, and perswade them to eate. To which they are not unwillingly compell'd, having felt the famine of three dayes before. How long, say they, will you bewayle your deare losse? Trouble not his hap­py Ghost any longer with your complaints. Or if you be obstinately resolved to mourne, you are therefore not to starve your selfe, that you may be able to hold out with the greatnesse of your sorrow. Then for a Conclusion, they all repeat these two verses of Homer;

For bright hayr'd Niobe remembred meat:

And,

The Hungry Greekes banisht their cares with meat.

Whereupon they fall to; but bashfully at first, out of their feare, after the death of their dearest friends, to betray any humane disturbance. Many things more ridiculous then these may hee observe, who markes what is done at mournings, since most people thinke death the greatest of evills.

Hercules of Gaul, or a Discourse of Eloquence.

THe Gauls in their Language call Hercules Ogmius, and paint the God in a strange figure; extreamly old, and decrepit, bald before, his haire, which remaines, white, his skinne wrinkled, and burnt into a deep tawnie, like aged saylers: you would take him for Charon, or some Infernall Iapetus; and would guesse him to be any thing sooner then Hercules. Yet in this unlikely shape he weares the ensignes of Hercules; a Lyons skinne about his shoul­ders, [Page 216] A massie clubbe in his right hand; a quiver at his backe, and a bent bow in his left hand, like an out-right Hercules. I thought at first they had drawne him thus preposterous out of contempt of the Grecian Gods; and by this uncouth picture meant to take revenge of him, for his ancient entrance into their Country, and the prey's he tooke, when in search of Geryons heards, he over-ran ma­ny westerne Nations. But I have not yet told you the greatest paradoxe of the picture. This aged Hercules drawes a vast multitude of people tyed by the eares with chaines, which are slender wires, made of gold, and am­ber, like to our most orient bracelets. Yet though they be captived by such feeble threds, they neither labour to e­scape, though they easily might, nor offer to make resi­stance, nor hang back, or struggle with their leader, but follow him with pleased, cheerfull, and applauding coun­tenances; all striving to make haste, and slacking the cords out of their desire of prevention, and expressing some unwillingnesse to be releast. It shall not be trouble­some to mee to describe to you what to mee seemed most absurd. The painter, wanting a place where to fasten the ends of his wires, having fill'd his right hand with a clubbe, his left with a bow, bored a hole through the tip of his tongue, at which hee drew them linkt▪ the God turning himselfe, and smiling on them. Lord stood I fixt in the contemplation, wonder, doubt, and indignation of the peece. till a certaine Gaul, who stood neere mee, not ignorant of our learning, as hee well show'd by his exact pronuntiation of Greeke, whereby I tooke him to be some Philosopher of that Country, said, Stranger, I will unriddle the picture to you; for it seemes to have cast you into a deep astonishment. Wee Gauls doe not, like you Grecians, ascribe eloquence to Mercury, but to Hercules; who was much the stronger. Nor let it be your wonder that you see him painted old, since eloquence of all things else showes its power most in age. If your Poëts [Page 217] say true: that,

In younger minds do mists and clouds arise,
But the discourses of old age are wise.

Thus hony was said to drop from your Nestor's tongue; and the Trojan Oratours to utter fragrant flowers; that is, if I mistake not, to speake in a musicall voyce. Nor are you to marvaile that this old Hercules, the embleme of eloquence, drawes men tyed by the eares to his tongue, knowing the neare Alliance betweene them. Nor ought it to be his reproach, that you see his tongue bored; for I have learned, said hee, from your Comedies, which I yet remember;

That men, in speaking verst,
Have tongues bore'd through, and pierc't.

Briefly, wee hold that Hercules perform'd all his la­bours by Rhetoricke; and being a wise man, subdued Countries meerly by his perswasions: whose darts were sharpe, well aymed, quick speeches, which pierced the hea [...]ers soules, such speeches as you call winged. Thus said the Gaul. Whereupon I walking off, considerd with my selfe, whether it would become a man of my yeares, who had long since abandoned the profession, againe to submit my selfe to the judgement of so many censurers: when opportunely the remembrance of the picture gave mee encouragement. For till then I was jealous, lest you should thinke my course of life childish, and too youth­full for my Age; or lest some Schoole-boy should apply that piece of Homer to mee, and say,

Thy strength is vanisht, Age [...]ath made thee snow,
Thy servants spent, thy horses are growne slow,

Alluding by that scoffe to my feet. But as often as I re­member the old Hercules, I am prepared for any imploy­ment; nor blush at my profession, though I be as antique [Page 218] as the picture. Fare well, then, my strength, activity, shape, and all other goods of the body. And let Cupid, if he please, seeing mee with this white chinne, fly by mee with his glittering wings, more swift then Eagles. It shall not trouble Hippoclides. For now is the time for mee to grow young, and vigorous againe, and to flourish in elocution, and to draw as many by the eares, and ayme as many darts as 'tis possible; since I am fearlesse that thereby my quiver will be exhausted. You see the re­freshments of my old age; who thus adventure to launch forth my ship which hath layne long in the Docke; and to commit her once more rigged to the mercy of the sea. Swell my sayles prosperously, O yee Gods, who have so much need of friendly & auspicious windes. Wich if you vouchafe mee, let another applye that other peece of Ho­mer to mee,

See what strong nerves looke through his aged raggs.

The Ship, or, a Discourse of Wishes.

The Speakers, Lycinus, Timolaus, Samippus, and Adimantus.
Lycinus.

DId I not say a corrupted carkasse cast out would sooner scape Vultures, then a strange sight Timolaus, though hee were to run himselfe breath­lesse to Corinth? How came you to be such a lover of showes, and so indefatigably inflamed with them?

Timolaus.

How should I imploy my leisure, Lycinus, when I heard of a great shippe, beyond the ordinary bur­den, landed in our port; especially one of those Carickes which transporters Corne from Aegypt into Italy? I beleeve you and Samippus had no other motive for your comming hither, but the spectacle.

Lycinus.
[Page 219]

Adimantus the Myrrhinusian came with us too, but is lost in the Crowde of spectators, I know not how. Hee accompanyed us to the shippe, & ascended with us. for if I mistake not, you Samippus went before, Adimantus followed you, and him, holding him with both my handes, Till he barefoote guided mee shodde up the lad­der, and then I saw him no more either in the ship, or be­low after our descent.

Samippus.

Doe you not remember, Lycinus, that he left us when the handsome boy arrayd in pure white, whose haire equally divided on his forehead was tyed behind, came forth of the Cabbin? If I know Adimantus well, at sight of the faire spectacle hee bid farewell to the Ae­gyptian Ship-wright, who showed us the Roomes, and after his old fashion stood still, and wept: for his amo­rous nature makes him very prone to teares.

Lycinus.

Methought, Samippus, the boy was not so ra­vishingly handsome, as to cast Adimantus into an astonish­ment; who is courted at Athens by so many young men, beautifull, nobly borne, fluent of speech, practiced in Games, and to whom teares are no disparagement. For besides the swarthinesse of his complexion, he had pro­minent lippes, small legges, a loose, continued, running speech, which was Greeke, indeed, but pronounced after the manner of his Country, in an ill sound, and Tone. His haire, and locks woven behind, show'd him to bee a slave.

Timolaus.

Their haire, Lycinus, is a signe of nobility a­mong the Aegyptian [...], which all mens children of Quali­ty weare brayded, till their age of maturity. So our Aun­cestours of Pallene, when old, cherish't long haire, which they wound up in a caule, stuck with golden Grashoppers.

Samippus.

You doe well, Timolaus, to bring to our re­membrance the writings of Thucidides, who in his Pre­face to his Ionians, when with others they were transplan­ted [Page 220] into Colonyes, speakes of our ancient luxury.

Timolaus.

I now remember, Samippus, Adimantus left us when wee stood so long by the mast, numbring the hides layd in heapes, and admiring the saylers running up the Tackling, and downe againe, safely holding by the sayle yard.

Samippus.

You say true, what then shall wee doe, stay heere, and expect him? or shall I goe backe againe to the shippe?

Timolaus

Rather let us goe on. For 'tis likely he is past by, and return'd into the Citty after he could not finde us. If hee be not, he knowes the way; nor if we leave him behind is there danger of his losse.

Lycinus.

But consider whether wee may with civility depart and leave our friend; yet if you like the motion, Samippus, let us goe on.

Samippus.

You have my consent, if the Schoole of exercise be yet open. But among other Discourses, doe you remember what large Descriptions the wright made of his shippe? which hee said was an hundred and twenty Cubits in length, the fourth part of that in bredth; from the Decke to the lowest Bottome, where the pumpe stands, twenty nine cubitts. Hee told us also the length of the mast, the greatnesse of the yard it bore, and the vastnesse of the cable whereto 'twas fastned. How the Sterne rising in an insensible bent had a golden goose for an ensigne, and the forcastle equally promiment, and standing out at the other end bore on each side the Goddess Isis; who gave name to the Carricke. The other trimmings, pictures, flame colourd sayles, Anchors, Capstalls, Rudders, and Cabbins next the Sterne, much provok't my admi­ration. Then the multitude of saylers, which might be compared to an Army. Then 'twas said to carry as much corne as would serve all the Inhabitants of Attica a yeare for food. And all this prodigious bulke is ruled by a litle dwarfish old man, who steeres and wields it with [Page 221] a slender pole. One show'd him to mee, a bald curl'd fellow, his name is Heron.

Timolaus.

A rare man in his Art, as they report who sayl'd with him, and a better seaman then Proteus. You have heard by what accident the shippe was driven hi­ther, what they suffer'd in passage, and how they were preserved by a starre.

Lycinus.

Wee have not, Timolaus, but vvould gladly heare.

Timolaus.

I had the relation from the Master, a courte­ous man, and of civill behaviour, vvho told mee that after they had hoysed sayles from Pharos, they vvere vvith easie gales in seven dayes brought in sight of Acamas, at vvhat time they were crost vvith a west vvind, vvhich carryed them as farre as Sidon. From vvhence in great tempest they vvere driven in ten dayes through those straights upon the Chelidonian Ilands, vvhere they almost suffer [...]d vvrack. I knovv by my ovvne experience, and presage by those Ilands the roughnesse of that Coast, espe­cially made tempestuous by the South, and South vvest vvindes. For there the Pamphilian Sea dividing from the Lycian, and the floods meeting severall vvayes, and breaking themselves against the Promontory, vvhich con­sists of sharpe, broken rockes, made craggy by the vvaves, svvell into terrible billovves, vvhich make a dismall roare, and rise sometimes above the height of their steepe rockes. Hither, hee said, they vvere driven in a darke night. At length the Gods, compassionate to their cryes, revealed a fire to them from Lycia, by vvhich they knevv the place. For a starre, one of the tvvins, sate upon their top-saile, and by a left hand course directed the vessell a­gaine into the Sea, just ready to dash against the steepe cliffe. From thence, having once strayed from their right course, sayling through the Arches, the seventieth day after their departure from Aegypt, by Easterly side vvinds they vvere yesterday driven into the Pyraeum; and cast [Page 222] thus lovv: who, had they left Creet on the right hand, and sailed above Malea, had by this time been in Italy.

Lycinus.

By Iupiter, Heron show'd himselfe a most ad­mirable pilot, and equall to Nereus, to wander thus from his course. But see, is not that Adimantus?

Timolaus.

'Tis hee. Lets call him. Adimantus, you Myr­rhynusian, Strobichus sonne.

Lycinus.

He is one of the two, either angry with us, or deafe. It can be no other but Adimantus. I know him by his clothes, and gate, and close notching: lets swiften our pace, and overtake him. If wee had not taken hold of your cloake, and stopt you, Adimantus, you would never have heard us: you seeme to be in a contempla­tion, and dumpe, and carry some magnificent designe in your countenance.

Adimantus.

'Tis not dangerous, Lycinus, but a certaine unusuall contemplation, which seised on mee by the way, and made mee not heare you, whilest my sense was call'd away by my consideration.

Lycinus.

What was it? feare not to acquaint us; un­lesse it be such a secret, as is not to be utter'd. You know wee are sworne friends, and have learnt to conceale.

Adimantus.

I shall blush to tell you; so childish will my thoughts appeare to you.

Lycinus.

Is love their object? you may safely admit us to your mysteries, who are initiated with the same bright Taper.

Adimantus.

No such matter, Sir, But I was shaping to my selfe great fortunes, which others, perhaps, stile empty happinesse; and when I was in the height of my wealth, and pleasures you awoke mee.

Lycinus.

According to the common proverbe, then, we are to cry halfe Mercury, or Booty, and you are to produce your riches: For 'tis but Justice that wee who are your friends should share in your felicity.

Adimantus.

Assoon then, as we were ascended the ship, & [Page 223] I had safely got you up, Lycinus, you all forsooke mee, and left mee measuring the greatnesse of the Anchor; I never­thelesse tooke a survey of all things, and askt one of the Marriners, what revenue the shippe might one yeare with another bring the master of it: who said in the least com­putation twelve Atticke Talents. At my returne, there­fore, I thus discourst with my selfe. Would some God make this shippe mine, how happy should I bee? being enabled to obliege my friends, to sayle sometimes my selfe, sometimes to send forth my servants? with the twelve Talents would I build a Pallace of the best situa­tion, a little beyond the painted pallace by Ilissus, and for­sake my fathers house; I would buy servants also, rich apparell, coaches, and horses. In this speculation mee­thought I sayl'd, was proclaymed happy by those in the shippe, reverenced by the saylers, and almost thought a Prince; when as I was setting things in order in the ship, and beholding the port a farre off, you, Lycinus, Wrackt my whole treasure, and overwhelmed my Burke, carryed by the prosperous gales of my Imagination and wishes.

Lycinus.

You were best carry mee, therefore, before the Admirall, for a pyrate, or Drowne [...], or one that hath committed a Land wracke in the way betweene the Haven and the Citty. In the meane time see how I will comfort you for your losses. Fayne to your selfe the pos­session, if you please, of five shippes, fairer and greater then the Aegyptian, and, which is yet more, impossible to be wrackt; Let them yearly make five returnes, and voy­ages from Aegypt with wheat, you plainly show fortu­nate, Sir, how insolent your behaviour would be. Who being but the Master of one Imaginary ship you refused to heare us, when wee cryed after you; if you had five such weather proofe, you would not, I believe, vouch­safe to looke upon your friends. Proceed you then, weal­thy Sir, in your navigation: wee will sit in the port, and aske those who sayle from Aegypt, or Italy, if they saw [Page 224] the Isis, Adimantus great shippe.

Adimantus.

See now whether my feare to reveale my thoughts were not reasonable; knowing you would con­vert my wishes to derision, and Satyre: whilest you goe backe▪ therefore, I will stay here in my shippe, and pro­ceed in my navigation; for 'tis much better to converse with saylers, then to endure your flouts.

Lycinus.

It must not bee; wee will shippe our selves with you.

Adimantus.

Ile ascend first, and draw up the ladder.

Lycinus.

We will swimme after. For you must not thinke to enjoy great carrickes, which you neither bought, nor built, and that wee cannot also petition the Gods to enable us to swimme many leagues untired. When not long since wee row'd over to Aegina in a small boat, and gave groats a piece for our fare, you disdain'd not our company in the passage; yet now you scorne to admit us, and threaten to draw up the ladder: you are growne haughty, Adimantus, and have forgot your selfe; nor know what Master of a shippe you are, but are exalted with your pallace built in the most eminent place of the Citty, and with the multitude of your followers. For Isis sake, therefore, at your next returne from Aegypt, remem­ber to bring us some fine Nile pickles, or perfumes from Canopus, or an Ibis from Memphis, or, if your shippe be able, one of the Pyramids.

Timolaus.

Enough, Lycinus, you have made Adiman­tus blush, and have overwhelmed his ship with laugh­ter, which begins to leake, and can no longer hold out water. Since then there is a good space to the Citty, let us divide the way into foure parts, and assigning every man his reach, let us severally put up our vvishes to the Gods. So shall vvee not perceive the tediousnesse of the vvalke, but recreate our selves like men fallen into a plea­sant dreame, vvhich shall make us as happy as vve please. For it shall be in every mans povver to put measure to [Page 225] his vvish; since the Gods are able to accomplish things in their ovvne nature incredible. The thing most consi­derable herein vvill be the discovery hovv every man vvill employ his riches, and vvish, and hovv he vvill alter vvith his fortunes.

Samippus.

I obey your faire proposall, Timolaus, and vvill in my turne vvish as I thinke fit. Adimantus consent, I believe, is not to be askt, vvho hath one foot in his ship already, and Lycinus cannot refuse.

Lycinus.

Make vvee, then, our vvishes, if you please. I vvill not hinder the common fortune.

Adimantus.

Who shall begin?

Lycinus.

You Adimantus, and next to you Samippus, then Timolaus. I vvill begin my vvish a little before vvee arrive at Dipylum, at our entrance upon the last halfe fur­long, vvhich I vvill briefly runne over.

Adimantus.

I, then, vvill not forsake my shippe; but, if you please, will amplifie my vvish, and be Mercury the God of Gaine, propitious to us all. I vvould have the shippe, then, and all things in it, the Merchandise, Mer­chants, women, saylers, and whatsoever else is of desirable possession, mine.

Samippus.

You forget one thing in the shippe.

Adimantus.

You meane the long hayr'd boy, Samippus; I would have him mine too. Next, I desire that all the Graynes of Corne there might be minted into gold coyne, and made so many Darickes.

Lycinus.

'Twould sinke your shippe, Adimantus. For Wheat, and Gold are not of equall weight.

Adimantus.

Be not envious, Lycinus. But when 'tis your turne to wish, transforme, if you please, the mountaine Parnes into gold, I'le not repine.

Lycinus.

I onely spoke with reflection on your safety; lest you should all perish vvith your gold; vvhich vvere no great losse. But your handsome boy, unable to svvim, vvould be shipvvrackt too.

Timolaus.
[Page 226]

Feare not Lycinus, some Dolphin would convey him on his back to shoare. For can you imagine a musitian so preserved, in recompence of his harmony, or a dead youth transported by a Dolphin to Isthmus, and yet Adimantus new servant to want an amorous fish?

Adimantus.

You have learn't from Lycinus, Timolaus, to mocke mee; though you be the Author of the pro­posall.

Timolaus.

Wish more reasonably, then. As to finde trea­sure under your bed, whose conveyance from the ship to the Citty might put you to no trouble.

Adimantus.

You say well. I would have digged up from under the stone Mercury in my hall as much wealth as should arise to a thousand baskets of minted gold. Then (as Hesiod prescribes) would I presently have varie­ty of magnificent Pallaces, and buy all the Countries a­bout the Citty, Isthmus also, Delphos, and Eleusine, all the Sea coast, and regions bordering upon Isthmus; which should be for my places of game, when I made my pro­gresse into those parts, and to the plains of Sicyonia. Briefly, all the well wooded, water'd, and fruitfull places of Greece should in short time be mine. The dishes wherein I eate should be of massie gold; my bowles not slight, like those of Echechrates, but should severally weigh two talents.

Lycinus.

How then should your Cup-bearer deliver to you such heavie Bowles filled? or how could you re­ceive from him, not a Cup, but a weight equall to that of Sisyphus?

Adimantus.

Good Sir, disturbe not my wish. I will have Tables, Beddes, and, if you talke, wayters of gold.

Lycinus.

Take heed, lest, like Midas, your bread and wine become Gold, and lest you miserably perish by your Treasure, and dye of a wealthy hunger.

Adimantus.

Order your wishes better, Lycinus, when when it comes to your course to ask. I would to all this, have purple Robes, most delicate fare, sleepes of plea­sure; [Page 227] be saluted, and petitioned by my friends, reverenced & adored of all: some should every morning early walke up and downe before my doore, among which I would especially have Cleaenetus, and Democrates. At whose ap­proches, and offers to enter, seven barbarous, biggboned porters should clappe the Gate in their face, as they doe now to others. When I pleased to submit my selfe, like the Sun to bee seen, upon some I would not vouchafe to dart a looke. But to a poor man, or such a one as I was before, bee affable, bid him wash, and come to supper. Rich men should hang themselves when they saw my Chari­otts, Horses, beautifull Pages, to the number of two thou­sand, fairliest chosen out of all ages. Then my meales ser­ved in gold plate, (for Silver is base and below mee) my sawces, and oyles from Spaine, my wines from Italy; my hony native, and untryed; my provision, as pigges, hares, and variety of fowles, from all places; my Pheasants from Colchis, Peacocks from India, Turkies from Numidia. Then, my purveyours of all those should bee Sophisters, well studyed in Luxury and Sauces. When I take the bowle to drinke to any body, Hee who pledged mee should beare away the Cup. They who are now rich, compared to mee should be so many Irus's, and beggars. Dionicus should no more in ostentation show his silver Dishes, and Goblets, seeing my Groomes imploy as much silver in daily use. My expenses upon the Citty should be these. Upon a Cittizen I would monthly bestow an hundred Drachmes; upon a Sojourner fifty: for the pub­lique ornament I would build Theaters, and Bathes; and bring the Sea as farre as Dipylum, where I would make a Haven, and to which I would cut a passage large enough for my shippe to sayle in, and to be seene from the Kera­micke. As for you, my friends, I would command My Steward to measure to Samippus twenty bushels of stampt gold. To Timolaus five pecks. To Lycinus one, and that strik't, because he is a talker, and flouts my wishes. And [Page 228] this is the life I would lead; I would be above measure rich, live delicately, and enjoy pleasures of all sorts. I have said: Mercury accomplish my desires.

Lycinus.

Doe you know, Adimantus, by what a slender webbe your God of riches hangs; which if once broken all your great fortunes will vanish, and your treasures will be transformed into coales?

Adimantus.

How meane you, Lycinus?

Lycinus.

That tis doubtfull how long you shall enjoy your wealth. For who knowes when you sit downe at your golden table; but that while you stretch out your hand to taste your Numidian Peacocke, or Turkie, you may breath out your wretched soule, and leave all your ri [...]hes to Vultures, and Ravens? Shall I reckon to you some dead before they could possesse their wealth? others impoverish't alive by some God that envyed their estate? Have you not heard how Croesus, and Polycrates, who were much richer then you, fell in an instant from their great wealth? But to omit those, can you thinke your selfe of a constant and an eternall health? See you not hovv many rich men are miserably tortured vvith disea­ses, and paines? some not able to goe; others blinde, or vext vvith secret stitches vvithin? Should you be silent, yet I knovv you vvould not accept your vvish doubled, and feele rich Phanomachus cramps, or be so vvomanish as he. I forbeare to reckon the Ambushes, and treasons layd for your vvealth, besides the danger of theeves, and slaugh­ters, and hatred of the multitude. Doe you yet perceive of vvhat mischiefes your Treasure is the cause?

Adimantus.

Still you are my opposer, Lycinus. I vvill, therefore recall my peck of gold, since you thus thvvart my vvishes.

Lycinus.

You doe like most rich men, to revoke your promise. Propose you your wish, Samippus.

Samippus.

I being an Arcadian, In land man of Mantinea, as you know, desire not a shippe, which to show to my [Page 229] Country-men were impossible. Nor will I draw downe the Gods to such poore petitions, as to aske a certain mea­sure of Treasure, or Gold, since all things, even those which seeme most difficult, are possible to them, and since the Law made by Timolaus gives power to aske all things of them, who will deny nothing; my wish is to be a King. Not such a one as was Alexander, the sonne of Philippe, or Ptolemy, or Mithridates, or one that raignes in a kingdome left him by his father. But I vvould begin my Empire from robbery; in which course I would have some thirty faithfull, resolute companions, and associates. Shortly after should come in to us successively three hundred, then a thousand, not long after ten thousand, till at last wee made up an Army of fif [...]y thousand foote, beside five thousand horse. Then would I by comon suffrage be prefer'd, and chosen Generall, as fittest to lead men, and manage af­faires. That it might bee my excellency above other Kings to be prefer'd for my vertue, to rule an army; and conquer, not succeed in an hereditary Kingdome. For that were a felicity like Adimantus Treasure; and would carry much lesse satisfaction, then to be the author, and contriver of my ovvne greatnesse.

Lycinus.

You have ask't no trifle, Samippus, but the height of felicity, in vvishing to governe such an Army, and to be held the vvorthiest of fifty thousand. I thought Mantinea could not have bred such an admirable Prince, and Captaine. But proceed in your Empire, and lead on your Souldiers, and set your Horse and Foote Troops in Array. I vvould faine knovv vvhether such nume­rous Regiments march out of Arcadia, or against what miserable people you intend your first expedition.

Samippus.

I would tell you, Lycinus, did I not rather desire you would march with us. I will make you Co­lonell of five thousand Horse.

Lycinus.

I thanke you for the honour, most mighty Prince, and, after the Persian manner, do prostrately adore [Page 230] you with my hands behind mee, and do reverence your erected Tiara, and Crowne. But desire you to cast the Imployment on some man more valiant. For I am utterly unskil'd in riding, and 'till this day never backt horse. Nor can I but feare, lest at sound of the Trumpetter, falling off, I should be trampled in the tumult; or left, if my cour [...]er be fiery, taking the bridle betweene his teeth, he should carry me into the midst of the enemy: so that to sit him, & raine him in, 'twill be necessary I be lock't to the saddle.

Adimantus.

Let mee, then, Samippus, lead your horse Troopes, and let Lycinus command your right wing of Foot. For I deserve the highest imployment from you, to whom I gave so many bushels of gold coyned.

Samippus.

Let us first aske the Horse-men, Adimantus, whether they will accept you for their Commander. Fel­low-souldiers, let them who approve Adimantus for their Colonell hold up their hand. You have their generall consent, Adimantus. Bee you, then, over the Horse, Ly­cinus over the right wing, Timolaus shall command the left. I will keepe in the midst, after the manner of the Persian Kings, when they intend to assemble their Coun­sellours. Make wee, then, our first march over the moun­taines to Corinth, and King Iupiter assist us. After we have subdued all the parts of Greece (for none will dare to op­pose their Armes against such numerous forces, but wee shall conquer without toyle) let us shippe our Men and Horse, (Store of victuals, and shipping, and all things else lye prepared at Cenchrea) and let us sayle through the Ar­ches into Ionia. And having there Sacrificed to Diana, and taken their undefended Citties, and placed Governours in them, let us march into Syria, through Caria, Lyci [...] Pamphylia, the Pisidians, and the Maritime and moun­tainous parts of Cilicia, till we come to Euphrates.

Lycinus.

If please you, Invincible Prince, leave mee Prefect of Greece. For I am timorous, and would not willingly goe farre from home, for I perceive you mean [Page 231] to invade the Armenians, and Parthians too, Nations warlike, and skilfull Archers. Bestow your right wing, therefore, on some other, and make mee some Antipater of Greece, lest leading your regiment to Susa and Bactra, I be slaine with a Dart, or run through in some place where I am disarmed.

Samippus.

You put your selfe out of the roll, like a Co­ward, Lycinus, and by the Law are to loose your head for breaking order. Since, then, wee are now at Euphrates, and the river hath a bridge; and the Countries behinde us, which wee have past through, are secured, and have accepted Governours of my Imposition upon them seve­rally; since also some of our Troopes are dispatcht to the conquest of Phoenicia, Palaestine, and Aegypt, passe you over first, Lycinus, with your wing, I'le follow, next after mee Timolaus, doe you Adimantus in the reare convey over your horse forces. You see through our whole march through Mesopotamia, wee have met with no enemy, but the Inhabitants have voluntarily surrendred both them­selves and their forts Wee no sooner approach Babylon, but are unexpectedly received within the walls, and put in possession of the Citty; the King making his Rendes­vous at Cresiphon hath heard of our Incursion; passing on from thence unto Seleucia, hee enlarges his prepara­tions, and presseth more Horsemen, Archers, and Slingers. Our Spies compute him about an hundred thousand strong, of which twenty thousand hurle darts on horse­backe: nor is the Armenian yet come in, nor the borderers upon the Caspian sea, nor the Bactrians, but the neighbou­ring Troopes onely, and Suburbs of the Kingdome. So [...]sily hath hee levyed a vast Army. 'Tis time, therefore, to consider what we have to doe.

Adimantus.

My counsell is to dispatch our Foot Com­panies to Ctesiphon; and our Horse Troopes to stay hereto guard Babylon.

Samippus.

The neerenesse of the danger makes you a [Page 232] coward Adimantus, what is your opinion Timolaus.

Timolaus.

To march against the enemy with our whole Army, and not to give them leisure to encrease their strength, by the new Forces which from all places are comming in, but to give them an onset by the way.

Samippus.

'Tis well advised: What thinke you Ly­cinus?

Lycinus.

My counsell is, that tired with walking this morning downe to the Pyraeum, and now thirty furlongs backe againe, the Sunne also now at noone being hottest, we repose our selves among those olive trees, and sit downe upon this engraven pillar. Afterwards that wee rise up and walke on to the Citty.

Samippus.

Doe you take your selfe to be at Athens, Ly­cinus, when you are sitting in a Councell of warre, in the plaines before the walls of Babylon?

Lycinus.

Your pardon, Sir, I thought you in your wits, But I see you are beside them.

Samippus.

March wee on, then, and show your selves undaunted with perils, nor betray the courage of your An­cestors. You see your enemy in present Array. Let the word be Enyalius. At the sound of the Trumpet, rush on with a shout, clash Speares with shields, and joyne battle with the enemy; Get within their Darts, that wee may a­void their strokes, taking from them their just space and ayme: and since wee now fight hand to hand, Timolaus, and his left wing hath put the Medes their Encounterers to flight. The battle about mee is yet equall, for it con­sists of Persians, and the King is among them. The whole Force of the Barbarian Horse is turned upon the right wing. Behave you, therefore, your selfe stoutly, Lycinus, and encourage those about you to withstand the Impres­sion.

Lucinus.

O dire misfortune! All the Horsemen make their assault upon mee, and I am left alone to encounter them. My best course is, since they enforce mee, to run [Page 233] away to the fencing schoole, and leave you here in the Skirmish.

Samippus.

By no meanes. You have in part vanquish't them. I, as you see, am to enter combate with the King, who challengeth mee, and to refuse him were disho­nourable.

Lycinus.

By Iupiter, you will presently be wounded by him; For 'tis very Princely to receive wounds in a Duell for a Kingdome.

Samippus.

You say true. I have received a slight wound; but in no open place of my body, which shall hereafter betray any deform'd scarre. But do you see how upon re­encounter I have with one thrust of my speare pierced both him and his horse? Next cutting off his head, and taking off his Crowne, how I am saluted King, and pub­liquely adored? From the Barbarians I expect adoration, over whom I will rule by the Graecian Lawes; and be stiled one Emperour of both. Afterwards, imagine how many Citties I will build to my name; how ma­ny I will demolish, and take by force, if they contemne my Government. But my chiefe persecution shall fall on rich Cydias; who being my neighbour, dispossest mee of my field, and by degrees encroacht upon my borders.

Lycinus.

Finish your warres, Samippus, 'tis now time after such great Conquests to celebrate your victories at Babylon with a feast, (For your Empire, I believe, hath extended beyond your furlong) and that Timolaus take his turne, and wish what he please.

Samippus.

But how like you my wishes Lycinus?

Lycinus.

As much more laborious, (most admired Prince) and troublesome then Adimantus wishes▪ since hee desired only a life of pleasure, and to entertaine his friendes with two Talent Gobletts. But you were hurt in a Duel, and were cast into feares, and anxietyes night and day; And were not only surrounded with Affright­ments from your enemyes, but with a thousand Dome­sticke [Page 234] Treasons: Besides the envy, hatred, and flatteryes of those with whom you convers't. Among whom you had not a true friend, but all their affections were dissembled, and acted; out of hope, or feare. The fruition of your very dreames was not pleasant. Only you had Glory, purple garments, embroyder'd with Gold, a white fillett about your head, and a guard to goe before you. The rest is toyle insupportable, joyn'd with much anguish. For you are to entertaine Embassadours from the enemy, or to sit in judicature, or to publish Edicts to your Subjects. Then some Nation rebels; or some Forrayne invasions are made upon your Empire. So that your feares, and suspicions are perpetuall. And you appeare happier to all men then to your selfe. Can that condition be noble, wherein you feele the same sicknesse as peasants doe? nor doth a feaver distinguish you as a King; nor death feare your Guards; but making what accesses to you, it plea­seth, carries you away lamenting, without any reverence to your Crowne? Whilest you falling from your height, and snatcht from your Throne, and going the common way of men, and made equall to the vulgar, by being lost among the heard of the departed, leave behind you upon earth onely a high Tombe, or exalted Pillar, or Py­ramide rising in equall angles, as so many late, and in­sensible honours. The Statues, and Temples, which flattering Citties raise to you, your great name also perish all by degrees, and dye neglected. Or if they be of any long continuance, what fruition can they afford to one sencelesse of them? You see, then, what feares, perplexi­ties, and toyles befall you alive; and what shall befall you after death. 'Tis now your turne to wish, Timolaus, see you aske discreetlyer then these two; as it becomes a prudent man, and one acquainted with affaires.

Timolaus.

Judge you, then, Lycinus, what is faulty in my wish, and what to be corrected. I desire not gold, or Treasure, or sacks of Coyne, or Kingdomes, and [Page 235] Warres, and Affrights of Empire, which you deservedly rejected. For all these things are unstable, and fraught with Treasons, and carry with them more trouble then delight. But I would aske of Mercury certaine Rings of those severall vertues. The first should keepe mee in a firme consistency, and health of body; invulnerable, also, and free from distempers. The next should make the wearer invisible, like that of Gyges. I would have ano­ther, which should instill into mee the strength of ten thousand men, and enable mee single to carry a weight scarce to be lifted by an Army. I would have another Ring, which should enable mee to fly aloft from the ground. I would also charme as many as I pleased asleep. Doores also at my approach should voluntarily open, the lockes flie backe, and the bolts fall off; and this to be per­formed with one Ring. But above all I would have one more powerfull then the rest, which worne, should make mee amiable to handsome Boyes, Women, and whole Nations, and should so enamour, and enflame them, and make mee so desirable, as to be their discourse. Women impatient of their desires should hang them­selves, and boyes grow madde, and account him happy, on whom I vouchsafe to looke: And they whom I neg­lected should pine away with griefe. Briefly, It should render mee more beautifull then Hyacinthus, or Hylas, or the Chian Phaon. And thus would I be not for a short time, or according to the measure of the life of man, but a thousand yeares, renewing my youth after youth, and still returning to the age of seventeene; and casting off my decayes like serpents. In this state I will lacke no­thing. Whatsoever others possesse shall be mine, by my power to open doores, lay the Keepers asleepe, and en­ter invisible. If there be any thing in the Easterne, or Northerne parts of the World, of strange, and unusuall spectacle, or if there be any thing pretious, or pleasant to be eaten, or drunke, I would, without sending for them, [Page 236] my selfe fly thither, and enjoy them to a satiety. And be­cause a Griffin is a winged beast, and the Phoenix a fowle to be seene in India, and no where else, I would behold them there. I would also discover the head of Nilus, and the uninhabited parts of the earth, and the Antipodes, if there be any such, who inhabit the adverse Hemisphaere of the world. Next, I would know the nature of the Starres, of the Moone, and Sun himselfe, being prae­secur'd from their fires. But my greatest delight should be in the same day to report at Babylon who vanquisht at Olympia. And if, perhaps, I dine in Syria, to suppe in Italy. Then if I had an enemy, to take an invisible revenge of him, and dash out his braines with a stone. On the con­trary, to bestow secret courtesies on my friends, and showre gold on them in their sleepes. If there were a proud man, or a rich disdainfull Tyrant, I would take him up some twenty furlongs, and then precipitate him. Then, without controule might I converse with faire boyes, and make invisible approaches, by laying all a­sleepe but they onely. What a spectacle wee it to hoyer aloft in the Ayre, above all shafts, and there looke downe upon two Armies fighting? And if I listed to joyne my selfe to the weaker side, and by charming the Conque­rours to bestow victory on the flyers, and recall them from their flight. In a word, the whole life of men should be my recreation; All things should be mine, and others should take mee for a God. And this is the height of fe­licity, which can neither fade, nor be betrayed, especially being accompanied with health, and long life. What can you blame, Lycinus, in my wish?

Lycinus.

Nothing, Timolaus, nor were it safe to oppose a man winged, and stronger then thousands. But yet let mee aske you, Have you among all the Nations you have flowne over, seene such another old man, so beside his right minde, as to thinke himselfe by the power of a small Ring enabled to remove mountaines with the top [Page 237] of his finger? or made amiable to all eyes, though hee were bald, and saddle nosed? Againe, tell mee, why one Ring may not suffice you, but that you must weare so ma­ny, and burden every finger of your left hand, nay with the over number charge the right hand too? Besides, you omit the most necessary ring of all, which you ought to weare for the cure of your folly, and allay of your ex­cessive insolence. Unlesse Hellebore simply taken purge better

Timolaus.

'Tis at length come to your turne, Lycinus, to wish. Wee shall now see how innocent, and unblame­able your demandes will be, who thus accuse others.

Lycinus.

'Twere needlesse for mee to wish. Wee are now come to Dipylum; and Heroicke Samippus by his Siege of Babylon, and you Timolaus by dining in Syria, and sup­ping in Italy, have worne out my remaining furlong; for which I thanke you. For I should never endure to enjoy great riches for a while, and shortly after bee tormented with their losse, and be compell'd to eate a thinne morsell of bread; which will ere long bee your case, when your fantastique selicitye, and aery treasures take flight, and for­sake you. And you taking leave of your wealth, and scep­ters, like men awaken'd out of a sweet dream, find nothing at home but dissimilitudes. Like those Tragedians, who Act Kinges; who of [...] the stage are ready to starve, though on it they were Agamemnons, and Creons. You cannot, then as 'tis fit, but pine, and vex at your meane spectacles at home. Especially, you, Timolaus, when Icarus misfortune lights on you, and when upon the melting of your winges, you fall from heaven, and walke againe on earth and loose all your inchanted ringes which voluntarily droppe from your fingers. It shall suffice mee instead of Treasures, and Babylon, sweetly to laugh at your wishes, especially being soe learned, and made by the praysers of Philosophy.

The Councell of the Gods.

The Speakers, Jupiter, Mercury, and Momus.
Iupiter.

LAy aside your future murmurs, yee Gods, and vent not your mutuall whispers, and dis­contents in corners, that soe many unwothy mortalls are admitted to your meetings. But when the counsell is assembled about it, let every one openly speake his grie­vance, and make his complaynt. And doe you Mercury, according to Law, make Proclamation.

Mercury.

Heare, and be silent. If any perfect God have ought to say to this Senate, he is permitted to speake. The inquiry is concerning the native Gods and forraigners.

Momus.

With your leave, and pardon, Iupiter, I Mo­mus am ready.

Iupiter.

That's granted you already by the proclama­tion; I need not confirme it.

Momus.

First, then, I Pronounce some of us blame­worthy; who are not themselves content of men to bee made Gods, but, unlesse they advance their followers, and servants to the same equall honours, thinke they have done nothing great, or sprightfull. I desire, therefore, Iu­piter, that Liberty of speech may be given mee; other­wise my complayntes will bee imperfect. You all know of what a liberall tongue I am, and how ill a dissembler of faults. For I bring all things into reprehension, and utter my minde freely, not disguising my opinion for fear, or reverence of any: which makes mee seeme trouble­some to some, and naturally a Sycophant to others, and am stiled the publique Informer. Since, then, the Law, Proclamation, and you your selfe, Iupiter, allow mee freedome of Language, I will speake nothing re­servedly. [Page 239] Many there are, (as I said before) who not content to be admitted into our Senate, and to enjoy e­quall society, though they be halfe mortall, have brought their servants, and associates into Heaven, and there en­roll'd them: where they now share with us, and par­take sacrifices, and pay us not our due tributes.

Iupiter,

speake not in riddles, Momus, but expresse your selfe clearly, and without clouds, and assigne names. For hitherto you have throwne your speeches amongst us, and drawne many into suspicion, and raised our jealou­sies on diverse. Utter your selfe boldly, therefore, and feare not to reveale your selfe.

Momus.

Since you allow mee, Iupiter, freedome of ut­terance, (wherein you doe magnificently, and like a Prince) I will come to particulars, and instances. First, then, the most generous, halfe-mortall Bacchus, not so much as a Graecian by the mothers side, but borne of Cadmus a Syrophoenician Merchants daughter, was no sooner install'd in his Immortality, but I blush to tell you of his behaviour, miter, drunkennesse, and reeling. I be­lieve, you all see how naturally effeminate, and woma­nish hee is, halfe madde, and intemperate from morning to night. Hee, I say, hath introduced his whole Linage upon us, and is the Leader of a Morris, and hath declared Pan, and Silenus, and certaine wild, savage Satyres, and Goat like men, given to dancing, and of monstrous shapes, for Gods. Of which one hath hornes, and in halfe his body downward resembles a Goate, and weares just such a long beard. Another is a bald old man, wrye­nosed, riding for the most part upon an Asse, by birth a Lydian. The Satyres are prick-eared, bald, horned, much like new calved Fawnes, by originall Phrygians. They have all tayles; and these are Gods of the sober Gentle­mans creation. Nor are wee to wonder if mortall men despise us, when they behold such ridiculous mishapen Gods. I forbeare to tell you, how hee hath brought up [Page 240] two women, one his Mistresse call'd Ariadne, whose Crowne hee hath placed among the Starres; the other [...]carus the plough-mans daughter▪ Besides, what is yet most ridiculous, O yee Gods, hee hath made Erigones dog a Constellation also, least shee should grieve to be with­out her companion, and whelpe shee loved, in Heaven. Are not these so many scandals to us, and arguments of our folly, and others laughter? I proceed to others.

Iupiter.

Take heede, Momus, you speake not of Aescu­lapius, and Hercules. For I see whither your speech tendes. One of them you know is a Phisitian, and cures diseases, and therefore is to be prefer'd before others. Then, my sonne Hercules hath purchased his imortality by no small labours. Take heed, therefore, how you accuse them.

Momus.

For your sake, Iupiter, I spare them, though I have much to say; among other thinges, that they yet re­taine their markes of fire. But had I liberty to speake of you your selfe, I could say much more.

Iupiter.

You have full licence. But how can you questi­on mee, who am a native God?

Momus.

I cannot heare so in Creet, where they speake otherwise of you, and show your sepulchre. But I neither beleeve them, nor those Greekes of Aegina, who say you have but a forged, supposititious Deity. The thinges which I thinke most worthy of reproofe, are these. The originall of these disorders, and the cause how our coele­stiall senate becomes thus adulterated springes, Iupiter, from you. Who mingle with mortall women, and de­scend to them in varied shapes. Which makes us feare least, mistaken for a Bull, you should some time or other be sacrificed. Or when you are transform'd into Gold, least some smith should worke you into one change more, and make a chaine, or bracelet, or eare-ring of a Iupiter. Besides, you have fill'd heaven with Demi-gods; for so I must call them. And 'twould be meere Argu­ment of laughter, should any man of a suddaine be told, [Page 241] that Hercules is made a God, and that Eurystheus, who enjoyn'd him his labours, is dead and perisht; and that neerly adjoyn'd are to be seene Hercules the servants Temple, and Eurystheus the Masters Tombe. Againe, Among the Thebans, Bacchus is made a God; yet his cou­sins Pentheus, Actaeon, and Learchus were of all men the most unfortunate From the time, then, that you, Iupiter, open'd the Gate, and accompanied with mortall wo­men, all have followed your example; not onely the male Gods, but what is yet worse, the female too. Who knowes not Anchises, and Tithon, and Endymion, and Iason, and others? All which, to avoid tediousnesse, I passe over.

Iupiter.

Take heed Momus, you say nothing of Gany­med. I shall take it ill, if you displease the boy by the disparagement of his Pedigree?

Momus.

If, then, I must not speake of the Eagle which you have also placed in heaven, and which sits upon your imperiall Scepter, and almost builds her nest on your head, but must for Ganymed [...] sake be sparing; pray tell mee, Iupiter, how Attis, and Corybas, and Sabazius were advan­ced hither, or Mithres, the Mede, who weares a Cassock, and Tiara, and hath not Greeke enough to pledge him that drinkes to him. The Scythians, therefore, and Getes upon these apprehensions have quite cast us off; bestow Divinity of their owne, and make what Gods they please. So that, without our allowance, Zamolxis a slave is registred a Deity. But all these are tolerable, O yee Gods: you Aegyptian Barker, who are clad in linnen, what are you Divine Doggs-face? or how come you to be a God? Besides, what meanes this spotted Bull of Memphis, which is adored, and gives Oracles, and hath his Priests? I blush to speakes of the Storke, Apes, Goats, and other ridiculous Deities, which, I know not how, have ascended from Aegypt up to Heaven: which how, O yee Gods, can you behold equally, or more honour'd then your selves? Or how can you endure, Iupiter, [Page 242] that they should give you the hornes of a Ramme?

Iupiter.

Surely, the things whereof you accuse the Aegyptians, Momus, are very fowle: yet most of them are mysteries, which the prophane are not to deride.

Momus.

Indeed, wee have need of mysteries, Iupiter, by which wee may know Gods to be Gods, and Dogs to be Dogs.

Iupiter.

Speake no more of the Aegyptians; of whom we will consult at leisure; proceed to the rest.

Momus.

Trophonius, Iupiter, and what most stirres mee, Amphilochus, the son of a wicked Matricide, gives Oracles in Cilicia, false for the most part; with which, for tvvo Drachmes, he deceives the Inquirers: so that you, Apollo, are no longer famous; but every stone, and altar vvhich hath novv Oyle povvred on it, and is Crovvn'd vvith roses, and frequented by Impostors, of vvhich there are many, gives ansvver. The Statue of Polydamas cures feavers at Olympia; and of Theagenes at Thasus. They sa­crifice to Hector in Troy; and in the opposite Chersone­sus to Protesilaus. Since our number, then, vvas increa­sed, perjury, and sacriledge have beene more familiarly practised; and the vertuous have learned to contemne us. And thus much be spoken of bastard, supposititious Gods. Next, I cannot but laugh, Iupiter, when I heare certaine strange names of things, which are not found among us, nor, indeed, can bee. Where are the so-much spoken of Vertue, Nature, Fate, and Fortune to be seene? are they not meere senslesse empty names of things in­vented by vaine Philosophers? which though they have no higher off-spring then their fiction, yet they make such impressions upon simple people, that none will now sa­crifice to us, out of their perswasion, that though they should offer to us a thousand Hecatombes, yet things would fall out according to Destiny, and Chance, and according to the thread of every mans nativity. I would now gladly know, Iupiter, where you ever saw Vertue, [Page 243] or Nature, or Fate. For that you your selfe heare such words in the disputations of Philosophers, I doubt not, unlesse you be deafe, and cannot heare their wranglings. I have much more to say, but vvill here set my Period. For I see some troubled at my discourse, others hisse; Especially those vvho have beene toucht by my free­dome. For a conclusion, therefore, if you please, Iupiter, I vvill read the Decree, lately made for redresse of those grievances.

Iupiter.

Rehearse it; since thy complaints have not been altogether unreasonable; but that many things are to be reformed, and kept from a farther grovvth.

The Decree.

The Speakers Momus, and Jupiter,
Momus.

AT a councell, lawfully assembled, the seventh day of this present month, Iupiter was chiefe, Neptune President, Apollo Assistant, Momus scribe by Night, and sleepe pronounc't this sentence. Whereas ma­ny Forraigners, not Greekes onely, but also Barbarians, al­together unworthy of this State, and Society, have regi­stred themselves, I know not how, and taken upon them to be Gods, and fill'd Heaven, so that our meetings are crowded with the tumultuous confluence of a diverse languaged rout, and our Ambrosia, and Nectar spent, and raised to a Mina the quart by reason of the multitude of drinkers: and whereas most immodestly they displace the Ancient, and true Gods, and contrary to the Lawes of this Country, claime the highest seats here, and prece­dency of Adoration on Earth: It seemes good to the Councell, and present assembly, that the next winter Sol­stice, a Parliament be called in Olympus; and there seven Gods be joyn'd in a Committee for the examination of usurpations, of which three to be of the old house under [Page 244] Saturne, and foure or the twelve; of which Iupiter to be one. Next, they who sit in Commission to be Legally sworne by Styx; and Herauld Mercury, to summon all those who are to appeare in the Synod; and they to bring sworne witnesses, and proofes of their descent, and to come forth one by one. And the Commissioners, upon examination, either to pronounce them Gods, or to re­turne them to their Sepulchers, and the Monuments of their Ancestors. Hee, who once disallowed, and senten­ced by the Commissioners, shall afterwards attempt to en­ter Heaven, to be cast downe to Hell. Next, every one to attend his owne profession. Minerva not to practice Phy­sicke, nor Aesculapius to give Oracles, nor Apollo so vari­ously to employ himselfe, but to make his choyce whether he will be an Oracle, or a Musitian, or a Physitian. Phi­losophers to bee admonisht that they fayne not new names, nor trifle about things they know not. They who have beene falsly honoured with Temples and Sa­crifices, to have their images demolisht, and the Statue of Iupiter, or Iuno, or Apollo, or some other Legitimate Gods to be erected. Citties to build Tumbes to the rest, and in stead of Altars to set up Pillars. Whosoever disobeyes this decree, and refuseth to make appearance to be sen­tenced unheard.

Iupiter.

The Act, Momus, is most just; you who ap­prove it, hold up your hands; or rather be it ratified. For I know many will deny their suffrages. And so dissolve the Court; with this charge that at Mercury's summons you all appeare, and bring every one cleare proofe, and certaine evidence of his father, and mothers name; how he came to be made a God, and also of what stocke, and family he is descended. If any appeare not, the Commis­sioners shall not consider what magnificent Temples hee hath on Earth, or how men esteeme him for a God.

The Images.

The Speakers, Lycinus, and Polystratus.
Lycinus.

IUst so as they who were confounded at the sight of the Gorgons head, was I lately astonisht at the sight of a beautifull woman; and almost accom­plisht the fable, by being changed from a man into a stone, and congealed by the wonder.

Polystratus.

By Hercules 'twas a supernaturall, and very powerfull spectacle, if a woman did stupifie Lycinus. You frequently suffer such Trances at the sight of handsome Boyes; and 'tis much easier to remove Sipylus, then to draw you from their contemplation: so gazingly fixt are you, and many times ready to dissolve in teares like Tan­talus daughter. But pray tell mee, what petrifying Me­dusa is this, and from whence, that I may also see her? I cannot thinke you will envie mee her sight, or grow jealous, if I cannot avoyd Congealment at the spe­ctacle.

Lycinus

Know, then, that if you but see her through a Casement, shee will presently strike you dumbe, and ren­der you more immoveable then a statue. But perchance your wound, if you only see her, will be more gentle and slight. Let her but see you, and what power will you have to depart? shee will draw you captived whither she list, as the Load-stone draws Iron.

Polystratus.

Faigne not, Lycinus a beauty so prodigious. But tell mee who shee is.

Lycinus.

I am so farre from speaking Hyperbolies, that I feare when you see her, shee will so excell, that I shall ap­peare faint in my prayses. But who shee is I cannot tell you; shee was numerously accompanyed, and with great pompe attended by a multitude of Eunuches, and wayting Women. In a word her retinue was much above a private fortune.

Polystratus.
[Page 246]

Did you not learne her name, nor how she was called?

Lycinus.

My Intelligence of her is only that she is of Io­nia: for one of the spectators, turning to him that stood next, said, Such are the Smyrnaean beautyes. Nor is't a mira­cle that the fairest Citty should produce the most beauti­full Women. By which Boast of her, I conceived the spea­ker also to bee of Smyrna.

Polystratus

And you, in the meane time, had this pro­perty of a stone, neither to follow her, nor to aske him who she was. Describe her, therefore, to mee, in the best language you can perchance I may that way bee brought to her Knowledge.

Lycinus.

Doe you know what you aske? 'Tis beyond the power of speech, especially mine, to decipher so admi­rable a piece; for which Apelles, Zeuxis, or Parrhasius, though wee should joyne to them Phidias, and Alcame­nes, are insufficient. I shall but deforme the Originall by my want of skill.

Polystratus.

However, describe her face, Lycinus, 'twill be no dangerous attempt, to represent her picture to your friend in its owne lineaments.

Lycinus.

I hold it much safer, for the accomplishment of the worke, and fairer draught of the woman, to call into my assistance some of the ancient Artificers.

Polystratus.

How meane you? Or how, after so many yeares, can you recall them from the dead?

Lycinus.

Easily if you will vouchsafe to answer to my Questions.

Polystratus.

Aske what you please.

Lycinus.

You have beene at Cnidos, Polystratus?

Polystratus.

Yes.

Lycinus.

And you have seene their Venus?

Polystratus.

'Tis the best piece Praxitiles ere made.

Lycinus.

You have heard the story, also, which the people report of her; how one enamour'd of the Image, [Page 247] and secretly left in the Temple, to his power committed with the Statue? but more of this some other time. Since, then, you have seene her (as you say) answer mee to this question. Have you observed Alcamenes Statue in the Gar­den at Athens?

Polystratus.

I were the dullest, and most carelesse of all men, Lycinus, not to marke Alcamenes fairest piece.

Lycinus.

I will not aske you, Polystratus, how often you have ascended the Fort, and there seene Sosandra carved by Calamis.

Polystratus.

I have frequently seene her too.

Lycinus.

'Tis sufficient. Which piece of Phidias's doe you praise most?

Polystratus.

Which should I, but that at Lemnos? on which hee doubted not to engrave his name? and next his Amazon leaning on a Speare?

Lycinus.

These, indeed, are his best. Nor shall I neede more Artificers: take now severall parts from all these, and proportion them as well as you can, and I will show you all their excellencies collected in one feature.

Polystratus.

How may that bee?

Lycinus.

Without difficulty, Polystratus, If allowing the ability of drawing pictures to language, wee allow it the power also to trimme, compose, and fit, and with the best proportion it can, to observe mixture and variety too.

Polystratus.

You say true. Pray show mee these seve­rall excellencies joyned. I would faine see how you can dispose them; or how, from such disagreeing parts, you can raise one harmonio [...]s piece.

Lycinus.

The picture, then, which I will present to to your view, shall be of this composition. Give it the head of Venus at Cnidos, and 'twill require no other parts of the naked Goddesse Next, you shall allow it the haire fore-head, and vvell dravvne eye brovves of the God­desse, as they are carved by Praxiteles; as also the sparkle of her eye, joyn'd vvith such a cheerfulnesse, and [Page 248] grace of countenance, as Praxiteles hath fancyed them. Then the breasts, and fore parts shall be taken from Al­camenes, and his Venus in the garden; as also the extremi­ties of her hands, the Arithmeticall junctures of her wrists, and the decent slendernesse of her fingers, ending in a beautifull sharpe; the Ayre of the whole face, the delica­cy of the cheekes, and measure of the nose shall be bor­rowed from Lemnia and Phidias, who shall also bestow the composure of the mouth and his Amazons necke. So­sandra, and Calamis shall adorne it with modesty; with which shall be mingled a soft, unperceiveable simper in­clining to a smile. The bravery of Attire shall be taken from Sosandra, all but of the head, which shall be bare; the size and dimensions of her stature shall carry just pro­portion to that of the Cnidian Venus, as Praxiteles hath hap­pily measured her. What thinke you Polystratus, will it be a fair peece when it is exactly finisht?

Polystratus.

Can there be yet any addition of beauty made to your picture, after such an amiable accumulation of parts?

Lycinus.

Hitherto my discription hath beene rude; and to all this, my friend, you are to joyne colour, and deco­rum; that those parts which are blacke be exactly black, and those which are white, be execllently white; and those which are redde do out-blush the role. So that the danger is, since the greatest perfection is yet wanting, from what paternes we shall derive it. Shall wee call in­to our assistance the rarest paynters, to help us to mingle colours, and teach us how to give them fit order, and disposition? Bee it so; let us recall Polygnotus, Euphranor, Apelles, and Aetion; and let them divide the worke. Let Euphranor paynt the hayre, as he hath drawne Iuno's. Let Polygnotus limbe two decent eye-browes, and such flow­ry cheekes, as he hath given to Cassandra in the Quire at Delphos; let him also shape the garments so subtlely, that part may sit close, the rest may hang loose, and appeare [Page 249] blowne by the winde. Let Apelles draw the rest of the body by Pacata, on which let him not lay over much white, but make it temperately sanguine. Let Aetion draw such lippes, as he hath given to Roxana; but above all, Let Homer, the best of Painters, be joyned in assistance with Apelles, and let the whole body weare that colour which he hath layd upon Menelaus thighs, Ivory dipt in Scarlet. Let him also frame the eyes, and make them Oxe­like; to which let the Thebane Poet joyne his Pencill, and draw the liddes. Then let Homer adde a sweete cheerful­nesse, shoulders of snow, rosie fingers, and make her fitter to be compared to his golden Venus, then Briseus daugh­ter. And so much be taken from the most learned Sta­tuaries, Painters, and Poets. But the Grace, or rather all the Graces, and Cupids, collected in one Circle of beauty, arising from this composition what Language can ex­presse?

Polystratus.

Trust mee you have decipher'd as divine a piece, Lycinus, as if dropt from Iupiter, or made by some Celestiall Artificer. How was shee busied when you saw her?

Lycinus.

Shee held a Booke in her hands, roll'd into two parts; one of which shee seemed to have read, and then to read the other. Onely betweene pawses shee discoursed some thing to one of her women, which came not to my knowledge, because her voyce came not to my hearing. But vvhen shee smiled, Polystratus, she betray­ed tvvo rovves of teeth, so vvhite, so even, and so pro­portion'd to one another, that if you have seene a rope of Orient, and equally sized pearle, just in such order they grew. Onely they tooke a fresh lustre from the Crimson of her lippes, through which they shined like Homer's polisht Ivory. None were broader, or higher, or more prominent then others, as you see in most women, but were of one equall ranke, colour, and bignesse, and e­qually order'd in their rowes. Briefly she was a great [Page 250] wonder, beyond all mortall beauty.

Polystratus.

Despaire not. I know what woman you meane, by her description and Country; and by the Eu­nuches, and souldiers, which you said attended her. Your remarkable peece is a Kings wife.

Lycinus.

What is her name?

Polystratus.

'Tis a most sweete, and amiable one, Ly­cinus; The same with that of Abradatas faire wife. Have you not often heard Xenophon praise a discreet, beautifull woman?

Lycinus.

Yes; and am so affected, that methinkes I see her, as often as I read that passage in him; and do almost heare her discoursing of battles; and how she armed her husband, and behaved her selfe when shee sent him to the Warre.

Polystratus.

You then, seeing this Lady but once in pas­sage, like a flash of lightning, have hitherto praised only her vulgar perfections, I meane, her body, and outward fea­ture. The perfections of her soule are invisible, nor could you know how much more excellent, and divine, her inward beauties are then her corporeall. But I doe, who am of her acquaintance, and have often mingled discour­ses with her, and am of the same Country. For I have (as you well know) ever praised sweetnesse of carriage, and affability, and height of spirit, and wisdome, and educati­on, before beauty, as endowments much worthier to be prefer'd before those of the body. For 'twere most unrea­sonable, and ridiculous to admire the garment above the wearer. The most perfect beauty, then, (if I may judge) is, when the vertue of the minde concurres with the ami­able shape of the body. I can show you some of indiffe­rent features, who are staynes to their creation; In whom the onely thing praise-worthy dyes, and withers, ble­misht, and disgraced by its desertlesse conjunction, to so foule a Mistresse as their soule. Such women to mee re­semble Aegyptian Temples, where the outward structure [Page 251] is glorious, magnificent, and adorn'd with pretious stones, gold, and carvings▪ but if you shall search for the Deity within, you shall finde an Ape, or Storke, or Goate, or Cat. 'Twere easie to give you many such examples. Forme, and shape, therefore, are not enough, where the true, and just dressings are wanting. I do not meane rich garments, and jewels, but those better dressings before mentioned, of vertue, discretion, equall behaviour, affabi­lity, and the rest comprehended under these.

Lycinus.

Being so able, Polystratus, to returne tale for tale, as they say, in the like measure, and over, you may do well to draw the portrayture of a soule, that wee may no longer fix our admiration on the worse halfe.

Polystratus.

You enjoyne mee▪ my friend, no small en­terprize: nor is it all one difficulty to praise things appa­rent to all, and to make obscure things visible. I shall need assistance too to my Draught, not of Statuaries, or Pain­ters, but of Philosophers, to whose receipts my figure is to be conformed, and fashioned, according to the ancient Imagery. Thus, then, I begin. First, her speech is vocall, and cleare, and flowes sweet [...]er then hony from her tongue; so that Homer is herein to give her the preceden­cy of his Pylian old man. Every word is pronounced with most delicate Accent, neither too base, or manly, nor yet too treble, effeminate, or loose; but like the utterance of an unripe boy, pleasant, tunefull, and gently stealing into the sense: so that when shee cea [...]es to speake, a cer­taine melody, and relique of her voyce remaines, and playes about the eare; like a soft eccho, which prolongs the hearing, and leaves certaine delicious footsteps of language, full of perswasion in the Soule. When shee sings her best, especially to the Lute, then 'tis time for Hal­cyons, and Swannes to be silent. For all things are un­musicall, compared to her; Pandions daughter harsh, and artlesse, with all the variety of her voyce. Had Orpheus, and Amphion, who lead their hearers, and drew things [Page 252] void of sense to their harmony, heare her, they had, I be­lieve, forsaken their harpes and stood her silent Listners. For whence should that Thracian, or the other, who fed a heard on Cytheron, have the skill so to touch a harpe, as to observe the exact proportions of Harmony, not to trans­gresse number, but by seasonable risings, and falls, to give measure to the lessons, then the harpe to bear consort with the voyce, and the quill to keepe time with the tongue, to which are to be added the right stroke of the fingers, and flexibility of the joynts? It, therefore, Lycinus, you ever heare her sing, you will no more undergoe the transfor­mations of a Gorgon, and passe from man to stone; but will feele raptures like those of the Sirens, whilest a sweet charme creeping over your sense, takes from you the re­membrance of your Country and acquaintance. And though you seale your eares, yet the sound will insinu­ate through the waxe. Such is the musicke of a Terpsi­chore, or a Calliope, and such is the skill of a Melpomene, [...]raught with a thousand inchantments of all sorts. In a word, methought I heard such Harmony, as was fit to passe through such lippes and te [...]th: since, then, you have seene her, imagine you heare her too. Though this ex­cellency of her voyce, being purely Ionicke, with which in her familiar discourses she mingles much of the Atticke elegancy, be the least thing to be admired in her; since 'tis hereditary, and descended to her from her Ancestors; nor could shee well doe otherwise, having in her travels converst with the Athenians. Nor doe I wonder that she delights in Poetry, and is well studied in that way, spring­ing from Homer's Citty. Suffice it, Lycinus, that you have seene the picture of her excellent voyce, though rudely drawne: Consider wee now her other parts▪ which I pur­pose not, like you, to decipher by a Collection taken from many, and wrought into one peece, (for 'twere poore and like vulgar paynters, to joyne so many various, disagree­ing beautyes in one draught) but all the vertues of the [Page 253] soule severally taken shall bee cast into one exact coppye of the originall.

Lycinus.

You promise mee a feast, Polystratus, and a vari­ously furnisht banquet, and seeme to repay mee with o­verflowing measure: proceed then; for there is nothing with which you can more obliege mee.

Polystratus.

Since, then, the knowledge of all good arts is necessary, especially those of Contemplation, I shall pre­sent her to you various, and in diverse shapes, and shall ap­prove my selfe not outdone by you in Mimature. Imagine her, then, possest of all the rare endowments which flow from H [...]licon; not like Clio, and Polyhymnia, and Calliope, and the other Muses, who are severally learned but in one thing, but possest of all, even those of Mercury, and A­pollo too: whatsoever Poets have written in ravishing numbers, or Historians have publisht, or Philosophers ex­toll'd, are but the severall trimminges, and ornaments of my picture; which are not to be superficially colour'd, but to be throughly steept in colours of Graine, iterated, and to satiety repeated. You are to pardon mee, If I cannot show an Archetype to this portrayture; Since in all the Monuments of the Ancient Literature, none such is re­corded. If you thinke fit, therefore, let this piece of her be layd up as sacred; being, in my judgement, spotlesse, and without blemish.

Lycinus.

You have described her, Polystratus, most ex­actly, and with all her numbers.

Polystratus.

I am, next, to decipher the Image of her wisedome, and understanding. For which I must bor­row ayde from many examples, most of them ancient, and one Ionicke. My painters, and coadjutors shall be Aeschi­nes, friend to Socrates, and Socrates himselfe; the best re­semblers of all those Artificers, who ever drew with a Venus, and life. Their Aspasia, with whom the admired Olympius familiarly converst, as she is by them proposed for no mean example of wisdome, both for her experi­ence [Page 254] in businesse, sharpnesse in affaires politicke, and for the edge, and piercingnesse of her judgement, will I in the most exact resemblance transferre from Miletum to my picture: only here will be the difference, she is drawn in a narrow Tablet, this Image will take up the Dimen­sions of a Colossus.

Lycinus.

How meane you?

Polystratus.

That though both portraitures be equall in resemblance, yet they are not in magnitude. Nor did the Athenian Commonwealth then carry any neere pro­portion to the Romane Greatnesse now. Though, then, they agree in similitude, yet this excells in largenesse, as being drawne in a more spatious Table. To these adde wee, for a second, and a third example, Theano, and the Lesbian Poetresse, and Diotima. Theano shall conferre height of mind; Sappho Courtlinesse of Behaviour; shee shall resemble Diotima not onely for those vertues extold by Socrates, but for her other discreet endowments too: and so Lycinus, you have one part more of her picture.

Lycinus.

By Iupiter, Polystratus, most admirably limbd. Pray describe her other perfections, namely, her sweet­nesse of Nature, and affability, the manner how she ex­presseth her pitty, and relieves the distrest.

Polystratus.

Once more, then, I must resemble her to Theano, Antenors wife; as also to Arete, and her daughter Nausicaa, and all others who have observed an equall temper in an abundant fortune. Next, fancy to your selfe the Idea of modesty, and discretion in Behaviour, and in both she answers Homer's Character of Icarius daughter. For just such a description hath he made of Penelope, as I have, for the agreement of their names, made of Abrada­tas wife before mentioned.

Lycinus.

Your peece, Polystratus, is every way com­pleate, nor can you easily finde more patterns, having past through all parts of the soule, and commendation.

Polystratus.

Not all. Her greatest praises are yet behinde. [Page 255] I meane, that in the eminent height of honour in which she is, she is not blowne up by her prosperity, nor puft be­yond humane measure by her confidence in fortune; but observes a moderatiō of carriage which is neither haughty nor burdensome; receives those who make their Adresse with a popular, and equall sweetnesse, affording both her hand, and familiarity. For persons of Quality by so much the more winne upon their Approachers, by how much being advanced above them, they are not tragicall, or un­kind in their deportment. And, therefore, they onely who show their power not in pride, but benefits, are most worthy of the goods of fortune, and most easily a­voyd envy. For none will repine at his happinesse, whom they see temperate amidst his felicities, and not like Ho­mers Ate, stalking on the heads of men, and trampling inferiours. A carriage not unusuall in men of base spirits, though the mis-apprehension of their fortune. By which, beyond their hopes, being suddenly advanced, and placed in a sublime, and winged chariot, they keepe not with­in their measure, or looke downe, but straine to fly aloft, till at length, like Icarus, their waxe melts, and feathers droppe off, and they, to the laughter of the beholders, fall headlong into the sea, and floud. But they who, like Daedalus, imploy not their wings to too lofty flights, re­membring they are joyned with waxe, but observe a hu­mane course, and love to carry themselves not too high from the water, rather choosing to wet their feathers, then betray them to the Sun, fly in a safe, and secure Re­gion. As this Lady, who cannot be sufficiently praised, did: who receives this reward of her vertues, to have all men wish that she may alwayes be upon this height of the wing, and that all good things may streame to her.

Lycinus.

So be it, Polystratus; since her merits arise not onely from her bodily gifts, which are equall to Helen, but she is much more faire, and lovely in the qualities of her minde. It becomes also so great a King, and withall [Page 256] so serene, and gentle, among his other felicities to have the happinesse to have so brave a woman borne in his Empire, joyn'd to him in marriage, and to love him. For that woman can be no vulgar blessing, of whom the speech of Homer may properly be pronounced, that shee may contend with Venus for beauty, and with Minerva for parts. For the woman cannot be assigned, with whom she may be compared, for shape, for wit, for minde, for artifice, as Homer hath it.

Polystratus.

'Tis true, Lycinus, If you thinke fit, there­fore, let us mingle Characters, and unite your picture of her body, with mine of her soule: which compiled in a booke, let us exhibit to the generall admiration of the present age, and succeeding. A monument much more lasting then if drawne by Ap [...]lles, or Par [...]hasius, or Poly­gnotus; and she her selfe will show much more illustrious limbed by the industry of the Muses, then represented in wood, waxe, or colours: since that is the best picture which, with the beauties of the body, expresseth the ver­tues of the soule.

A Defence of the former Discourse.

The speakers Polystratus, Lycinus.
Polystratus.

I Am sensible, Lycinus, sayes the Lady, of your great respects, and the honour you designe mee in your writings. For no man would have so over praised mee, but one who wrote with affection. But the thing which I would have you know is this. In my disposition I am not taken with Flatterers, but such men seeme to mee Impostors, and slaves by nature. So that when any man heaps Panegyricks on mee, and swells my praises into troublesome, immoderate Hyperboles, I presently blush, and am ready to stop my eares, and take his commendations rather for mockeries, then just Enco­miums. [Page 257] For praises are no farther tolerable, then the per­son praysed knowes them to be due. All excesse is im­proper, and fawning. I know many, sayes she, who de­light to heare themselves commended, and to have their defects supplyed by flatteries. As, if they be old, to have one extoll their vigour; if they be deformed, to be pre­fer'd for beauty before Nireus, and Phaon. Supposing they alter shape from their praises, and waxe young a­gaine, as Pelias believed. But they are deceived. For no­thing were so pretious as Panegyricke, if Hyperboles could bestow whatsoever they commend. Methinkes, therefore, sayd shee, their case is much like his, who be­ing naturally ill-favoured should weare a beautifull vi­zard: and then grow proud of his borrowed lookes, though they be ready to drop off, and be disorder'd upon every encounter; and thereupon to expose him to the more laughter, when hee returnes to his owne face, and appeares vvithout his veyle. Or, as if a dvvarfe vvearing buskins should contend in stature vvith one a cubit higher. Hereto shee joyn'd an example. There vvas, sayd she, a great Lady, of competent feature, and hand­somenesse, but low, and very short of just stature, praised by a Poet, in songe, among other perfections for her beauty, and tallnesse, who compared her for length and straightnesse to a poplar tree; she was much tickled, and clapt her hands, as if shee had received new stature from the verses: which the Poet, seeing her so joy'd with false praises) often repeated to her. Till a stander by whi­spering him in the eare, said, forbeare, Sir, lest you per­swade the Lady she is growne taller. A story like this, but much more ridiculous, shee reported of Stratonice the wife of Seleucus, who proposed a talent for the reward of that Poet who most elegantly praised her hayre; though shee were bald, and had but few haires left: yet bald as she was, and publiquely known to have been so of a long time, by reason of a disease; shee found some wretched [Page 258] Poets, who call'd her her hayres Hyacinthine, and wove them into curl'd tresses, and compared the thinner spaces to Lovedge. Shee, therefore, laughs at all such who thus expose themselves to flatterers. Shee added moreover, that many love to be thus flatter'd, and deceived, not onely in language, but in pictures too: and, therefore, choose those painters, who will draw them best featured. For there are some, sayes shee, who charge the painter to dis [...]semble their nose, to adde blacknesse to their eyes, and whatever else they desire; Hence they are not drawne, but do honour to other pictures nothing like them. These and the like were her expressions. Many things in your description shee likes, but resents one passage where you resemble her to Iuno, and Venus. Such comparisons, shee sayes, are much too high for her, or any mortall creature. Nor will shee allow you to take Idea from such Heroicke women as Penelope, Arete, and Theano, much lesse from the most excel [...]ent Goddesses. For she sayes, she beares a sacred horrour, and a superstitious reverence to all thinges concerning the Gods. And feares she should be like Cassi­opeia, should she admit such prayses; though she stood only in comparison with sea Nymphes, and adored Iuno and Venus. She, therefore, bids you, Lycinus, either alter such expressions, or shee will call the Goddesses to wit­nesse you wrote without her allowance. She would have you, also, know, that shee is much troubled your booke should be made so publique, comprehending (as now it is) so much irreligion, and blasphemy against the Gods. She thinkes, also, shee cannot excuse her selfe from impie­ty, and sacriledge, should she suffer her selfe to be equall'd to Venus at Cnidos, or in the Gardens. Shee desires you, also, to remember what you sayd of her towards the end of your booke, where you stile her moderate, not haughty, nor soaring above humane reach, but observing humble flights; and yet forgetting your selfe, you advance her a­bove the heavens, and place her among the Goddesses. [Page 259] Shee would not have you thinke her more indiscreet, then Alexander, who when an Architect promised to transforme Athos, and so to figure it like him, that the whole mount should be his statue, holding two Citties in his hands; gave no countenance to such a prodigious undertaking, but holding the Attempt to be above his performance, dismist the man not probably able to con­trive so vast a Colossus, and bad him let Athos stand as it was, and not shrinke so great a hill to the similitude of so small a body. Shee, therefore, much extols Alexanders Magnanimity, and sayes, by this refusall he hath erected a statue bigger then Athos in the mindes of those who will bee his perpetuall remembrancers. It being no Act of meane spirit to contemne such a Paradox of honour. Shee praises, also, your Imagery, and admires the contri­vance of your draught, but acknowledges it not to bee like her, being unworthy of such resemblances, nor any way neere them; nor, indeed, any woman else. Shee, therefore, returnes your honours with veneration of your Archetypes, and patternes: and desires you would praise her a more humane way, and not make her shooe too large for her foot; lest when shee meets you, you silence her. Shee bid mee, also, tell you, that shee heares many say (how truly you know) that conquerours in the Olym­picke Games, are not licenced to have Images erected to them bigger then their bodies; and that the Judges take care that none exceed the truth; but exactly size their Sta­tues to the measure of the wrastlers: shee would there­fore have you consider, vvhether if she should allovv your false dimensions, the Judges vvould not demolish her picture. Thinke, therefore, Lycinus, upon some faire al­teration of your booke, and blot out your offences a­gainst the Gods; vvhich shee tooke vvith so much re­sentment, and read vvith such horrour, that she besought the Goddesses to be propitious to her. Nor vvas she to be blamed for expressing the passions of her sexe. For, to tell [Page 260] you true, I was minded to have sayd some such thing my selfe; who at first hearing perceived nothing amisse, having my contemplation fixt on her descriptions: but since she made her objections, I begin to be of her opini­on; having before suffer'd in my selfe a deceipt of the sight; which beholding things in too neere an approach, and close to the eye, cannot perfectly distinguish; But at a just distance, and space, all things cast true appearances, and are seene as they are. To resemble a mortall wo­man, then, to Venus, and Iuno, what is't but to detract from the Goddesses? For by such comparisons the lesse is not advanced to the greater, but the greater is diminisht, and drawne downe to the lesse. As if two should walke together, one of very tall, the other of dwarfish statute, and you should desire to match them in equality, not one to exceed the other; the shorter by stretching himselfe would never reach the others height, though hee stood Tiptoe. But if they will appeare alike statured, the taller is to stoope, and depresse himselfe. So it is in Imagery; where a man compared to a God is not so much made greater, as the God call'd downe to an inferiour is made lesse. Yet had your want of earthly instances sent you to heaven for Coppyes, you had had some excuse for your impiety: but you having for example the beauties of so many women, had no need to liken her to Venus, or Iuno. You are, therefore, to your utmost to deliver your selfe from envie, Lycinus: who are not accustomed, nor otherwise prone, or easie to over-praise; yet now, I know not how, you are suddainly changed, and fallen to excesses, and show your selfe as prodigall of your commendations, as hitherto you have been sparing. Nor let it beget your shame, to correct your worke, though publisht; since they report Phidias to have done so, when he drew Iupiter for the Eleans: who when hee first open'd his workmanship to the view of Passengers, stood behind a curteine, and heard what they blamed or praised. One accused the nose, as too bigge, [Page 261] another the face as too long; others censured other parts; and when the spectators were gone, Phidias shutting himselfe up corrected, and reformed his picture by the publique Judgement. Holding the opinion of so many not to be contemned, but that many must necessarily see more then one, though that one were Phidias. Thus much shee gave mee in Commission to say, which I can­not but approve being your friend, and so well affected to you.

Lycinus.

Till now, Polystratus, I tooke you not for such an Orator, who by your lengthen'd speech, and accusati­on of my worke, have left mee no hope of an Apologie: yet of one piece of Injustice, I must complaine, especially in you, who have sentenced my booke undefended, and no advocate assigned to it. 'Tis easie, I suppose, accor­ding to the Proverbe, for him to winne the race who runs alone; nor doe I marvell at your conquest, vvhere no glasse is set up, nor liberty given to plead: but that vvhich is yet more unreasonable, is, that you have made your s [...]lves the Accusers, and Judges too. Which, therefore, vvill you, that I patiently submit to your Decree, and like the Himeraean Poet, vvrite a Recantation? or vvill you give mee leave to make an Appeale?

Polystratus.

Take your choice, so you come prepared with a just defence, which you shall not make before your Adversaries, as you call us, but before your friendes. I am prepared to undergoe the like Tryall.

Lycinus

I am something troubled, Polystratus, that I shall not plead for my selfe in her presence (which would have been much to my advantage) but make my defence only at her command, yet upon condition you will bee as faithfull a reporter to her, as you have been from her to me, I will put my cause on the Dice.

Polystratus.

Secure your selfe Lycinus, you shall finde me no partiall conveyer of your answers, so you contract them into such a briefe, as I may well remember them.

Lycinus.
[Page 262]

I should rather prolonge my defence to such copious Accusations; but for your sake I will abridge it. Tell her then from mee.

Polystratus.

By no meanes, Lycinus, but expresse your selfe as if she were present: under which personation, I will represent you to her.

Lycinus.

Since you will have it so Polystratus, I do sup­pose her present, and to have spoken to me whatsoever you have reported from her; though it put mee to the ex­pence of a second preparation. For (not to conceale my per­turbations from you) you have (I know not how) made the Attempt much more terrible to me. who (as you may perceive) do sweate, and tremble at the apprehension of her presence, which begetts a kinde of astonishment in me. Thus, then, I begin, since there is now no way left for e­vasion in her presence.

Polystratus.

Let not so serene a countinance affright you: you see she is cheerfull, and mercifully disposed; speake boldly, therefore▪

Lycinus.

I, most excellent of Ladyes, whom you charge for having praysed you above just measure, cannot see how I have bestowed more Panegyricke on you, then you have heapt upon your selfe by your religious esteeme, and reverence of the Gods, which is more to your commenda­tion, then all I have sayd of you. Pardon me, therefore, that I omitted this part of your description, which had it fallen within the compasse of my knowledge, had stood in the first place: not with a purpose to excell your other prayses, but because, I have sayd much lesse then you deserve. Judge, therefore, what excellencies I have left out, and what available proofes of your religious carriage and straight intentions. Since they who thus reverence the Gods, are to be supposed vertuous in all their Actions towards men. Should you, then, enjoyne mee to alter my writings, and to correct my portrayture, I should be so farre from substraction, that I should insert this passage [Page 263] as the toppe and crowne of the whole worke. Next, I confesse my selfe oblieged to thanke you, that when I praised the moderation of your behaviour, as not cor­rupted, or swolne, or puft up with your present great­nesse, and fortune, you by your dislike of my expressions, have confirmed, & verified them. For not greedily to catch at such commendations, but to blush at them, and to thinke them above you, is a sure signe of a discreet, and affable temper. You, therefore, by your aversenesse to praise show your selfe so much the more worthy to be praised; and do almost fulfill the saying of Diogenes, who being asked which was the readiest way to glory, sayd, the contempt of it. So should one aske mee who most deserved praise, I would say, they who most avoid it. But this is Digression, and from the purpose. That whereto I am to make my defence, is, that in drawing your picture, I have resembled you to Venus at Cnidos, and in the Gar­dens, to Iuno, also, and Minerva. Comparisons too high and beyond your last. To this I might reply, that the old saying is, Poets and Painters are not accountable; much lesse Panegyrists; though their language be Iower, and not fettered in numbers. For praise is a free thing, and not to be measured by the lawes of brevity, or excesse; but makes this its principall ayme, to commend the person praised to the publique emulation and wonder. But I will not take that way of defence, lest I should seeme to you so to doe for want of other matter. You know that the lawes of Panegyricall Orations consist in the Panegy­rists right use of similitudes, and resemblances; and the height of the Art is to apply well: which is atchieved not when like is compared to like, or to a worse, but when the thing praised is advanced by something as tran­scendent as 'tis possible. For example, If one in commen­dations of a Dogge should say hee were bigger then a Foxe, or Catt, would you thinke such a one skill'd in the Art of praysing? you would not; nay though hee [Page 264] should say, hee were equall a Wolfe, hee had not praised him much. But the perfection of praise were to com­pare a Dogge to a Lyon for size and strength. As when the Poet praises Orions Dogge, calls him Lyon-tamer, which is the perfection of a Dogges commendations. Again, should any man, desirous to praise Milo the Crotoni­an, or Glaucus the Carystian, or Polydamas, say, they were stronger then a woman, would you not thinke him wor­thy to be laught at for his silly comparison? or if he should say they exceeded other men, 'twere not praise e­nough. But how doth the excellent Homer magnifie Glau­cus? He sayes, Pollux had not might enough to encounter him hand to hand, nor Al [...]mena's warlike son. Do you marke to what Gods he compares him, or rather preferres him be­fore them? yet Glaucus tooke not resentments to be extoll'd above the stoutest Gods; nor did they take revenge either of him or the Poet. as irreligious in his prelations; But both were famous, and had in honour of the Greekes, Glaucus for his valour, the Poet for his numbers, especially for that passage in them. Wonder not, therefore, that I, in­tending to bring you into comparison, (which is essenti­all to a Panegyrist) went by the highest patternes, led by the reasons of the worke. But since you in veigh against flattery, and professe your hatred of flatterers, I am oblie­ged to make that one degree more of your praise but by the way I will define and distinguish the businesse of a praiser, from the excesses of a flatterer. A flatterer, making his profit the end of his commendation, without any re­gard to truth, thinkes hee cannot be hyperbolicall in his praises, with which he mingles many untruths and fals­hoods of his owne, not blushing to stile Thersites com [...]lier then Achill [...]s; or to call Nestor the youngest of all the Ca­ptaines that came to Troy; and so hee may gaine by his lying, hee will sweare that Croesus sonne is of quicker hearing then Melampus, and that Iphneus is quicker sighted then Lynceus. Whereas the other in praising, lyes not, [Page 265] nor inserts descriptions utterly disagreeing; but taking their naturall perfections though not great, amplifyes them, and makes them larger: not fearing when he would decipher a horse naturally swift, and fleet, to say,

Hee could flye o're the toppes of unprest corne;

Againe he would not doubt to say,

The course of horses swift as winde.

And if he were to praise a fair house magnificently fur­nisht, he would say,

Such is the Inside of the Olympicke Hall.

Which verse a flatterer for hope of reward, would applye to a swine-heardes Cottage: like Cynaethus, flatterer to De­metrius P [...]liorcetes; who when he had spent all other waies of flattery, praised him for his ptissicke; and sayd, he cought very musically. Nor is it the only marke of diffe­rence betweene them, that flatterers strive to purchase fa­vour with those they praise by lyes, and that the others praise truthes with advancement: but that wherein they most differ, is that the one without choice heap together what Hyperboles they can; the others use them, but se­lected, and confined to moderation. These few distincti­ons of many have I showne you betweene flattery and just praise; that you may not confound, but divide them, and asigne them their severall limits, and measure. Now, then, if you please, apply both these rules to my descriptions of you, and see to which side they belong. Had the person, which I compared to the statue of Ve­nus at Cnidus, been fowle, and deformed, I might de­servedly have beene thought a deceiver, and more im­pudent then Cyn [...]ethus: but being such a one as wee all know you to be, my boldnesse is not altogether unpar­donable. But, perhaps, you will say, or rather have alrea­dy sayd, that you allow mee to praise your beauty, but then it ought to have beene without envie, or compari­son of a fraile woman with Goddesses. I, most excellent Lady (for now truth compels mee to speake) have not [Page 266] compared you to the originall Goddesses, but to their Coppies wrought by the best Artificers in stone, brasse, and Ivory. Nor can I thinke it irreligion for men to draw resemblances from the workmanship of men; unlesse you take her Statue made by Phidias for the true Pallas; or the Venus carved not long since at Cnidus by Praxiteles for the heavenly: which apprehensions of them were dishonourable, since I hold their true portraytures unex­pressible by any humane imitation. But suppose I had compared you to them, I am not singular, or the first broacher of such similitudes; but have for my examples excellent Poets, especially your Co-cittizen Homer, whom I will now raise from the dead in my defence, confident of your allowance of a name so Classick. Let mee aske him, then, or rather you, (who among your other pray­ses, are skill'd in all the best descriptions of his Poems) What thinke you of that passage, where speaking of the captived Briseis, he sayes, Bright as Golden Venus she be­wayl'd Patroclus? and a little after, as if his comparison of her to Venus were not enough, he sayes:

So spake the woman Goddess-like and wept.

As often as you meete with such expressions, doe you hate him, or throw away his Iliads, or do you allow the li­centiousnesse of his resemblances? If you do not, so many past ages have; nor hath he hitherto found an accuser, or one that durst lash his Statue, or libell his obeliske, with the inscriptions of his censurable verses. If he, then, were licenced to compare a barbarous, weeping Lady to Glit­tering Venus, may not I (ommitting your beauty, not to be spoken of with your patience in your hearing) compare a sprightfull, debonaire Lady, to the Images of the Gods, for those things which we mortalls partake in common with thē? next, in his Character of Agamemnon, observe how spa­ring he hath bin of the Gods, whose scatter'd perfections he hath collected, & cast into one gallant descriptiō, where he sayes, For his eyes and head hee was equall to Jupiter, for [Page 267] his courage to Mars, for his breast to Neptune; dividing his parts by severall resemblances with the most eminent Gods. In another place hee compares him to mortall-slaughtering Mars, and compares others to other Gods; Hee calls Hector the Godlike Phrygian, and Achilles fre­quently the God-like Greeke. But I returne to examples of the other sex, you know where hee sayes,

She is like golden Venus and Diana;

And

Such is Diana hunting.

Nor doth hee only compare them with Gods, but likens Euphorbus hayre to the Graces, though imbrued with bloud. In a word, there are so many examples in Homer, that there is scarce any part of his Poem unadorned with similitudes taken from the Gods. Either, therefore, let such expressions bee blotted out, or grant mee liberty to make the like▪ Nay the use of allusions, and similitudes, is so uncontrouleable, that Homer hath not doubted to bestow praises on Goddesses borrowed from meane and inferiour thinges; thus hee calls Iuno oxe eyed, and Venus in another place Violet-sighted; who is so smally verst in his poems as not to have read of the rosy-finger'd Aurora? 'Tis no offence, then, to say, one is shap'd like the Gods; but how many have assumed their compella­tions, and have stiled themselves, Bacchus's and, Vulcans, and Iupiters, and Neptunes, and Mercuryes: The wife of Euagoras, King of Cyprus, was called Latona; yet no Goddesse was offended, though able to transforme her, like Niobe, into marble. I forbeare to speak of the Aegypti­ans, of all people the most scrupulously superstitious; yet the names of the Gods are in that plenty worne among them, that most of their compellations are fetcht from heaven. Be not you, therefore, troubled at my prayses. For if there be any offence against the Gods in my wri­tings, you are not accountable, unlesse one may prove [Page 268] guilty by hearing offences read. The Gods will punish mee, when they first punish Homer, and the other Poets; but they have not yet taken revenge of the best Philoso­pher, for saying man was the Image of the Gods. I have much more to say, but for Polystratus sake do here breake off, that he may the better report what I have said.

Polystratus.

I know not, Lycinus, whether I be able: for you have spoken long, and beyond your Glasse. Yet I will trye the goodnesse of my memory. And that my rela­tion to her may bee faithfull, I do here stoppe my eares; least the entrance of other things should confound your method, and I be exposed to the hisses of the spectators.

Lycinus.

'Twill concerne you, Polystratus, to act mee right: and so, having delivered you your part, I take my leave. When the Judges give up their Decision, I will ap­peare againe, and see what will bee the issue of this con­troversye.

Iupiter Tragoedian, or a Discourse of Providence.

The speakers, Mercury, Minerva, Jupiter, Juno, Neptune, Venus, the Colossus, Momus, Apollo, Hercules, Hermagoras, Timocles, Damis.
Mercury.

WHy thus musing, Iupiter, and holding private Dialogue with your selfe? You looke pale, and have got the face of a Philosopher. Un­locke your selfe, and make me Counseller to your Dumps: perhaps my trifling assistance will not prove contem­ptible.

Minerva.
[Page 269]
Say, Jove, thou Sire of Gods, and things below,
I blew-eyed Pallas begge, reveale, and show,
VVhat new disturbance doth thy minde surprize,
And from whence do thy sighs, and palenesse rise?
Iupiter.

'Tis beyond the power of language to name the thing so grievous, or the distemper, or calamity so Tragicall, with which the nature of the Gods is not bur­dened.

Minerva.

O Phoebus! with what Prologue hee begins to speake!

Iupiter.

O yee wicked earth sprung race of Mortalls, and thou more wicked Prometheus, what evills doe I suffer?

Minerva.

What ayle you, Sir? Pray tell this assembly of your friends.

Iupiter.

O my loud thunder, what dost thou profit mee?

Minerva.

Moderate your rage, Sir, unlesse you intend to put us into Buskins too, and to answer you in lofty parts taken from Euripides.

Iuno.

Do you thinke wee know not the cause of your distemper, Sir?

Iupiter.

Thou canst not know, scold never so loud.

Iuno.

Alasse, Sir, the roote of your commotion is love. Nor is it my custome to scold; though I have beene fre­quently injured in this kind. You have found some Da­nae, or Semele, or Europa who hath kindled this distem­per in you, which you will quench by turning your selfe into a Bull, or Satyre, or showre of Gold, in which you will descend into the bosome of your Mistresse. For your sighes, and teares, and change of colour, are but so many signes, and confessions of your flames.

Iupiter.

Happy thou, who thinkest my disturbance springs from such a Toy as Love.

Iuno.

What else can afflict Iupiter?

Iupiter.
[Page 270]

The state of the Gods is in extreme danger, Iuno, and, according to the Proverbe, it stands upon the edge of a rasour whether we shall hereafter be worshipt, and receive sacrifice, or be utterly neglected, and held in contempt.

Iuno.

Hath the earth produced new Cyants? or have the old broke their chaines, and freed themselves from prison, and tooke fresh armes against us?

Iupiter.

The Gods are safe from their invasion.

Iuno.

What else worthy our feares, can befall us? If your distemper arise not from hence, I see not why you should of a Iupiter become a Polus, or Aristodemus.

Iupiter.

Yesterday, Iuno, Timocles the Stoick, and Da­mis the Epicurean (upon what occasion I know not) disputed of Providence, in a great Assembly of knowing and understanding men; which much troubles mee. Da­mis maintained there were no Gods, who either dispo­sed, or tooke care of humane Affaires; but the religious Timocles argued for us, till a presse of people rushing in, broke off the dispute without a decision: onely they a­greed to meet againe, and finish the discussion. And this is the day on which the suspended heareis expect which will conquer, and speake most probable truth. Do you see our danger, and to what straights wee are reduced, when Heaven relyes upon the proofe of one single man? one of the two must happen; either we must be despised, and held onely empty names; or be honoured as before, i [...] Timocles pre vaile.

Iuno.

Believe mee, these are no slight dangers, no [...] were you tempestuous in vaine, Husband.

Iupiter.

You thought the cause of my distemper to be some Danae, or Antiope. What, then, shall wee doe? Mer­cury, Iuno, and Pallas, contribute your advice.

Mercury.

My counsell is to call a Parliament, and to re­ferre the businesse to a publique consultation.

Iuno.

I concurre with Mercury.

Minerva.
[Page 271]

I hold it not fit you should trouble heaven, or show your selfe disquieted with the Accident; but pri­vately project that Timocles may overcome, and Damis may depart exploded from the disputation.

Mercury.

Such stratagems, Jupiter, will not bee con­cealed, the Philosophers disputing so publiquely: besides, you will bee thought a tyrant, not to impart so weighty an Affaire, wherein all are interested.

Iupiter.

Make proclamation, then, and summon all the Gods.

Mercury.

I obey you. Hoe, O yee Gods, come to the Parliament: delay not, but assemble your selves to con­sult of affaires of state.

Iupiter.

Do you make such slight, simple, and faint proclamation, Mercury, for a Parliament of this conse­quence?

Mercury.

What should I say, Iupiter?

Iupiter.

What should you say? I would have you make proclamation in verse, and in bigge-voyced poetry, that the Assembly may bee the fuller.

Mercury.

'Tis fit for Epicke writers, and writers of Rhapsodyes. I am not poetically given, and shall therefore spoyle the summons by over or under feete, and my ver­ses will bee scorned as inspired by displeased Muses. Be­sides I see many laugh at Apollo for his halting oracles, though his obscurity secure him, and give not the hearers leisure to examine his numbers.

Iupiter.

Joyne, therefore, as many of Homers verses together as he usually summons us in. You cannot but re­member them.

Mercury.

Not over readily. Yet I will try.

Be then, no female absent, or male God,
No Goddesse of the Sea, or Nymph oth' Floud;
But all to Jupiters Great Councell come,
Who ere clayme Sacrifice, or Hecatomb.
[Page 272]Come Namelesse too, and vulgar Deityes,
VVho feed on grosse clouds which from Altars rise
Iupiter.

Well done, Mercury; and like a perfect He­rauld. They are already assembled, assigne them their pla­ces, according to their dignityes. Let the Golden sit first, next to them the Silver, then the Ivory, then the brasen, then the stone; and among these let those take place, who have beene carved by Phidias, or Alcamenes, or Myron, or Euphranor, or the like rare Statuaryes. As for this igno­ble, uncarved rout, let them sit crouded together afar off, and keep silence, and serve to fill up the Assembly.

Mercury.

It shall be done; and they shall sit as you de­cree, Jupiter. But I understand not whether a Deity of Gold, though ill carved, and of vulgar, and mishapen sculpture, shall take place by the talent, and weight, of Myrons, or Polycletus brasen, of Phidias, and Alcamenes stone Gods, or whether they shall sit by Imagery, and workemanshippe.

Iupiter.

It ought to bee so Mercury; but custome pre­ferres the Gods of Gold.

Mercury.

I am instructed. You would have them sea­ted by their wealth, not by their excellencyes, and values. Come, therefore, sit first yee Gods of Gold. You see, Iu­piter, the highest roomes are taken up only by Barbarians. All the Graecian, polite, fayre shapen, well wrought Dei­tyes, are but of stone, or brasse; or if there be any more pretious, they are but of Ivory, slightly guilt, and colour'd over with Gold, wooden within, and lodging whole swarmes, and commonwealths of flyes. whereas God­desse Bendis, and Anubis, and next to him Attis, and Mithres, are entirely of solid, massye, pretious Gold.

Neptune.

With what Justice, Mercury, doe you place that ugly, Dogg faced Aegyptian before mee, who am Neptune?

Mercury.

Because Lysippus hath formed you brasen, [Page 273] Neptune, and poore; The Corinthians at that time ha­ving no Gold; But he is made of the wealthiest met [...]all. You must, therefore, bee a patient Spectator, and not take indignation, if one with such a golden snout be prefer'd before you.

Venus.

Place me, then, Mercury, in the foremost row; for I am golden.

Mercury.

Surely, Venus, I am much mistaken, then, and my sight failes mee, if you be not Alabaster, hewne from the Quarry of Pentelus, which Praxiteles thought good to worke into a Venus, and then bestow'd you on the Cni­dians.

Venus.

I have authentick Homer for my authority; who up and downe his Poëms alwayes calls mee golden Venus.

Mercury.

So hee stiles Apollo rich, and wealthy; yet you shall see him presently sit among the last, robb'd of his Rayes, and Coronet by theeves; and the strings of his harp sacrilegiously stolne. Be content, therefore, lest you be thrust downe among the servants of the Assembly.

Colossus.

Who dare stand in competition with mee, be­ing the Sunne, and of such magnitude? whom though the Rhodians have not cast very ingeniously, not to admirati­on, yet they have made sixteen golden Gods by my rude patterne. In reason, therefore, I ought to be held the wealthiest. As for my workmanship, and making, 'tis re­compenced by my greatnesse.

Mercury.

What shall I doe, Iupiter? this is a difficult case. If I consider his mettall, 'tis brasse; But if I consider how many talents of brasse he weighs, 'twill rise to above five hundred medimnes, and exceed a Knights estate.

Iupiter.

What makes He here, thus to upbraid the o­thers, with their smalnesse, and disturbe their sittings? Ne­verthelesse, though, most excellent Rhodian, thou be more honourable then the Gods of gold, yet how canst thou take place, except all the others rise, and make thee roome to sit, [Page 274] whose each buttocke will take up the whole wooll-sacke. 'Twill be best, therefore, for thee to stand, and stoop down sometimes to our consultations.

Mercury.

Here's another knot hard to be untyed, Bac­chus, and▪ Hercules, both of Brasse, of the same worke, and made by Lysippus, of the same equall descent, being both sonnes to Iupiter. Which therefore shall sit first? for you see they both strive for place.

Iupiter.

Wee loose time, Mercury, and should long since have begun the consultation. Let them, for the present, sit promiscuously, as every one pleaseth. This shall be the businesse of another meeting, where an Act shall passe in what order they shall take place.

Mercury.

But doe you marke in what tumult the Com­mons are, and how they cry out for their daily shares, and distributions? Where is our Nectar? What's become of our Ambrosia? Where are our Hecatombs? restore our Sa­crifices.

Iupiter.

Silence them, Mercury; That laying aside their trifles, they may know wherefore they are Assembled.

Mercury.

All do not understand Greeke, Iupiter. Nor have I languages enough to speake to Scythians, Persians, Thracians and Gawles. I thinke it best, therefore, to enjoyne them silence by beckening with my hand.

Iupiter.

Doe soe.

Mercury.

Harke, they are all as mute as Pythagoreans. Begin your speech; All their eyes are fixt upon you, expe­cting what you will say.

Iupiter.

I will not conceale my distemper from thee, Mercury, being my sonne: Thou knowest what a confi­dent and sterne voyced speaker I am.

Mercury.

I do, and have trembled at your speeches, especially when you threatned to draw up from the deep, the earth, sea, Gods, and all by letting downe your golden chaine.

Iupiter.

Yet partly with the Apprehension of the in­stant [Page 275] dangers, partly with the greatnesse of the Assembly (which Thou seest is numerous, and solemne) I am con­founded, and dasht, and my tongue is fetter'd and tyed. Besides, what is yet worse; I have forgot the preface, which I made to my speech, that I might gaine the more favourable entrance into their Attentions.

Mercury.

You marre all, Iupiter, They will presently suspect your silence, and expect to heare some great mis­chiefe from your delay.

Iupiter.

Shall I then, speake Homers prooem to them?

Mercury.

What is't?

Iupiter.

Listen to mee yee Gods, and Goddesses.

Mercury.

Fye you have cloyd us with such prefaces al­ready: If you will take my counsell, perplex not your selfe with verse; but take one of Demosthenes Orations against Philip, and alter it to your purpose, 'tis the practice of many moderne Orators.

Iupiter.

Thou sayest well. 'Tis a Compendious way of Rhetoricke, and lyes open and prepared for those who are unprovided: Thus then I begin. I suppose, O yee men and Gods, it will bee in stead of great fortunes to you, to heare me declare the Cause, why I have call'd you together. 'Twill, therefore, become you to lend mee cheerfull atten­tion. The present occasion, doth almost vocally instruct us to make prevention of our present dangers; with which wee all seeme too coldly affected. I will, therefore, bor­rowing no longer preface from Demosthenes, clearly open to you the reasons, why in great perplexitie I have sum­mond this Parliament. Yesterday, you know, Mnesitheus the Pilot offer'd a Sacrifice for the preservation of his ship, almost wrackt neere the Promontory of Caphareus. And feasted as many of us in the Piraeum, as he call'd to the Sa­crifice. After the oblation, you all departed severall wayes, as your businesse led you. Onely I, towards evening re­turn'd to the Citty to walke in the Keramick; considering with my selfe Mnesitheus thrift, who entertain'd sixteen [Page 276] Gods with the sacrifice of one ancient, decayd, rheumatick Cock; and foure graines of musty, wither'd incense, which vanisht in the kindling, and sent not up smoake enough to touch the tip of our noses, though he vowed whole Heca­tombes, when his ship was ready to dash upon the rocks, and sinke. With these contemplations I was carried on to the painted gallery, where I saw a vast crowde of people, some standing within the Schoole, others without, others very earnest and loud, sitting upon benches. I guessing them, (as indeed they were) to be wrangling Philoso­phers, drew neere to heare what they said: And wrap­ping my selfe in a thick cloud, presently transformd my self into one of them; and stroaking my long beard perfect­ly resembled a Philosopher. Having made my passage with my elbow, I enter'd, unknowne who I was, where I found that Atheist Damis, the Epicurean, and the best of men Timocles the Stoick, hotly disputing. Timocles had quite lost his voyce with sweating and clamour. Damis, profusely laughing, ceast not to provoke him. Their vvhole disputation vvas concerning us, vvhom the wicked Da­mis affirmed to be void of providence, and not to reguard the affaires of men; vvhich is to maintaine us not to be at all. And this he proved vvith great strength of Argument, and the applause of many On the contrary, Timocles, vvell studied in our cause, encounter'd, abhoried, and repelled his proofes. Much extolling our providence, and shovv­ing how wee rule, dispose, and give order to all thinges in the world. Nor did hee want some who praysed him. Onely hee was tired, and spoke feebly, which turn'd all the eyes of the multitude upon Damis. But I apprehending our danger, caused night to close upon them, and dissolve the meeting: whereupon they divided, upon agreement the next day to give an issue to the disquisition. At their de­parture I mingled my selfe vvith the presse, and heard them magnifie Damis's Arguments, and extoll them above mea­sure. Some also there were vvho vvould not prejudge the [Page 277] opposite side, but kept themselves in suspense, what Timo­cles would urge the next morning. These are the motives for which I call'd you together; which are not slight, O yee Gods, if you consider that all our honour, glory, and reve­rence, proceed from men. If they, then, be once perswaded, either that there are no Gods, or if there be, that they fall not under our providence, we shall no longer receive Sa­crifices, gifts, or honour from the earth; But shall here sit neglected in heaven, famisht, and deprived of our Feasts, Holydaies, Games, Oblations, and night Solemnities. I hold it, therefore, fit that wee unanimously advise upon some remedy against those dangers; And how Timocles may prevaile, and appeare to be in the truth, and Damis may be exposed to the laughter of the Auditors. I am not confident that Timocles of himselfe can conquer, unlesse we lend him our assistance. Make legall proclamations there­fore, Mercury, that vvhosoever will may stand up and speake.

Mercury.

Hearken All, with silence. If any of the per­fect Gods have ought to say, hee is permitted to speake. How's this? Not one stand up? Or are you struck dumb with the feare of what you have heard?

Momus.

Bee all as speechlesse as the earth, and sea. If you will give mee liberty of utterance, Iupiter, I have ma­ny things to say.

Iupiter.

Speake boldly, Momus, thy freedome doth pro­mise good counsell.

Momus.

Afford mee your Attentions, then, All yee Gods. I have long expected that our affaires should be driven to those straights, and that many such Sophisters should spring up who take the cause of their boldnesse from us. Nor ought wee in equity to be displeased with Epicurus, or his followers, and successors in that Sect, for their opini­ons of us. For what apprehension of us can they have, who see such a tumult, and disorder in things? good men despised, and afflicted with poverty, sicknesse, and thral­dome; [Page 278] corrupt, and wicked men held in veneration, over­flowing with wealth, and bearing rule over the Vertuous? Some to scape punishment with sacriledge, others to bee crucifyed, and rackt for innocence? when they see such an unequall disposition of thinges, they may dispute whether there bee such thinges as Gods. Especially when they heare such ambiguous oracles as these: Halys past; Thou an empire shalt dissolve. Not explayning whither his owne Empire, or the enemies Againe,

Thou Salamis shalt womens sonnes destroy;

Which held both for Persians and Greekes, who, I beleeve, were womens sonnes. Againe, when they read those Po­ems, where wee are sayd to be enamourd, and wounded and made servants, and imprisoned, and to hold factions, and a thousand such passages which are practiced among us, who all the while pretend to happinesse and immor­tality, how can they choose but laugh, and contemne us? yet wee are angry because some men are not stupid, but bring these thinges into disputation, and take our provi­dence from us: whereas vvee guilty of such irregularities ought to be glad that vvee are sacrificed to at all. And here, Iupiter, (since vvee are alone, and no man present in this Assembly, but Hercules and Bacchus, and Ganymed, and Aesculapius vvho are novv denizon'd Gods) ansvver mee truly, vvhether earthly affaires have at any time so enter'd into your care, as to examine vvhat men are vvicked, and vvhat vertuous? Had not Theseus travelling from Tr [...]ezon to Athens casually slaine the malefactors by the vvay, for any hinderance from you, or your providence, Sciron, and Pityocamptes, and Cer [...]yon, and others, might have lived, and glutted themselves vvith the slaughter of passengers. And had not Euristheus, a just and provident Prince, out of his love to mankind, enquired into their grievances, and redrest them by sending abroad Hercules, then his servant, an active, stout, and hardy man, Hydra, and the Stympha­lides, the Thracian horses, and contumelious drunken [Page 279] Centaures, had never enter'd into your consideration, Iupi­ter. To say truth, our vvhole employment is to sit, and observe vvho offers sacrifice, and perfumes our Altars. All other things are ruled by chance, and fall out by accident: We suffer, therefore, justly for the present, and are likely to suffer more hereafter, vvhen men looking up to us shall find that 'tis but losse to sacrifice to us, or to send us up oblations. Shortly, therefore, you vvill see the Epicureans laugh at us, such Philosophers as Metrodorus, and Damis prevaile, and our defenders overcome by them. 'Twill concerne us, therefore, to finish, and heale these grievan­ces, both present, and precedent. As for Momus there is no feare that I shall be lesse honour'd, who was never yet a God of respect, when you flourisht, and enjoyed your Sa­crifices,

Iupiter.

Wee must priviledge this fellows humour, O yee Gods, which is alwayes bitter, and Satyricall. 'Tis easie for every body, sayes the excellent Demosthenes, to find fault, complaine, and rayle; but to show a way how to settle the present distemper, is the work of a wise Coun­sellour: which I expect from you though he be silent.

Neptune.

I, as you all know, live under water, and have my kingdome to my self, in the deep; vvhere, as vvell as I can, I protect passengers, transport shippes, and allay stormes: yet out of my regard to the publique cause, I hold it fit that Damis, before he enter into a second dis­pute, bee destroyed, either by a thunderbolt, or some o­ther vvay, least hee overcome; (for you say, Iupiter, hee is eminently persvvasive) vvhereby others may perceive, that vvee are able to punish those vvho urge impious Ar­guments against us.

Iupiter.

Are you in jest, Neptune, or have you forgot, that such revenges are not in our power, but that the de­stinies decree who shall dye by lightning, who by the sword, who by a feaver, who by a consumption. Did I hold the scales, doe you thinke I would have suffer'd [Page 280] those sacrilegious theeves to have scapt from Olympia un­thunderstruck, who cut off two of my lockes weighing sixe pound a piece. Or would you have connived at the fisherman of Oreus, who stole your Trident at Geraestus? Besides, 'twill argue our passion, melancholy, and feare of Damis Syllogismes; as if wee slew him out of our dis­trust that he would vanquish Timocles: which were to get the better, only in an undefended cause.

Neptune.

I thought I had contrived a compendious way to victory.

Iupiter.

Your contrivance, Neptune, is as grosse as a Tu­nyes, to slay an adversary before his time, and to destroy him unconvinced, leaving the question controvertible, and undecided.

Neptune.

Doe you project better, since my counsell is contemptible.

Apollo.

Did the Law permit young, unbearded Gods, to give advice, perhaps I might say something usefull to the present businesse.

Momus.

In deliberations of this weight, we are not to speake by age, but by the common Interest. For 'twere ri­diculous if in extreame perills wee should stand upon ni­ceties of Law. Besides, you Apollo, are a legitimate spea­ker, and have long since past your nonage, and beene en­rolled of the twelve, and should have been of the board in Saturnes time. Let not your youth, therefore, bee your excuse, but speake your minde freely, nor bee abasht that you are a beardlesse speaker; your sonne Aesculapius having so long a one. Besides, 'twill now become you to give some proofe of your wisdome, least you appeare to have sate all this while idle at Helicon, and to have Philosophi­zed with the Muses.

Apollo.

You are not to grant licences, Momus, but Iupi­ter. At whose command I may, perhappes, say something worthy the Muses, and my retirement at Helicon.

Iupiter.

Speake my sonne, you have liberty.

Apollo.
[Page 281]

Doubtlesse Timocles is a vertuous man, a lover of the Gods, and exactly studyed in the Stoick Learning; which makes him so stored with pupils, by whom hee receives a large revenew; so perswasive is he to his scholers in private. But in publique he is so timorous and of such a silly, and harsh delivery, that he still raises the derision of the auditory by his disconnections, and tautologies, and Nonplusses. And thus he is when he most labours to bee eloquent; Though otherwise he be of a sharp judgment, and subtile apprehension, as they report, who are ve [...]st in the Stoick Arguments: which he through imbecility spoyles, and confoundes in the exposition, and urging, not clearly expressing his drift, but proposing his mea­ning enigmatically, and giving darke answers to the op­posite questions. Hence his hearers laugh at as much as they doe not understand. For nothing more advances a disputation, then to urge clearly; and to the capacity of the Auditors.

Momus.

You doe well, Apollo, to praise perspicuity, though you little practice it in your Oracles; where you are dark, and knotty, and securely cast forth many thinges so ambiguous to your hearers, that they need another Apollo to expound them. But give your advice, how may wee cure the Imperfection of Timocles speech?

Apollo.

By joyning a Coadjutor to him, Momus, who shall take his Arguments, and presse them with a better grace.

Momus.

Counsel worthy your beard, and a schoole-master; To place a Co-disputant in such an assembly of Philosophers, to interpret to the Auditors whatsoever Timocles shall urge, and Damis to dispute single. Besides, should he use a Co-adjutor, privately to whisper his ar­guments into his eare, and he speak rhetorically more then he understandes, it must needs raise the laughter of the schooles: some other course therefore, is to be thought up­on. In the mean time, you, methinkes, who take upon [Page 282] you to be a prophet, and have such an ample revenew comming in by your predictions, that sometimes they have offer'd sowes of gold, should in this time of danger tell us by your Art which of the disputers will prevaile. For being a Presager, you cannot but know things fu­ture.

Apollo.

How can I, Momus, having neither Tripod, nor perfume, nor presaging fountaine here, like that of Castalia?

Momus.

See how you Wave my demand, and to what straights you are driven.

Iupiter.

Answer him, Sonne, and give not the railer occasion to detract or slander thee, as if thy skill lay in a Trivet, and Spring, and Incense, without which thy Art failes thee.

Apollo.

I should better obey, Father, at Delphos, or Co­lophon? amidst my Oracles, as my custome is: yet unfur­nisht as I am, I will endeavour to foretell you whose shall be the victory. But perhaps you will take exceptions un­lesse I speake in verse.

Momus.

No matter so you speake things which need not a Comment, or Interpreter. No sheep, or tortoyse is now boyled in Lydia; you know about what affaire you are consulted.

Iupiter.

What gastly terrours precede Oracles? See, his colour changes, his eyes rowle, his haire bristles, his gate is frantick. All things testifie a divine possession, and are full of mystery and horrour.

Apollo.
Unto Propheticke Phoebus lend your eares,
About a strife rais'd by loud Sophisters;
VVho arm'd with fables, dart disputes; and Noyse:
And fill the streets with Syllogismes, and voyce.
But when the Vultur in his crooked clawes
Shall graspe the locust, and showre telling dawes,
Have clackt their last, the Mules shall then prevaile;
But th' Asse shall his fleet colts with hornes assaile.
Iupiter.
[Page 283]

Why do you laugh so profusely, Momus? our present affaires are above sport. Cease, Mischiefe, or thou wilt be choakt with laughter.

Momus.

How can I choose Iupiter, at such a cleare, and intelligible Oracle?

Iupiter.

It seemes you can interpret, then, what hee sayd.

Momus.

'Tis so plaine, that wee need not a Themisto­cles. For the Oracle sayes expresly that the utterer is a cheater, and that wee are pack Asses, and Mules for be­leeving him, and have not so much wit as Grashoppers.

Hercules.

Pardon mee Father, Iove, if I, an assumed God, speake my opinion; When they are met for dispu­tation; If Timocles have the better We will let the argu­ments goe on; But if it happen otherwise, I, if you please, will shake the Schoole, and cast it on Damis, that he shall never more impiously reproach us.

Momus.

O Hercules, Hercules, how wildly, and Boeotian like hast thou spoken, to destroy so many innocents with one offendour, and demolish a schoole, with Marathon, Miltiadës, and Cynaegirus? After whose ruine, how shall the Rhetoricians make their speeches, being deprived of their greatest argument, and helpe? Besides, in your life-time, perhaps you might have performed such an exploit. But since you were made a God you have learnt, I be­leeve, that such accidents are reserved onely for the Fates, and exempted from our power.

Hercules.

When I slew the Lyon, and Hydra, then was I but instrument to the Destinies?

Iupiter.

'Tis so.

Hercules.

If one should now affront mee, or robbe my Temple, or demolish my Statue, might I not crush him; though the sisters had not anciently decreed so?

Iupiter.

By no meanes.

Hercules.

With your leave, then, Iupiter, be it spoken. (for I, as the Poet sayes, am a blunt fellow, and call a [Page 284] spade a spade) If our case be so, I will take farewell of my honours, smoke of incense, and blood of sacrifices here, and go down to hell, armed wi [...]h my naked bow, where the shades will dread mee for the savages I have slayne.

Iupiter.

So, here's a home witnesse, as they say. You have just taught Damis what to say. But what brasen faire-shapte, well carved, hasty messenger comes yonder, with an antique bend about his head? 'Tis thy brother, Mercury, The Rhetorician who stands in the paynted gal­lery, see how fullyed he is with being so often cast▪ what brings thee hither post, my sonne? Any newes from the Earth?

Hermagoras.

Great newes, Iupiter, and well deserving of my dispatch.

Iupiter.

Speak it, if it be any thing wee knew not be­fore.

Hermagoras.

As I was just now under the brasiers hands, who soder'd my breast to my back, and carved a ridiculous corselet about my body, and with like art stampt his Copper marke upon mee, I saw a tumultuous crowd of people thronging about. Two bawling ill lookt, contentious Sophisters, Damis, and —

Iupiter.

No more, Hermagoras, of your tragicall newes: I know whom you mean. But tell mee how long have they been at skirmish?

Hermagoras.

They do but yet hurle darts at a distance, and cast reproaches at one another.

Iupiter.

All wee can now doe, yee Gods, is to bow downe our eares, and listen to them. Let the Porter Houres therefore, remove the bolts, dispell the clouds, and set open the doores of Heaven. Good Hercules! what a multitude of hearers are met together? I doe not like Timocles, hee trembles, and is so daunted, that hee will betray our cause, and confesseth himselfe manifestly unable to encounter Damis. Let us, therefore, the best we can assist him with [Page 285] our prayers, and wishes, silently, and to our selves, least Damis heare us.

Timocles.

Darest thou maintaine, thou sacrilegious Damis, that there are no Gods, nor any providence over men?

Damis.

No. But first answer mee, why thou art per­swaded there are.

Timocles.

Nay first, answer mee, Thou lewd fellow.

Damis.

Not till thou answer mee.

Iupiter.

Thus farre our man hath the better, and hath given the lowder onset. To him Timocles, raile at him; For therein lyes thy strength; Though at Argumentation hee be able to stop thy mouth, and make thee as silent as a fish.

Timocles.

By Minerva I will not give the first answer.

Damis.

Well, Timocles, your oath shall prevaile. Pro­pose your question, but without ill language, I pray.

Timocles.

Tell mee then, Thou Miscreant, dost thou hold that the Gods have no providence?

Damis.

I do.

Timocles.

That's very fine indeed; do all things fall out, then, without providence?

Damis.

Yes.

Timocles.

And is the care of the Universe not order'd by the Gods?

Damis.

Noe.

Timocles.

Are things, then, carried by Accident and blind chance?

Damis.

They are.

Timocles.

Can you, good people, heare these things with patience and not stone this blasphemer?

Damis.

Why doe you provoke the people against mee, Timocles? or what are you, that you should be thus tem­pestuous for the Gods? when they hearing mee formerly (if yet they can heare) were not all displeased, nor made mee a wretched example.

Timocles.
[Page 286]

They doe heare thee, Nay they doe heare thee, Damis, and will punish thee hereafter.

Damis.

When will they have leisure to punish mee, who, you say, are taken up with such serious imploy­ments, as the disposition and ordering of the number­lesse affaires of the world? so that they have not yet had time to revenge themselves on thee for thy perjuries, and other offences? Excuse mee if thy own provocations draw bad language from mee, who cannot see what grea­ter proofe of their providence the Gods can shew▪ then to destroy such a sinner as thou art. But 'tis plain they are travelled from home over the sea to the devout Aethio­p [...]ans. For they use frequently to goe thither for entertain­ment, and sometimes without invitation.

Timocles.

What shall I say to so much impudence, Damis?

Damis.

Marrye, that which I have long desired to heare, how you became perswaded that the Gods have a providence.

Timocles.

I tooke my first perswasion from the order of things; observing the Sunne alwayes to move in the same Circle, as also the Moone, then the revolution of times, the springing of the Plants, the generation of beasts, and these so regularly disposed, as to be able to feed, move, apprehend, walke, build, contrive defences. All which seeme to mee as so many demonstrations of providence.

Damis.

You run away with the question, Timocles, nor have you yet proved whether providence move those wheeles or noe. That such things are done, I grant, but whether ruled by the hand of providence I hold not ne­cessary to be beleeved. 'Tis true there is an orderly rising, and course of things, but you call this order necessity Then you grow Cholericke if you be not obey'd in your opinion, when you make an enumeration of things, and thinke your praises of them are so many demonstrations that all their revolutions and changes are the effects of providence. Hitherto, therefore, your answer hath bin fri­volous, give a better.

Timocles.
[Page 287]

Methinkes they need not a higher proofe; yet I will produce others: Answer mee, then, Dost thou take Homer to bee the best Poet?

Damis.

Yes.

Timocles.

I build my faith, then, on his authority: he plainly mentioneth a providence of the Gods.

Damis.

Most admired Sir, Wee all grant that Homer was an excellent Poet, but not that he or any other Poet is of authority sufficient in this case. For truth, I beleeve, was not their ayme, but the delight of their hearers. And, therefore, they sung in verse, and mixt fables with their numbers, having only pleasure for their end. But I would faine know by what place of Homer you were most per­swaded. By that where speaking of Iupiter, he sayes, his daughter, and brother, and wife, took counsel to bind him, and had not Thetis out of compassion calld in Briareus to his ayd, our great Iupiter had bin fettered, and hurryed to prison? Out of his gratitude for which rescue, at Thetis suite, he deceived Agamemnon, and sent him a false dream, that many of the Graecians might be destroyed. Where observe that he was not able by a bolt of thunder to con­sume Agamemnon, unlesse he had shown himself a deceiver too. Or perhaps, you are most swayed by the description, how Diomedes assisted by Pallas wounded Venus, and Mars himselfe. And how, a little after, the Gods held a conflict, and warre among themselves, males with fe­males, where Pallas overcomes Mars, weakened, I sup­pose, by the wound hee received from Diomed: And 'gainst Latona usefull Hermes stands. Or perchance your perswasion is built on that passage of Diana, where shee complaines, and takes disdayne, that shee was not invi­ted by Oeneus to his feast; and in revenge sent a vast Bore of an invincible strength to wast his country. Are these the authorities of Homer, on which you build your beleef?

Iupiter.

Harke what a humme the applauding multi­tude give Damis, whilst our man stands like one forsaken, [Page 288] dismaid, and trembling, and ready to cast away his shield, and prying after a passage to make an escape.

Timocles.

What thinkest thou of the authority of Euri­pides, who brings in the Gods upon the stage, protecting vertuous, and valiant men, and subverting the wicked, and irreligious, such as thou?

Damis.

If, Timocles, Thou most learned of Philoso­phers, you have drawne your perswasion from tragedies, one of those two must necessarily follow; either you must take Pole, or Aristodemus, or Satyr for the Gods, or for the Actours of the Gods; when you see them clad in buskins, long robes, spangled clokes, rich mantles, gloves, ven­trals, glittering corslets, and other properties, with which they set off their tragedies, which were most absurd: since Euripides of himselfe, and unconstrain'd, freely delivers his opinion in his playes, where you may heare him clear­ly say,

Seest thou the Ayre diffus'd in boundlesse spaces,
Encircling earth, and sea with moist imbraces,
Thinke this is Jupiter, thinke this is God.

Againe:

VVhat Jupiter is Jupiter I know not,
But what goes in tradition. —

and the like.

Timocles.

Are all people and nations deceived then, who hold there are Gods, and celebrate their Festivalls?

Damis.

I thanke you, Timocles, for quoting the Nati­ons. From whom any man may learne what small cer­tainties may be had of the Gods, of whom there are so many doubts, and diversities of opinion. For the Scythi­ans sacrifice to a Whinyard, the Thracians to Zamolxis a fugitive; who fled from Samos thither; the Phrygians to the Moone; the Aethiopians to the day; the Cyllenians to Phales; the Assyrians to a Dove; the Persians to Fire; and [Page 289] the Aegyptians to water; which is their Deity. More pe­culiarly the Memphites have an Oxe for their God; the Pelusiots an Onion; some a Storke, or Crockodile; others a Dogge, or Catt, or Ape. Againe, in streetes, To some the right side is the Deity, to the opposite dwellers the left, to others halfe the head. Some adore an earthen cup, others a dish. Are not these Gods to be laught at, most holy Tomocles?

Momus.

Did I not tell you, yee Gods, that all this would be divulged, and be brought into discussion?

Iupiter.

Thou didst, Momus, and didst deservedly chide us. It shall be, therefore, my businesse, if we scape this brunt, to contrive a reformation.

Timocles.

Tell mee yet, thou enemy to the Gods, from whence proceed the Oracles, and predictions of things to come? not from them and their prescience?

Damis.

Speake no more of Oracles, good Sir, but let mee aske you upon what Oracle you most rely? upon that which Apollo gave to Croesus? you know 'twas two edged, and faced like those double pictures of Mercury, which are both sides alike, which way soever you turne them. Nor revealed it whether Croesus passing Halis should ruine his owne, or Cyrus Empire. Yet that am­biguous Oracle cost the wretched Sardian not a few ta­lents.

Momus.

This fellow is falne upon the very objection, yee Gods, vvhich I most feared. Where is our divine fid­ler novv? Why do you not defend your selfe Apollo?

Iupiter.

Thou massacrest us, Momus, with thy unseaso­nable reprehensions.

Timocles.

Thou vver't best, then, thou Atheist, quite o­verthrovv the religion, and altars of the Gods by thy impi­ous discourses.

Damis.

I vvould not have altars pull'd dovvne, Timocles; since vvithout any great inconvenience they may still send forth svveet smels, and perfumes. Yet I vvould be [Page 290] glad to see Diana's Altar at Taurica utterly demolisht, if she delight in such Sacrifices on them.

Iupiter.

What an uncontroulable mischiefe is fallen upon us? This fellovv spares no God, but inveighs, and lets fly at all, vvhether guilty, or not.

Momus.

You vvill find fevv of us innocent, Iupiter; And therefore you shall have him presently strike at the highest.

Timocles.

O thou God-opposing Damis, dost thou not sometimes heare Iupiter thunder?

Damis.

I heare thunder, Timocles; but whether Iupiter be the thunderer, you knovv better then I, vvho came lately from him. They vvho come from Creet say other­wise; where his sepulcher is to be seene with a pillar ere­cted, shewing him long since dead, not thundring.

Momus.

I long since foresaw he would make that ob­jection. Why doe you loose colour, Iupiter, and gnash your teeth for fear. You are to take courage, and contemne such fellowes.

Iupiter.

Contemne, say you, Momus? doe you not see what a ringe of Auditors he hath? And what perswasi­ons of us they take in from Damis, who leades them cap­tived by the eares?

Momus.

But you, Iupiter, when you please, letting downe your golden chaine, can draw them all up with the earth, and sea.

Timocles.

Tell mee, Infidell, were't thou ever at sea?

Damis.

Often, Timocles.

Timocles.

Were you not driven by the winde, falling on your tackling, and swelling your sailes, or by Rowers? and did not a pilot, standing at the helme, preserve the ship?

Damis.

I grant it.

Timocles.

A shippe, then, ungovern'd could not sayle. And canst thou imagine the whole universe should move without a governour, or pilot?

Damis.

Your illustration, Timocles, is discreet, and so­lid. [Page 291] But, then, the pilot of a ship alwayes contrives things necessary; and before hand prescribes their imployment to the saylers, and provides that the vessells carry nothing uselesse, or unfit, but be fraught with profitable bur­den. But your other pilot, who, you say, rules the greater shippe, and his co-governours order nothing regularly, as becomes them. But sometimes, as it falls out, the mast is fastned to the sterne; and the tackling to the fore-decke. Sometimes the Anchors are of gold, and the trimme of lead; the bottome under water is carved, and paynted, the deck and rayles are deform'd and rude. Againe, you may observe some of the saylers, sluggish and artlesse, and impotent at their businesse, rewarded with double or tre­ble shares. Others able to steere, and to order the sayles, and skill'd in navigation, set to empty the sinkes. The like observation you may make of the passengers. Many times a slave sits uppermost, next the governour, and is lookt upon with reverence▪ or perhappes, some Catamite, Parri­cide, or Church robber, is advanced to the highest place of the shippe, and many vertuous men are thrust into an obscure, retired hole, and trampled by them: Consider, how Socrates, Aristides, and Phoc [...]on, sayled; how un­sufficiently victualled, and unable to stretch their feete upon the bare boardes beyond the sinke. On the contra­ry, in what streames of pleasure did Callias, and Midias, and Sardanapalus swimme, and look downe upon their inferiours? This is the Government, Timocles, of your shippe, under which have happen'd a thousand wrackes. If there were a pilot who observed, or order'd things, first, he would not be ignorant, what passengers are ver­tuous, what wicked. Next, hee would assigne imploy­ments answerable to every mans desert; and place the best men in the best place, neer himself, and the worst men in the worst below. Then, he would take into his counsel, and fellowship, the most excellent. The industrious Say­ler should rule the sterne, or governe the sides, or com­mand [Page 292] in chiefe; The slothfull and carelesse should five times a day be beaten about the head with a rope. The instance, therefore, which, admired Sir, you have given of a shippe is through the badnesse of the pilot in danger to suffer wrack.

Momus.

This succeeds according to the streame of Damis, who now with full sailes is carried on to victory.

Iupiter.

'Tis true, Momus; Timocles hath urged not one argument of weight, but all common and vulgar, and ea­sie to be confuted.

Timocles.

Since you thinke the example of the ship of small force, hear now a sacred anchor, as they say, a proofe by no engine to be broken.

Iupiter.

What more will he urge?

Timocles.

I will now presse thee with a Syllogisme; see if thou be able to overthrow it. If there be Altars, there are Gods, but there be Altars, therefore there are Gods; Answer mee to this.

Damis.

I will, assoone as I have laught my fill.

Timocles.

Methinkes your laughter is very endlesse, prythee tell mee why thou thinkest my argument ridi­culous.

Damis.

Because you discerne not by what a slender thred your anchor, though sacred, hangs. For by inferring that there are Gods because there are Altars, you thinke you have woven an invincible Cable. Since, therefore, you professe your selfe unable to spring a proofe helper, for this time let us depart.

Timocles.

Thou confessest thy selfe vanquisht, then, by breaking off first?

Damis.

I doe, Timocles. For you, like malefactors led to punishment, fly to Altars. By your sacred Anchor, there­fore, I sweare to sacrifice upon your Altars against you, that we may no more dispute of them.

Timocles.

Thou may'st flout mee, thou tombe-brea­ker, villayn, abominable slave, whipt rogue, scumme of [Page 293] men; whose uncertaine father we know not, but know thy mother was a whore; who slewest thy brother, lyest with mens wives, corruptest young boyes; Thou luxuri­ous, impudent fellow. Fly not till I beat thee; for I will mawle thee, Pagan as thou art, with this Brick-bat.

Iupiter.

Damis goes away fleering, O yee Gods, the o­ther followes rayling, and impatient of his jeeres, and ready to breake his head, with a potsheard; what shall wee doe?

Mercury.

Methinkes the Comick poet sayes well; mis­chiefes contemned loose their force. What great danger can it be, then, if a few men goe home thus perswaded? there are more who hold the contrary both Graecians, of other nations, and the Barbarians in generall.

Iupiter.

Yet I cannot but repeat, Mercury, that gallant saying of Darius, spoken of Zopyrus. I had rather have such a one as Damis of my side, then conquer a thousand Ba­bylons.

The Cynicke.

The speakers Lycinus, and a Cynicke.
Lycinus.

HOw comes it, Friend, that you have a long beard, and hair, but have no gowne, but goe ragged, and unshod, making a vagrant, inhumane, savage life your choice, and against all example abusing your body wander up and down, and lodge upon the bare ground, sullying your coate, which is not of the fi­nest webbe, nor over soft, or florid.

Cynicke.

Yet I feele no want: whatsoever is of easie procurement, and possest with least trouble sufficeth mee. [Page 294] But pray tell mee, doe you thinke luxury a vice?

Lycinus.

Yes.

Cynicke.

And frugality a vertue?

Lycinus.

Yes.

Cynicke.

Why, then, seeing mee live thriftier then o­thers, and others live more wastefully, do you accuse mee, and not them?

Lycinus.

Because you seeme not to mee to live thriftier then others, but more distrest, or rather more perfectly needy, and poore; not at all differing from beggers, who begge their dayly sustinance.

Cynicke.

Shall we, then, (since wee are enter'd into this discourse) define what want, and enough is?

Lycinus.

If you please.

Cynicke.

Is that sufficient for every man which satis­fies his want, or do you require more?

Lycinus.

Bee it so.

Cynicke.

And is that poverty, when necessityes are sup­plyed in a shorter proportion then is fit?

Lycinus.

'Tis.

Cynicke.

I then lack nothing, whose necessityes are sufficiently satisfyed.

Lycinus.

How meane you?

Cynicke.

Consider the end of all our provisions against poverty. Is not a house for shelter?

Lycinus.

Yes.

Cynicke.

For what use are cloathes? are they not for coverings?

Lycinus.

Yes.

Cynicke.

And why, for Gods sake, do wee need cove­rings? Is't not for welfare of the thing cover'd?

Lycinus.

I thinke so.

Cynicke.

What thinke you, then? are my feet worse then other mens?

Lycinus.

I know not.

Cynicke.

Thus, then, you may know; what is the busi­nesse of feet?

Lycinus.
[Page 295]

To go.

Cynicke.

Do my feet, then, thinke you, carry mee worse then other mens?

Lycinus.

Perhaps not.

Cynicke.

But if they were better, or worse, could they not perform their office?

Lycinus.

Proceed.

Cynicke.

I show not worse affected in my feet, then, then other men?

Lycinus.

You do not.

Cynicke.

Is my body worse then other mens? If it be worse, then 'tis feebler; for the vertue of the body is strength; Is it feebler then?

Lycinus.

Not in appearance.

Cynicke.

Neither my feet, then, nor the rest of my body need a covering. If they did, they would be ill affected. For want is altogether ill, and where 'tis, makes things worse. But my body showes not the worse fed, because I eat what ever comes to hand.

Lycinus.

'Tis clear.

Cynicke.

Nor would it be vigorous, if 'twere ill nou­risht. For bad dyet rotts, and corrupts the body.

Lycinus.

'Tis right.

Cynicke.

Tell mee, then, my case being thus, why you blame, and disparage my course of life, and call it mise­rable?

Lycinus.

Because when nature, (whom you adore) and the Gods have set an earth before us, and enabled it to bring forth such plenty of good things, as that without envy there might be sufficient not only to supply wants, but for pleasure too, yet you, deprived of all, or most of these, enjoy no more then the beasts. You drinke water like a beast, and eat what you find like a dogge. Then your lodging is no better then that of dogges; for you lye upon the grasse like them. Then you wear a garment too totter'd for a begger. If, then, this contentment proceed [Page 296] from your wisedome, God hath done ill to make far sheep, delightsome vines, and the other wonderfull varietyes of nature, as oyle, honey, and the like, that we might have food of all sorts. As, also, pleasant drinke, mony, soft beds, fair houses, and all things provided for our use. The works of art, also, are the works of the Gods. To live, then, de­prived of all these, is to be miserable, though you were deprived by another, like prisoners. But his case is much more miserable, who deprives himself of all these good things, for 'tis an evident madnesse.

Cynicke.

'Tis something you say. But, then tell mee, if a rich man should cheerfully, courteously, & friendly make a feast, and entertaine guests of all sorts, some weake, and some strong; & should set before them dishes of all variety, and one of the invited should engrosse, and devoure all the meates both neere him, and remote, which were drest for the sickly, being himself sound, and having but one belly satisfyable with a little, should yet out-stay the rest, would you take this for a wel-carriaged man?

Lycinus.

By no meanes.

Cynicke.

Or a temperate?

Lycinus.

Neither.

Cynicke.

What if another at the same table should neg­lect the variety, and choosing one dish neer him, suffici­ent to dine him, should civilly eat of it, and no other, with­out desire of the rest; would you not thinke this man more vertuous, and temperate then the other?

Lycinus.

Doubtlesse.

Cynicke.

Do you know what I am about to say?

Lycinus.

What?

Cynicke.

God is like that liberall inviter; And hath set before us entertainments of all sorts, and agreeable to all palates; some things for the healthy, some things for the sicke, some things for the strong, others for the weake. Not that all should enjoy all, but every one those things which are proper for him, as his need requires. But you [Page 297] are like him, who through his insatiate appetite, and intem­perance snatches all, when you ayme at universall fruiti­ons, and send your desires into all parts, nor content with the things next you, nor thinking the earth or sea sufficient for you, fetch pleasures from the farthest coasts, and pre­ferre things forraigne before native, and costly before cheap; and things of difficult procurement before things of easy. In a word, desireing rather the evills of businesse, and trafficke, then the calmes of life. For all these pretious, and happy provisions, in which you rejoyce, are convey­ed to you through many anguishes, and disquietts. Con­sider, I pray, your so much desired Gold, and Silver; Con­sider your magnificent houses; Consider your studyed garments; Consider all thinges belonging to these, with how much negotiation, toyle, danger, blood, slaughter, and ruine of men, are they purchased? who not only suffer shipwracke in sayling for them, besides other calamityes which they undergoe in their search, and pursuite, but imbarke themselves in frequent warres, and lay mutuall trappes, and ambushes, friendes against friendes, chil­dren against parents, and wives against husbandes. Thus for Gold, I suppose, Eriphile betray'd her husband. And when all is done, embroidery makes not garments warmer. Nor doe houses shelter because they are guilt. Nor doth the mettall of the bowle enrich the wine; nor doe beddes of Gold, or Ivory yeild the sweetest sleepes. But you shall many times see rich men want sleep in a bed of Ivory, and under an embroyder'd coverlet. Besides all your negotiations about meates nourish not better, but corrupt the body, and engender diseases. I omitt to speake how many difficultyes men undergoe, and suffer, for the satisfaction of their lusts: which were easily cured, were luxury banisht; For which men thinke the com­mon folly, and corruption, not sufficient, unlesse they pervert the naturall use of thinges; as when they convert their beddes into coaches.

Lycinus.
[Page 298]

Who do so?

Cynicke.

You; who imploy men like your beastes, to carry you in your sedans, like litters on their shoulders; whilest you sitting delicately aloft, doe reyne your Por­ters, like mules, and bid them turne what way you list. And they who doe thus most, are held most hap­py. Then, doe not they who use not fishes for food, but to extract rich colours from them, as purple dyers, unnaturally misimploy Gods creatures?

Lycinus.

No; If they can dye, as well nourish.

Cynicke.

But they were not ordained for that end. As one may force a cuppe to the imployment of a kettle, but it was not made for that imployment. Your miseries are so many, that I cannot stand to recount them all. And yet dare you blame mee for not being a partaker? I live like the well-behaved man, I speake of, content with the things next mee, and of easiest provision. Not at all allured, by your varities, and daynties. Yet though I need few thinges, and use as few, my life to you seemes brutish. By the same reason the Gods are in worse condi­tion then beastes; for they lack nothing. But that you may know how much better 'tis to need few thinges then many consider that children lacke more things, then grown youthes, and women more then men; and the diseased more then the healthy. Briefly, the worse estate wants more then the better. Thus the Gods want no­thing, and therefore they neerest approach them who want least. Can you imagine Hercules (the most valiant of men, and deservedly reckond among the Gods) was miserable when hee travell'd up and downe naked, clo­thed only with a skinne, and lackt none of those things? certainly hee could not be miserable, who deliver'd o­thers from calamity; nor poor, who ruled over land and sea. For wherever hee made his assault, hee vanquisht; nor did hee ever meet with his equall, or [...]uperiour, till hee left the conversation of men. Can you thinke, then [Page 299] that such a one, who thus traverst the world, did want a rugge, or shooes? you cannot. But he was temperate, and stout, desired to live frugally; and to avoid pleasure. Was not his scholar Theseus, also, King of the Athenians, Neptunes sonne, and the bravest man of his time? yet he contemned shooes, and went barefoote, and cherisht a long beard, and hayre. Nor was it his only, but the pra­ctice of all the ancients, who were your betters; and would have brookt the present luxury no more then a Lyon will suffer himselfe to be shorne. Tendernesse, and sleeknesse of flesh they thought only became women. They, as they were, still chose to appeare men; and held hair as much their ornament, as a mane a horses, or a beard a Lyons. To whom, as God hath given somethinges for ornament, and beauty, soe he hath given beardes to men. The ancients, therefore, shall be my example and imitati­on. Nor doe I envy the men of these times for their felicity, full tables, and rich apparell; or because they polish, and smooth all parts of their body, not content with those se­cret parts as nature sent them. For my part, I wish my feet differ'd not from horses hoofes, as they report of Chi­ron. Or that I wanted a coverlet no more then Lyons, or high fare no more then dogges. Or that any earth, or floor may suffice mee for a lodging; That I may thinke the world my house; That my diett may be that which is easiest purchast; That neither I nor any friend of mine may covet Silver, or Gold: the thirst whereof is the root of all evills, factions, warres, treasons, and slaughters▪ All which have the desire of more for their fountaine, and springe. Bee, therefore, the itch of abundance farre from mee; And when I have not sufficient, yet may I bee con­tent. This is our doctrine, utterly different from the common received opinions of the most. Nor are you to marvaile, that wee differ from others in our manners, and course, who differ so much from us in their electi­ons, and choices. Meane time I wonder at you, how [Page 300] you can thinke there is a certaine habit, and behaviour, proper for a fidler, trumpeter, and player, and do not perceive that there is a garbe, and dresse proper also for a vertuous man; but thinke he is to habitt himselfe like the most, though the most be vitious. If, then, good men are to be peculiar in their clothes, what attire is seemlier then that which is most disgracefull to the luxurious, and which they most eschew? 'Tis my bravery, therefore, to wear a slovenly, nasty, pat [...]ht coate, neglected hayre, and to go barefoote. whereas you in your bravery resem­ble Cinaedo's, from whom you are not to be distinguish't, either in the colour, or delicacy of your garments, or the number of your suites, clokes, or shoos, or the curlings, and powdrings of your hayre. For the most cou [...]tly a­mong you smell just like them. And what can hee doe like a man, who is perfumed like a Pathicke? Then, you are as impatient of labour as they, as easily melted with pleasures; you eate, sleep, and goe like them; or rather ye refuse to goe and are carryed, like burdens, some of you by men; others by beasts. My own feet carry mee where I list: who am patient of cold, and heat, and repine not at the seasons which the Gods send; or because they make mee miserable. But you, through too much felicity, are content with nothing, but alwayes complaine. You loath the things you have, and desire the things you have not. In winter you wish summer, in summer winter; In heat cold, and in cold heat; like displeased sick folkes who are alwayes whining; Onely they have their sicknesse for a cause, you your manners. Would you, then, have us change our course, and rectifie our life by yours, who so frequent­ly erre in your counsels, and are so indiscreet in your acti­ons, and do nothing with judgment, or discourse, but by custome and appetite? Certainly you differ nothing from men carried by a Torrent; For they are hurryed where ever the floud pleaseth, and you where your Lusts. Soe that you are in his case, who (as they say) ascended the [Page 301] back of a wild horse; The horse ran away with him, and hee being in full speed could not alight. And when one met him, and askt whither he rode so fast, hee said, whi­thersoever this horse pleaseth▪ Soe, should one aske you whither you are carryed, your answer will be, if you speake truth, wheresoever your affections please. Parti­cularly, sometimes where your pleasure pleaseth; some­times where your ambition; sometimes where your vainglory; sometimes where your covetousnesse of gaine; sometimes also your rage, sometimes your feare: still some passion or other transports you. You, then, are mounted on the back, not of one but of many wild horses by turnes; which hurry you upon steeps, and precipices; yet till you fall you perceive not your danger. Whereas, my patcht coat, which you deride, and my hayre, and rude accoutrements, have the power to create mee a quiet life; to do what I list, and to converse with whom I list. None of the ignorant, or unlearned will approach mee for my habits sake. Then effeminate men decline mee afarre off, onely the best wits, modestest men, and lovers of ver­tue resort to mee, in whose company I take delight. Their gates, who are call'd Great men, I regard not, but looke upon their guilt chaplets, and purple, as arguments of their pride, and laugh at the wearers. But that you may know how agreeable my habit is, not onely to good men, but to the Gods themselves, (and then laugh if you can) consi­der their Statues; whom do they most resemble, you or mee? goe over all the Temples also, both of the Greekes, and Barbarians, and consider whether their Gods have long hayre, and beards, like mee, or are like you, carved, and drawne, trimd, and shaven. You shall see most of them clothlesse, and naked like mee. How dare you, then, speake of my accoutrements, as reproachfull, when they become the Gods?

Iupiter Confuted, or, a Discourse of Destiny.

The Speakers, Cyniscus, and Jupiter.
Cyniscus.

FOr my part, Iupiter, I will never trouble you with petty petitions for Riches, Gold, or Empire, which most men pray for, but are not easie for you to grant: which makes you deafe to their prayers. My desire is, that you would satisfie mee an ordinary request.

Iupiter.

What is't, Cyniscus? Thou shalt not be denyed, since thou sayest thy petitions are modest.

Cyniscus.

'Tis, that you would answer mee to a slight question.

Iupiter.

'Tis a small request, and very grantable; Aske, therefore, what thou wilt.

Cyniscus.

I pray marke, then, Iupiter. 'Tis like you have read Homer's, and Hesiod's Poems. Tell mee, is all true which they have spoken of Fate, and the Destinies, when they say, that the thred which they spinne at every man's nativity is unavoidable?

Iupiter.

'Tis all very true: Nothing is free from their decrees. And whatsoever is done is first roll'd upon their spindle: where, from the beginning, all things have their infallible events assigned them, which cannot but come to passe.

Cyniscus.

When, Homer, then in another part of his Poem sayes,

He entred Plutoe's Court though fates forbad:

and the like, we are to take him in jest?

Iupiter.
[Page 303]

Yes. For no such thing could be atchieved a­gainst the Lawes of the destinies, or beyond their Line. All things sung by Poets inspired by the Muses are true. But where the inspiration forsakes them, and they are left to themselves, what ever they write is fabulous, and re­pugnant to their former raptures. Yet are they to be par­don'd, if they erre, after their dispossession of the God who spoke by them.

Cyniscus.

Well be it so. Let mee aske you one question more. Are there not three Destinyes, Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos?

Iupiter.

There are.

Cyniscus.

What are the so much celebrated Fate, and Fortune then? Have they a power equall to the Desti­nies, or above them? for I heare every body say nothing is more forcible then Chance and Fate.

Iupiter.

'Tis not lawfull for thee to know all things, Cyniscus. But why didst thou aske mee concerning the Destinies?

Cyniscus.

First resolve mee, Iupiter, whether you be under their Empire, and empaled within their line?

Iupiter.

Most necessarily, Cyniscus. Why dost thou smile?

Cyniscus.

That passage of Homer is come to my mind, where, in a Parliament of the Gods, hee brings you in, uttering this threatning speech; That with your golden chaine you would draw up all things to you. For there you say, That you would let downe a chaine from Heaven, with which, should all the Gods with all their force strive to pull you downe, they were not able, but if you listed you could easily draw all them up with the earth, and sea. When I read this, I apprehended you of an admirable strength, and trem­bled at the Verses. But now I see both you, and your chaine, and great threats, by your confession, hang upon a slender Thred. Methinkes, therefore, Clotho might with more reason pronounce your bragge, who seeth you [Page 304] hang aloft at her distaffe, like fishes at an Angle.

Iupiter.

I understand not the drift of your questions.

Cyniscus.

By the destinyes, and Fate, then, I desire you will heare mee speake free truthes, without impatience, or choller. If the case stand so, that the destinyes rule all, and that nothing which they have once decree'd can bee alter'd, why doe wee men sacrifice to you Gods, and offer up Heccatombes with our prayers that you would dropp benefits on us? I see no fruite of our devotions, if by our petitions we cannot divert evills, nor receive good from you.

Iupiter.

I now know from whence you have bor­rowed your subtile inquiryes; from those accursed Sophisters who say, we exercise no providence over men; and by such impious questions as these disswade men from their sacrifices, and prayers, as from vanityes: maintain­ing that wee take no care of your actions, nor indeed can doe any thing in earthly affaires. But they shall not long triumph in their discourses.

Cyniscus.

I sweare by Clotho's spindle, Iupiter, no per­swasion taken from them hath bin the ground of my que­stions: But the progresse of our conference hath, I know not how, driven me to thinke sacrifices are needlesse. Let mee, therefore, without your disturbance, crave your resolution to one brief question more; and consider of your answer.

Iupiter.

If thou bee at leisure to trifle, propose it.

Cyniscus.

Doe all things happen, say you, by desti­nye?

Iupiter.

I affirme it.

Cyniscus.

And is't not in your power to change, and un-spinne their decrees?

Iupiter.

By no meanes.

Cyniscus.

May I, with your leave, from hence make inferences, and clear, or not clear, report what you say?

Iupiter
[Page 305]

'Tis clear, that wee are not sacrificed to out of any necessity, but for hope of returnes: so that men adore us either, to buy benefits of us, or out of a ver­tuous love to religion.

Cyniscus.

And this you thinke sufficient, and affirme, that profit is not the cause of oblations, but the piety of some men, who honour what is best: But if a Sophister were present, he would aske, why you stile the Gods best, since they are but fellow servants with men, and sub­jects to the same mistresses, and Destinyes. You will not say their condition is better, because they are immor­tal. For 'tis so much the worse. Since death, if nothing else shifts men into liberty. But your thraldome is end­lesse, and your servitude is eternall, and drawne out into an everlasting thredde.

Jupiter.

But this endlesse perpetuity, Cyniscus, is our happinesse, who live in a full fruition of all good things.

Cyniscus.

You are not all happy alike, Iupiter, but your felicities are distinguisht by their perturbations: you per­chance are happy, being King of the Gods, and able, by the demission of a coard, to draw up earth, and sea. But Vulcan, meane time, is a lame, sullyed, mechanicall Smith: Prometheus, also, was once crucifyed. I speake not now of your father, who lyes shackled in Hell. They report of your loves, and wounds, and prentiships to men: Your brother hired by Laomedon; and Apollo by Admetus: Imployments in my judgement not very happy. So that some of you seeme happy, and of prosperous estate, o­thers not. I forbeare to mention how you are robbed, like us, and suffer sacriledge, and the wealthyest of you in an instant beggars. Besides, many of you who are gold, and silver, and were decreed to it, are cast, and melted.

Iupiter.

You may speake reproachfully of us, Cyniscus, and may hereafter repent it.

Cyniscus.

Spare your threats, Iupiter; you know I can suffer nothing to which I am not predestinated by the [Page 306] Fates. They who robbed your Temples are not yet punisht, but have most of them escapt you; being, I suppose, de­creed not to be caught.

Iupiter.

Did I not say thou wert one of those, who by their discourses overthrow providence?

Cyniscus.

You are over causelesly suspitious, Iupiter; and take what ever I say for their doctrine. From whom can I learne these truths, but from you? I would gladly, therefore, aske you, what you meane by your providence. Is it one of the Destinies, or some Goddesse superiour to them as their Queene?

Iupiter.

I told thee before, 'twas not fit for thee to know such things. And thou at first didst promise to aske but one Question; yet proceedest to trouble mee with frivolous doubts. I see the aime of thy discourse is to demonstrate that our providence is not busied in hu­mane affaires.

Cyniscus.

'Tis not my aime. But you said a little before, there were Destinies, who govern'd all things. Unlesse you repent, and recant your words, and intend to erect your providence by the expulsion of Fate.

Iupiter.

No such matter, Sir. Fa [...]e does all things by us.

Cyniscus.

I understand you: you confesse your selves, then, the servants and ministers of the Fates; They decree, and order things, and you are their instruments, and Tooles.

Iupiter.

How meane you?

Cyniscus.

Just as a Hatchet assists a carpenter in his trade, and an Augwer cooperates; yet no man will say they are Artificers. Nor is a ship the worke of the Axe, or Augwer, but of the Ship-wright. So Fate is the Carpenter of all things, you are but the Wimbles, and Axes of the Destinies. In reason, therefore, men should sacrifice to Fate, and thence implore benefits; and not make their addresses to you, or strive to render you propitious by veneration, and honours. Nay, in strictnesse, they ought [Page 307] not to adore fate. For, I suppose, 'tis not in the power of the Destinyes to change or alter any decree they have once made. Nor will Atropos permit any to wrest her distaffe another way, or unwinde what Clotho hath spunne.

Iupiter.

So then, you maintaine, Cyniscus, that the sisters themselves are not to be adored by men, and cast all things into a confusion. Yet wee, if for nothing else, yet for our Oracles, and pre-interpretations of these De­crees, which the fates have made, deserve to be wor­shipt.

Cyniscus.

The foreknowledge of future events, Jupi­ter, is utterly fruitlesse, if by observation they be im­possible to be avoyded: unlesse you hold that one fore­told he shall be slayne by the poynt of a spear, may de­feate his death by shutting himself up, which is impossi­ble. For his destiny will draw him forth to hunt, and expose him to a dart. So Adrastus spear being aymed at a bore, shall misse, and slay Craesus sonne, as if directed to him by the powerfull ordinance of the fates. That forewarning, also, given to Laius was ridiculous, which bidde him not beget a sonne against the allowance of the Gods; if he did, his child should slay him. For I hold such precautions no armour against necessary events. For after the oracle he begot a sonne who did slay him. I see no reason, therefore, why you should require to be payd for your predictions. I forbeare to speake of the crosse, double-sensed oracles, which you have utter'd to many; Not clearly expressing whether Craesus, passing Halys, should ruine his owne, or Cyrus Empire. For the oracle carryes both constructions.

Jupiter.

Apollo, Cyniscus, had a just cause of quarrell against Craesus, for mingling the flesh of a Tortoyse with that of a sheepe in sacrifice to him.

Cyniscus.

But it became not a God to quarrell. I therefore, rather think the Lydian was decree▪d to be deceived by the [Page 308] oracle; and Fate long before had so spunne his thred, that he was not clearly to understand the prophecy. So that your predictions are but a part of Destiny.

[...]upiter.

Thou leavest us nothing to do then, but ma­kest us Gods in vaine, neither busied in the ordering of humane affaires, nor worthy of sacrifices, like so many Awgers, and Axes. Then thou takest a priviledge to con­temne us, because, being armed with thunder, I suffer thee thus to blaspheme us.

Cyniscus.

Discharge your bolt, Iupiter; If I be prede­stined to be strucke with thunder, I will not accuse you for the blow, but Clotho, who wounded mee with your hand: nor will I charge your thunder with my stroke. But pray let mee enquire of you, and destiny, and do you answer for both to a question, which your threats have suggested to mee: why do you spare so many sacrilegious, theevish, blasphemous, oppressing, perjured men, and so often strike an innocent oake, or stone, or sayle of a shippe with lightning? Nay, many times, an innocent, religious travailer. Why are you silent, Iupiter? Is it not lawfull for mee to know this neither?

Iupiter.

'Tis not Cyniscus; yet thou art still curious, and comest prepared, (I know not how set on) to per­plex mee with scruples.

Cyniscus.

Nor is it permitted to enquire of you, and Providence, and Fate, why the excellent Phocian, and before him, Aristides, dyed in such extreame want, and necessity; and Callias, and Alcibiades, luxurious young men, flow'd with riches. Midias, also, the insolent, and Charops of Aeginar a Pathike, who slew his mother with famine. Againe, why Socrates was delivered up to the eleven Judges, and not Melitus. Lastly, why effeminate Sardanaphalus was a King; and why so many honest, and vertuous P [...]rsians were crucified by him, because they di­stasted his Actions. I cannot now stand to go over all par­ticulars, or recount how wicked men prosper, and a­bound [Page 309] with wealth; and how good men are carryed, and tost with poverty, and afflicted with diseases, and a thousand mischiefes.

Iupiter.

You know not, Cyniscus, what punishments are reserved after this life for the wicked, or what felici­tyes for the Good.

Cyniscus.

You meane Hell, Titius's, and Tantalus's. Things, whose clear knowledge I expect to have in the next world. Let mee be happye all the time I live here, and let sixteen vultures feed upon my liver after I am dead. But let mee not pine with thirst here, like Tantalus, and drinke with Hero's, in the Ilands of the blessed when I am placed in the Elizian medowes hereafter.

Iupiter.

Dost thou not beleeve, then, that there are such punishments, and rewards, and a court of justice, where every mans life shall be examined?

Cyniscus.

I heare one Minos, a Cretan, is judge be­low in such causes: pray tell mee, is there any such officer there? The report goes he is your sonne.

Iupiter.

What would'st thou know of him, Cynis­cus?

Cyniscus.

Whom doth he punish?

Iupiter.

Malefactors, such as murtherers, and Church robbers.

Cyniscus.

Whom doth he admitt among the He­roes?

Iupiter.

Good men, and religious, who have lived a life of vertue.

Cyniscus.

Why so, Iupiter?

Iupiter.

Because the one deserves honour, the other torments.

Cyniscus.

But if one commit an offence against his will, is he in justice to be punisht too?

Iupiter.

By no meanes.

Cyniscus.

Nor if one do good against his will, is hee to bee thought worthy of honour?

Iupiter.
[Page 310]

'Tis true.

Cyniscus.

It belongs not, then, to Minos either to re­ward any man, or punish him.

Iupiter

How not any man?

Cyniscus

Because wee men do nothing voluntarily, but as wee are moved by an inevitable necessity; suppo­sing that to be true which you granted before, That Fate is the cause of all things. If, therefore, one man kill ano­ther, fate is the murtherer. If any man commit sacri­ledge, he was enforced by his destiny. If, therefore, Mi­nos would order his sentences aright, he should punish fate for Sisyphus; and destiny for Tantalus. Since they could not offend who were meerly obedient, and pas­sive.

Iupiter.

I hold it not fit to answer thee to such questi­ons. For thou art a bold fellow, and a Sophister. And so for the present I leave thee.

Cyniscus.

I meant to aske you, where the destinyes dwell, and how, being but three, they can exactly or­der such numberlesse affaires. For to mee their life, amidst such various imployments, seemes laborious, and un­fortunate; and they themselves, borne under no very propitious destiny. I, therefore, were I put to my electi­on, would not change my life for theirs; but would ra­ther choose to live yet poorer, then sit spinning at their di­staffe, and observe the numerous businesses with which they are surrounded. But if you cannot well reply to these Inquiries, Iupiter, I will content my self with your o­ther answers; and the revelations which your conference hath made of fate, and providence, shall suffice. Per­chance I am not decreed to hear the rest.

The Parasite.

The Speakers, Tychiades, and a Parasite.
Tychiades

What's the reason, Simo, since all other men, both free, and servants, are skill'd in some art, by which they are usefull to themselves and others, you, (for ought I see) betake your self to no imployment, which may benefit either your self, or o­thers?

Parasite.

How meane you, Tychiades, I understand you not, speake clearlier.

Tychiades.

Are you skill'd in any profession, as mu­sicke?

Parasite.

By Iupiter, not I.

Tychiades.

What then, Physicke?

Parasite.

Neither.

Tichiades.

Nor Geometry?

Parasite.

Not at all.

Tychiades.

What then, Rhetoricke? you are as great a stranger to Philosophy as vice is.

Parasite.

A greater, if greater may be. Thinke not therefore, you upbraide one ignorant of his owne ill edu­cation. I confesse my self a sluggard, and am much worse then you take mee.

Tychiades.

Perhaps you have learned none of these sciences by reason of their subtlety, and hardnesse. But what mechanicall art have you bin taught; Masonry, or Shoomaking? methinks you are not of that quality, as to be utterly without a trade.

Parasite.

You say true, Tychiades. But I have learned no such occupation.

Tychiades.
[Page 312]

What other occupation, then?

Parasite.

What? In my opinion a very generous one; which when you hear, I beleeve you will praise. I ex­presse it in practice, but not in language to you.

Tychiades.

What is [...]t?

Parasite.

I have not exactly studyed the descriptions of it. But that I am of a profession you may easily perceive, and trouble mee no farther, what 'tis you shall know some other time.

Tychiades.

I am impatient of delay.

Parasite.

'Twill seem a paradox to you.

Tychiades.

I long so much the more to know it.

Parasite.

Hereafter, Tychiades.

Tychiades.

Tell mee now, if you be not ashamed.

Parasite.

'Tis Parasitry.

Tychiades.

Is any man so madde, Simo, to call this an art?

Parasiite.

I do. If, therefore, you thinke mee madde, because I have learned no other art, let my madnesse bee my excuse for this, and chide mee no farther. For they say, though madnesse be otherwise troublesome to the distemperd, yet 'tis the advocate of their errours, and takes their faults upon it selfe as the Author and cause.

Tychiades.

But is Parasitry, say you, Simo, an Art then?

Parasite.

A very science; And I am the first inven­tour.

Tychiades.

So then you are a Parasite?

Parasite.

You are pleased to abuse mee, Tychiades.

Tychiades.

You blush not to call your self so.

Parasite.

No. I should blush if I did not.

Tychiades.

When wee would, then, tell those who know not who you are, wee shall say you are a Pa­rasite?

Parasite.

I had much rather you should call mee so, then Phidias the statuary. Nor do I joy lesse in my Art, then he in his Iupiter.

Tychiades.
[Page 313]

One thing will (in my apprehension) fol­low hereupon most ridiculous.

Parasite.

What is't?

Tychiades.

If in our superscriptions (as the manner is) wee direct our letters to Simo the Parasite.

Parasite.

You shall more obliege mee, then if you en­dorsed them to Dion the Philosopher.

Tychiades.

How will you relish the compellation? 'Tis below my care. But one absurd thing more is to be consider'd.

Parasite.

What is't?

Tychiades.

If wee should reckon this among other sciences. As if one should aske, What Art 'tis, and we should answer as wee doe of Grammer, or Physicke, 'tis Parasitry.

Parasite.

I will maintain this, Tychiades, to be more an Art, then any other, if you will heare mee speake as I thinke; Though, as I sayd before, I have not studyed my preparations.

Tychiades.

Truth shall passe for premeditation.

Parasite.

First, then, if please you, let us in generall de­fine what art is; so shall wee in particular know whether this bee rightly one or no.

Tychiades.

What is Art, then, doe you know?

Parasite.

Very well.

Tychiades.

If you know, define it.

Parasite.

Art (as I remember it described by a certain wise man) is a System of precepts, got by practice, con­ducing to some end profitable to life.

Tyciades.

You remember his definition right.

Parasite.

If Parasitry, then, partake of all the parts of the definition, what is it but an Art?

Tychiades.

If it doe, 'tis a very Art.

Parasite.

Well, then. With application of Parasitry, to all the kindes of Art, let us examine whether it consent with that definition; or whether, like faulty pots struck [Page 314] it sound crazed. This, then, like all other Arts, ought to contain a System of precepts. The first is to find out, and choose one who is fit to feed a Parasite; and so to feed him as not to cast him off. For shall wee say that a Gold­smith by his art knowes how to distinguish what coynes are adulterate, and what not; and that a Parasite with­out art can distinguish what men are adulterate, and who are currant; especially since men, like coynes, cannot be known but by the touch? 'tis a thing which the wise Euripides complaines of, saying,

How wee may ill men know,
No markes of body show.

So that more art is required in a Parasite, to discerne and know by a kind of divination things to abstruse, and unevident. Is it not, thinke you, a great piece of precept, and institution, to know how to speak winning lan­guage, and by insinuation of behaviour to steal into the familiarity, and affection of his patron?

Tychiades.

'Tis.

Parasite.

Then, doe you thinke 'tis not a worke of great discourse, and wisedome to depart from feasts with double shares, and preferr'd before those who have not the Art?

Tychiades.

'Tis.

Parasite.

Then, can any man unskill'd know the ver­tues, and faultes of diet, and the curiosity of victuals? e­specially after that Oracle deliver'd by the most excel­lent Plato; He that will make a feast, and is not a good Cooke, hath small judgment in entertainments. Next, that Parasitry consists not in precept only, but in practice too, you may easily from hence learne. The precepts of other Arts lye dayes, and nights, and monthes, and yeares sometimes unpracticed; yet they, whose arts they are, loose not their habits. But if the rules of a Parasite be not kept in daliy exercise, not only the art but the Artificer too is [Page 315] lost. Lastly, whether it have an end profitable to life, were madnesse to doubt; since I find nothing more con­ducible to life than to eat and drinke, without which 'twere not possible to live.

Tychiades.

'Tis very true.

Parasite.

Parasitry, then is not such a thing as beauty, or, strength; which seem not to bee an Art, but some such like power.

Tychiades.

You say true.

Parasite.

'Tis not then voyd of Art. If it were, it would not profit the owner. If you should commit your self in a shippe to the sea, in a Tempest, and knew not how to steere, could you bee safe?

Tychiades.

No, certainly.

Parasite.

What's the reason? is't not because you lack skill to preserve your selfe.

Tychiades.

Yes.

Parasite.

So, then, a Parasite, if he lack skill, cannot preserve himself by his parasitry.

Tychiades.

'Tis true.

Parasite.

By Art, then, he is preserved; by want of Art, not?

Tychiades.

I grant it.

Parasite.

Parasitry then is an Art?

Tychiades.

It seems so.

Parasite.

I have often known expert Riders, and Cha­riotteers cast from their box, bruised, and very much may­med; but none can tell of a wrackt Parasite. If, therefore, Parasitry be not artlesse, nor a bare faculty, but a System of precepts got by practice wee must acknowledg it to be an Art.

Tychiades.

As farre as I conceive 'tis. But, then, you are to assigne some genuine definition of Parasitry.

Parasite.

You say well. Methinkes the best definition of it is this. Parasitry is an Art of meates, and drinkes, and of the things to be done and sayd for them, whose end is pleasure.

Tychiades.
[Page 306]

In my opinion you have most excellently defined your Art. But, then, you are to consider whether a debate will not arise between you, and some Philoso­phers, about your end.

Parasite.

'Tis enough that Felicity, and Parasitry have the same end, as they manifestly have. For the wise Ho­mer, admiring a Parasites, as the only happy, and to be envyed life, sayes,

No greater happinesse can be desired,
Then when all people are with mirth inspired,
When tables swell with chear, and Bowles are crown'd,
VVith rich wines which go in Carowses round.

A little after, as if hee had not sufficiently exprest his ad­miration, he delivers his opinion more fully; saying excel­lently,

This seems to mee the top and height of Blisse.

Intimating thereby that he thought there was no happi­ness comparable to that of a Parasite. Nor is this sayd there by a vulgar person, but by the wisest in the Poem. For had Ulisses meant to preferre the Stoicke end, he had op­portunity, when he fetcht Phelocletes from Lemnos, and when hee sackt Troy, and when hee stayed the Greeks from flight, and when he entred Troy having whipt himself, and going ragged, and torne like a Stoick. But he then mentioned no such end as best. Nor did he, when he lived an Epicurean with Calipso, where he spent his time in a voluptuous Idlenesse, and enjoy'd the loose embraces of Atlas daughter, preferre this as the happiest life, but the life of Parasites: who in those times were cal­led Feasters. For what sayes hee? The verses deserve to be again quoted, nor can they be heard as they ought with­out repetition,

Let all the the Feasters sit in feast-like row,
And let the board▪ with chear, and Viands flow.

Epicurus, then, impudently enough tooke his end from [Page 311] Parasitry, and made it the same with his Felicity: which is a playne theft. For that pleasure belongs to us, not to Epicurus, you may thus learn. First, I hold pleasure to be a composed tranquillity of the body. Next, an even calmnesse, and want of tempest in the minde. Both which are attayned by Parasite, neither by an Epicure­an: who holding disputes of the figure of the Earth, of infinite worlds, of the bignesse of the Sunne, of distan­ces, of the first principles, of the Gods, whether they be, or be not, and of the end it self, is in a perpetuall warre, and disagreement with others; and perplext, not only with humane, but with mundane subtiletyes also. Where­as a Parasite, content with the state of things, as they are, and beleeving they cannot be better, with all security, and quietnesse, unvext with such scruples, eates, and sleeps soundly, stretcht out both hands, and feet, like Ulysses sayling homewards. The Epicurean, then, hath no title to pleasure, not only for the forementioned reasons, but for those which follow. For what wise man soever he be, either he hath something to eat, or he hath not. If he have not, his life will be so farre from pleasant, that he cannot live at all. If he have, either 'tis his own, or ano­thers. If he have his diet from another, he is a Parasite, and not the man he boasts himself. If he have it from himself, he lives not pleasantly.

Tychiades.

How not pleasantly?

Parasite.

If he provide his own meales, Tychiades, many things must necessarily accompany such a life. For you are to consider, that he who intends to live a life of pleasure, must satisfy all his desires as they rise. What say you?

Tychiades.

I thinke so.

Parasite.

A matter, perhaps, to one of great possessions not over difficult; but to one of small, or none at all, im­possible, so that a poor man cannot be wise, nor atchieve his end, I mean pleasure. Nay this is an end, not to be at­tained [Page 318] by a rich man, be he never so indulgent to his de­sires. Whats the reason? Because he who lives at his own charge, is lyable to many disquiets. Sometimes he is to beat his Cooke for the ill dressing of his meat. If he beat him not, he is to eat his meat ill [...]drest, and so misse his pleasure. Somtimes he is to quarrell with his Steward for the ill ordering of his houshold Accountes. Is not this true?

Tychiades.

In all appearance to mee.

Parasite.

The case, then, standing thus with the Epicu­rean, 'tis not possible, he should enjoy his end. Whereas the Parasite hath no Cooke to quarrell with, nor Farm, nor Steward, nor money to vex him. Yet hath all things, and is the only man who eates and drinkes, disturbed with none of the incumbrances which trouble others. That Parasitry, then, is an Art hath bin sufficiently de­monstrated by these, and former arguments. It now re­maines that I prove it to be the best Art; not simply, but first, that it excells all Arts in generall; next, in particular. In generall it excells them thus. The study of all other Arts carryes with it labour, feares, and stripes; Things which never any but hated. Only the Art, which I pro­fesse, is learnt without toyle. For who ever went wee­ping from a feast, as wee see many School-boyes? or who ever went to a Feast with a sad looke, like those who go to schoole? A Parasite willingly frequents entertain­ments, and most coveteously pursues his Art. They who learne other sciences, hate their own studyes, and some turne Apostates. Then you are to consider, that in other Arts, parents reward those children, who excell, with the same honours as they dayly reward us Parasites. The boy, say they, writes a faire hand, give him his dinner. Hee writes ill, let him fast. Then the consequence of other Arts is not to beare pleasant fruites till they be throughly learned; A thing of much industry, and wearinesse, whereas Parasitry of all other professions reapes the har­vest [Page 319] of its Art in the Learning; And at once begins to be, and to be in its perfection. Againe, not some, but all other Arts were meerly invented for maintenance. Only a Pa­rasites maintenance flowes to him at first. Doe you not see the husbandman plough his field, not for the meer til­lage sake? And the Architect build a house, not that he may meerly build? But a Parasite drives at nothing else; That very thing which is his worke being the end for which his worke is due. Besides, none, I suppose, are ig­norant, that they who are busied in other professions, live wretchedly, and keep only one, or at least two dayes in a month holy, as they are yeerly, or monthly appointed by their Citty; which they dedicate to refreshments. But the whole thirty dayes of the month are festivall to the Parasite, as so many holydayes of the Gods. Againe, they, who meane to excell in other professions, use a spare and slender diet, like sicke patients; since full tables are disadvantages to proficiency. Then all other Arts, are of no use to the professours without instruments, and tooles. No man can winde a Cornet without a Cornet; or sing to the Harp without a Harp; or show his horsemanshippe without a horse. But my Art is so perfect, and so cheap to the Artificer, that without other helpes 'tis sufficient. And whereas wee pay for our learning of other Arts, for this wee are payd. Againe, other Arts have their Tea­chers: But Parasitry cannot be taught. But as Socrates sayes of Poetry, It come [...] by Destiny, and Fate. Then, consider, that other Arts loose their Imployment, when wee travaile, or sayle, but this serves all places.

Tychiades.

'Tis very true.

Parasite.

Then, Tychiades, all other Arts seem to bor­row from this, but this from none.

Tychiades.

But tell mee, is it not, thinke you, injustice to take anothers goods?

Parasite.

Who doubts it?

Tychiades.

How, then, can anothers meat render you Parasites innocent?

Parasite.
[Page 320]

I cannot answer you. But the groundes of other Arts are meane, and base; But the ground of mine is generous, and noble. For you shall find the much ce­lebrated name of friendshippe to be the foundation of Parasitry?

Tychiades.

How do you meane?

Parasite.

That no man invites an enemy, or stranger, or one of ordinary acquaintance to his table. But he must first be an intimate friend, that partakes of his meales, and board, and of the mysteryes of this Art. I have often heard some say, what friend can hee be, who did never eat, or drinke with us? As if they held him only a faithfull friend with whom they had converst in dyet. Now that this is the Queen of Arts, you may thus easily inform your self. Others labour, and sweat, and sit, and stand to their buisinesse, like so many slaves of their profession. A Parasite, having his Art in subjection, sits at table like a Prince; whose happinesse 'twere needlesse to recount; since, according to the wise Homer, hee neither plants, nor ploughes, but without sowing, or tillage, reapes all things. Then, 'tis permitted to an Oratour, or Geometrician, or Brasier to exercise his Art, though he be a Knave, or Fool. But no man can be a Parasite who is either.

Tychiades.

Trust mee, you have made Parasitry such a treasure, that I could almost change my course, and turn Parasite.

Parasite.

How it excells, then, all other professi­ons in generall, I have sufficiently showne. Let us now see how it excells them in particular. To com­pare it with Mechanicall Arts were foolish, and a Diminution of its worthinesse. I am to show, therefore, how it excells the greatest and best sciences. 'Tis confest by all, that Rhetorick, and Philosophy are for their know­ledg, and worth, most prefer'd. If, therefore, I show that parasitry excells them, 'twill be clear that it excells all o­ther sciences as much as Nausicaa excell [...]d her handmaids. [Page 321] In generall, then, it farre surpasses both Rhetorick, and Philosophy. First for its certainty, and Independance. For Parasitry subsists of it self, they not. For all do not take Rhetorick to be one and the same thing; but some hold it to be an Art; some none, but an abuse of Art. Some maintain it to be one thing, some another. The like opinions passe of Philosophy. That of Epicurus is di­verse from that of the Gate; and that of the Stoick from that of the Academy: Briefly, Philosophy is various, ac­cording to the variety of Philosophers, who were never yet reconciled in opinions, or appeared to be of one sect. From whence I playnly inferre, That originally that is not an Art which is not able to subsist. For why is Arithme­tick every where one and the same? and why do twice two make four, both with us, and Persians, without any variation either among Greeks, or Barbarians? But we see great differences of Philosophy, without any agreement either in their principles or ends.

Tychiades.

You say true: even they who affirm there is but one Philosophy, have made it diverse.

Parasite.

In other professions he that with pardon passeth over some repugnances, as indifferent, and some variable principles, is not altogether to be blamed. But who will allow of Philosophy as necessary, which is as various and disagreeing to it self, as mis-tuned instruments. Philo­sophy then, cannot be one, because I see 'tis numberless: nor can it be many, because 'tis one. The like may be said of Rhetorick, of which diverse speake diversely, and hold a war of opinions; which is a clear proof, that if it were built on any sure principle, 'twould fall under compre­hension. For to dispute which opinion were truest, and not acknowledg Rhetorick to be one, were to destroy its subsistance. 'Tis otherwise with Parasitry, which is one among Greeks, and Barbarians, and every where the same, and like itself. Nor can it be said that some are one way Parasites, some another. Nor are there sects among [Page 322] us, as there are Stoicks and Epicureans of opposite do­ctrines among Philosophers; but all are everywhere of one profession, and united in the agreement of our businesse, and end. So that in my judgment, by that which hath been said, there is no true wisedom but Para­sitry.

Tychiades.

'Tis a plain demonstration. But how will you prove that philosophy in other things is inferiour to Parasitry.

Parasite.

First, 'tis manifest, that never any Parasite studyed Philosophy; but many Philosophers have study­ed Parasitry, and still do.

Tychiades.

Can you name any?

Parasite.

You know them well enough, Tychiades, but dissemble your knowledg, least you should more contribute to their infamy, then reputation.

Tychiades.

By Iupiter, not I, Simo; and therefore, I long much to hear some examples.

Parasite.

Now I perceive you ignorant in their wri­tings, who have recorded their lives, where you may fully know whom I mean.

Tychiades.

By Hercules, I extreamly desire to hear who they are.

Parasite.

I'le tell you, then; and will select no vulgar instances but some of the highest mark, and whom you would least suspect. Eschines the Socratick, who wrot the long facete Dialogues, came into Sicily with a pur­pose to be known by them to Dyonisius: To whom ha­ving read his Miltiades, much to his reputation, he made his future abode in the Island, and became Parasite to the Tyrant; renouncing the disputations of Socrates. What thinke you of Aristippus, the Cyrenaean? Was he not one of the approved Philosophers?

Tychiades.

Yes.

Parasite.

He too, about that time, lived at Syracuse, Para­site to Dyonisius; and was of all his other flatterers of [Page 323] greatest esteem with him; as being more naturally then others framed for the profession. So that Dyonisius dayly sent his purveyours to him to be instructed, being one so able to manage, and order the Imployment. Your most generous Plato came into Sicily with the like purpose, and was for a while Parasite to the Tyrant, but for want of a Genious to the art was cashier'd, and returned to A­thens; where with much industry enabling himself, he sayled the second time into Sicily, where after some few dayes entertainments he was for his unskilfulnesse reje­cted. And the misfortune which befell Plato in Sicily, is like that which befell Nicias.

Tychiades.

Who, Simo, reports this?

Parasite.

Many. Among others Aristoxenus the Musiti­an; a man worthy of beliefe, who was also parasite to Neleus. You cannot but know that Euripides, during his life, was parasite to Archelaus, and Anaxarchus to Alexan­der. Aristotle, also, begun a Tract of parasitry, as he hath of other Sciences. That Philosophers, then, have studyed parasitry, I have sufficiently proved. But no man can give instance of a parasite who studyed Philosophy. If, there­fore, it be felicity not to feele hunger, thirst, or cold, none are happy but parasites. For you may see many Philoso­phers halfe starved, and frozen, but not one parasite. Otherwise, he were not a parasite, but a fellow as wretched, and beggarly as a Philosopher.

Tychiades.

'Tis evident. But will you demonstrate that parasitry excells, Philosophy, and Rhetorick in o­ther things.

Parasite.

The life of men (if I be not deceived) con­sists in the seasons of peace, and warre. Both which plainly discover what arts, and their professours are. First, then, (if you please) let us consider the times of warre, and see who are likely to be of most use to themselves, and the publique?

Tychiades.

You commit men ordinarily disjoyned: [Page 324] nor can I choose but laugh when I thinke how a philoso­pher will shew, brought into comparison with a para­site.

Parasite.

To abate your wonder, and let you see that tis no matter of sport, I will draw you a case. Newes is brought that the enemy is unexpectedly enterd a country; which without suddain resistance, cannot be preserved from depopulation. The Generall calls all of fit age to a muster, and lets the rest depart. Among these are muster'd Philosophers, Rhetoricians, and parasites. Wee all strip our selves. For they who are to be armed are first to be seen naked. Consider us, then in particular, and take a view of our bodyes, and you will see some of them lean, pale, and shrunk with poverty, like so many maimed Souldiers. And were it not ridiculous to say such men were able to endure a battle, or pitcht field, or an assault, or Dust, or wounds, who need dyet, and refreshment? But take a survey of a Parasite, do [...]h hee not carry the appearance of a strong body, and lusty colour, neither swarthy, nor pale, neither inclining to a woman, or a slave? Then, he is stout of courage, and terrible of aspect; the inseparable marks of our quality 'Twere against policy to send one of a timorous, effeminate look to the warres. One of us, then, either alive, or dead, would be an ornament to his armes. But why make I comparisons, having such clear examples? since to speak freely, few Rhetoricians, or Philosophers have in times of war ventured beyond their walls. If any have, I dare say, they forsook their ranks, and fled back again.

Tychiades

Your promises are high, and not vulgar.

Parasite.

Thus, then, I proceed. Isocrates the Rhetorici­an never went to warre, nor indeed ever pleaded in a Ju­diciall Court; dishearten'd, I beleeve, by his fears, and the unfitnesse of his elocution, and voice. Did not Demades, and Eschines, and Philocrates, frighted with his proclamation of warre betray both their Citty, and themselves [Page 325] to Phillip, and ever after lived his agents at Athens, where every Athenian that followed their example in war was of their friendshippe? then, though Hyperides, and Demosthenes, and Lycurgus, were in shew valiant, and spkae blustring Orations, and invectives against Phillip, what famous exploit did they perform in that expedition against him? Hyperides, and Lycurgus went not forth, nor durst peep out of their Gates; but like self-besiegers kept within the walls, and order'd the decrees, and councells. Their great champion Demosthenes, indeed, who in his Orations had wont to say that Phillippe was the ruine of the Macedonians, and that they were not fit to be bought for slaves, adventured to march as farre as Boeotia. But before the Armies joyned, and came to battle, he threw away his shield, and fled. You cannot but have heard this from others, being a story so well known, not only to the Athenians, but to the Thracians, and Sythians, from whence the Coward was descended.

Tychiades.

All this I know. But these were Oratours, whose profession was to make Speeches, not to fight. what say you of Philosophers? You cannot accuse them of cowardice too, like the others.

Parasite.

They, Tychiades, though they dayly di­spute of fortitude, and even weare out the name of valour, are more cowardly then Oratours. For, first, consider that no man can tell of a Philosopher slain in warre. Or of any that bore Armes, or, if they did, that did not runne away. Antisthenes, and Diogenes, and Crates, and Zeno, and Plato, and Eschines, and Aristotle, and the whole rout of them never saw a Camp. Only their sage Socrates, ad­venturing forth to a skirmish in the Citty, fled from Par­nethe to the wrastling place of Taureus. Holding it much the better peece of wit, there sprucely to converse with young boyes, and inveigle them with sophismes, then to enter battle with a stout Spartan.

Tychiades.

I have heard as much from others, who [Page 326] had no purpose to traduce or slander them; which makes mee thinke you belie them not in favour of your own profession. Proceed, therefore, to your description of a parasite in war; and shew what ancient Commanders have been parasites.

Parasite.

No man is so unskill'd in Homer, or so unlet­ter'd, as not to know that his bravest Hero's were parasites. Nestor, from whose tongue language flow'd like Hony, was the Kings parasite. Nor do we read that Agamemnon praised, or admired Achilles (though of a divine presence, and strength of Body) or Diomedes, or Ajax, like Nestor. Nor doth he wish he had ten Ajax's, or ten Achilles's. But he had long before sackt Troy, had he had ten such Souldiers as this aged parasite was. Which, also, confirmes Idome­neus, though descended of Iupiter, to have been Agamem­nons parasite.

Tychiades.

This I know too. Yet I am not satisfied how these two worthies were Agamemnons parasites.

Parasite.

Remember the verses in which he bespeaks Idomeneus.

Tychiades.

Which are they?

Parasite.
Thy bowle stands alwaies crownd, like mine,
Ready to drown thy thirst with sprightly wine.

Where he sayes, his bowle stood alwaies crown'd, not as if I­domeneus Cuppe stood alwaies fill'd for him, fighting, or sleeping; but because he alwaies had the honour to dyet with the King. Whereas the other Commanders had but their daies of invitation. So Ajax, after his valiant duel with Hector was (sayes Homer) brought to the Divine Agamem­non, and by him honoured with a late supper. Whereas Ido­meneus, and Nestor, (as he affirmes) were of the Kings dayly table. Only Nestor seemes to me the more expert, and ar­tificiall parasite, who begun not to practice his art to­wards Agamemnon, but long before towards Coeneus, and Exadius, and left not off till Agamemnons death.

Tychiades.
[Page 327]

Truely, he was an Heroick Parasite. If you know any more such, produce them.

Parasite.

What was Patroclus, but Achilles Parasite? A young Lord not inferiour to any other Greek, either for soul or body? Nay, as far as I can conjecture by his deeds, he was not inferiour to Achilles himself. For when Hector broke open their Gates, enter'd their workes, and fought in sight of their navy, he repell'd him, quencht Pro­tesilaus shippe then burning, and having aboard it no Cowards, but the two sonnes of Telamon, Ajax expert at his spear, and Teucer at his bow. He slew also, many of the Barbarians; among which Sarpedon, the son of Iupi­ter fell by the hand of Achilles Parasite: And when he was himself slayn, he dyed not like others, or as Hector did, by the single hand of Achilles, and Achilles by the single shaft of Paris; but a God, and two men went to his slaughter. And at his expiration, no speeches came from him, like those of Hector, who fell down, and besought Achilles that his dead body might be restored to his friendes, but such as became a Parasite.

Tychiades.

What were they.

Parasite.
Come twenty more such, with Darts cloud the Air;
And be the conquest of my hand and spear.
Tychiades.

Enough. Now shew that Patroclus was not Achilles Friend, but Parasite.

Parasite.

I will produce Patroclus, Tychiades, saying as much of himself.

Tychiades.

You speake wonders.

Parasite.

Listen to his own vvords.

Let not, Achilles, my bones lye from thine,
As one house fed us, let one Tombe combine.

And again a little after,

Pelius thy Sire,
Fed me at's hoard, and call'd me still thy Squire;

That is, Parasite. For had he meant to call him Friend, he would never have call'd him Squire; for Patroclus was [Page 328] nobly descended. Those, therefore, whom he calls Squires, were neither servants nor friends, but manifest Parasites. So he stiles Meriones Idomeneus, Squire; Which I suppose was the common name for Parasites. Where observe, that Homer vouchsafes not to equall Idomeneus, though Iupiters son, to Mar [...], but Meriones, his Parasite. Was not Aristogiton the popular, and poor, as Thucidides stiles him, Parasite to Harmodius? Nay was he not his favourite? For parasites are their favourites who feed them. This parasite, when a Tyranny was growing over the Citty of Athens, restored it to Liberty; and now (after his effeminacies) stands in a statue of Brasse, erected to him in the market place. Such famous examples have there been of parasites. By this time, then, you may imagine what kind of Souldier a parasite is in war. He never en­ters his files, but breakes his Fast first, like Ulisses. And though he be to fight never so early in the morning, he will not fight empty. And the time which other Souldi­ers spend fearfully in putting on their Armes, one his Helmet, another his Breastplate, tremblingly suspicious of the misfortunes of warre, he cheerfully spends in eat­ing, and marching with the formost is presently ready for encounter: whilest his patron, who feeds him, closely followes at his back; whom, as Ajax did Teucer, he co­vers with his shield, and warding off the enemies darts, beares himself naked to protect him; more careful to pre­serve him, then himself. Then, no Parasite falls in warre vvith the shame of the Generall, or Souldiers. Of so goodly a carkasse is he, and so like himself, sitting at a banquet; by vvhom, a dead Philosopher layd shevvs vvitherd, nasty, a long bearded carkasse, slayn before the battle, a man of no strength: vvho vvould not despise that City vvhich had such miserable Guards? vvho seeing such vvanne long hayred fellovves lying, vvould not thinke the State, for vvant of better Souldiers, had let loose their prisons, and malefactors to the vvarre? Parasites, [Page 329] then, in martiall expeditions excell Oratours, and Philo­sophers. In times of peace Parasitry, in my judgment, as much exceeds Philosophy, as peace exceeds war. First, then, (if please you) let us consider the places of peace.

Tychiades.

I understand not your drift; but let us con­sider them.

Parasite.

I may call Courts of Judicature, wrastling places, races, huntings, and banquets, places of peace.

Tychiades.

You may.

Parasite.

A parasite frequents not Courts of Judica­ture; places, in my opinion, fit only for Sycophants, where nothing is done by moderation, or rule. But he followes, and is the only man who adornes places of ex­ercise, race, and entetainment. What Philosopher, or O­ratour, stript for wrastling, can show a body to be com­pared with a parasite? or which of them seen in a race Would not be a reproach to the place? Not one of them in a desert can withstand a wild boar: whose assaults a parasite expects, and easily encounters, being used to contemn such beasts at entertainments. So that neither Stagge, nor bristled Boar affrights him; but if he whet his teeth at him, he whets his teeth at him again. He pur­sues a hare more then [...]ounds do. At a feast who can enter the list with a parasite, for mirth and eating? who more cheers the Guests? He who sings and breakes jests, or he who sits demure, in a patcht gown, with a down­cast looke, as if he were invited to a funerall, not a feast? Methinkes a Philosopher at a feast is just like a dogge in a stew. But, to omitt such expressions, let us now passe on, and consider, and compare a parasites life. First, you may observe him to be a perfect contemner of Glory, and neg­ligent of the things of opinion. But you shall scarce finde an Oratour, or Philosopher not given to fame, and dis­dain; And, which is yet worse, to mony. whereas a parasite is no more taken with Silver, then another man [Page 330] with the pibles on the shoare; Nor doth Gold, in his account, differ at all from fire. But pleaders, and (what is yet more unworthy) they who professe wisedome, are so wretchedly affected with gayne, that some of the most famed Philosophers, (for I forbear to speake of Oratours) sell justice for reward; others take pay for teaching their Scholers Sophistry. Another is not ashamed to receive a pension from the King for his attendance; Another, though of decrepit age, travells and hires himself out like an Indian, or Scythian Captive; nor hold they gain to be a word of reproach. Nor are these their only faults, you may perceive them lyable to the most unruly passions too; as discontents, rages, envyings, and lusts of all sorts. Af­fections unknown to a parasite. Whose patience suffers him not to be angry; nor hath he an enemy to be angry with. If at any time he be provokt, his Choller is not troublesome, or mischievous, but rather stirres mirth, and delights the company. Of all men he is least troubled with sadnesse. For 'tis the benefit, and priviledge of his profession, to grieve at nothing. Besides, he hath neither wealth, nor house, nor servant, nor wife, nor children, whose losse may afflict him. Then, he neither covets reputation, nor riches, nor beauty.

Tychiades.

But methinks, Simo, want of maintenance should grieve him.

Parasite.

You are deceived, Tychiades, if you take him for a true parasite who at any time wants maintenance. As he is not valiant, who wants courage, nor he wise, who lacks wisedom; so 'tis with a Parasite. Of whom I novv speak, as he is a parasite in deed, not in title, and name. If, then, a valiant man be not valiant, if he have not va­lour; nor a vvise man, vvise, if he have not vvisedom, so a parasite is not a parasite, unlesse he have the Art of a Para­site. He then, that cannot suck maintenance from any o­ther man, falls not under my discourse, of a parasite.

Tychiades.

Will you never allow him, then, to vvant maintenance?

Parasite.
[Page 331]

No. Which makes him not grieve for that, or any thing else. Whereas all Philosophers, and great O­ratours are surrounded vvith feares. So that you may see most of them vvalk vvith staves; vvhich they vvould not do, if they feared not other men weapond. Then, they firmly bolt their doores, to prevent any night attempt. Whilest the parasite slightly shuts the doore of his cottage, meerly to keep out the wind. A night attempt no more frights him, then if there were no such matter. If he be to passe though a desert he travells without a sword; so se­cure and fearlesse is he. But I have often seen Philoso­phers, upon no appearance of danger, make ready their bow, nor dare they go to a bathe, or invitation without a staffe. Then, no man can charge a parasite with adulte­ry, force, rapine, or any other crime. For then he were not a parasite, but would much wrong himself: so that if he should be caught in adultery, he should with the offence purchase the name too. For as a malefactor leaves of to be a good man, and becomes a wicked; so an offending pa­rasite leaves off to be what he was, and assumes the compel­lation of his offence. But we not only see many such offen­ces committed by the Philosophers of our times, but have large monuments of their crimes recorded in their wri­tings. Socrates, Aeschines, Hyperides, Demosthenes, and most Oratours and Philosophers have had their Apologyes. But never Parasite needed a defence, because no man can give an instance of an invective writ against him.

Tychiades.

I confesse a Parasites life is much better then an Oratours, or Philosophers, but his death is worse.

Parasite.

'Tis much happier. For wee know that all, or most Philosophers have had unfortunate ends. Some found guilty, and sentenced for heynous offences, by poyson; others have wholy perisht by fire, others by the strangury; others have dyed banisht. But none can tell of a Parasite who dyed so, or who had not the happinesse [Page 332] to dye eating, and drinking. Or if any have felt a violent death, 'twas a flight, not an execution.

Tychiades.

You have sufficiently compared a Parasite with Philosophers. It now remaines that you show of what use he is to his nourisher, and patron. For methinks rich men maintain you out of benevolence, and charity, not without your infamies who are so maintained,

Parasite.

I thought you not so simple, Tychiades, as not to know, that a rich man, though he possesses Gyges wealth, dining alone is poor, and appearing in publique without his parasite is a beggar. And as a Souldier without his armes, or apparell without its scarlet, or a horse with­out his trappings is pricelesse; so a rich man without his parasite is held base, and contemptible; so that the parasite is a credit to the rich man, but not the rich man to the pa­rasite. Nor is it (what ever you thinke) any disgrace for the worse to be parasite to the better. It behooves, then, every rich man to keep his parasite, both for the honour, and the safety which he receives from his attendance. For no man will easily offer to quarrell with him so guarded. Next, no man that keeps a parasite can well be poysond. For who will make such an attempt upon him who hath such a taster? A rich man, then not only receives fame, but preservation from his parasite: who out of affection to his patron undergoes all his dangers, and chooseth not only to eat, but to dye with him.

Tychiades.

Trust mee, Simo, you have not been defective, nor came you, (as you pretended) unprepared to the deci­phering of your Art, of which you seem to be so practi­sed a master. For the future, therefore, if you can deliver the name from disgrace, I will learn to be a parasite.

Parasite.

To this my answer shall be (since you thinke I have otherwise said enough) a question; to which an­swer as well as you can. What did the Ancients call [...]?

Tychiades.

Food.

Parasite.
[Page 333]

And doth not, [...] signifie to be fed?

Tychiades.

Yes.

Parasite.

'Tis plain, then, that to be a parasite (which is derived from [...] anothers, and [...] meate) is nothing but to be one fed by another.

Tychiades.

Therein Simo, lyes the infamy, and scan­dall.

Parasite.

Pray answer me once more: which of the two would you choose. To be the saylor, or passen­ger?

Tychiades.

The passenger.

Parasite.

The Racer, or the Better?

Tychiades.

The Better.

Parasite.

The Horse, or the Rider?

Tychiades.

The Rider.

Parasite.

The Arrow, or the Archer?

Tychiades.

The Archer.

Parasite.

And would you not rather choose to be fed, then to be the feeder?

Tychiades.

I confesse my self convinced. Henceforth like school-boyes I vvill come to you mornings, and after­noons, to learne your Art. Which, being your first scholer, I hope you vvill teach me vvithout reservation or envy▪ For they say mothers love their first child best.

The Lover of Lyes; or the incredulous.

The Speakers, Tychiades and Philocles.
Tychiades

CAn you tell me the reason, Philocles, why most men desire to lye, and delight not only to speake fictions themselves, but give busie attention to others who do?

Philocles.

There be many reasons, Tychiades., which compell some men to speake untruthes, because they see 'tis profitable.

Tychiades.

This is nothing to the purpose. My questi­on concern'd not them who lye for profit: for such de­serve pardon; and some praise, who have thereby defeated their enemies, and used it as a preservative against dan­gers; like Vlysses, who by such slights secured his own life, and the return of his companions. But I now speake of those, who preferre the very lye before truth, and take pleasure to busie themselves in fables, without any neces­sary judgment. I would fain know what motives such men have to do so.

Philocles.

Have you met with any born with such a naturall love to lying?

Tychiades.

There are many such.

Philocles.

What other motive can they have not to speak truth, but their madnesse? Else certainly, they would ne­ver preferre the worst thing before the best.

Tychiades.

This is nothing; since I can show you many of great discretion, and wisedome in other things, who yet are Captives to this delusion, and love of lyes. Nor am I a little troubled to see men of excellent judgment in [Page 335] other things, take delight to deceive themselves, and o­thers. You cannot but know those ancients better then I, Herodotus, Ctesias the Cnidian, and the Poets before them, Homer especially; All men of great name, whose writings are stored with fictions. So that they not only deceived their hearers then, but have conveyed their lyes to us also in a preserved succession of excellent Poetry, and verses. I cannot, therefore, but blush for them, as often as they speak of a Schisme in heaven, of Prometheus chains, the Gy­ants Insurrection, and the whole Tragedy of Hell. How Iupiter, also, for love became a Bull, or Swan; and how a woman was transform'd into a Fowl, or Bear. Besides their Pegasus's, Chimaera's, Gorgon's, Cyclop's, and the like strange prodigious fables, fit only to recreate the mindes of children, who yet fear Goblins, and Fayries. But these are things tolerable in Poets. How ridiculous is it that whole Cittyes, and Nations should unanimously a­gree in a publique lye? Thus the Cretans are not ashamed to show Iupiters Tombe. The Athenians say that Ericthoni­us grew from the earth, and that the first people of Attica sprung from thence, like Coleworts. Yet these speak much modestlyer then the Thebans, who derive them­selves from a serpents teeth sown. Yet he who takes not such ridiculous fictions for true, but upon discreet exami­nation thinks it proper only for a Coroebus, or Margites, to beleve that Triptolemus was caryed through the Air by winged Dragons; Or that Pan came asistant to the Greeks from Arcadia into Marathon; Or that Orithyia was ravisht by Boreas; is held irreligious, and foolish, for dissenting from such clear and evident truths. So powerfull is a re­ceived lye.

Philocles.

Yet both Poets, Tychiades, and Cittyes are thus excusable, that the one mingle fictions with their wri­tings, the better to take their readers. The Athenians, The­bans and other countryes, make their beginnings more majestick, from such fabulous Originalls. Besides, should [Page 336] all fiction be banisht Greece, how many reporters would dye of famine? Since none there are patient to hear truth spoken gratis. In my judgment, therefore, they who de­light in lyes, for no other reason but because they are lyes, are most deservedly to be laught at.

Tychiades.

You say true. I now came from the learned Eucrates, where I heard many things fabulous, and incre­dible; or rather leaving them in the midst of their discour­ses, impatient of na [...]rations so much beyond beliefe, like so many Hobgoblins they scared mee away with their prodigyes, and wonders.

Philocles.

Aeucrates, Tychiades, is a man of credit, nor can I beleeve that one of so deep a beard, of the age of threescore, and of such continued study in Philosophy, should endure to heare another faign in his presence, much lesse that he should offer to faign himself.

Tychiades.

You know not, my friend, what lyes he told, how constantly he affirmed them, and mingled Oathes with his fictions, and produced his children for witnesses. So that I looking upon him▪ thought variously; sometimes that he was mad, and beside himself; some­times that being a cheater he had long scape't my discovery; and had carryed about a contemptible Ape in a Lyons shape: so absurd were his discourses.

Philocles.

In the name of Vesta, what were they, Tychia­de [...]? I long to know what cosenage he could disguise with so long a beard.

Tychiades.

I usually, at other times, when I had leisure, Tychiades, visited him. But to day having occasion to speake with Leontichus, (who as you know, is my inti­mate friend) and being told by his boy that he was early in the morning gone to visit Eucrates, who lay sicke, as wel to meet Leontichus, as to see him, (of whose sickness I was till then ignorant) I went thither. Where I found not Leontichus, (who, as they said, was newly departed) but a crowd of others; Among whom was Cleodemus [Page 337] the Peripatetick, Dinomachus the Stoick, and Ion; you know him; he that is so admired for Plato's discourses, as if he only understood exactly his meaning, and were able to be his interpreter to others. You see what men I name to you▪ All Sages, famed for vertue, heads of their severall sectes; All venerable, and carrying an awfull terrour in their lookes. There was present, also, Antigonus the Physi­tian, sent for, I suppose, out of necessity of the disease. Though Eucrates seemed to be much upon the recovery, and his sicknesse not dangerous. For the humour was a­gaine fallen into his feet. As soon as Eucrates saw me, re­mitting his voice he feebly bad me sit down by him on the bed: whom, as I entred, I heard lowd, and shrill. I very carefull not to touch his feet, and using the accusto­med complement, that I knew not of his sicknesse, but up­on the first intimation came post, sate neer him. The dis­course of the company was concerning his disease; of which they had in part already spoken; and were then go­ing on, each severally to prescribe a severall medicine, and cure. Take up from the ground, said Cleodemus, with your left hand the tooth of a weesill, so kill'd as I said be­fore, bind it in a Lyons skinne, newly flead, then wrap it about your legges, and your pain will presently cease. 'Tis not in a Lyons skinne, as I have heard, said Dino­machus, but in a Virgin Hindes skinne unbuckt; And so the receipt is more probable. For a Deer is swift, and most strong of feet. A Lyon, indeed, is strong, and his fatte, and right paw, and the stiffe haires of his beard are of great vertue, if one know how to apply them every one with his proper charm. But they promise small cure of the gowte. I, also, once thought, said Cleodemus, that a Stagges skinne was to be used for his fleetnes [...]e, but since a certain wise Lybian hath me taught otherwise, and told me that Lyons are swifter then Buckes; For they, said he, catch these in hunting. The rest praised his reason, as well delivered by the Lybian. Then, said I, do you thinke such [Page 338] diseases, as this, are cured by charmes or that an inward malady is eased by an outward spell? Whereat they smi­led, and seemed much to condemne my sillynesse as not knowing a thing so received, and not gainsaid, or dis­proved by any understanding man. Antigonus the Phy­sitian seemed pleased with my question; who, it seemes, was formerly neglected in his offers to cure Eucrates by the prescriptions of his Art; which enjoyn'd him to abstain from wine, to eat hearbes, and to studye more remissely. Cleodemus, in the mean time, smiling replyed say­ing, do you thinke it incredible, Tychiades, that such spells should be of power to cure diseases? I do, said I. Nor am I of so grosse a sense, to beleeve that such outward re­ceiptes, which have no affinity with the springs, and causes of the infirmity within, should worke, by charm, as you pretend, or by Imposture; or upon their bare ap­plication should instill cures. A thing not to be effected, though one should bind sixteen whole weesills in the Nemean Lyons skinne. I have often seen a Lyon halt, and go lame with pain in his whole skinne. You are a very punye, said Dinomachus, and have not learnt to know what power such spells have over diseases. Nor seem to me to understand the expulsion of periodicall fea­vers, the charming of serpents, and asswaging of botches, and other things performed by every old woman. All which being frequently done, why should you thinke cures of this nature impossible? You pile too much, Dinomachus, said I, and according to the proverb; drive out one naile with another. Nor doth it appear, that the things you speak of, are by such power effected. If, therefore, you prove not to me first by reason, that 'tis na­turally possible that a feaver, or blayn should be frighted with a divine name, or barbarous spell, and thereupon forsake the place swoln, you have but hitherto utter'd old wives tales. Thus saying, said Dinomachus, you seem not to beleeve there are Gods; since you thinke it beyond [Page 339] the power of their names to worke cures. Say not so, Good Sir, quoth I, for there may without impediment be Gods, and yet your prescriptions may bee deceitfull, and false. I adore the Gods, and behold their cures, and reco­veryes of sick people by regular medicines, and Physick. Aesculapius, and his followers heal'd the diseased by wholesome prescriptions, not by the application, of Ly­ons and Weesills. Let him enjoy his opinion, said Ion. I will report to you a miraculous passage. When I was a Boy, about the age of fourteen years, one came and told my father, that Midas, his Vinedresser, a stout industrious servant, about the time of full market lay stung of a Ser­pent, which presently gangrene'd his legge. For as he was bending a vine, and winding it about a pole, the Snake crept to him, and biting him by the great toe, presently slipt away, and retired into a hole. Whereupon he cryed out, and was ready to expire with payne. In the close of the relation we saw Midas himself, brought by his fellow servants in a chaire, swoln all over, discolourd, in appea­rance rankled, and scarce able to breath. My father being much grieved, a certain friend of his, there present, said, Take courage, Sir, I will presently fetch a Chaldaean, who shall cure him. Not to be tedious, the Babylonian came, restored Midas, and drew the venom from his body by a charm, and by the application of a stone, cut from the pillar of a deceast Virgin, to his feet: and, which is yet more, Midas rising from the chaire, in which he was brought, went back into the field; so powerfull was the charm, and the stone taken from the tomb. Among his ma­ny other miracles, which he wrought, he went one morning early into a field, where having pronounced seven certain sacred names, taken out of an ancient book, and purged the place with brimstone, and taper, and walkt it thrice round: hee assembled to him al the Serpents of the coun­try. So that drawn by force of the charm came many Snakes, Aspes, Vipers, Efts, Darters, Lizards, and Toades: [Page 340] only one ancient Dragon was left behinde; who for age, I believe, and not being able to crawle disobey'd the spell. Whereupon, All are not here, said the Magician; and pre­sently selecting one of the youngest Serpents, sent him Embassadour to the Dragon. Who not long after came al­so. When they were all assembled, the Babylonian puft up­on them, and presently to our astonishment they were all burnt with his breath. Then said I, pray tell me Ion, did the young Serpent Embassadour lead the old, or did he support himself by a staffe? You are merry, said Cleo­demus. I was once as great an Infidell in these things as you are now, and saw no reason to beleeve them; yet when I beheld the Barbarian stranger fly, (who as they report came from the North) I was convinced into a belief against my inclination. For what should I do, when I saw him carryed in the Aire, walking upon the water, and in a slow, and leisurely motion passe through the fire? But did you, said I, see a Northern man fly, or walke upon the wa­ter? Most certainly, replied he, shodde with pumpes, after the manner of his country. I forbear to speak of his smal­ler performances, his infusion of love, expulsion of devills, raising of the dead long buryed, publique presentment of Hecate, and drawing downe the moon from heaven. I will only report to you what I saw him do for Glaucias, the son of Anaxicles. Glaucias no sooner began to inherit his dead fathers estate but he fell in love with Chrysis, De­maenetus daughter. I was Tutor to his studies. Who, had not love diverted him, had by this time learnt all the Pe­ripateticke Sciences; since being but eighteen yeares old he had already gone over the Analytickes, and past through A­ristotles Physickes to the end. Thus perplext with love, he revealed himself to me: Who being his Tutor, as it became me, brought this Northern Magician to him, hired for four Crownes in hand (which were to buy things for the sa­crifice) and sixteen more when Glaucias enjoy'd Chrysis. He observing the moones increase, (the proper time for [Page 341] such inchantments) and having digged a hole in the house yard, about midnight, first call'd up to us Anaxicles, Glau­cias father, dead seven monthes before. The old man stor­med, and raged at his sonnes love, but in conclusion gave license to his affection. Next, he raised up Hecate, who brought Cerberus with her. Then he call'd down the Moon, a various spectacle, by reason of her diverse appea­rances, and changes. For first she resembled in counte­nance a woman; then she was transform'd into a beauti­full Cow; then into a little dogge. After this fashioning a little Cupid of Clay, Go, said he, and fetch Chrysis hither. The Clay presently flew away, and shortly after she came, and knockt at the door, and at her first entrance embraced Glaucias, show'd her self distractedly enamour'd, and ac­companied him till we heard the Cockes crow. Then the Moon flew to heaven, Hecate sunke into the earth, the Apparitions vanisht; and wee about day breake let Chry­sis depart. Had you seen this, Tychiades, you would not long distrust the force of charmes. You say well, said I, I would, indeed, beleeve this, had I seen it. But am otherwise to be pardon'd, if at such visions I be not as quick-sighted as you. As for the Chrysis, you speake of, I know her to be an easy amorous woman. Nor do I perceive any need why you should imploy an earthen Embassadour to her, or trouble a Magician from the North, or the Moon, for the affection of one whom for twenty drachmes you may draw as far as the North pole; being a woman so readily prepared to meet your Incantations: Though she be thus unlike your apparitions. For they (as you report) at the sound of Brasse, or Iron vanish: But she no sooner heares Silver, but she runs to the sound. Besides, I cannot but wonder at the Magician, that being able to inforce love towards himself in the women of greatest wealth, and thereby draw whole talents from them, he should for the inconsiderable price of four Crownes procure affection for Glaucias. 'Tis folly in you, said Ion, to beleeve nothing. [Page 342] I would faine ask you, what you think of them who have deliver'd Daemoniackes from their possessions; and have evidently charm'd forth their Devills. I need not tell you how many the Syrian, who came from Palestine, a man skill'd in such Arts, hath restored after they have faln down Lunatick, stared with their eyes, and foamed at mouth, and hath sent them away, cured, and releast them, for great summes, of their distempers. For standing by them as they lye, he askes the evill spirit from whence he entred into the Body. The possest person, mean time, is speechlesse, and the Devill replying, in Greek, or some barbarous language, tells from whence he is and how he entred the man; whereupon he by adjuration, and threats, if he offer to disobey, casts him out. I saw a Devill cast out black, and of the colour of soote. No marvaile I­on, said I, that you saw such visions; Plato the father of your sect hath taught you to see Idae [...]s, a spectacle too refi­ned, and subtle, for our dull sense. Many others as well as you, Ion, said Eucrates, have met with Devills, some by night, others by day, I have, not once, but a thousand times seen such Spectrums; and was at first frighted with them, but custome hath at length made them not strange, or un­familiar. Especially since an Arabian gave me a [...]ing, made of the Iron taken from a crosse, and taught me an ambigu­ous, diverse sensed charme; unlesse you refuse to give credit to me, also, Tychiades. How can I choose, said I, but be­leeve Eucrates, the son of Dino; especially being so wise a man, and having the freedom to speak what you please with authority in your owne house? Hear some passages of a statue of mine, then, said Eucrates; which nightly appears to all my family, both men, and maides; who can witnesse so much to you, as well as [...]. Of which of your Statues, said I? Did you not observe at your entrance, said he, a fair Statue standing in my hall, the work of Demetri­us, the Statuarie. Do you mean the Quoiter, said I, who stands wryed in a Gesture ready to deliver, with his quoit [Page 343] hand reverst, and one knee bent, as if he meant to vary posture, and rise with his throw? Not him, said hee; the Quoiter you speak of is one of Myrons peeces. Nor do I mean the fair Statue next to him, filletted about the head with a bend; which is a peece of Polycletus's. You are also to passe over those which stand on the right hand as you enter; among whom are the Tyrant-slayers, carved by Critias Nesiota. Did you not marke the statue by the conveyance of water, with the bigge belly, bald, half na­ked, part of the haires of his beard pluckt of, of huge si­newes, and every way resembling a man? I mean Peli­chus, he who is so like a Corinthian Captain. I saw such a one, said I, on the right hand of Saturn; having a wither'd wreath, and fillet on his head, and guilt Plates on his Brest. I, said Eucrates, caused them to be guilt, after he had in three dayes cured me of a desperate feaver. Was the famous Pelichus, then, a Physitian said I? He is now, and take heed how you scoffe at him, said Eucrates; least he shortly take revenge of you. I know the power of the Statue you laugh at; do you thinke he cannot as well in­flict a feaver, as expell one▪ Be so powerfull a Statue, pro­pitious, and mercifull to me, said I: pray, what else have your family seen him do? As soon as it begins to be night, said he, descending from his Pedestall, he walkes round the house; all my servants have often met him singing: he hurts none that give him way, but passeth by them with­out disturbance; he washeth himself much, and playes all night, as we guesse, by the noyse of the water. Consider, said I, whether your Statue be Pelichus, or Talus the Cretan, who lived with Mino [...], whose brasen Statue was Centi­nell, and guardian of the Country. Were he not made of Copper, but wood, I should probably thinke he were not the workmanshippe of Demetrius, but one of Daedalus motions. For you say, he frequently walkes from his Ba­sis. Beware, Tychiades, said he, you be not hereafter sorry for your floutes I could tell you what he suffer'd who stole [Page 344] the farthings, which we every new moon offer to him. The punishment of such a sacriledg must needs be dire­full, said Ion. Pray what was it, Eucrates? I desire to hear, how incredulous soever Tychiades be. Many far­things, said hee, lay at his feet, and some other Silver coynes were fastened with wax to his knees, besides di­verse Silver Plates, offer'd to him by the devotion, and gratitude of those whom he had recovered from feavers. A servant of mine, a Lybian, one of my Grooms, percei­ving the Statue one night absent, adventured to steal his oblations. Observe how Pelichus, finding himself, at his return, robbed, revenged himself, and bewrayed the theef. Who all night walkt up and down the Hall in a Circle, unable, like one faln into a Labyrinth, to get out; till next morning he was apprehended with his stealths about him, and proportionably whipt. Nor did he live long after, but dyed miserably beaten every night, as he said, and confirm'd it with the markes seen in his body next day. Now, if please you, Tychiades, said Eucrates, laugh at Peli­chus, and me, for a Doter of Mino's time. Certainly Eucrates, said I, as long as Brasse is Brasse, and your statue but the crea­ture of Demetrius, the Alopecian, who carved not Gods, but men, I shall not fear the Image of your Pelichus, nor much care for the threats of the originall were he alive. Here Antigonus, the Physitian, seconding him said, I, Eu­crates, have also a brazen Hippocrates, about a cubit long, which, as soon as the Candles are put out, walkes circu­larly through all the house, making a noyse, overturning boxes, compounding medicines, and flinging open doors: especially if we omit to pay him his yearly sacrifice. Doth Hippocrates the Physitian, then, require to be sacri­ficed to, said I, and take it ill if he be not feasted with ob­lations at his set times? Methinkes 'twere honour enough to power wine to him, or crown him with Garlands. Hear another passage, said Eucrates, which I with many other witnesses saw about five years past. One harvest [Page 345] time, having dispatcht my reapers about noon into the field, I solitarily retired my self into a wood, to weigh, and consider of some things. Where, at my first entrance, I heard the howling of dogges, which I imagined to be my sonne Mnason, going then abroad, as his manner is, with his companions to sport themselves, and hunt. But 'twas otherwise. For presently after followed an Earthquake, and a hideous bellowing like thunder. After this I saw a woman comming towards me of horrible aspect, and neer half a furlong tall, having in her left hand a Torch, in her right a Sword, at least twenty cubits long. She had downward feet like a Serpent, upwards in the horrour of her countenance, and visage, she resembled a Gorgon; having Snakes for hair, which partly twind about her neck, others hung loose on her shoulders. See, my good friends, said Eucrates, how I yet tremble to tell the story; and withall show'd us the hairs on his armes stiffe, and erected with fear. Ion, all the while and Dinomachus, and Cleodemus, ancient men, gave him serious attention as if drawn by the nose; and exprest a silent adoration of the incredible Colossus-half-furlong-woman, and gyant-like Hobgoblin. But I consider'd with my self, that such men as they, who read wisedome to young scholers, and were generally admired, differd only from children in their gray haires, and long beards, and were in all things else more easy to be deceived then they. Here Dinomachus put in, and said; pray tell me, Eucrates, of what size, and bignesse were her hounds? Bigger then Indian Elephants, replyed he, and alike black, their skinne as rough, squal­lide, and fowle. I▪ when I saw them, stood still, and withall turnd the seale of the ring which the Arabian gave mee to the inside of my finger. Whereupon Hecate stri­king the the ground with her serpentine feet, made a great Cleft, which reacht to hell, into which she sunk by degrees. I assuming courage, and taking hold of a neigh­bouring tree, least astonisht with the darknesse I should [Page 346] chance to fall in headlong, lookt in, and saw all the things of Hell; The burning lake of Phlegeton, Cerberus, and Ghosts; some of which I knew, especially my father, whom I saw in the very garments wee buried him. Pray, Eucrates, said Ion, what did the soules departed do? What should they do, answer'd he, but converse in companies, and societies with their frends, and Allyes, in the Daffodill mead? Henceforth, then, said Ion, let the followers of Epicurus urge arguments against Plato, and his discourses of the soul. But did you not see Socrates, and Plato, among the dead? Socrates, replied he, I saw, but not more clearly then to guesse at him by his baldness and strutting belly. Pla­to I knew not, nor is't fit I speak more then truth to my friendes. After I had taken an exact and universall sur­vey of things, the vault closed, and some of my servants, of which my man Pyrrhias here was one, came thither to seek me before 'twas quite shut. Speake, Pyrrhias, do I say true? Most true, by Iupiter, Sir, said the fellow; for I my self heard the barking of the dogges through the cave, and saw the flashes of the Torch. Here I smiled to hear the howling; and flames put in by the witnesse. You have seen nothing strange, said Cleodemus, or what hath not been seen by others▪ For I, in my sicknesse, not long since, saw the like apparition. At which time Antigonus, here, visited me, and gave me seven dayes Physick for a feaver, more hot, and violent then fire. One day all left the room, shut the door, and stay'd without, by your prescription, Antigonus; if perchance solitarinesse might entice me into a slumber. But I, lying awake, saw a good­ly youth approach me, clothed in white: who after he had raysed me, lead me through such another cleft down to hell; as I presently perceived, when I beheld Tantalus, Tityus, and Sisyphus. What need I report to you the rest? Briefly, I was brought to a Tribunal, where vvere present Aeacus, Charon, the Destinies, and Furies. Where, also, one sate as King, vvho seemed to be Pluto, by his reading [Page 347] of a Catalogue of their names who were to dye, and had already out-lived their limited time. The young man brought me, and presented me to him. But Pluto much displeased, said to him, his thred is not yet quite [...]punne, let him, therefore, depart again. And fetch Demy­lus the Brasier, who hath exceeded his distaffe. Where­upon I joyfully return'd, releast of my feaver, and told all my neighbours, that Demylus was shortly to dye. Who then, also, lay sick, as 'twas reported. And shortly after wee heard the Cryes of them that lamented his death. What miracle is this? Said Antigonus. I knew one, who after he had been buried twenty dayes, rose again. For I gave him Physick before his death, and after his resurre­ction. Methinkes, said I, in twenty dayes his body should putrifie, or perish with famine. Unlesse you ad­ministred to an Epimenides. As we thus discourst, came in Eucrates sonnes from exercise. One a grown youth, the other about the age of fifteen. Who having saluted us sate down upon the bed by their father; and a chair was brought for me. Here Eucrates taking fresh hint from the presence of his sonnes, said, so may I have Comfort of these two, (and laid his hands on them) as that which I shall now tell you, Tychiades, is true. 'Tis well known how dearly I loved my vvife, the mother of these, of hap­py memory: vvhich I exprest both in my carriage to her vvhile she lived, & after her death. For I burnt vvith her her vvhole vvardrobe, & the garments she most delighted in vvhen she lived. The seventh day after her funerall, I lay in this bed, as I do novv, having abated my sorrovv. And silently reading to my self Plato's little tract of the soul, De­maenete entred, and sate dovvn by me, as Eucratides (poin­ting to his younger son) doth now. The boy childishly trembled, and vvaxt pale at the narration. I, proceeded Eu­crates, as soon as I beheld her, imbraced her and sobbingly shed teares. She permitted me not to vveep, but blamed me, that after all my other expressions of affection to her, [Page 348] I had not burnt one of her guilt pantofles; which, she said, was fallen down behind a chest: which, we not finding, cast only the other into the funerall pile. As we thus talkt, an unhappy dogge, which I loved, lying upon the bed, barkt, at which sound she vanisht. Afterwards wee found the slipper under the Chest, and burnt it. Can you still doubt, Tychiades, of truthes so manifest, and eve­ry day apparent? By Iove, said I, they deserve to be clapt with a guilt Sandall, like children, who do not beleeve you, or impudently question the truth. Here Arignotus, the Pythagorean, entred, a man of long hair, and venera­ble aspect. You know he is famous for his wisedome, and Sirnamed the Sacred. I was something relieved with his sight, and, according to the proverb, thought I had now got an Axe against lyes. For certainly, said I to my self, this wise man will stoppe their mouthes from repor­ting any more such prodigies. In a word, I thought fortune had unexpectedly sent some God to my succour. He sit­ting down in a place which Cleodemus resigned to him, first, enquired of Eucrates his disease, and being informed how he did, askt us what we discourst of: for as I entred, said he, methought I heard you busied in an excellent sub­ject. We were perswading this man of Adamant, said Eu­crates, pointing at me, to beleeve there were Devills. And that the shades, and soules of men departed, did wander up and down the earth, and appear to whom they plea­sed. I could not choose but blush, and fix my looke to the ground, out of reverence to Arignotus. Perchance, Eucra­tes, said he, Tychiades holds that their Soules only do walk who dyed violently, namely such as were strangled, be­headed, crucified, or the like; and that those who dye na­turally walke not. If this be his opinion, he is not to be blamed. No such matter, replyed Dinomachus, he neither holdes that there are such things, or that they were ever seen. How say you, Sir; said Arignotus, looking frowningly upon me, do you deny such apparitions as are visible to [Page 349] all? You must pardon my Infidelity, said I, who never saw any. If I had, I should beleeve, as You do. If ever you go to Corinth, said he, ask for the house of Eubatides; and when 'tis shown you, by the Craneum, enter, and tell Tibius the Porter, you desire to see the place from whence Arignotus the Pythagorean conjured away the Devill, and rendred the house habitable. May wee request the whole story? Replyed Eucrates. The house, said he, being haun­ted, was of a long time undwelt in. If any did adventure to inhabite it, they were scared, and persecuted away by a horrid, and dismall Apparition; So that it began to fall to ruine, and the roofe to droppe; nor had any man the cou­rage to enter into it. When I heard hereof, carrying with me certain Aegyptian bookes (of which I have store upon such Arguments) I went to the house about the first sleep, much disswaded, and almost violently restrayned by mine Host, after he knew vvhither I meant to go; verily suppo­sing I vvent to my destruction. Notvvithstanding, I taking a Taper vvith me entred the house alone, and placing the linke in the great hall, and my self on the floor, read silent­ly to my self. In comes the Devill, thinking he vvas to deal vvith some vulgar fellovv, and hoping to fright me like o­thers. A rough, shaggy fiend, and blacker then darknesse it self. At his first appearance he tryed, by making an orbi­cular assault, to vanquish me, and sometimes turn'd him­self into a Dogge, then into a Bull, lastly into a Lyon. But I having a direfull Spell in readinesse, vvhich I pronounced in the Aegyptick tongue, charm'd him back into a darke corner of the house. And having vvell observed the place vvhere he sunk, I left speaking. In the morning, after eve­ry bodyes dispair, vvho thought to find me slayn, like o­thers, I, against the expectation, came forth and vvent to Eubatides; And told him the glad nevves, that he might safely inhabit his house, vvhich vvas novv purged and freed from Divells. Withall taking him, and many others (vvho follovved out of curiosity, along vvith me to the [Page 350] place where I saw the fiend vanish, I commanded it to be digged with pickaxes, and spades. We had not dig­ged aboue a yard deep, but we found a dead man, consu­med, and nothing left to represent him but the Scele­ton. Which we took up and buried. And from that time the house ceased to be molested with visions. When A­rignotus had finisht his narration, being a man of prodi­gious wisedome, and generally reverenced, there were not any of the company who did not condemne me of stupidity for being incredulous. Neverthelesse, I, neither daunted with his beard, nor their opinion of him, said, can such a man as you, Arignotus, from whom alone I hoped to hear the truth, be fraught also with fumes and Phantasmes? You have verified the proverb, I have found coales for treasure. If, said, Arignotus, you neither beleeve me, nor Dinomachus, nor Cleodemus, nor Eucrates, whom can you produce more Authentick to disprove us? A man much admired, said I, Democritus the Abderite. Who was so smally perswaded of such fictions, that shutting him­self up in a monument without the Citty, he there lived, wrot, and composed nights, and dayes. And when cer­tain boyes, desirous to scare, and fright him, arrayed them­selves like Ghosts in blacke Garments, and wearing coun­terfeit vizards on their heads, surrounded him, and fre­quently skipt about him, he neither feared their disguises, nor at all reguarded them, but wrot on, and bid them cease to play the fooles. So firmly did he beleeve, that Soules were nothing after their departure from the body. Cer­tainly, replyed Eucrates, Democritus was the veryer fool to thinke so. I will, therefore, report one story more, in which I my self was an Actor, and tooke it not up upon relation. Perchance when you hear it, Tychiades, the truth of the narration, will convince you. When I lived in Ae­gypt, yet a boy, sent thither by my father, to learn their Arts, I had a desire to saile to Coptus, and from thence to hear the famous Memnon sound at the rising of the sun. [Page 351] Whom I heard, not as others ordinarily do, yeeld an un­significant sound; But Memnon himself utter'd Oracles to me, and open'd his mouth in seven verses. Which, but that I should digresse, I would repeat to you. As we were at Sea, there sayled in company with us a certain holy Priest of Memphis, admired for his wisedome, and skill'd in all the learning of the Aegyptians. He was said to have lived three and twenty years in a cave under ground, and there to have learnt Magick of Isis. You mean my Tutor Pancrates, replyed Arignotus, he is a religious man, sha­ven, goes in linnen, is very learned, speakes Greek purely, is tall of stature, hath a bow nose, full lippes, and small legges. The very same answer'd Eucrates. At first I knew not who he was. But when I saw him, after our arrivall in the port, among many other miracles which he wrought, ride upon Crocodiles, approach such cruell beasts, and they to reverence him, and wagge their tayles, I guessed him to be some sacred person. And by degrees insinuated my self into his acquaintance, and friendship. So that at length he revealed all his secrets, and mysteryes to me. To be short, he perswaded me to leave all my servants at Memphis, and to accompany him alone; who promised we should not want attendants. And from that time thus we lived. When we came into an Inne, he ta­king the bolt of the door, or a broom, or bar, and clo­thing it, spoke a charm to it, and enabled it to go, and in all things to resemble a man. The thing going forth, would draw water, provide, and dresse our supper, and diligently wait, and attend upon us. After his businesse was done, he pronounced another charm, and turn'd the broom into a broom again, and the pestle into a pestle. This was an Art which, though I labour'd much, I could not learn of him. For this was a mystery which he deny­ed me, though in all things else he were open. One day, hiding my self in a darke corner, I overheard his charm, which was but three syllables. He having appointed the [Page 352] bolt its businesse, went into the market. The next day, he having some other imployment in the market, I taking the pestle, and apparelling it, in like manner pronounced the syllables, and bid it fetch me some water. When it had brought me a bason full, 'tis enough, said I, fetch no more, but be a pestle, again. But it was so far from obey­ing me, that it ceast not to fetch water till it had overflown the room. I, much troubled at the accident, and fearing least if Pancrates should return (as he did) he would be much displeased, took an Axe, and cut the pestle in two. Then both partes taking severall buckets fetcht water. And in stead of one, I had two servants. In the mean time Pancrates came in, and perceiving what had happen'd, transform'd them into wood again, as they were before I utter'd the spell. Shortly after he secretly left me, and va­nishing went I know not wither. And can you now, said Dinomachus, make a man of a bolt? I have but one half of the Art replyed he, nor am I able to return him in­to his former shape If, therefore, I once make him a water bearer; we shall be driven from the house by a deluge. Will you old men, said I, never leave to speake monstrous fictions? If for no other reason, yet for these young boyes sakes, forbear your improbable, and terrible narrations till some other time, least they be insensibly fil'd with uncouth affrightments, & fables. Accustome them not to hear things which will make impressions, and trouble them all their life; make them start at every sound, and fill them with di­verse superstitions. You do well, said Eucrates, to put me in minde of superstition. Pray what think you of Oracles, Tychiades, & Predictions, & Prophecies, utter'd by people inspired, and heard from Curtaines, or delivered in verse by a Virgin, which foretells things to come Cannot these things fall under your belief neither? I forbear to tell you that I have a sacred ring whose seale beares the image of Apollo, and that the God himself frequently talkes with me; least you should thinke I faine this of my self, out of [Page 353] arrogance, I will only tell you what I saw and heard from Amphilochus at Mallus, who entertained me with a long discourse, and consulted the Oracle concerning my af­faires. Next I will report to you what I saw at Pergamus, & heard at Patara. When I sail'd homeward from Aegypt, be­ing inform'd that there was an open, infallible Oracle at Mallus, which verbatim gave clear answers to every mans inquiryes, written in a note, and deliver'd to his Priest, I thought I should do well, as I sayl'd by, to try the Oracle, and consult the God concerning my future fortunes. I by this entrance perceiving that Eucrates was likely to length­en his story, and that he had begun no very compendi­ous discourse of Oracles, and not holding it fit to contradict them longer, leaving him sailing from Aegypt to Mallus (for I saw them discontented with my presence, as an opposer of their fictions) I will take my leave, said I, and go seek Le­ontichus. For I have urgent occasion to meet with him. You, who thinke humane passages not sufficient, have the liberty to call the Gods into your fabulous discourses. And having so said, I departed. They, glad of their free­dome, in likelyhood entertained, and feasted them­selves with impostures. I, cloy'd with what I heard, am come to you, Philocles, just like those who having drunk new wine, and swoln their belly, have need to vomit: I would give any money for a potion of obli­vion to make me forget, and to wash away the mis­chievous remembrance of what I heard. Who still, methinkes, see monsters, Devils and Hecates.

Philocles.

I, also, suffer'd in your relations, Tychiades. For they say, that they not only grow distracted, and fear the water, who are bitten by mad dogges, but if the man bitten bite another, 'tis equall to the bite of a dogge, and begets the like distemper▪ so you having been bitten by Eucrates fictions, have bit­ten me also, and filled my fancy with Devills.

Tychiades.

However let us take courage, since we [Page 354] have an excellent Antidote to cure us, truth, and right reason. Which if we make our rule, we shall be troubled with no such empty, and vain falshoods.

A defence of dancing.

The Speakers. Lycinus, and Crato.
Lycinus.

Since, Crato, by the bitternesse of your inve­ctive, I guesse you have long studyed to di­sparage both dances, and the Art of dancing, and us who delight in such showes, as if we misbusied our selves in a vain, womanish exercise, know the great­nesse of your errour, and how much you have decei­ved your self, to blame one of the most excellent recre­ations of life. Though you are to be pardon'd, if having originally been bred to a sowre life, and taught to hold nothing commendable, which is not severe, your want of experience have cast you upon such Detractions.

Crato.

For you, most delicate Lycinus, being such a man as you are, well bred, and indifferently instructed in Philosophy, to forsake the best studies, and the conversa­tion of the Ancients, to sit listning to fidlers, and to see an effeminate fellow loosly clad, charm you with bawdy songes, and act the loves of such ancient strumpets as the lustfull Phaedra, Parthenope, and Rhodope, and all this per­form'd with Knick-Knacks, obscene gestures, and sounds of the feet, are, doubtlesse, most ridiculous pastimes, and little beseeming one of your free education. Wherefore hearing how you imployed your time in such spectacles, I not only blusht for you, but was much grieved, that having studyed Plato, Chrysippus, and Aristotle, you should sit and suffer, like them whose eares are [...]ickled with a fea­ther. There being otherwise numberlesse entertainments, [Page 355] As vertuous Sights, rare Musitians, and artificiall Singers to the Harp, in grave Tragedyes, and merry Comedyes, which deserve to be stiled exercises. You had need, therefore, gentle Sir, frame a large Apology to the lear­ned, if you mean not to be utterly expell'd, and banisht from the flock of the vertuous. Your best course, there­fore, in my opinion, will be to cure all by a deniall, and not at all to confesse your self guilty of such a crime. And for the future take heed least, unknown to us, of the man you were, you be transformed into some Lyde, or Bacche. And so not only raise an imputation on your self, but on us also, if like Ulysses, wee draw you not from the inchanted cup, and reduce you to your former studyes, before you be insensibly ensnared by the Syrens of the Theater. For they laid Siege only to the ear, and might be sayl'd by by the help of wax: but you seem wholly ca­ptived by your eyes.

Lycinus.

Trust me, Crato, you have let loose your fierce dogge upon me. But your example of the Lote-eaters, and instance of the Syrens, carry no resemblance to my case: since they, who tasted the Lote, and heard the Syrens, perisht; as the reward of their Luxury, and Attention. Whereas I, besides the wonderfull pleasure I have con­ceived, have hence raised excellent advantage. For I am neither fallen into the oblivion of my household affaires, or into an ignorance of the things concerning my self, but to speake without dissimulation, have returned from the Theater much wiser, and sharper sighted in the businesse of life. More fitly, therefore, might you have alleadged out of Homer, that he who saw the charming spe­ctacle sayled away delighted, and the more amply in­structed.

Crato.

Good Hercules! What a loft man are you, Ly­cinus, Who in stead of being ashamed, can boast of your follyes? So desperate is your case, that you afford us not any hope of a cure, thus to praise exercises so [Page 356] fowle, and detestable▪

Lycinus.

Pray tell me, Crato, have you frequently seen dancing, and the passages of the Theater, which you thus accuse [...] O [...] unac [...]ustomed to such spectacles, do you hold them thus detestable, and unworthy? If you have been a Spectatour, you are as faulty as I: if you have not, take heed your reprehension show not unreasonable, and overbold, thus to blame what you know not.

Crato.

'Twould fairly have become, indeed, my long beard, and white head to sit among a crowd of women, and frantick Spectatours, and there to clappe, and hurle absurd praises, to a wretched fellow, who weepes with­out cause.

Lycinus.

You are to be excused, Crato. Yet if you will for once obey my perswasion, and for meer triall sake afford your presence, and submit your eyes, I am certain you will not afterwards refrain to take up the first, & most commodious place in the Theater, from whence you may both exactly see, and hear all.

Crato.

May cleanlinesse forsake me, when I do so; And may my limbes be for ever rough, and my chinne unsmooth, as I pitty you perfectly gone in a distracti­on.

Lycinus.

Sparing your blasphemies, then, wil't please you to hear me say something of dancing, and of the commodityes which attend it? How it not only delights, but profits the beholders? how greatly it teacheth, and in­structs, & fashions the mind of the Spectatours, entertain­ing them with excellent presentments, & exercising them with the best lectures, and at once expressing a common amiablenesse of the soule, and body? Now that all this is performed with Musick, and number, is not the dispa­ragement but praise of dancing.

Crato.

I have not much leisure to heare a mad man speake in praise of his distemper: yet if you will needes vent your toyes, I am prepared to yeeld you friendly atten­tion, [Page 357] and to lend my eares, and shall be able without wax to endure your triflings. Here, then, I become silent, speake your pleasure, as if no man heard you.

Lycinus.

'Twas the thing I should have craved of you, Crato. For you shall shortly perceive whether what I shall say appear to you trifling. First, then, you plainly seem to mee not to know, that dancing is no new inven­tion, or of yesterdayes, or the other dayes growth, or born among our fore-fathers, or their Ancestours. But they who most truely derive dancing, say it sprung with the first beginning of the universe; and had a birth equally as ancient as love. Since the regular motion of the starres, and the combination of the fixt with the planets, their musicall consort, and well order'd harmony, are but so many examples of the originall of dancing. Which increasing by degrees, and alwaies gain­ing new accesses for the best, hath at length arrived to its perfection, and is become a various, harmonious, and musicall vertue. The Goddesse Cybele, as they report, first delighted with the Art, enjoyned the Coribantes in Phry­gia, and the Curetes in Creet, to use dancing. From whose practice of it she received no small benefit. For they, dancing round him, saved her sonne Iupiter; who cannot but ascribe his preservation to them, by whose measures he escapt his fathers teeth. The manner of their dancing was in Armour, with Swords clasht against Bucklers; at once expressing a divinely inspired, & warlike measure. In time, the noblest Cretans studiously addi­cting themselves to this exercise, became most excellent dancers, as well private men, as Princes, and such as bore sway. Homer, therefore, intending not to disparage but to commend Meriones, called him Dancer: Who was so famous and generally renowned for this quality, that he was thereby not only known to the Greekes, but to the Trojans his enimies too. Who observed, I suppose, a kind of beauty in his fights, and musicall Gesture, which he [Page 358] tooke in from dancing. The verses speake thus of him;

Soon had my Spear peirc't thee, Meriones,
Although a Dancer—

Though he were not, in truth▪ vanquisht, but by his Skill in dancing, I suppose, easily avoided the darts hurl'd at him. Though I might make instance in diverse other Hero's who busied themselves in this quality, & made their exercise an Art; Yet I will content my self with Ne­optolemus, Achilles sonne: Who so excell'd in this Science, that he added thereto the noblest kind, from him called the Pyrrhichian Dance. Achilles, also, himself, hearing thus much of his sonne, was more joy'd, I beleive, then with his excellent shape, or strength of bodye. Nay the Citty of Troy remain'd unconquer'd, till by his skill in dancing 'twas ruined, and laid levell with the ground. The Lacedemonians, also, who were alwaies held the stoutest Grecians, having learnt from Castor, and Pollux to Caryatize (which is a kind of Dance, taught at first by the Caryans, a people of Laconia,) per­formed all their Atchievements afterwards in musick; and made war by the sound of the pipe, and the orderly treadings and measures of the foot, so that the fife still gave the signall to the battle; which made them so univer­sally victorious, musick and numbers still directing their Marches. You may observe their young men no lesse addi­cted to dancing, then to bear Armes. For having at Armes end a while strugled, and mutually given, and received blowes, after a short respite, their encounters end in a dance. Where a minstrell set in the middest, playes, and keepes time with his foot; whilest they regularly fol­lowing one another, and ordering their motions by his tunes, cast themselves into figures of all sorts; sometimes war-like; sometimes amorous; most suitable to Bacchus, and Venus. Nay the Song which they sing in dancing [Page 359] weares the name of Venus, and Cupid; As if they joyned with them in their sporting and dancing. And another song they have (for they sing too) which comprehendes how to dance; and runs thus.

Farre, Boyes, be hence unskillfull feet:
Let every step in numbers meet.

That is, dance better. The like custome have they who danc't the Bracelet. A kind of dance common to young men, and virgins. In which one so succeeded another, as to resemble a Bracelet. For a young man led, and exprest all the youthfull motions which he was to practice afterwards in the war; A Virgin blushingly followed, and so exprest the motions of a woman, that from both sprung a Bracelet, compounded of modesty, and valour. Like to these is the dance call'd the Bare feet. As for the dance, which Homer, in his shield, makes for Ariadne, and that other dance contrived by Daedalus for her, I passe over as well known to you. As, also, the two leaders of the dance, which the Poet there calls dancers on their heads; besides what he there sayes;

The Youthes in Dancing rowl'd

As if dancing were the greatest ornament, Vulcan had inserted into the shield. Nor is it strange that the Corcyrans should so much delight in dancing, being a people so delicate, and so abounding with all plenty. That, therefore, which Homer makes Ulysses most admire a­mongst them was the nimblenesse of their feet. In Thes­saly the exercise of dancing hath so prevailed, that they stile their Princes, and Generalls the Leaders of the dance. As appears by the Inscription of their Statues, which they erect to the best deservers. The Citty, sayes one, prefer'd him as the fore-dancer. The people, sayes, another, dedi­cate these Statues to Ilation for dancing the battle well. I spare to tell you, that you shall scarce find any ancient, [Page 360] religious solemnity without dancing. A custom, doubt­lesse, instituted by Orpheus, Musaeus, and other excellent Dancers of that time: who, as a thing most becomming, decreed; that none should be initiated to such rites but with measure, and dancing. And to prove this true, they, who were initiated, were bound not to reveale their rites to those that were not. From whence they who divulge mysteryes, as all know, are proverbially said to undance them. At Delos no sacrifices were offer'd without dancing, and musick. Where a Quire of boyes, entring with a flute and harp, danced, and they, who among them were judged the most skillfull, followed. From whence the tunes which were composed for such Quires were call'd dance-tunes, and were set for the Violl. But why insist I upon the Graecians; since the Indians, every morning when they rise, pray to the Sunne, not as we do, who hold the killing of our hand to be a com­pleat devotion, but turning themselves towards the East, salute the Sunne with a Dance; silently ordering their postures, and motions, in imitation of his. And this among the Indians is prayer, devotion, and sacrifice, with which twice a day, mornings, and evenings, they keep the Sun propitious. Then, the Aethiopians alwaies go to war dancing. Nor will a Moore offer to pluck an arrow from his head (which serves them in stead of quivers stuck round with shafts like so many rayes) till he have first danced, and by such agitation threatned, and terrified his enemy. Nor were it amisse, having past through India and Aethiopia, to draw our discourse down to their neighbouring Aegypt. Where the ancient fiction which goes of Proteus, methinkes, signifyes him to be only a certain Dancer, and Mimick; who could trans­form, and change himself into all shapes, sometimes act­ing the fluidnesse of water, sometimes the sharpnesse of fire, occasioned by the quicknesse of its aspiring moti­on; sometimes the fiercenesse of a Lyon, and fury of a [Page 361] Libbard, and waving of an Oake; and what ever he li­sted. From whence the fable, wresting his naturall parts something pardoxically, sain'd him to be really changed into the things he acted. The like abilities are found in the Dancers of our time: whom you may in an instant see suddainly metamorphosed, and turn'd into a Proteus ▪ we may, also, conjecture that Empusa, who turn'd her self into a thousand shapes, was such another woman, derived to us in a fiction. After these examples 'twere Injustice to forget the dance practiced by the Salii (the name of a certain Priesthood taken from dancing) in ho­nour of Mars, the most war-like God; in which they mingled gravity with religion. Nor is the Bithynian fa­ble altogether unsuitable to the Italian custome, which re­portes that Priapus, a military God, one of the Titans, I believe, or Idaean Dactyls, learnt this exercise with his Armes. For Mars receiving him from Iuno yet a boy, boysterous, and beyond measure manly, taught him not to bear Armes before he had made him a perfect Dancer. For which the reward assigned by Iuno, was, that he should ever after have the tithe of his spoyles taken in war. I presume you expect not I should tell you of the Bacchanalls, or feasts of Bacchus; whose celebration was nothing but dancing. Now of the noblest sort of Dances, there are three kindes, the Cordacke or Comi­call, Sicinnidde or Satyricall, & Harmonious or Tragicall, which were invented by the Satyres, the followers of Bacchus, from whom they take their names. And Bac­chus himself using this Art subdued the Tuscanes, Indians, and Lydians, and danced down war like Nations with Javelines wrapt in Ivye. Wherefore take heed, admired Sir, least you prove impious thus to accuse so Divine, and Mysterious an exercise, practiced by such illustrious Gods, and performed in their honour and which carryes with it so much pleasure joyn'd with so much usefull discipline. I cannot but wonder, that being so great a [Page 362] lover of Homer, and Hesiod, as you are (for I once more betake my self to the Poets) you dare controule them, who above all things praise dancing. For Homer having muster'd together the things most delightfull, and de­sireable, sleep, love, singing, and dancing, stiles this last onely praise worthy; ascribing, indeed, sweetnesse to singing, both which are found in dancing; namely Harmony of voice, and commendable measure, which you thus study to carpe at. Again in another place of his poem he sayes;

To some Iove gives of war-like actions choice,
Dancing to some, to some a charming voice.

For, certainly, a good voice, joyn'd with dancing, is very charming, and the most excellent gift of the Gods. Again Homer, having divided all things into war, and peace, opposeth this as the more commendable to the passages of warre. And as for Hesiod, who went not by hear-say, but early in the morning saw the Muses dance, in the beginning of his Poem sets this as their greatest praise, that in soft measures they danced round about a flowrye fountain, and encircled their fathers Al­tar. Yet you, Gentle Sir, almost making war with the Gods, calumniate dancing. Though Socrates, of all men the wisest, (if we may beleeve Apollo, who sti­led him so) not only praised dancing, but vouchsaft to learn it, ascribing much to the Elegancy, and Grace, and Musicall Treadings, and amiable behaviour of such a mover. Nor blusht he, though old, to reck on dancing among his serious imployments. In which, you may guesse, he spent no small studye, who refused not to learn Arts yet meaner, nor disdayned to frequent the scooles of the Minstrells, and to attend the Lectures of Alpasia, a known Whore. Yet he beheld this Art one­ly in its first rising, before 'twas grown up to such height of perfection. Did he see those who in our time have [Page 363] advanc'd it to this great pitch, I assure my self, forsa­king all other studyes he would wholly apply his minde to this spectacle, and would teach his Schollers nothing else. In praising Comedy, and Tragedy, you seem to me to forget that in either a peculiar kind of dancing is observed; the grave in Tragedy, in Comedy the Cor­dack, and sometimes also the Sicinnidd. But because at first you prefer'd Tragedy, and Comedy, and vagrant fidlers, and singing to the harpe, before dancing; calling them truely exercises, and therefore commendable: let us, I pray, compare them severally with Dancing. Where, if please you, we will passs over the Pipe, and Harpe, as parts and instruments of Dancing, and consider Trage­dy as it is, first, according to its propertyes, and dresse. What a deformed, and frightfull fight is it to see a man raised to a prodigious length, stalking upon exalted bus­kins, his face disguised with a grimme vizard, widely gaping, as if he meant to devoure the Spectatours? I forbear to speake of his stuft Brests, and fore-Bellyes, which make an adventitious, and artificiall corpulency, least his unnaturall length should carry disproportion to his slendernesse. As, also, his clamour from within, when he breakes open, and unlockes himself, and when he howles lambicks, and most ridiculously singes his own sufferings, and renders himself by his very tone odious. For as for the rest, they are inventions of ancient Poets. Yet as long as he personates only some Andromache, & Hecuba, his singing is tolerable. But for a Hercules to enter dole­fully singing, and to forget himself, and neither to regard his Lyons skinne, nor clubbe, must needs, to any judging man, appear a Solcecisme. And whereas you dislike that in dancing men should act women, is a reprehension which holds for Tragedyes, and Comedyes too; in which are more womens parts, then mens. Besides, as part of the delight, Comedy challengeth to it self the most ridiculous parts; as Parasites, Fidlers, and Cookes. But the propertyes [Page 364] of a Dancer are so comely, and decent, that I need not describe them, being visible to all but the blind. The per­son gracefully adorn'd, and agreeable to his part; not ga­ping like the others, but decently closed, under which many sing their own Tunes. For anciently the Dancers sung too, till 'twas found, that Motion, and shortnesse of Breath troubled the Voice; whereupon 'twas better con­trived, that they should be sung to. The Argument of both are alike. Nor do Dances differ from Tragedies, but that These have more variety, and are more variously studied, and admit more severall Changes. The reason why there are no Dancing-matches I take to be, because the Judges held it to be a thing too reverend, and solemn to be brought into Decision. Though there be a famous City in Italy, descended of the Negroponts, where Hono­rary Prizes are assigned to this Exercise. And here I desire to be excused for my omissions of many things not toucht, and that you will not impute them to my ignorance, or want of Learning. For 'tis not unknown to me, that ma­ny have heretofore written of Dancing, and have spent most of their industry, and Style, in decyphering the seve­rall kinds of Dances; their Names, Distinctions, and who were their Inventors: wherein they thought they made shew of various learning. But I, holding such ostentations superfluous, and unseasonable, and unsuita­ble to my person, shall passe them over in silence. Withall, I shall desire you to remember, and think, that I intend not to derive the Pedigree of Dances of all sorts, nor make it the aime of my discourse to reckon up the names of all Dances, but of those few of the Nobler sort, before men­tioned. For the present then, the Summe of my defence is to praise the manner of dancing now in fashion; and to shew what pleasure, and profit it comprehends, and from what an ancient beginning it hath aspired to its pre­sent Elegancy, or Veneration rather. For those Dancings of the first Ages were, as it were, the roots, and foundati­ons [Page 365] of Dancing, whose Flower, and grown Fruit now ripened into a perfection, is the Argument of my Defence: omitting to speak of Capring, or Crane-dancings, or the like, as impertinent to this discourse. Nor have I, out of oversight, past by the Phrygian manner of Dancing, which was a drunken, and feastly kind of Revelling, performed in Wine, by a Rowt of Clowns, who danced like Wo­men to a Pipe, using violent and boisterous Leapings, yet in use among Country people: but because it hath no agreement with the dancing I now treat of. Though Plato in his Laws commends some of these kinds, but rejects others; distinguishing them by their pleasure, and profit, and banishing the more uncomely, prefers, and ad­mires the rest. And thus much be spoken of Dancing it self. For to extend my discourse, to all that might be said, were troublesome. I will now unfold to you how a Dancer ought to be qualified, how practised, what to learn, and by what waies to attain his Art, that you may perceive this not to be one of the facile, and easily learn'd Arts, but to be attained in perfection by the help of all the other Sciences; not Musick only, but Arithmetick, and Geometry, and especially your Philosophy, both naturall, and morall. As for Logick, it hath been held vain and uselesse to it: but Rhetorick it requires, and partakes, as far as 'tis demonstrative of manners, and affections, which are the subjects of Oratours too. Nor is it a stranger to Pain­ting, and Sculpture; but imitates their Graces so exactly, as not to come short of Phidias, of Apelles himself. But above all it aims to have the two Muses, Mnemosyne, and her daughter Polyhymnia propitious, and exactly to re­member all things: for, as Calchas in Homer, it behoves a Dancer to know

Things present, past, and future.—

and not to be ignorant of any thing, but to have a memo­ry open, and at command. In a word, 'tis an imitating [Page 366] and demonstrating Science; an Interpreter of conceiptes, and clearer of Ambiguityes. And what Thucydides said in praise of Pericles, is the thing most praise worthy in a Dancer; which is, to know what is fit, and to expresse it. By expression I here mean a clearnesse of behaviour. So that the whole businesse of a Dancer consists in the knowledge of ancient history, the ready remembrance of it, and expressing of it with decency. Taking, there­fore, his beginning from the Chaos, and birth of the world, he must carry his knowledge as farre as the age of the Aegyptian Cleopatra: within which space of times we circumscribe the various learning of a Dancer. Espe­cially, let him learn by the way the division of Heaven, the originall of Venus, the Titans war, Iupiters birth, Cybel's plot, and substitution of a stone, Saturnes Impri­sonment, the lottery of the three Brothers, as also the Gy­ants invasion, the stealth of fire, the formation of man, Prometbeus punishment, the power of love, of each sort; Then the floating of Delos, the travelling of La­tona, Pythons Slaughter, Tityu's Treason, and the mid­dle of the Earth found out by the flight of Eagles. Adde to this Deucalion and the Universall wrack of that Age, and the lone Arke which received and preser­ved all mankind, & how Men were repayr'd from stones. Next the dismembring of Iachus, Iuno's cheate, Semele's conflagration and Bacchus double birth; & whatsoever is reported of Minerva, Vulcan, and Ericbthonius; The strife a­bout Attica, and first sentence in Areopagus; In a word, the whole Attick fable. Let him also exactly know the Erran­try of Ceres and finding of her daughter, and hospitality of Celeus, & husbandry of Triptolemus, & plantation of vines by I [...]rus, and the disaster of Erigone; and whatsoever goes in story of Boreas, and Orithyia, and Theseus, and Aege­us. Adde to this Medea's Entertainment, and Flight afterwards to the Persians; as also Erechtheus, and Pandion's Daughters, and what they both suffer'd, and did in [Page 367] Thrace. Then let him know Acamas, and Phyllis, and Hellens first Rape, and the expedition of the Twinnes against the City; Hippolytus mischance, and the return of the Herculeans; all which he may read in the Attick Records, which being Athenian passages, I have briefly, for examples sake, run over. Next, let him learn the story of Megara, Nisus, and Scylla, and the purple Hair, and Mino's departure, and his ingratitude towards his Assister. To which let him adde the Atchievements wrought at Cytheron, and Thebes; the calamities of the people, Cad­mus Banishment, and sign taken from the lying down of a Cow; the Serpents teeth sown, and springing up again; as also Cadmus transformation into a Serpent; the erection of Walls by Musick, the Builders madnesse, his wife Niobes insolent pride, and stupefaction through Griefe. As, also, the story of Pentheus, Actaeon, Oedipus, and Her­cules, together with his Labours, and slaughter of his Children. Nor is Corinth lesse fraught with stories of Glauce, and Creon; and before these Bellerophon, and Sthe­neboea; and the Combate between Neptune and the Sun; as also the Madnesse of Athamas, and aëry flight of Nephe­les children upon a Ramme; and the Receipt of Ino, and Melicerta. To which may be added the Reports which go of the Pelopidae, and Mycenae, and more ancient then these of Inachus and Io, and her keeper Argus; of Atreus also, and Thyestes, and Aerope, and the Golden Fleece, and Pelops Wedding, and Agamemnon's slaughter, and Clytem­nestra's punishment: and more ancient yet then these; the expedition of the Seven Generals, and the receipt of Adra­stus fugitive Sons in Law, and the Oracle which was de­liver'd of them; besides, the deniall of Buriall to the slain, and the destruction of Antigone, and Menoeceus thereupon; the stories also which are recorded in Neméa of Hypsipyle, and Archemorus, are monuments most necessarily to be known of a Dancer. Who before that is also to know what is said of Danae's Virginity, the birth of Perseus, and [Page 368] his enterprize against the Gorgons; to which he is to joyn the Aethiopick Reports which go of Cassiopea, and An­dromeda and Cepheus, whom the Superstition of Antiqui­ty have placed among the Stars. Nor ought he to be ig­norant in the ancient passages of Aegyptus, and Danaus, and the Treasons of that Wedding. Nor will Lacedaemon afford a few such examples, of Hyacinthus, and Zephyrus Rivall to Apollo; and the slaughter of the Boy by a Quoit, and the Flower which sprung from his bloud, and the mournfull Inscription written in it; as, also, the restoring of Tyndarus from the dead, and Iupiter's displeasure therefore against Aesculapius. Besides, the entertainment of Paris, and trans­portation of Helen, after the decision of the Apple. And to this Spartan History he is to annex the Trojan, no lesse copious, and full of parts; from whence, according as every one fell, may be drawn Arguments for the Stage. All which he is upon occasion to remember; especially what hapned after Helens Transportation, 'till the return of the Grecian Captains. Aenea's wandrings, also, and Dido's Love. Nor will the reports which passe of Orestes be impertinent, and of his adventures in Scythia. And be­fore that, the stories which go of Achilles, answerable to his Trojan; his disguise of a Girle in Scyrus; Ulysses distra­ction, and desertion of Philoctetes; In a word, all Ulysses Travels, the stories of Circe, and Telegonus, and Aeolus Empire over the Winds, and other passages along to the revenge taken of the Suitors: And before that his circum­vention of Palamedes, Nauplius Rage, Ajax Phrenzy, and the shipwrack of the other Ajax against Rocks. Elis also hath many patterns for Dancers; as Oenomaus, Myrtil [...]s, Saturn, Iupiter, and the chiefe Wrestlers in the Olympick Games. Nor is Arcadia lesse replenisht with stories, of Daphne's flight, Callisto's conversion into a Bear, the Cen­taures drunkennesse, Pan's Parents, Alpheus Love, and Hyphalus Peregrination. And if we will send our dis­course into Creet, dancing may from thence fetch nume­rous [Page 369] examples, taken from Europa, Pasiphae, and both their Buls; the Labyrinth, also, Ariadne, Phaedra, Minotaure, Daedalus, Icarus, Glaucus, the Prophecy of Polyides; Talo, also, and the Brazen wall of the City. If you look into Aetolia, many Instances may from thence, also, be taken for dancing; from Althaea, Meleager, Atalanta, Dalus, the Combate between the River and Hercules, the Birth of the Sirens, the Retribution of the Echinades, and habitation of Alcmaeon after his Madnesse; Nessus, also, and Deïanei­ra's Jealousie; to which is to be added the Funerall pile in Oeta. Thrace, also, hath many examples requisite to a dancer; as Orpheus, and his dismembring; his vocall Head swimming along with his Harp: Haemus, also, and Rho­dope, and the punishment of Lycurgus. But Thessalia is yet more copious in instances, of Pelias, Iason, Alcestis, the Fleet of fifty Ships, the Argo, and its speaking Keel; the passages of Lemnos, also concerning Aeta, Medea's dream, and dilaniation of Absyrtus, and what befell her in say­ling: To which are to be added Protesilaus, and Laoda­meia. If you will once more passe into Asia, you shall meet with as plentifull arguments, where Samus will pre­sently accost you, and the calamity of Polycrates, and his daughters voyage into Persia; besides the more ancient passages of Tantalus Babling, and his Feasting of the Gods. The eating of Pelops flesh, supplyed with an Ivory shoul­der. In Italy you meet with Eridanus, and Phaeton, and his sisters bewailing themselves into Poplars, and wee­ping Amber. A Dancer is to know all the story of the Hesperides, and the Dragon-keeper of the Golden fruit; of Geryon, also, and his conveyance of the Oxen from Erythia. Nor is he to be ignorant of all the Fabulous Transmutations which have been made of things into Trees, or Beasts, or Fowls, or Women turn'd into Men; I mean Caeneus, and the Prophet Tiresias, and the like: and in Phoenicia Myrrha, and the divided sorrow of the Assyrians. Nor shall he only know these, but the more [Page 370] modern passages, attempted by Antipater, and Seleucus, after the Macedonian Empire, for the love of Stratonice. He shall, also, know the most secret Mysteryes of the Aegyptians; That he may the more Symbollically act them; I mean Epaphus, and Osiris, and the transforma­tion of the Gods into beasts; especially what ever is re­ported of their loves, and of Iupiter himself, and his various shift of disguises. He shall, also, be skill'd in all the passages of Hell; in their tortures, and their se­verall causes, and in the undivided friendshippe of Theseus, and Perithous, even in that infernall place. And to comprize all in a word, he shall be ignorant of nothing deliver'd either by Homer, or Hesiod, or the most excellent Poets, especially the Tragick. And thus have I recounted a few examples of many, or rather infinite, and rudely hudled them up in a Masse. The rest I leave to be sung by Poets, and to acted by Dan­cers, and to be pursued by you according to these patterns and instances. All which a Dancer must have in rea­dinesse, and prepared to be brought forth, and represen­ted upon occasion. Now because he is to be a Mimick, and to expresse by motions what is sung in verse, 'tis ne­cessary, like Oratours, he should practice perspicuity, that every part of which he acts, may carry its own light, and not require an Interpreter. And as the Pythian Oracle said, he that sees a Dance, must understand the Dan­cer though dumbe, and hear him though silent. As it befell Demetrius, the Cynick Philosopher; who, like you, spoke much in disparagement of Dancing; sti­ling a Dancer, the idle imployment of a pipe, and fiddle, and noyse; who added nothing to a Maske, but an absurd, vain, and senselesse motion; and that it was the part of a Jugler, not of a Dancer, to be drest in silke clothes, guilt vizards, and to move to a pipe, and la­scivious tune, and wanton voice. A skillfull dancer, there­fore, as the story goes, in Nero's time, and not un­learn'd, [Page 371] but well verst in history, and the Art of gesture, desired Demetrius, with the most becomming intrea­tyes he could, I suppose, to see him dance, and then to reprehend him. He promised also to act before him without either Pipe, or Tune, and did so: For having imposed silence to the Minstrels, and Fidlers, and Con­sort, he by himself danced the Adultery of Mars and Venus, the Sun betraying them, and Vulcan plotting and catching them in a wire Net. Then every God, who was seve­rally spectator; then Venus blushing, and Mars beseeching; In a word, he acted the whole Fable so well, that Deme­trius, much pleased with the spectacle, as the greatest praise could be bestow'd upon him, cryed out, and in a loud voice said, I hear, my Friend, what you act; Nor do I only see them, but methinks you speak with your Hands. And because my Discourse is fallen upon Nero's times, I will report to you a passage of a Stranger concer­ning the same Dancer, who gave the greatest praise of his dancing that could be. This Barbarian Prince, being come from Pontus to Rome, about some business with Nero, among other entertainments saw this Dancer personate so lively, that though he knew nothing of what was sung (being half a Grecian) yet he understood all. Being to return to his Country after this entertainment of Nero's, and bid ask what he would, and it should be granted, Give me the Dancer, said he, and you shall much please me. Nero asking him of what use he could be to him, My neighbour Barbarians, said he, are of a different lan­guage, nor is it easie for me to find interpreters for them. This Fellow, therefore, as often as I have need, shall ex­pound to me by Gestures; such praise gain'd his Imitati­ons, and Dancing, being significant and clear. The chiefe businesse, and aime of Dancing, then, is, as I said, Personation; which is to be perform'd by the rules of Rhetoricians, especially of those who busie themselves in Declamations. In which, the thing most praiseworthy is [Page 372] to resemble their subjects, and not to let the things said disagree from the Princes, or Tyrant-slayers, or Beggers, or Husbandmen spoken of, but to give every one his propriety, and distinction. I will report to you the say­ing of another Barbarian to this purpose: who seeing five Arguments provided, (for the Presentment consisted of so many parts) and seeing but one Dancer, askt who should act, and personate the rest; and being told that one would undergoe the whole performance, I was de­ceived in you, my Friend, said he, who have but one Body, and many Soules. Thus the Barbarian. Nor do the Italians, without reason built upon his performan­ces, call a Dancer a Pantomime, or generall Actor. The Poets excellent exhortation therefore, which sayes,

When thou in Cities Stay dost make,
The mind of a pourcontrell take,

is very necessary for a Dancer, who must vary with his Argument, and transforme himself into every part he re­presents. Especially Dancing undertakes to act, and per­sonate behaviours, and passions of all sorts; sometimes bringing a Lover on the Stage, sometimes a cholerick man, sometimes a man distracted, sometimes one lost in sorrow, and all this gracefully. And what is most strange, upon one and the same day, it presents at one time Atha­mas frantick, at another, Ino trembling; at another Atreus, presently after Thyestes, then Aegysthus, or Aerope, and all this by one man. In other showes, and sights, severall things are severally represented; as the Pipe, or Harp, or melody of the voice, or action of a Tragedy, or merry performance of a Comedy. But a Dancer doth expresse all these; in whose presentations you may behold vari­ously compounded, and mixt, the Wayte, and Flute, crea­kings of the Feet, shrilnesse of the Cymball, tunable voice of an Actor, and consort of a Quire. Besides, in other performances, one part of the man is only imploy'd: [Page 373] where some parts concern only the Soul, others the Body. But in Dancing both are mixt, where what is done exhi­bits the mind with the exercise, and activity of the Body. But the thing most regardfull is the discretion, and deco­rum there observed. Lesbonax, therefore, the Mitylenian, an honest and vertuous man, used to call Dancers, Handy-wisemen; and went frequently to see them, as if he return'd better from the Theater: whose Tutor Timo­crates, seeing once by chance, not of set purpose, a Dancer performe his parts, cryed out, What rare sights have I lost through a Philosophicall modesty? Now if it be true, what Plato delivers of the Soul; A Dancer most excel­lently represents the 3 parts of it: The irascible, when he acts an angry man; the Concupiscible, when he presents a Lover; and the Rationall, when he puts a bridle to every affection. For Reason is mingled, and scatter'd with all parts of Dancing, as Feeling is with the other Senses. Now what doth this wisdome of the mind, made visible by the gracefulnesse of Dancing, but verifie Aristotle's saying, who praising Beauty, cals it the third part of Ver­tue. And as for the silence sometimes used by dancers, I have heard some in a youthfull Hyperbole praise it as a piece of the Pythagorean discipline. And whereas other Studies carry with them either pleasure only, or profit, dancing only hath both, and renders profit the more pro­fitable coming drest in pleasure. For how much a more delightfull Spectacle is this, then to see Young men cuff, and flow with Bloud, and wrestle in the dust, when they might much safelier, and comelier, and with more plea­sure be seen in a dance. The decent motions, therefore, of dancing, gracefull postures, turnings, treadings, and ca­prings, are both delightfull to the spectators, and health­full to the Actors. For I must think that the best and most proportionable exercise, which both supples the body, and renders it flexible, and pliant, and bending to all postures, and strengthens it too. How can dancing [Page 374] then, choose, but be the most accomplisht exercise, which thus whets the soul, exerciseth the body, delights the beholders, and instructs them in much antiquity, and equally by Flutes, and Cymballs, and the gracefull­nesse of the limbes, diffuseth its charmes to the eyes, and eares? If, therefore, you affect the harmony of the voice where can you meet a fuller, or more me­lodious consort? If you delight in ayres of the Cornet, or Flute, Dancing will abundantly supply you. I spare to tell you, that by such spectacles, and by fre­quen [...]ing the Theater, you will be better'd in your manners, by learning to hate fowle deedes presented, and to bewayle those who are innocently unfortunate; And seeing the whole behaviour of the Spectators di­sciplined. But that which I most extoll in Dancers is their Art, both to show strength, and softnesse; Nor is it to me lesse then a Paradox, for the same person, in the same performance, to expresse the boystrousnesse of Hercules, and the delicacy of Venus. But I will now pro­ceed to show how a good Dancer must be qualifyed both in his minde and body. Though I have already reckon'd most of the endowments of his soul, who must have a fast memory, piercing wit, sharpe understanding, able to distinguish times well; he must also be a Critick of Poems, and songes, able to discern Dittyes well com­posed, and to reject the ill. A draught of his body, I will give you by Polycletus rules. Which must not be over tall, nor too low, or dwarfish, but of a moderate size; neither over fleshy, which is prodigious, nor over lean, like a Sceleton, or a Anatomy. To this purpose, I will report to you some showtes of dislike utter'd by a people, who are no dull observers. The Cityzens of Antioch are most ingenious, and much addicted to dancing; and so given to marke what is said, or done, that no pas­sage escapes them. Seeing, upon a time, a little, short Dan­cer enter, and act Hector, they cryed out with one [Page 375] voice, This is Astyanax, but where's Hector? Another time a fellow of an overgrown length preparing to dance Ca­paneus, and to scale the walls of Thebes, they told him he might mount the wall without a ladder. Another time, a very big, and corpulent dancer, endeavouring to vault high, We had need, said they, to underprop the Stage. To a very lean Dancer, they cryed out, God strengthen you; as if he had been in a Consumpti­on. I have alleadged these Examples, not to stir your laughter, but that you may know, that whole nations have so applyed their studies to dancing, as to be able to distinguish the right performance from the absurd. A Dancer, then, must be of an active, pliant, and compacted body; able upon occasion to make quick Turnes, and, if need be, to stop strongly. And that Dancing is no stranger to the warlick gestures of the hands, but partakes the vertues in combating of Mercury, Pollux, and Hercu­les, you may perceive by severall presentments. Herodotus holds, that the Representations which are taken in by the Sight, are much more authentick then those which are taken in by the Ear. Dancing satisfies both sences, and conveies such strong impressions, that a certain Lover passing through the Theater was cured, by seeing the ill successes of Love; and though he came possess'd with a deep melancholly, departed cheerfull, as if he had drunck some potion of Oblivion; or, according to the Poet, Some draught of Nepenthe against Sadness. Now the sign of proper Action, and that the Presentment is universally understood, are the tears shed by the Spectators, as often as any calamitous, or tragicall passage is brought upon the Stage. The Bacchanall manner of dancing, exercised especially in Ionia, and Pontus, being also Satyrick, doth so inchant the people, that at certain times appointed, they neglect all other businesse, and sit whole daies to see the Titans, Corybantes, Satyrs, and Clowns acted, which are danced by the most noble, and greatest personages of [Page 376] every City, who think it no dishonour, but rather value themselves more for such performances, then for their Births, Attendances, and Dignities of their Ancestours. And thus having deciphered the vertues of Dancers, give me leave to decipher the vices too. Those of the Body I have shown already. Those of the Mind you may thus observe. There are many, who out of ignorance (for 'tis not possible that all should be wise) commit great So­loecismes in Dancing: such, I mean, whose actions are irregular, and not to the Tune, as they say; when the Foot sayes one thing, and the Instrument another. Others keep proportion to the Musick, but their Presentments, as I have often seen, are disproportioned to the right time. For you shall have one, who endeavouring to act Iupi­ter's Birth, and Saturn eating his Children, danceth Thy­estes sufferings, for the affinity of the Fables. Again, ano­ther being to act Semele burnt with Lightning, likens Glauce to her, born long after. Yet is not Dancing to be scorn'd, because there are such Dancers; nor is the exer­cise to be hated, but such Actors to be held unskilfull; and they to be praised, who, according to the right rules of their Art regularly make their performances. In a word, a Dancer must be every way exact, do all things with or­der, decency, measure, like himself, beyond detraction, blame, and imperfections; have thoughts of the best com­position, an Education quick, a deep Apprehension, and especially humane: whose applause must necessarily follow his performances, when every Spectator be­holds himself acted; and sees in the Dancer, as in a Glass, whatever he useth to do, or suffer. For then men cannot containe for pleasure, but poure themselves forth in tumultuous praises, when every one sees the Images of his mind presented, and owns them. For the Delphick Coun­sell, Know thy self, is by such spectacles so artificially instill'd into them, that they depart from the Theater taught what to choose, and what to shunne, and in­structed [Page 377] in those things which before they knew not. For as in speech so in Dancing, over-affectation is the fault of many, who strive to exceed the bounds of imitation, and strain beyond Decorum. As when some great passage is to be presented, to show it over great; or if some soft passage, to present it too womanish; or to stretch some manly Atchievement to savagenesse, and bestiality. As I once saw a Dancer, formerly much approved, and in his other performances discreet, and worthy to be admired, I know not by what mischance disgrace himself by over action. For being to dance Ajax after his vanquishment distracted, he failed so grossely, that some thought he acted not a madnesse, but was himself distemper'd. For he rent the garment of one of those who stampt in Iron shooes; and snatch­ing a Cornet from one of the Fidlers, struck Ulysses, who stood by, insulting for his victory, such a blow on the head, that if his Helmet had not saved him, and borne off the violence of the stroke, the wretched party had perisht, and fallen prostrate at his feet. Though the whole Theater of Spectators, as mad as Ajax, stampt, showted, and shooke their cloathes. For the Rout, and Idiots, who knew not Decorum, nor were able to distinguish false action from right, took this as a great expression of fury. And the better bred, and more understanding, though they blusht at what was done, yet show'd not any dislike as much as by their silence; but colour'd the Dancers folly with their commendations. Though they plainly saw not the madnesse of Ajax, but of the representer acted. Not herewith content the Gentleman plaid a prank much more ridiculous. For descending into the pit he sate down between two who had been Consulls; much affraid least he should have mistaken, and beaten one of them for a sheep: which passage some extolled, others derided; others suspected his over Imitati­on [Page 378] had cast him into a true Madnesse. Others report, that after he came to himselfe, he was so ashamed of his action, that upon the true apprehension of his distemper, he fell sick for grief, and plainly profest it. For those of his Faction reque­sting him to act Ajax over again to them, When I come next upon the Stage, said he; In the mean time 'tis enough for me to have once play'd the Madman. But his chiefe discontent sprung from an Antagonist, or Anti-Actor, who represented Ajax Raging, so gracefully, and discreet­ly, that he was much extolled, keeping himself within the limits of dancing, and not breaking forth into any un­proper action. These few examples, and exercises of dancing, of many, have I, my Friend, recounted to you, that you should not too much resent my thirst, and desire to frequent them. If, therefore, you will vouchsafe to partake of the Spectacle, I assure my self you will be in­veigled, and become in love with Dancing. Nor shall I need to apply that saying of Circe to you,

I wonder by my Cup you'r not encharm'd;

for you will be enchanted; not to have the head of an Asse, or heart of a Swine, but your understanding will be much more confirm'd, and you for pleasure will leave little of the Potion undrunk. For what Homer sayes of Mercury's Golden Rod, that he thereby charmes up the Eyes of whom he lists, and rewakens them from sleep, is truly verified of Dancing, which wakes, and unlocks the eyes of the Beholders, and rouzes up their minds to all the passages of Life.

Crato.

You have perswaded me, Lycinus, and have at once open'd my eares, and eyes. And, therefore, remem­ber when hereafter you go to the Theater, to take me along with you, that you only may not return from thence the wiser.

The Sale of Philosophers.

The Speakers, Iupiter, Mercury, a Merchant, Pythagoras, Diogenes, Democritus, Heraclitus, Socrates, Chry­sippus, the Philosopher.
Iupiter.

MAke you ready the Scaffolds, and provide a place for the Commers; stand you behind to produce the Lives; but first adorn them, that they may look well favour'd, and allure Chapmen. Do you, Mer­cury, make Proclamation, and, in the name of good luck, summon Buyers to appear here in the Market. We will that you proclaime Philosophers of all sorts, and of all sects. If there be any who cannot pay ready money, he shall be trusted till the next year upon security.

Mercury.

See, they are already assembled, so that you need loose no time, or delay them.

Iupiter.

Proceed we, then, to Sale.

Mercury.

Whom shall I first produce?

Iupiter.

That Hairy Ionian, with the grave, and re­verend look.

Mercury.

You, Pythagorean, descend, and present your self to the Assembly.

Iupiter.

Now make proclamation.

Mercury.

I sell a rare, and venerable Mortall, who will buy him? who desires to be something more then a man? Or to know the Harmony of the Vniverse? or to live often?

Merchant.

He hath a promising countenance; Which way lies his knowledg?

Mercury.

In Arithmetick, Astronomy, Interpretation of Prodigies, Geometry, Musick, Jugling; He is an excel­lent Soothsayer too.

Merchant.
[Page 380]

May I ask him some questions?

Mercury.

A Gods name.

Merchant.

What Country man are you?

Pythagoras.

A Samian.

Merchant.

Where bred?

Pythag.

In Aegypt, among the Wise men there.

Merchant.

Suppose I should buy you, what will you teach me?

Pythag.

Nothing but to forget.

Merchant.

How?

Pythag.

First by cleansing your Soul, and scouring off the drosse of it.

Merchant.

Suppose I be already refin'd, how will you instruct me then?

Pythag.

First you are to undergo a long and speech­lesse Silence; and in five years to say nothing.

Merchant.

Pray, my Friend, be Tutor to Croesus son; For I mean to speak, not to be a Statue. And what shall I learn after this five years Dumbnesse?

Pythag.

Musick, and Geometry.

Merchant.

This is pleasant Education, first to be a Fidler, then a Wise man.

Pythag.

Next, you shall learn to number.

Merchant.

That I can do already.

Pythag.

How?

Merchant.

One, two, three, four.

Pythag.

Perceive you that what you think Four is Ten, and a perfect Triangle, and the number we swear by?

Merchant.

I never heard more Divine or sacred dis­courses.

Pythag.

Next, my Friend, you shall be taught the nature of the Earth, Air, Water, and Fire, and what is the force of each, what the forme, and how they are trans­muted.

Merchant.

Have Fire, Air, and Water a Form then?

Pythagoras.
[Page 381]

A very visible one. For you see their mo­tion is not formelesse, or deformed. To this you shall know that God is nothing but Number, and Harmony.

Merchant.

You speak Wonders.

Pythag.

Nay, more then this, you who seem one thing, shall know your self another, and another after that.

Merchant.

Say you, then, that I am another, and not my self, who now talk with you?

Pythag.

Now you are, indeed, the man you are; but have heretofore appeared in another body, and under another name, and will in time undergo other changes.

Merchant.

By your saying, then, I shall be immortall, and passe through severall shapes? But enough of this. Of what Diet are you?

Pythag.

I eat no Flesh, but all things else, except Beans.

Merch.

Why loath you Beans?

Pythag.

I loath them not, but hold them sacred and mysterious. For first they are wholly generative: and if you blanch them green, they resemble the procreative parts of a man. If boyled you lay them certain nights in the Moon shine, they will turn to Bloud; and what is yet more, 'tis the custom of the Athenians to choose their Ma­gistrates by Beans.

Merchant.

Discreetly, & Religiously spoken. Pray strip your self, for I much desire to see you naked. O Her­cules! he hath a Golden Thigh. Sure he is some God, no Man: I'le buy him at any rate. What's the price of him?

Mercury.

Ten Drachms.

Merchant.

I accept him at the price.

Iupiter.

Register the Buyer's name, and country.

Mercury.

He seems to be an Italian, of the Coasts about Croton, and Tarentum, and that part of Greece. Be­sides, not one, but almost three hundred do buy him among them.

Iupiter.

Let them take him away, and produce ano­ther.

Mercury.
[Page 382]

That slovenly fellow of Pontus, do you mean?

Iupiter.

The same.

Mercury.

You Fellow, with the Scrip over your shoul­der, stand forth, and walke round the Assembly. O yes, I sell a stout, vertuous, well-bred, free mortall: Who buyes him?

Merch:

Do you sell a Free-man, Cryer?

Mercury.

Yes.

Merchant.

Are you not affraid he should accuse you of Man-stealth, and summon you before the Areopagus?

Mercury.

He cares not to be sold, but thinks himself neverthelesse free.

Merchant.

To what imployment may a man put such a slovenly ill [...]lookt fellow, unlesse he should make him a Delver, or Water-bearer?

Mercury.

That's not all, set him to keep your house, you will need no Dogs. His name is Dogge.

Merchant.

What's his Countrey, or Profession?

Mercury.

You were best to ask him.

Merchant.

I fear his crabbed, grimme looks, least he should bark, if I should draw neer, and bite me. Do you not see how he lifts his Staffe, and bends his Brows, and how threatningly, and Cholerick he looks?

Mercury.

Fear him not, he is very tame.

Merchant.

Of what Countrey are you, my Friend?

Diogenes.

Of all Countreys.

Merchant.

How?

Diogenes.

Thou beholdest a Citizen of the World.

Merchant.

Whom do you emulate?

Diogenes.

Hercules.

Merchant.

You are club'd, indeed, like him; but why wear you not a Lyon's skin too?

Diogenes.

This ragged Coat is my Lyon's skin; in which I make war, like him, against pleasures, not forced but voluntarily, of which I purpose to purge Mankind.

Merchant.
[Page 383]

An Heroick enterprize. But by what Sci­ence may we style you, or what Art do you professe?

Diogenes.

I am a maker of men free, and a Physitian of their passions. Briefly I desire to be a Professor of truth, and liberty.

Merchant.

Well, Sir, if I should buy you, what will you teach me?

Diogenes.

First, I will take you and strippe you of plea­sure, and confine you to poverty, and apparrell you in a patcht Coat. Next, I will enjoyn you to labour, and toyle, to sleep on the ground, to drinke water, and to eat what comes next. If you have any wealth, by my directions you shall cast it into the sea. You shall take no thought for Wife, Children, or Country, but esteem them Toyes. Leaving the house you were born to, you shall inhabit either some Cave, forsaken turret, or Tub. A Scrip you shall have fill'd with Lupines, and endorsed bookes. Thus furnisht, you shall call your self much happier then the greatest King. If you be beaten, or rackt, you shall pretend no torment.

Merchant.

Shall I not, say you, when I am whipt feel pain? I wear no Tortoyse, or Lobster shell.

Diogenes.

You shall imitate that saying of Euripides a litle alterd.

Merchant.

What is't?

Diogenes.
Although thou feele the payn,
Thy tongue shall not complayn

But the things which you are chiefly to learn, are to be impudent, bold, to barke without distinction at all, both Kinges, and private men. A way to make them re­gard and admire you, for a valiant man. Let your speech be Barbarous, and your Elocution rude, and Artlesse, like a dogge. Let your look be forced and your Gate be a­greeable to your look. In a word, let your whole behavi­our be beastly and savage. Be Modestly, Gentlenesse, and [Page 384] moderation far from you, and all blushing quite blotted out of your face. You are to frequent, also, populous places, and there to walk alone, and unaccompanied, and neither to salute acquaintance, or stranger; for that were to destroy your Empire. Then, you are undauntedly to do that in publick, which no man else would do in pri­vate, and to performe the Acts of Venus after the most ri­diculous manner. In a word, out of resolution you are to eat a raw Pourcontrell, or Cuttle-fish, and so to dye.

Merchant.

These are most beastly, and unmanly Instru­ctions.

Diogenes.

But easie, Sir, and obvious to be attain'd to. For hereby you will neither need Education, or Studies, or such like trifles, but will arrive at Glory a more com­pendious way. Though you be an Idiot, or Tanner, or Salter, or Mason, or Banker, yet these are no hindrances, why you should not be admired, if you have impudence, and boldnesse, and can artificially rayle.

Merchant.

I need you not for such imployments. You may, perhaps, in time, make a Sayler, or Gardiner, if the Seller here will part with you for at most two pence.

Mercury.

Take him, for we would fain be rid of him, he keeps such a noise, and clamour, snarles at us all, and talkes so scurvily.

Iupiter.

Call for the next; that Cyrenian, in purple, with a Chaplet on his head.

Mercury.

O yes, draw you all neer. Here I present you with a costly purchase, and fit for the rich; a delight­full, thrice [...]happy mortall. Who loves pleasure? come and buy a most luxurious Philosopher.

Merchant.

Stand out, you, and tell what you can do: for I will buy you, if you be good for any thing.

Mercury.

Pray, Sir, trouble him not with questions; he is drunk you see, and cannot answer you, his tongue trips.

Merchant.

What man in his right wits would buy such a debaucht, intemperate fellow? how he smels of per­fumes? [Page 385] and how reelingly, and unballast he moves? do you therefore, Mercury, report his qualities, and what he can do sober.

Mercury.

Briefly then, he is a Joviall companion at meales, a good Reveller, and fit for an amorous, prodigall Master. He is well studied in Banquets, and a very skil­ful Purveyor; In a word, he is a very Sophist of Luxury. He was bred at Athens, served certain Tyrants of Sicily, by whom he was much favour'd; his chief end and choice is to despise all things, to enjoy all things, and to seek plea­sures wheresover they may be found.

Merch.

Pray look about for some rich, and wealthy Chapman, I am not fit to buy such a Joviall Attendant.

Mercury.

'Tis to be feared, Iupiter, this fellow will not be bought.

Iupiter.

Remove him, then, and produce others: the two yonder, the Abderite, who laughs, and the Ephesian who weeps; for they will sell together.

Mercury.

Stand forth in the midst. O yes, I sell a most rare pair of mortals, and cry a couple of the wisest of all Philosophers.

Merchant.

O Iupiter, how unlike they are! One alwaies laughs, the other seems to lament some body, and incessantly weeps. Why do you laugh so, my Friend?

Democritus.

Because all your businesse, and selves seem to me things to be laught at.

Merchant.

How? do you laugh at us, and flight our affaires, as things of nought?

Democritus.

Even so. They have nothing conside­rable in them, but all things are vanity, an endlesse heap of Atomes.

Merchant.

'Tis not so; you are rather a vain man, and unexperienced. O Contumely! wilt thou not cease to fleer? And why weep you, good Friend? For I hold it much better to talk with you.

Heraclitus.
[Page 386]

I, stranger, hold all humane affaires wret­ched, and deplorable; wholly lyable to Fate, which makes mee thus pitty, and bewayle them. The things present do not much touch mee; but the calamities which are to happen hereafter, I mean the conflagration and ruine of the universe, are things I thus lament; As also, to consider that nothing is certaine, or fixt, but all things are wrapt up in a confusion; the same thing pleaseth and offends, knowledge and ignorance, great and small, high and low, wheele in a circle, and shift order in the May-games of time.

Merch.

What is time?

Heracl.

A Boy playing at dice, throwing severall chances.

Merch.

What are Men?

Heracl.

Mortall Gods.

Merch.

What are Gods?

Heracl.

Immortall men.

Merchant.

You speake riddles my friend, and build Labyrinths; and, like Apollo, speake nothing clear­ly.

Heracl.

I am not to humour you.

Merchant.

Nor will any man in his wits buy such a fellow.

Heracl.

My custome is to bid all men from their infan­cie to weep, as well those that buy mee, as those that buy me not.

Merchant.

This is an humour next to madnesse; Ile buy neither of these.

Mercury.

These will lye upon our hands too.

Iupiter.

Crye another, then.

Mercury.

The smooth tongu'd Athenian yonder?

Iupiter.

Yes.

Mercury.

Come hither, you. I crye a vertuous and discreet Mortall; A most sacred Philosopher; who buyes him?

Merchant.
[Page 387]

Say, where most lies your Learning, Friend?

Socrates.

I teach young Boyes, and am a Philosopher of Love.

Merchant.

What shall I give for thee? for I want a Schoolmaster to a handsome Son I have.

Socrates.

Who is fitter then I to converse with a fair Boy? who am not a lover of their bodies, but hold their souls only beautifull. And though they lye with me un­der the same Rugge, yet you shall not hear them complain of my misusage.

Merchant.

'Tis incredible, being a Buggerer, as you are, you should only affect their soul; especially having them in your power, under the same Coverlet.

Socrates.

I swear by a Dog, and Plane-tree, 'tis so as I tell you.

Merchant.

O Hercules! what a disparagement is this to the Gods?

Socrates.

Why, is not a Dog, think you, a God? what think you of Anubis in Aegypt, and of the Dog-star in Heaven, and Cerberus in Hell?

Merchant.

You say true, I mistook indeed. Pray what is your profession?

Socrates.

I build to my selfe a City, observe a strange Policy, and prescribe my own Laws.

Merchant.

I would fain hear one of your Institutions.

Socrates.

Hear, then, one of the greatest concerning Wedlock. I would have no man have his Wife to himself, but in common with any that should desire her.

Merchant.

Would you have the Lawes concerning Adultery repealed, then?

Socrates.

Yes, and all such petty Statutes.

Merchant.

How would you dispose of amiable boyes?

Socrates.

They should be for rewards to the vertuous, who had atchieved any famous, and youthfull Exploit.

Merchant.

How bountifull you are! And pray what is the summe of your wisdome?

Socrates.
[Page 388]

Idea's, and patterns of things. For of all these things which you see, as the Earth, things in the Earth, heaven, and Sea, there are certain invisible Images, and idea's out of the world.

Merchant.

Where do they reside?

Socrates.

No where. For if they were any where, they were not.

Merchant.

I see no such Idea's as you speak of.

Socrates.

No marvell; the eye of your mind is blind. I plainly see the Images of all things, you unappearing; my self elsewhere, and, in a word, all things double.

Merchant.

Well, Sir, since you are so wise, and quick-sighted, I'le buy you. What will you take for him, Cryer?

Mercury.

Two Talents.

Merchant.

I'le give what ere you ask. To morrow the money shall be paid in.

Mercury.

What may I call your name?

Merchant.

Dion of Syracuse.

Mercury.

Send you a good penny-worth. Epicurus, I call you next: Who will buy this Philosopher? He was Schollar to that Laugher, and Drunkard whom I cryed before; only he excells them in one thing, that is, he is much more an Atheist. In all things else he is a pleasant, Joviall companion.

Merchant.

What's his price?

Mercury.

Two Drachmes.

Merchant.

There they are; but pray tell me first what Diet he is of?

Mercury.

He loves Sweet-meats, and Preserves, espe­cially dried Figs.

Merchant.

These are of easy provision. I will buy him Figs by the Freyle.

Iupiter.

Call forth another; that rough skinn'd, sowr lookt Stoick.

Mercury.

You say well: The whole multitude ex­pect him. O yes, I sell Vertue it selfe; a most accom­plisht [Page 389] mortall. Who desires to know all things alone?

Merchant.

How say you?

Mercury.

Marry that this Philosopher is only wise, only beautifull, only just, valiant, a King, Rhetorici­an, rich, a Law-giver, and all things alse.

Merchant.

Pray Sir, is he a Cook too?

Mercury.

And a Tanner, and Mason, and what you will.

Merchant.

'Tis very likely. Come hither, friend, and tell me your Buyer who you are. But first, whither it grieve you not to be sold, and made a servant.

Chrysippus.

Not at all; for these are things not in our power; And whatsoever is not in our power, is to be held indifferent.

Merchant.

I understand you not.

Chrysippus.

How? Do you not understand that some of these things are proegmenicall, others not proegme­nicall?

Merchant.

Nor yet do I conceive you.

Chrysippus.

No marvell; you are not accustomed to our Termes. Nor have you a capable fancy. But a stu­dent, who hath learned the Theory of Logick, knowes not only such words, but what accidents are, and prae­ter accidents, and how they differ.

Merchant.

For Philosophy sake without envy, tell me what is accident, and praeter-accident. For I am confounded with your quaint Termes.

Chrysippus.

Without reservation, then, if one be lame, and through lamenesse stumble against a stone, and un­expectedly receive a hurt, his lamenesse was accidentall to him, his hurt praeter-accidentall.

Merchant.

Miraculously acute! What else do you chief­ly professe to know?

Chrysippus.

Nets of speech, by which I entangle, and ensnare those I talke with; make them hold their peace, by putting a bridle to their mouth. The name of the pow­er by which I do this, is celebrated Syllogisme.

Merchant.
[Page 390]

By Hercules, It must be of a strong and re­sistlesse vertue.

Chrysippus.

Pray marke. Have you a good childe?

Merchant.

Why aske you?

Chrysippus.

Suppose a Crocodile should catch this childe, finding him walking neer the river, and should afterwards promise to restore him, upon condition you tell him true what he hath resolved with himself concer­ning his restitution, what would you say he had resol­ved upon?

Merchant.

You propose a question hard to be an­swer'd. For I doubt whether I should say, that I should receive him againe. But for Ioves sake answer you, and save the child before he be devour'd.

Chrysippus.

Fear not. I'le teach you things yet more wonderfull.

Merchant.

What are they?

Chrysippus.

The Concluder, the Commander, but a­bove all the Electra, and Cryptick question, or con­cealment.

Merch.

What is the Cryptick or Electra, you speake of?

Chrysippus.

Electra was Agamemnons Daughter; who at the same time knew a thing, and knew it not. For O­restes standing by her unknown, she knew Orestes to be her Brother, but knew not him to be Orestes. Next hear what the admired Cryptick question is. For let me aske you; do you know your own father?

Merchant.

Yes.

Chrysippus.

Suppose, then, I should bring one veyld into your company, and should aske whether you knew him, what would you say?

Merchant.

That I knew him not.

Crysippus.

But 'tis your father. If, therefore, you know not who 'tis, you know not your father

Merchant.

I, but, Sir, as soon as I undisguise him, I shall know the truth. But what end propose you to [Page 391] your wisedome? And by what meanes will you arrive to the height of vertue?

Chrysippus.

First I busie my self about the chiefest things in nature. As riches, health, and the like; but first much labour is necessarily to be undergone. The sight to be accustomed to small prints, comments to be com­piled, Soloecismes, and absurd speeches to be noted. In a word, no man can be wise till he have drunke Hel­lebore thrice.

Merchant.

Your studies are very generous, and manly. But to be a Banker, or Usurer (for such a one you are) must a man drinke Hellebore, and be perfectly vertuous?

Chrysip.

He must. For 'tis fit only for a wise man to let out money, whose propertie only is to make Syllogismes. For to let out mony, and to compute the usury, have neer affinity with making of Syllogismes. So that as the one agrees only to a vertuous man, so doth the other, who is not to take single increase like other men, but use up­on use. For do you not know that there is a first, and second use, and one the off-spring of the other? You may perceive it in this Syllogisme;

He that receives the first use is to
receive the second,
But he hath received the first use, ergo
He is to receive the second.
Merchant.

Holds this, I pray, for the rewards too, which you take for reading wisedome to your Schollers? Methinkes vertuous men should ayme at no reward but vertue.

Chrysippus.

You are my Scholler. I receive pay not for my own, but the givers sake. For if he be liberall and I frugall, I by exercising my frugality exercise his liberality.

Merchant.

On the contrary, suppose the Scholler thrif­ty, and your selfe a prodigall.

Chrysip.

You flout me, Sir; but take heed lest I retort an invincible Syllogisme.

Merchant.
[Page 392]

What Perill accompanies your dart?

Chrysippus.

Doubt, and silence, and overthrow of your understanding; and, what is yet more, if I please, I will presently demonstrate you to be a stone.

Merchant.

How! A Stone. You seem not, Sir, to be a Perseus.

Crysippus.

Thus. Is a stone a body?

Merchant.

Yes.

Chrysippus.

And is an animal a body?

Merchant.

Yes.

Chrysippus.

And are you an animal?

Merchant.

I think I am.

Chrysippus.

Why, then, being a body, you are a stone?

Merch.

Not so, Sir. But for Ioves sake restore me, and make me a man again.

Chrysippus.

'Tis not difficult. Be, therefore, a man a­gain. For tell me, is every body an animal?

Merchant.

No.

Chrysippus.

Is a stone an animal?

Merchant.

No.

Chrysippus.

But you are a body.

Merchant.

'Tis true.

Chrysippus.

And as you are a body, so you are an ani­mal too.

Merchant.

I grant it.

Chrysippus.

Therefore being an animal you are no stone.

Merch.

Trust me, Sir, you did almost benumme me like Niobe; and I felt my limbes growing stiffe. I'le buy you. What shall I pay for him?

Mercury.

Ten pound.

Merchant.

There 'tis.

Mercury.

Do you alone buy him?

Merchant.

No; but all these you see.

Mercury.

They are a strong shouldred number, and fit for the concluding Science.

Iupiter.
[Page 393]

Waste not Time▪ but call another.

Mercury.

You famous, rich Peripatetick, I summon you; stand forth, most worthy to be sold; who alone knowest all things.

Merchant.

Whose this

Mercury.

A temperate, modest, orderly carriaged, and what is yet more, a double Philosopher.

Merch.

How double?

Mercury.

He seemes one thing without, and is another within. If therefore, you buy him, remember you call him Inside, and Outside.

Merch.

Which way lyes his knowledge most?

Mercury.

He holds there are three sorts of good, one of the soule, another of the body, a third extrinsecall to both.

Merch.

He hath the learning of a man. How do you value him?

Mercury.

At twenty pounds.

Merch.

'Tis too dear.

Mercury.

Not so, Sir; he seems to have money of his owne, so that you will not repent your bargaine. Be­sides, you will ere long learn of him how long a gnat lives; at what depth the Sunne shines into the sea; and what soul Oysters have.

Merchant.

By Hercules, most exquisite knowledge.

Mercury.

you shall hear farre greater subtileties then these, concerning nativities, and generations, and the forming of Embryo's in the wombe, how a man is vi­sible, and an as [...]e not, nor able to build, or sayle.

Merch.

You report most venerable, and usefull Scien­ces. There's twenty pound for him.

Mercury.

Take him. Is there any yet left? O, you Sceptick, Pyrromick, stand forth, you are next to bee cryed. The multitude departs apace, and the market is reduced to a few; who'l buy this Philosopher?

Merch.

I will. But first tell me, what thou knowest?

Philosopher.
[Page 394]

Nothing.

Merchant.

How so?

Philosoph.

Because nothing seemes to me to have a be­ing.

Merch.

Have you no being then?

Philosoph.

'Tis more then I know.

Merchant.

And hast thou no being?

Philosopher.

I know this much lesse.

Merch.

O Ignorant! But what meanest thou by these scales?

Philosoph.

I weigh Arguments in them, and reduce them to an equality; and when I see them exactly equall and of like weight, I know not which is the truer.

Merch.

What canst thou do else?

Philosoph.

All things but pursue a fugitive servant.

Merch,

Why is this impossible?

Philosoph.

Because I cannot apprehend him.

Merchant.

Likely enough. Being so lazy, all slow­paced as thou seemest to be. But what is the end of thy knowledge?

Philosoph.

Ignorance; and neither to hear nor see.

Merch.

Art thou then deafe, and blinde?

Philosoph.

More, I want both reason, and sense, and differ not at all from a worme.

Merch.

Well, I'le buy thee. How doe you sell him?

Mercury.

For an Attick pound.

Merch.

There 'tis. What say you, friend, have I bought you?

Philosoph.

'Tis uncertain.

Merch.

I have bought thee, and payd the money.

Philosoph.

I do thinke; and consider of it.

Merch.

Follow me, therefore, as a servant.

Philosoph.

Who knowes whether you say true?

Merh.

The Cryer here, and my money, and the stan­ders by.

Philosoph.

Are there any standers by.

Merchant.
[Page 395]

I your master putting you into bridewell, will perswade you by a worse argument that there are.

Philosoph:

I doubt that.

Merch:

By Iove Ile make it appeare,

Mercury.

Cease your contradictions, and follow him that hath bought you. To morrow good people, if you come, I vvill cry Ideot, Mechanick, and vulgar Mortalls.

The Fisherman, or Philosophers revived.

Socrates.

THrovv, throvv shovvres of stones at this mischievous fellovv, pelt him vvith Clods, and Brick-bars, knock the detractour dovvn vvith Clubs, see hee scape not. Throvv, Plato, and you, Chrysippus, and you. Let's all take Armes against him.

Let Scrip aid Scrip, and Staffe lend help to Staffe,

For he is a common enemy, and there is not one of us which he hath not injured. Now, if ever, Diogenes, use thy Cudgell, and cease not. Let the rayler feele his reward. How now? What weary, Aristippus? It ought not to be;

Be wise, and call your sharpest fury up.

Aristotle, quickly come hither; so, so the wild beast is ta­ken. Have we caught you, Mischief? We'l make you presently know, what kind of men you have abused. How shall wee deal with him? Lets contrive various death for him able to satisfye us all, for he hath deserved to be slayn of us seven times a peece.

Plato.

My doom is that we crucify him, but whippe him first, then plucke out his eyes, and cut out his tongue. What's yours, Empedocles?

Empedocles.

That we cast him into the Cavernes of Aet­na, there to learn that his betters are not to be jeered.

Plato.
[Page 396]

'Twere better wee dismembred him like a Pentheus, or Orpheus, found piece-meale in some rocky place, that every passenger may carry away a limbe.

Lucian.

Hold, and spare me, I beseech you.

Socrates.

You must not scape so. You know what Homer sayes:

'Twixt Men and Lyons no sure league can be.
Lucian.

I also can beseech you out of Homer, since 'tis likely you reverence his verses, and will not scorn my collections:

Save mee I'me innocent, and for your hire
Take Gold, and Silver, which you wise desire.
Plato.

We want not a reply for you out of Homer, hearken, therefore.

No offer shall thus liberty perswade
Though cloth'd in Gold, since thou art Captive made:
Lucian.

O Calamity! Homer my greatest hope fayles me. Euripides then must be my refuge; and may perhaps preserve me.

A Supplicant to kill,
Hath been unlawfull still.
Plato.

But doth not Euripides say too,

No punishment's unfit
For them who Crimes commit.
Lucian.
[Page 397]

So, then, with this sentence you meane to slay mee.

Plato.

By Iupiter yes, for he sayes in another place,

He his owne fate doth draw
VVhose free tongue keeps no law.
Lucian.

Well, since you are resolved to kill mee, and since there is no way to escape you, pray tell mee who you are, and what haynous injury you have suffer'd from mee, so intollerably to provoke you, and thus to appre­hend mee for my death?

Plato.

Aske thy selfe, mischiefe, what harme thou hast done us, and thy trimme workes, in which thou hast injuriously defamed Philosophy her selfe, and heapt dis­graces on us, by offering wise men, nay, which is yet more, men free borne, as it were in publique market to sale. Moved therefore with indignation, wee have risen from the dead against thee, and as many as thou seest here, Chrysippus, Epicurus, Plato My selfe, Aristotle there, and silent Pythagoras, Diogenes also, and as many of us as thou hast libell'd have for a while left the inferiour world.

Lucianus.

I am relieved. No [...] will you slay mee, when you know what my conversation among you hath been. Cast away your stones, therefore, or rather keep them for deservers.

Plato.

Trifler, to day thou perishest; 'tis decreed, thou shalt expiate thy offences with a stone garment.

Lucian.

But I am one, wise Sirs, whom of all men you ought to praise, bred among you, well instructed, of your opinion. And (if I may speake without being burdensome) an advancer of your studies. Consider well therefore, whom you slay, if you slay mee, who have undergone so many toyles in your behalfe. Consi­der also whether by this course you shall not show your [Page 398] selves like the Philosophers of these times, ungratefull, Cholerick, and senselesse towards your benefactour.

Plato.

O Impudence! are we to repay your detracti­ons with gratitude? Do you think you talke with bond­men indeed? or that we are to requite raylings and in­temperance of speech with favours?

Lucian.

Where or when have I injured you? who have constantly admired Philosophy; and alwayes extoll'd your selves, and convert with the workes you left be­hind you From whence have I taken all my discourses but from you, which like a bee having gather'd from your flowers, I have made publique to men? Who both praise, and acknowledg every mans flower, and perceive whence, and from whom, and how I gather'd it, and speake with emulation of my Collections; but more tru­ly through them admire you, and your gardens, which have brought forth such various, and many shapt pro­ductions. Which if one know how to mingle, and inter­weave, and proportion, so as one shall not disagree from another, can it be possible thus taught he should detract from you? Or disparage those good men of which he strives to be thought one? Unlesse like Thamys, or Eurytus, he be of such an ill nature, that he dare challenge the Muses, of whom he learnt to sing, or A­pollo, who taught him to shoot?

FINIS

The TABLE.

1. AN Answer to one that said You are Prometheus in your Speeches.
1
2. An Epistle to Nigrinus.
5
3. Nigrinus, or the Manners of Philosophers.
ibid.
4. The Kings-Fisher, or a Dis­course of Transformations.
20
5. Prometheus or Caucasus.
24
6. A Dialogue between Pro­metheus and Jupiter.
32
7. A Dialogue betweem Jupiter and Cupid.
33
8. A Dialogue between Apollo and Vulcan.
34
9. A Dialogue between Jupiter and Vulcan.
35
10. A Dialogue between Jupi­ter, Aesculapius and Hercules.
37
11. A Dialogue between Juno and Jupiter.
38
12. A Dialogue between Ve­nus and Cupid.
39
13. A Dialogue between Mars and Mercury.
40
14. A Dialogue between Jupi­ter and the Sun.
41
15. A Dialogue between Cy­clops and Neptune.
42
16. A Dialogue between Al­pheus and Neptune.
44
17. A Dialogue between Me­nelaus and Proteus.
45
18. A Dialogue between Nep­tune and a Dolphin.
46
19. A Dialogue between Dio­genes and Pollux.
47
20. Pluto, or a complaint a­gainst Menippus.
49
21. A Dialogue between Pluto and Mercury.
50
22. A Dialogue between Terp­sion and Pluto.
51
23. A Dialogue between Ze­nophantes, and Callidemides.
53
24. A Dialogue between Cne­mon and Damnippus.
54
25. A Dialogue between Cha­ron, Mercury, a company of dead men, Menippus, Chermoleus, Lampicus, Damasius, a Philoso­pher, and a Rethorician.
ib.
26. A Dialogue between Cra­tes, and Diogenes.
59
27. A Discourse between Alex­ander, Hannibal, Minos, Scipio.
61
[Page] 28. A Discourse between Dio­genes and Alexander.
64
29. A Discourse of Followers, and such as are imployed for reward
66
30. A Defence of those who are imployed for reward.
91
31. The Tyrant-Slayer.
98
32. The Disinherited Son.
109
33. Alexander, or the false Prophet.
127
34. Toxaris, or a Discourse of Frindship.
153
35. Anacharsis, or a Discourse of Exercises.
187
36. A Discourse of Sorrowing for the Dead.
209
37. Hercules of Gaule, or a Discourse of Eloquence.
215
38. The Ship, or a Discourse of Wishes.
218
39. The Counsell of your Gods.
238
40. The Decree:
243
41. The Images:
245
42. A Defence of your for­mer Discourse.
256
43. Jupiter Tragoedian, or a Discourse of Providence.
268
44. The Cynick.
293
45. Jupiter Confuted, or a Dis­course of Destiny.
302
46. The Parasite.
311
47. The Lover of Lyes, or the incredulous.
334
48. A defence of Dancing.
354
49. The Sale of Philosophers.
379
50. The Fishermen, or Philo­sophers revived.
395
FINIS.

This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal. The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.