§. 1. AS the skilful Herbalists, when they go on simpling, do not make choice of curious gardens, for the boun­daries of their search, but rather choose to traverse the wide World, to find the variety of Natures sprinkling. So if we seek for strippes, and springs of goodly dispositions, we must not be confined to noble Cultures; but every field, and Grove (with the wilds, and wasts of the Hundred) may afford as well as they, somewhat worthy of our transplanting, or collecting▪ For, as Marius pleadeth, in excusing the obscurity of his birth,Natura una, & com­munis est omnium: fortissimus verò quis­quam generosissimus est. Salust. that Nature is but one, and common unto all, so it is here. And wherever it is found in greater force, or better temper, there it is the more ge­nerous. Why should we stand gazing at the steps and nods of Princes, if not to lead us into error, and admiration? 'Tis art, whatsoever we observe, Nature affordeth nothing else but motion. Or why should we only wander in the Common, [Page 2] to regard the rude and undisciplin'd? Nature is restrained there from play (wherein she would affect to shew her gayety) through ignorance, and want of conversation. Or if we still hold our judgments unprejudicated, why should we not compare them with the mean; while we often see the high born and bred to have but weak and passive spirits, and some that sprout up among the stubs, to culminate with the Cedars, and to ga­ther as they grow, the flower of all accomplish­ments? But we are not to travel in extremities. We may find the characters of beauty and perfecti­on in a Pastoral, as well as in a Tragaedy. And therefore we will take all indifferently in our obser­vation: though the Great are our only instances, and the Mean, when they are produced, are not known.

What should we stand to dispute, whether vertue be more from Nature, or from Discipline, since that would only be to argue in the figure of the word? We take it not for strength Natural, which is equally applicable to good, or evil; or for any Act according to election, which may be only from the dictate of our reason, and besides our inclination; but we take it for a rectitude of moral dispositions, from whence we account a per­son good, and well-conditioned, who is so en­dowed. Education may teach us good manners, as they are in fashion; but it doth not weaken ma­lice, but rather helps it to be more artificial. Study [Page 3] may amend the Principles, restrain the progress of a vice, correct the tenor of our Life: but it cannot render any one so gracious, or so accepta­ble, as a good nature untutored. In fine, the force of fortune hath no little influence upon our tempers to disguise us from our selves and others.

Wherefore in enquiring after good Nature, we may sooner find our game among the Humanists, then among the School-men; and put her up with a pack of descriptions, than take her in the chace (as it were) with one courser, by a single defini­tion. But the Huntsman (first) must appoint the grounds to us. And they are thus ample.

1. That Nature hath not been so much restrain­ed unto any man, as to allow him no good quali­ties. A fool may be kind and charitable. A slave obsequious and loving to his Master. A deformed man ingenious. Thersites did not want somewhat in him, to recommend him to some mans phancy, that could distinguish. Neither Aesop, nor the Priest, whom the Queen descended to salute, as he lay in sleeping. Nay, we see (sometimes) an ill-favour'd lout (as he seems to others eyes) to be graced with the bed, and favour of a beauteous Lady, whom likelier persons have sought; and have been repulsed. Not to speak of the most vici­ous, whose evil parts may be but the corruptions of their excellent endowments misemployed: the most contemptible have somewhat in them to bear them up against neglect. A curr (that is unprofita­ble) [Page 4] hath exquisite wayes of fawning, and insinu­ating with his Master, to save his skin, or fill his belly; so that he may fare better than the Talbot. As we likewise see an empty droll better feasted, then a Grave Philosopher, but they are not so much to be envyed for what they have, as to be pityed for what they want.

2. That Nature hath not given all good parts to any one man. [Onc ne furent a tous toutes graces don nées.] for if she had; her prodigality upon that one, would cause that all the rest, that she hath bestowed on others, should be in vain. He, while he were as a God amongst men, would be insupportable in the World; while all accumulation of honours and regards were devolv'd on him, a general Ebbe would leave the other fishes to perish on the dry shoar: and this Leviathan would scarce be covered in the middle of the waters. But she hath rather so provided, that somewhat there should be in one to recompence the defect of another: and somewhat elsewhere to counter-balance men that are excel­lent, that the World might not be too narrow to contain them.

3. That a crooked, maimed, or infirm body are to be allowed for their imperfections, in so many grains extraordinary, whatsoever vertue you require in them. for whatever noble instincts may be in them,Ad nullum consurgit opus, cùm corpare languet. the soul cannot [Page 5] act without its organs; but when it is about to issue, it is distorted. They cannot choose but be affected, as they [...]el within themselves; when they are about to shew their courtesy, somewhat in­discernable may pain and incommode them; as an aking tooth may interrupt one (if it be no more) in the midst of his discourse; and then if you wonder to see the debonnaire on a suddain to become tachy and unsociable, while he perceives, and strives to correct it, he may falter upon some other passion,In vitium ducit culpae fuga si caret arte. or disease, and make it worse by his endeavour of amending. To these, it may be some fair quality may want a seat of action, or the faculty be sunk in the rub­bish, and ruine of a member.

4. That there are divers other affections of the body, that [...] an influence upon the soul. A ean one preyeth on the sweet and oyly humours, and so consumes the fewel of its own contentment. A little body is soon agitated, as if the spirits wanted room to expatiate, and 'tis receiv'd (almost) a­mong the vulgar, that little heads are testy. But if there be excess of dimensions, it makes the whole unactive, and the parts unwieldy. Besides, though you see nothing but a body well-disposed, the parts within may be inordinate. The veins and ar­teries may be strait, and subject to obstructions; so that transpiration is not free, nor the course of the bloud and spirits open to the extremities of the [Page 6] body, whereby it cannot feel its self in an ( [...], or) good estate, and habit of complexion. Neither is it possible for some to obtain so good a temper, who are born with evi humours; as we bring with us for the most part, some familiar ma­ladies (like evil Geniuses) attending on us all our life, Either thin and fluid humors, or gross and tough, or fair and fiery spirits, or sharp and sub­tle as if they were the rennet of Cold and melan­choly.

5. Lastly, That therefore the agreement of bo­dy, and mind must be considered, and then the field may be discreetly beaten for our prise. There is a kind of Physiognomy, that discovers a good Nature, wherein any ordinary man may have some insight. The beggar spyeth where to be im­portunate. The cheat where to follow. The hector where to brave, or to beware. [...] Courtier where to allure: but some aspects there are agree­able unto every one liking, where none conceiveth a suddain prejudice; or hateth at the first sight, or envyeth their good estate, or affecteth to do them any hurt for their owe sakes, but findeth that hu­manity in them, which all the World respecteth. Such is that (most part) that presenteth a clear and even skin, a ruddy countenance, a constituti­on full and sound, that is neither apt to thrive not abate, and a mine of air and behaviour, neither flow, nor vehement, but strong and sweet, and such as sheweth a promptness to intension, and re­mission, [Page 7] as occasion serveth. A body free from uneven parts, especially uneven eye-brows, pro­minent lips, or an eminent (Romane) nose. If any other parts be unequal, one cannot therefore exclude that party from having any good parts within him: but we cannot lightly take him for the copy of our Character. But there is nothing more regardable than the habit of the eyes: which if they bear that full and steddy look, that im­porteth Confidence, and admit those repercussions that enkindle bashfulness, and emit those casts and glances, that are significant of gentle passi­ons, they do undoubtedly evince the tokens of a likely person.

§. II. But to leave it unto women to be plea­sed in the outside of a man, and to allow them (what they affect in this case) to be the compe­tenter Judges. Let us pass to the habits of the mind: and then (to be sure) whatsoever we dis­cover to be good in one, is good in another, and indifferent to both our Sexes.

I take it once for granted, that a Good Nature enjoyes a constant sweetness within it self, while it is endued abundantly with a free course of blood and spirits, circling in its breast; and filling it with love of life both in it self and others: and delighting most in interchanging of vivacity.

1. And first, That it doth not owe its cheer­fulness to any foreign cause, but only to its native vigour, and source of anhelation. And whom [Page 8] doth it not revive to see alacrity in another with­out apparent cause? Especially, when there is no insolence, or affected motion to be discover­ed. Who would not wish and earn for such an acquaintance, and think himself happy to have a part in one, that is (indeed) happy of himself? To see his action, observe his countenance, note the harmony of his heart, and tongue; and hear the melody of his speech, and tone; while every acent is a strain of birds, or Angels?

And yet the cause is not so abstruse, the ebul­lition of fresh and airy spirits gently moves the bloud, and excites the sweeter humours of the bo­dy, such M. de la chambre. as love and joy flow upon, and yeild no place to a syncope, or inter­cision of the soul, such as grief and sor­row do inflict by the sharper humours that they prepare, and empty from the Gall, and other vessels ordain'd to sever them, Besides, that in­nocency is a constant guard upon the blandish­ments of the mind, and affords security to all the thoughts to play with their simplicity. For bit­ter passions seldom come, till we begin to trade with fortune, and Sext Em­piricus. taint our appre­hensions with things preter-natural. Not as if a Good Nature were beyond the reach of fortune (for the fair are commonly said to be unfortunate) A Brother, or a Lover may be snatch't away; or his time may travel over barren ground, and make wast in his progress. [Page 9] But abstinence and contentment are not difficult to a mind not debauch't with Luxury, since Na­ture is contented with a little, and it is more na­tural to such a temper to take delight in the good that is present, then to wreek for that which is absent (peradventure) more than wanting, but its power were not to be seen were there nothing to oppress it. [Marcet sine adversario vir­tus.] The breathing of a spring will bear a light thing above the water; if it be stifled with earth and rubbish, in time 'twill wear them quite away, or else it will rise again in another Cistern of its own inventing. The Palm-tree shooteth up with the more vigour having weights hang'd upon it. And the pressed Camomill yields with a modest fragrancy, but as soon as the cha­stening Roller is gone beyond it, it rears itself again to court the air and dew that cherish it, so aBuenco. raçon que­branta ma­la ventura. Good Nature is not toiled with ad­versity or changed without subversion. But so it liveth with its self.

2. Next, let us see how it delights it self in the life of others, which we may take some pleasure to observe in the vanity of little children. Whereas you may observe some (as soon as they can express the primer copy of their reasons) to be craving many things, making little difference of the hand, or the party, so they be but gratified: because their delight is more in divers toyes than in their play-fellows▪ or in their [Page 10] dayly servants that attend to humour them: you shall note some other better natured, that take no joy but in their companions, that will not eat, nor drink, nor (by their good will) sleep without them. That will not be pleas'd with any thing when they rise again, without restoring them to their wonted pastime, and their known Associates. The same rejoyce in getting more acquaintance and making more friends to play with them: but yet they will not endure to be with strangers with­out the company of some they know, because they distinguish of whom they know, and of whom they love; not through averseness unto any, but only of imbecility, when they find themselves de­nuded of their proper Aids and Relyances. For, the same Nature, with the benefit of experience, leads them on to an Universal Humanity. And it seems that Humane Nature is rather to be learned by observing the respective characters of growing years, then by forming notions out of their Ma­turest actions; which it is most likely, are accom­modated unto fortune, or necessity. Neither is it wonder, if these have still impell'd mankind to an Uniform mode, or way of contending about the Partition of conveniences among men, but it would be wonder, to see a child by Nature so Pug­nacious, that without any provocation, it should still be fighting. I am more inclinable to think with Sir P. Sidney, that man is a Good Natur'd creature till he is injured. Neither do I think, [Page 11] that every man could wish a great destruction, that he himself might come to desolate possessions. But of this only en passant: I dare not enter into an argument, at the porch of which, stat magni nominis umbra.

§. III. To proceed from these two principles (that I suppose) I infer as necessary consequents. 1. That a Good Nature is void of pride and am­bition, 2. Void of interest and design.

1. While it readily cleaves to what it likes, more or less as it finds agreeableness; it is not averse to any other, much less is it apt to hate any, seeing somewhat good in every one; so that though it do decline some qualities that are in per­sons, and some persons for those qualities, yet it doth not hate them or despise them: Whereas all pride is founded in a secret malice.

The degrees of pride are two. The first, self-conceitedness, whereby one esteems himself better then another. The second is ambition, whereby one seeks in act to put a distance, or to make a difference betwixt himself, and those that he de­spiseth, which do both necessarily induce hatred; inasmuch as the proud conceiveth, that those whom he despiseth would oppose him, and arrogate as much unto themselves, as he doth to himself (if it lay in their power) and therefore he doth either in act, or intention seek to depress them. Now as generous wines, when they retract their spirits to the Center of the vessel, do become [Page 12] eager in the extremities: so it happens to men of spirit, when they retire into themselves by self-conceitedness, they become unsociable in other parts, and are only pleasant to their intimates, be­ing such as serve to elate them more; while they vainly nourish a caprice of grandeur with restraint of generosity. But if their humour carry them abroad, to make it self observed, it brings a restraint upon the publick, imposeth upon others, abridgeth liberty, raiseth expectation, and meeteth (at the last) with such contempt and hatred from other men, as they themselves have fostered. Or if fortune favour their ambition, and bring the world about to their bent, so far as they have to do in it; yet it cannot blot out the inde­lible characters of their usurpation, or the tokens that they must leave behind of their injustice. If Caesar were the Tamer of the World, he was the overthrower of his Countrey. And so (before) was Marius: so was Sylla: nor was more to have been suspected from L. Catiline. But the like success doth not happen to one of a thousand, not in meaner enterprises. And what (at length) is sought by attempting? When Pyrrhus, King of Epire, prepared to pass into Italy, Cyneas, a Councellor in esteem with him, demands to what end he made that great preparation? Said he, to make my self Master of Italy. And what, replies Cyneas, after that? I will pass, saith he into Gaule ▪ and into Spain. And what farther? I will go to [Page 13] conquer Africk, and at last, when I have brought the world into my subjection, I will live at ease,Liv. 1. and take my content. And I pray Sir, rejoyneth Cyneas, why may you not so do, at this present, and save your self the hazards and the travels? It is the treating of designs that re­moveth present happiness, making us to go out of our selves, and not to rest in what we are, which the truly'Ev [...], Plotin. happy only do, as the only means of their happiness. A Good Nature is indifferently born to all mankind, and to all estates, and can never want either complacency in the first, or contentment in the later. It exact­eth conversation to the utmost of its fortune, and excepts against none: for it hath no picque to make it eager against any. It esteemeth no better of its own person or endowments, or fortunes then an­others. The beautiful despiseth not the crooked, the strong doth not violate the weak, nor the witty abuse the simple, the rich and honorable do not scorn the company of the mean: Nor an high mind grasp at other acquisitions, than what ly open to its own right, and title. For of these things that are injoyed in common, it reputeth: that as good are they that want them, as they that have them; and as happy they that are without them. The Prince, and the subject have the same Bread and Wine; the same fish and fowl; the same cloth and silk; the same commodities, and refresh­ments [Page 14] (in reality) in common to them; The rest is but imagination, the King thinks the private man more happy, and the private man thinks the King: But they both know their incommodities apart, & that no one man hath any reason to contemn another.

Nor is it the least restraint from pride of a free and ingenuous spirit, the magnanimity that it has within it self. For as he doth not undervalue, so neither doth he prefer any other before himself, whom he values only by his own right intentions acquiescing in what he is, and not affecting to be any thing, that is another. He neither covets to detract, nor to depend, nor to have any others otherwise affected towards him, then he is towards them. For he is as continent in himself, and holds himself as happy, as him that he sees to be more wise, or more strong, or more allied, or befriend­ed then himself. He cannot therefore be discom­posed with envy, or emulation, which are the tormentors of a proud spirit. For envy is a sharp humour, that mantles the face with wrinkles, and fennowes the complexion, while it seeks no less to procure the dissolution of the subject, then of the object: whereas a good temper loves & values the worth that is in another, respects his quality, covets to support it, and desires to communicate with it in the common benefits of vicinity. Emulation is more hainous, raising a sedition in the common­wealth of vertue, and turning the fairest Machines of wit and courage against the seat of aequanimity: [Page 15] for it propagates envy, scatters the contagion into many hearts, and seeks to turn the balance to the contingency of force and violence, No matter what succeedeth, so that which stands in the way of its undue aspiring be demolished. Such furious spirits do not only molest the world with their actions; but bear a sway in civil companies by their passions, till they are out of breath: and then those clear and even carriages, that were wont to oblige and conquer men (more manfully) will be ready to evince them. But some one may be instant with me here.

If it be to debase my self, being noble, to be Good Natured, is it not better to be proud? If it be to stay my advancement, being capable of ob­taining it, is it not better to be ambitious? If it do not admit of Politick, and Martial vertues, whereby the world is governed, were it not better to unlearn it, then to study to be deceived with a vain name: Since assuredly, whatsoever makes men excellent cannot be a vice, howsoever it is termed, and whatsoever doth restrain them can­not be of vertue, howsoever it is styled? Be it so, I do not suppose, that all Heroick actions are the Acts of Good Nature: but only, that a Good Na­ture is the aptest subject of all Magnanimons ver­tues, and a kind of stock and fewel to them; but not to their contraries. If a man be noble, it prompts and supplies him with an high and gene­rous mind, far above the vulgar; but it faileth [Page 16] him in elation, or vain glory, or impotent domi­neering; which only make men great in their own conceits, and less in other mens. If he tend to advancement, the same incenseth him by all the means that are fair and vertuous; for it is but sloth and degeneration not to seek to mend his fortune, but to ambition his preferment with servility, or fraud, or cunning, his nature starts back with abhorrency,Liv. l. 42. and reclaims him (In­terdum in praesens tempus plus profici dolo, quam virtute) that craft, though it seem to profit, finds a great abatement at the foot of the account, if it do not bring us back to begin again, or bring us into great intanglements; for by one miscarriage more hath been lost, then accrued by many Acts of vertue. The like in Politick and mili­tary devoirs, it boils under publick spirits, and makes the love of ones countrey like the love of Immortality: but it fails, if we begin to affect the Tyranny, to subvert the liberty, to enslave the people, or exterminate the Nobility. Only here it strikes and suffers violence. Happy was the Ro­man Common-wealth, while it had Camillus, Cin­cinnatus, and such other Modest and invincible spirits upon all emergences to deliver it; and immediately to deliver up their supream Autho­rity. But after one ill exmaple (as Tacitus speaks in another case of the Military election of an Em­perour) when the mystery of Usurping was disco­vered, and the power of the Senate found to be [Page 17] waved by C. Marius, a person of base Original, and a barbarous mind, it was not possible to restore, or support it from farther lapses.

2. Good Nature is void of interest, and design, Can'st thou love for love, and make that the reward?Eld. Broth. Fletcher. As the roundest mouthed of our Comaedians has plac'd the words for me. But there is an end of all things and an action, or affection cannot be the end of itself: for it must be needs to obtain the fruition of somewhat beyond itself. How can this be? Yet to love for anothers love may import some valu­able consideration, for it cannot want effects and services: but to love and delight in the acts there­of, when one knows the object to be insolvent, or ingrateful, is not this a paradox of Good Na­ture? But what? Can the Sun forbear to shine, because it raiseth stench from the dunghil? Or the Spring to flow, because the stream is dam'd? Or the earth to yield its fruit, because the husband­man permits it to rot upon the ground? To have a'kind and liberal disposition is so natural to a gentle breast, that it cannot be abstracted, or in sense, or reason. And that, although there be, that pay them with their own coin, receiving all as freely as it comes, as if the Good Nature only did it to ease it self, and were obliged to its perci­pients. But such a Nature soon becomes Master of its second acts, and is not therefore foolish, because it is simple. Though it take a pleasure in its [Page 18] first acts, or emanations, yet it can improve it in its second, without any foreign interest. He knows his goodness does as much consist in the object, as the subject, and that it cannot be compleat if the object be not capable, that is, if it be ungrate­ful. For it doth not derogate from goodness to delight in the proper consequents of its acts, as in love and commendation: but rather, that it self is argument to commend it, for Contemners of Cav. Biondi. Donz. Desterrada. same are commonly despisers of vertue. To strew ones bounty, as a way to lucre, or a step to am­bition, these indeed are the trains of the Masquers, which the Nobler Spirits value with that con­tempt, that it deserveth: But if veniality be pro­fessed, and it be in an honest Candidation, we may then come in, not upon the score of Good Nature, but of liberality and Magnificence, which are but superstructions. To advance yet a little farther, the most discreet and prudent acts of a free spirit may be ill requited, and yet it is not so weak as to repent them. As if one should argue, I have found benefit by the free-heartedness of such a person, and yet, I have no particular obliga­tion to him: for he did not intend particular kind­ness unto me. What do we think? would it be a plausible Compliment coming from the open house of a noble person, to tell him, you had made your self welcome, and to bid him thank himself? Or being beset with theeves or Ruffians, [Page 19] and by some liberal hand rescued, to take your Congee, and bid him thank his own generosity: he would have done no less for any other. Indeed, those offices, that humanity doth exact, I am bound to do to the ungrateful; but in others, reason will not justifie a profusion; howsoever a Good Nature is never discouraged, or diverted by disappoint­ments.

§. IV. Hitherto in generals; by the clearing of which it remains, that a Good Nature is most Amicable: under which, I entend to order all the subordinate affections of my subject, comprising Amity and Humanity.

And First, I find Amity devided to my hand by an excellent Les Essais de Michel Seigneur de Montaigne. writer into four kinds. viz. Natural, Conjugal, Social, and Hospital: which are apt to comprise the sum of my discourse on the first head, though otherwise one might be styled so, more aptly than the rest.

1. Natural affection descends upon children like weights from a pulley, with invincible springs of revolution, ever labouring to advance them, and never resting in any measure of benevolence. All its benefits are solid, all its passions are un­feigned, all its actions to the utmost. What bounds or limits can circumscribe a thing that is indefinite, according to the goodness of the Relatives? If we consider it at divers seasons; Hope, and long­ing earnes towards their tender years, expectation [Page 20] looks wistfully towards their growing, endeavours alwayes ready to promote their well doing. Joy in their prosperity. Anxiety in their doubtful state. Sollicitude for their recovery, and grief for their miscarriages▪ And none of these indifferent. What delight may be conceived in their presence can on­ly be estimated by the grief of parting, and tedious­ness of absence, and exultancy at their return. The Roman Dames have dyed in embraces on their sons necks, returned from the fatal jour [...] of Cannae and Thrasymenus. And the Graecian Ma­trons for joy of their sons victories in a Pythian or Olympian game. If these affections be not strong, the Parent is unnatural, i. e. as vitious in this kind as can be: for he cannot do more▪ he cannot hate his issue: No man ever hated his own flesh. Yet this affection worketh diversly, according to the quality of the breasts wherein it is somented, whereby we may see, what tyranny opinion may sometimes exercise over nature. Brutus the first of the Roman Consuls, was accounted no ill man. Yet when his 2 sons were convicted of conspiracy against the Common-wealth, he sate over them (as his place required) and when all the eyes of the people were bent upon him, to see how he would behave himself, he commanded them to be execu­ted,Liv. l. 2. [eminente animo patrio inter publicae paene ministerium] his publick spirit over­bare his private. He was able to keep his counte­nance unaltered. And this was commended in [Page 21] him, not as inhumane, but as somewhat more then humane. But when Torquains Manlius put his son to death for a prosperous fight without authority, the Youth of Rome disdained his tri­umph, and hated to go out to meet him,L. l. 8. styling thenceforward severe commands Manliana Imperia. Yet he had publick reason, and is not yet acquitted to posterity. For the laws of Nature seem to be greater then any laws of discipline; nay, then the laws of the Common­wealth. It is not exacted in our law for a Wife, or a son to impeach a Husband or a Father: nor are condemned if they be receivers of his stollen goods, because they could not do less than obey his command, and conceal his trespass, which the law doth not imagine that a Wife, or a Son ought to judge, [...] to suspect; although (indeed) it be evident that they know it.

But the temper of Zaleucus is most admired, who having made a law to exoculate those, that were taken in adultery, and his Son being first taken he put out one of his sons eyes, and another of his own. So at once appearing a most indul­gent Father, and an upright Judge; which I shall rather leave for a subject of declamation, then examine here.

2. Such is love descending: The retribution is not expected to be so ample. Persolui gratia non protest, nes malo Patri. The filial is rather duty, though such as implyeth love and honour. It is [Page 22] insinuated to us from the first stretchings of our arms and hands for succour, with the first stam­merings of our tongues, and earliest exertions of our reasons. Sence and experience trill it down gently to the bottoms of our hearts▪ and custom and education combine with Nature to augment and cherish it. Though we suffer many things in our childishness which we take in evil part; yet flesh and bloud is a faithful Monitor to reduce us to submission; And that indelible obligation to refresh our obedience. In the midst of a disgust, the misadventure of a parent will bring the child into concern, and every ligament of its heart will ake at his jeopardy; for every nerve in its body is a cord of affection, that binds to him that gave them. When Craesus's son, who was born tongue­tyed, saw his Father like to be smitte [...] a Battel, he cryed save the King, and dyed by [...]at endea­vour. But if there be a true aversion, from thence a real longing for the Fathers [...], ut sit di­vus, modo non sit vivus ▪ There is no apology, no reason, no vertue to excuse it. 'Tis incompatible with the temper of a Good Nature, When the daughter of Servius Tullius, being married to a Tarquin, conspired with her Husband the death of the King her Father through ambition of the Kingdom, she made her Chareteere to drive over his dead body as he lay slain in the streets, to the utter detestation of mankind; but with such a sort of wickedness, as is yet untermed by any [Page 23] name. For if Solon thought fit to make no law against Parricide,Cic. Pro Roscio ne non tam pro­hibere, quàm ad­monere videretur because it had never been committed, least he should seem to admonish of a crime unheard of, rather than to prohibit it: how could such a fact as hers, (an instance once for ever) be known or branded by any common appellation? She is an example without parallel. But should we go about to enu­merate others on the contrary, we might be infi­nite. Only that same Manlius, who was so se­vere a Father, deserves to be commended as a Son. For whereas his Father was accused by the Tri­bunes of the People (among other things) for ignoble and unworthy breeding of himself,Liv. l. 7. he came to M. Pomponius, the chief Prosecutor, and entring with him, as it were for farther information, into his appartment, he there obliged him, seting his ponyard to his breast, to dismiss the whole appeal, which when it came to light procured him honor and advance­ment.

3. Fratrum quoque gratiarara est. 'Tis obser­ved that Brothers seldom do agree; whether through too much familiarity, which engenders contempt; or too much competition, while they account themselves by nature equal, by favour prejudiced, or by law and custom impeached of their native priviledges, interfering with one ano­ther. They are ost in brigues and skirmishes, and [Page 24] as oft in reconcilements, and recrudities. Their fallings out are but means of their holding still to­gether, and when they seem to be at the greatest distance, they fall into an easy coalition against a stranger, that seeks the wrong of either. Acquain­tance from the cradle, similitude derived from their parents, sympathy of affections, frequent broiles, and passions do the more cement them▪ and though the wealth of one be the impoverishing of another, yet the cause is foreign; and the stronger hath a natural respect for the weaker, and the weaker a natural dependance upon the stronger: which is more near, than remote acquired aids, and less offensive (because more secret, and more due) to the sense of honor, and reputation. So that brotherly love answers many obligations, that are to be understood, and never to be exprest▪ And wherever any Amity is comprehensive of more respects, it may multiply unto infinite: especially where the ground of it is so pure, and unquestionable. Which hath moved the most inti­mate of friends to adopt this appellation, as the most significant of perfect Amity. Cato the youn­ger, who could find in his heart to let his friend Munatius, coming kindly to see him in his pro­vince of Cyprus Plutarch. to part from him disobliged, and take no notice of it; neither was so ready afterwards to make him sa­tisfaction: was so fond of his Brother Caepio, that for 20, years he neither sup't, nor walk't abroad [Page 25] without him, he followed him into the Camp, he left his charge to visit him in another Countrey, being sick, and finding him deceased, lamented over him in such manner, as was not accounted seemly in a valiant, or a wise man (such as he was reputed) and being ever counted parsimonious to it, spent the value of eight Talents upon his Mo­nument. So much may be in Brotherhood, when ingenuous Minds are brought up both together. Nor (peradventure) whatsoever is conceited, can any other friends depending upon will or fancy be any more, than an imitation of it, even as art imitates Nature, or the shadow represents the life, for secondary acts can but tend to make an union like the first. What can we do for a friend more, than to make him as our self, to adopt him into our bloud, and account him as con-native to us?

4. The love of a Brother to a Sister is so pure and innocent by Nature, as if it took no notice of any difference of sexes: save only as a Brother respects the tenderness of a Sister, and a Sister honours the worth and valour of a Brother, and is most passionate in his concerns and services. Q. Margaret de valois hath written her memoirs (almost) on purpose to shew what affection she bore the person, and the interests of her Brother the Duke of Alençon (the name that was so gra­cious to our Q Elizabeth,) and what persecuti­ons it did occasion her. So that this sex may have [Page 26] a pure Amity towards men, and are most unjustly bespattered anent their fairest offices. Their civili­ty, their secrecy, their pity, their sedulity, their pretty arts of covering, and dissembling (which are unsearchable) when they seek to do a kind­ness, are traduced and prophaned. The abuse of them is the more hainous, especially where there should not be any shadow of suspition, as among relations. Incest is as Murther, or as treason, a thing abhorrent unto Nature, which many brutes decline, and will rather wast their solitude▪ And to bring dishonor on a kinswoman is conspiracy against the whole bloud, an act of malice greater than of lust▪ For the fences that are between re­lations are but weak and moveable, being their distinct estates are apt to be coincident into one family. Hence an uncle is collateral to a Father, a Cosin-german to a Brother, and the more re­mote are but supplemental to defects that may hap­pen. The distinct and distant Mansions of a worthy kindred are like City and Countrey-houses to one another where they have confidence & community and are mutual stayes, and pledges against vicissi­tudes and turns of fortune. They are friends which nature gives, which use confirms, which are made perfect at the first fight, if Relation be but men­tioned. Cosins do as frequently resemble one ano­ther as Brothers Uterines, They have somewhat in them gentilitial to the family. Their lineaments, features, aires, graces, manners, some or other, [Page 27] more or less do symbolize together, and call (as it were) upon one another to be mutually ingratiat­ed. Yet there are, that flight these bonds as com­plemental and unnecessary▪ that hate an obliga­tion coming on them without election, that pre­fer any other of their own acquist; that think themselves to be born at liberty, and not to be con­tracted but by their own choice and pleasure. This I hear, but take it to be most ungrateful, and un­worthy of a noble spirit, if in what it vindicates to its own will, it derogates from Nature, whose bond is indispensable. Neither can I judge that person capable of a chosen friendship, who is but a formal and perfunctory Courtier of his con­sanguinity, or allyances.

§. V. Of the next sort of Amity, me-seemes there may be some doubt; whether the Heroick love (which being in order to it, we will therefore consider under the same head) be not greater then the conjugal▪ For so it seems by all the fables of the Poets, which have raised this to admiration by variety of examples; While the poor Penelope would have been but a solitary instance of Conju­gal affection: if the Vertuous Sir P. Sidney (sensible of that defect) had not once supplyed us with the story of Argalus and Parthenia. And it seems in Nature that nothing can be greater then this Heroick flame, for it is the first product of the excellency of strength both of soul and body. When the blood is warm, the spirits light and [Page 28] airy, the humours soft and oyly; when the phan­cy is luculent, and most affected with the object of its brightness, the reason ever agitated, and the memory most tenacious of impressions. Then the valiant youth is urg'd by nature to the uttermost, knowing that youth is fleeting; and once illuded, conceiveth flames no more. Wherefore here the incenseth him, here the glories in his humbleness, no less then in his bravery, here she triumphs in variety of affections. The mind is restless in devi­sing how to take, oblige, and compass; and the body as its instrument, must acknowledge no wea­riness, shrink at no danger, omit no watching▪ but hold it self still in the brightest armour, as if it were to revel in the midst of a battel. The eyes are scattered like wandring spirits: the colour comes and goes in longing, blushing, and aspir­ing: the lips tremble, and the hands that took the boldness, shake in the handling of the arms of love. The lover strait becomes a prisoner to a labyrinth, where he counts his bondage the sweet­est liberty, and to tread the maze more desireable, then to find the clue.

If desire only (as Des Cartes ap­prehendeth) do comprise horror and agreement.Des pass. 1.2. artic. 86. One of a sudden appre­hension of miscarrying, the other in a settled re­presentation of enjoying somewhat most agreeable. If doubts and fears be a tendency towards despair (the wretched sciatica of the soul) If hope it self [Page 29] be but an unquiet inmate in a lovers breast, a ve­hement incendiary▪ and grief do but dismally ex­tinguish those flames. Judge whether this love be not made of strong ingredients, more than any other. While desire ruleth, the good is ab­sent. Absence of the object pines the faculty. If hope relieve, fear assayleth, delay tormenteth, dis­appointment driveth unto madness; Longing stayeth and reduceth▪ The sweetness of imagination dandleth and demulceth the eager spirits; until that air be vented in a sigh and grief succeed to re­suscitate the malignant humors. Such storms are fre­quent in a lovers breast, such change of weather, such force of constellations, what can there be in any other love, that is not here? Can we but laugh to hear a debauched gallant (at last) to sleight all woman-kind, to mock at love as folly, and in experience; and to make only men to be objects to one another? As if a fond fancy of some society, or a proud conceit of worth and merit; or in fine, a sence of obligation (which by bringing the obliged person into bondage through the tyranny of gratitude, doth commonly under­mine its own Empire with a faction of liberty, since he that thinks himself more obliged to ano­ther, then he can readily requite, begins to hate him that hath a mortgage in him, and to have a secret aversation to his person) could be more available then Nature▪ procurement, which is a vertuous desire of conjunction between our sexes: [Page 30] whilest in all motions, the Natural are more strong then the moral, and this then any other Natural: A resolute, or a valiant man cannot be by reason, if he have it not in the firmness of his mold or con­stitution; So as the soul is knit to the body, it is able to act in it, or above it, or without it. If it be weakly joyned, it will be apt to serve. If strongly, it will make it suffer hunger or thirst, or heat or cold, or cast it headlong upon danger to attain its more heroick ends; and this of love, as its principal; but heroick love cannot be but in a young and lively spirit chast and in­violable.

And then, we may boldly say, that there cannot be such affection between two parties of the same, sex, as between a pair of lovers; because other love doth only tend to bring conveniences toge­ther; but this to propagate its like (the forciblest impulse and chief design of Nature) to make two inclined Relations compleat in Union: In a word, to joyn bodies, as well as soules, and only so to make not as if it were another self, but a real and entire combination of two in one. If there­fore one man can love another, more then a wo­man; either he that loves is no man, or he that is be­loved is an Hermophrodite, or somewhat more in­humane. But as this love (which we value by its energy in innocence and chastity) has as its no­blest end, the butt of wedlock: so gold itself may be dear bought, and a thing highly prised may sink [Page 31] of value fruition. Who would undergoe what is necessary in love, or honour, if he knew the va­nity of his ends? Or serve an apprentiship, if he knew that that should be the best of his time? Suffer so much in Amorous wooing, and in the remedy be worser ganched then in the malady? For in marriage, how early is society, how ready is neg­lect, how soon are other ends regarded, and the nimia of love as much studied to be unlearned, as ever conn'd before? The servant practiseth now to become a Master of his wife, a Father of his children, a Prince, or a Principal man in his coun­try, Honour, Wealth, and Providence do cut off all the superfluity of affection; and leave little else but law to bind wedlock. Whereas the Heroick love is ever longing, never satisfied, one desire answered or attained multiplies a thousand: ever ardent and over-valuing, never sleighting, or re­miss: ever humble and obsequious, never haugh­ty or imperious: ever single, and solitary in its end and object: never interessed or employed in any other, but what may serve it. In a word, lives not in itself, but in its love.

Therefore say no more at first.

2. On the other side. There is no Faith in mar­ried men: some applauding it through sensuality, others weary of it for want of vertuous usage, Others seeming to contemn it, because they have [Page 32] attained; who were they widowed should indeed be close mourners, and never rest till they had re­paired it. If it be the reward of noble services, the best of all possessions, the end and rest of all turmoiled passions: We may rather blame the vanity of the World, that can never answer ex­pectation; then to blast those flowers that are ready to bud, and teem with the choicest fruits of life. How incongruous is it to imagine that the thirst should be sweeter then the wine, the hunger then the choicest fare? Can Heroick love, as it is accompanied with so many pangs and convulsions, be its own reward? Is there any pleasure in doubts and fears? Is it better to be in the storm than in the bay, or to sail in a troubled sea, only that one may sail, than to gain the port of enjoyment? Let it be the paradise of a fool to be ever in con­templation, the feast of a Miser to look on precious viands unassayed, or the punishment of a woman-hater to be Tantalized with female objects. The noble conqueror in the midst of fruition shall find his love to beget love infinitely, new delights to germinate in every change of intercourse, & desires to issue without pain out of pregnant satisfactions, while the gathering of one crop is but to prepare the ground for another. One kindness draweth another, one endearment claspeth with another, one heart combineth with another: while the bounty of goodwil, the facility of flowing spirits, the cession of gentle complacency, the undecay­ing [Page 33] youth of soul afford contentment to extremity of old age. Those souls are now compleated in their union, which a part would have been like separate souls expecting the resurrection: Their joyes are conjoyned to make each other happy: they live each of them a double life, while a single liveth but by halves. They live each of them as much again as they did before. Before they knew not what it was to live. Children succeed to aug­ment and to perpetuate these felicities, house and ornaments, and (erewhile) neglected furni­ture press to pay their contributions, and all in­feriour states to veil to this their Paramount. Be­sides, whatever was in Heroick love, or is in any other friendship is here more compleatly. Such benevolence in either breast, as meeteth all evils to anticipate them from the other: Such a well-wishing to one another, as is purely for one ano­thers sake; though pleasure or advantage be re­moved, and sickness, poverty, or disgrace come instead thereof: Such impatience of absence, as testifieth what the dolor of loss would be: such grief of loosing as can only shew how exquisitly a loving heart may be pained with compunction, how intolerable, how inexpressible this resentment is. In brief, such constancy of obliging, such transcendency in vigour, such inalterable honor and esteem: such vindication: such condescen­sion: such harmony and symbolizing of joyes and griefs, that are able to make a palace of a Cottage, [Page 34] and turn the darkest night of adversity into a ballet till the morning.

And these undoubtedly are in wedlock they effects of a Good Nature, but if the same that mock at love abandon such marriages (as we haue magnified) to the idolizing of their Paisans: it is because (no doubt) by thinking to be exquisite in the objects of their pleasures, they have mis­placed the true object of their felicity, which is in one and not in many. Lust will incommode itself sundry wayes, and vitiate all those purest jewels that seem to be left in another place, and at a di­stance from it. Who reproaches another behind his back, thinketh that other (who thinketh no­thing) doth the like by him, and when he meets him, shuns him to the others admiration, and (at last) brings insensibly upon himself, and be­yond intention, what at first he suspected. So he that wrongs his marriage-bed makes himself jea­lous at the first without a cause, and at last not without reason. Howsoever it will with-draw affection (which is the true bond of happiness, and not any sensual fruition) and then he shall at once dissolve all the ligaments of his house, the contignation of his family, for as he stands affect­ed to the tree, he will stand to the branches, and the children reciprocally to them both Luxury will not flow in without other violations. But who think to retain the vice, and to provide against the inconveniencies will hardly scape others, that [Page 35] they foresaw not. Although what arguments to such as can collude with vertue? Their prudence cannot be upheld long, as it is disjoyned from that connexion: nor misfortunes be declined. Non potest jucundè vivo, nisi cum virtute vivatur.

But shall we dare to oppose the Maxims of our Grandsirs? That persons are equal, fortunes on­ly do incline, that marriage is only for conveni­ency, love will follow, where 'tis well provided: that a beauty is no attractive, or vertue any mo­tive to a wise-man. That the fondnesses of youth are to be broken otherwayes, that wealth and honour may be espoused at the last, and a potent family rather then a most accomplisht person? Italian Contracts! where the son seeth not the daughter, which the Gente honorate have adjusted for him, till the wedding-day: As many of our heirs here until conveighances and settlements be ready for the sealing. If these be occasion of like accord to follow, indeed there is need of caution in the contract, but whether a Good Nature can suffice to all adventures, I must rather crave time for experience, than undertake to argue here.

§. VI. While we treat only of the Amicable bent of a Good Nature, with the Acts and cha­racters thereof, though we may intrench some­what upon the Topick of friendship, yet we are not bound to follow the extent of that vertue (if I may so call it) or systan rather of many singular [Page 36] excellencies, but only to trace the rudiments of Social Amity in an incorrupted Nature: A soci­able Nature I take to be most humane, and apt to Amity, and the more Amicable, the more so­ciable. Therefore first, let us take some notice wherein it seems to suffer violence or restraint.

1. In altitudes, or acts of bravery: which ex­tend the habit either of the mind, or of the object, when it is discerned, we discover a ridiculous pusillanimity; one makeing ombrage of a petty office with much estate, another prodigal of offi­ciousness about nothing. We despise a little spi­rit in attempting a great matter, which we call offering at a thing; and an ostentator of magnani­mity in a thing mean and ordinary. Who would not laugh at a Spanish smith,Mr. Howell. coming with his long cloak and sword (to be put off, and laid aside in order) to shooe an horse? Or a Mountebank descending from his Coach, or litter to draw a tooth upon the stage? So in morals, to do any little acts of kindness with a flourish and vapour, shewes that there is not much goodness to be expected there; but that it is intended, a little should go far, and be more requited, then deserveth. When we see another as busy as a nurse to please a child, (when she gives it Porcelain, or Venice-glasses to break for its pleasure) to obtain a little breath of favour. Do we not think strange of his profusion? If real kindnesses be squandred away, without re­spect [Page 37] of times, or persons, only that abundance of good will may be noted; those-uneven stretches will render Nature low at another time, when it should rise up to be adequate to occasion: where­as she delights to keep an even course of bounty, and not to strain but for some advantage to her­self, in the same individual, or another.

2. In indifferency, and remissness nature is no less restrained, whether it be in sluggish flat de­meanures, which are accounted good only be­cause they are thought to have no hurt in them; or in servile complyance, which seemeth to be so loving, as if it loved all (and so it doth alike) and hated none. It contradicteth not, nor admonish­eth, nor disliketh. Only to keep its own quiet, set a compa [...] quite contrary, and it is not alter­ed: but as this may admit of some cunning, as well as the complaisance of some courtiers, we shall waive it, as not intending to speak of things artificial. Our Good Nature towards its proper objects is rational without studying, free without impulse, and keen and active of its own vi­gour.

§. §. I. The first respect wherein we shall con­sider it, is in its love of company, whether ordi­nary or adventitious.

1. With its confidents it is an hearts ease to communicate; the only pleasure of the soul be­ing in diffusion, and the only grief to be pent up in solitude, and in silence. Retirement is an ex­tinguisher [Page 38] to its flames, and obscurity gives it night without either sleep or rest. Hence Philoso­phers have professed to an excellent art of contem­plation, to make the soul converse with it self, as with another, that a man might be nunquam minus sola, quàm cùm maximè sola, as the Emperor and Philosopher professed of himself. And as Divines teach us of communion with the blessed Trinity to recompence the want of external communications, knowing that a mans mind will ( [...]) feed upon his heart, & prey upon his spirits, if it have not some object, wherewithall to entertain its spiritu­all appetite. Nor is it an easy death to be thus stifled; but 'tis sensibly the sweetest life to impart our alacrity unto others, that can requite it: to tosse the ball of free discourse to them, that can take it on the racket and return it [...] brea [...] a jest where it may be sure to be well retorted. This is to revive while we droop, to grow while we wast, and to thrive while we play. To live our own lives and a part of theirs; to enjoy our own joyes multiplied with reflections, and enjoy others by inter-changing: to receive innumerable quantity of spirits out of others breasts, and to dis-spirit none, but to live one life of sense, another life of reason, and another life in the common light of our acquaintance.

2. Which makes the same disposition as cove­tous to Ampliate this same number out of every incident conversation. As it is an indecency to [Page 39] intrude into strange company without occasion for fear of interfering in any businesses, or inter­pealing privacy: So it is an inhumanity to have an aversation, or a niceness of accosting, for I may disturb their apprehensions with somewhat that is amiss in them, or me: Either weakness through disuse, or a certain pride in prejudging of the company. What hath hesitancy or suspi­tion to do amongst the freer spirits? Or curiosity of knowing before we venture? Since there are as many forms of receding without offence, as there are of fair access, and the same rule of civi­lity subservient to them both. Though women have not all the latitude that men may use, yet hardly any but children are restrained for want of discretion. Nay, a greater pleasure is conceiv­ed (oftentimes) in the company of strangers, then of our familiars, either through variety, or ex­citing of the spirits to accommodate our selves unto them, to gain their good opinion, or to learn by them. Therefore are men brought up abroad in Schooles, or Courts, or Camps, or foreign Countreys, that they may gain an univer­sal humanity: which is to enlarge their Capacity, and advance the common rudiments of Good Na­ture, but our discourse is not of such as are highly accomplished, or utterly rude of breeding. In the first, Nature not being so discernible by rea­son of its alloy; nor in the second, because it lies invelopped in the Ore.

[Page 40]Wherefore a Good Disposition will meet those ends with as bounteous an humor, as its measure of natural, or acquired good parts can afford it; and avoid all impediments that encumber, or with hold it. Which is not done by strained en­deavour. The presence of what we love, will move alacrity in us, and in them from whose pre­sence we conceive it. Whereas a desultory hu­mor, or exultancy brought from abroad into an unconcerned company moves disdain. 'Tis fit we should be modest in conversation, and not come puffed up with our own hopes or fortunes (which a mind well-govern'd would conceal) despising others, but applying our selves to accommodati­on: first by civility, which is prompt and ready to such a temper, that esteemeth none inferiour to it self, and is ready to justifie and assert to an­other all the honour that it finds in him (which we have shew'd before of our Good Nature, as 'tis void of pride, and then by courtesie; which is no less natural unto him, who also esteems him­self equal (in the rectitude of his mind) unto the best, and noblest. By which means silence soon is broken, and complacency loosed, whether it be in serious argument, or in pleasant entertainment. Once most sure it is, that nothing agrees less then taciturnity. Should we be studying to be wise, when we should use our wisdom? Should we be studying to excell, where if we did excell, 'twere' fit we should suspend the use, to make our selves [Page 41] equal? Are we afraid to expose our selves? What account, what state do we make of our precious selves, while we make so little of our company? Do we affect to be honoured, and not to be be­loved? Or do we think, that to give occasion of suspicion by a sullen silence, will be the best way to procure it? Though Cato was a wise man re­pleat with solid vertue: yet for this reason he be­came oftentimes unacceptable; and once in parti­cular, when he came to visit Pompey, that noble Captain did him all honor double, that he might be the more soon, and fairly rid of that severity, which as Great as he was, he feared and hated while he complemented. Deprive us of loquacity, and it is no matter what Government we live un­der, a Tyranny is a good as a Royal Monarchy. 'Tis no matter what minds we wear about us. Ig­norance is as good as wit. Who will carry gold in his pocket, if it be a shame to shew it? I admire not (just at this point) that the Ancient Philoso­phers complain of contempt, while I remember what Masters they were of this Cynical Dogma of Taciturnity, an intollerable thing amongst men. I had rather hear a fool prate, or a dog bark, then see a barbed Master sit silent.

But if the argument be serious, the soft compo­sure of minds, and expressions (that follow) of mutual apprehensions have a singular power to attract, and oblige acquaintance. A thing, which the vertuous Epaminondas valued so highly. That [Page 42] he thought the day lost, if he went in publick and did not gain a new friend. Besides, that the thing bears a singular pleasure, and satisfaction in it self, inasmuch as the soul sees it self by the light of those collisions; which else would not know how to guess at the notions, that it has of it self, or the things without it. Such company is a Mirror to ourselves, whereby we know, when we want trimming, and wherein we want accomplish­ing.

Or if the entertainment of our time and cover­sation be only to refresh, and divert one another, the most homilitical of all vertues is facetiousness, which has a way to gain ones heart, to delight ones eye and ear, to quippe without distast, to in­sinuate with sweetness, and to make the Droll most beloved and desired, for it is (indeed) a most Gentile Quality, and such as Princes have found, whereby to remit their Majesty for their use and pleasure, and to resume it without any Observation. But Satyrical wit hath too much malice in it, and can hardly be ingenuous without aspersion; or fail to touch some person more picquantly then another, which is contrary to the humour of our Good nature, that avoideth all impediments of fruition in Society.

1. And First, in avoideth Melancholy, as it is a minding considering of our selves, more then others: and instead of rendring us able to contribute delight to the company doth rather [Page 43] call them to succour, and relieve us, and is apt to make us the subject of their notice. And what can they note in it but imbecility and want of spirits? Or sloth and want of resolution? For a good man will bear (at least) his own infirmities, as much as can be, that he may be ready to aid another, if need require. Or if they be such as he cannor cover, or dissemble, he will not come abroad with them. Affectûs uti corporis vulner a sunt celanda. When the Gracious Pyrocles was most frankly entertained at the house of Honest Kalander, while they were at Table, a letter comes to him, that his son Clitophon was taken Prisoner (if it were no worse) by the Savage Helots. When he riseth from the Table, and is two or three dayes sequestred in his chamber with rending pangs and dolors for his only son: his guest could learn nothing, not from his servants of the cause of so much absence. And this you'l say was noble, but it might be easily done in lesser cases.

2. Secondly it avoideth anger, and exception. Though Homer introduce his Gods and Heroes brawling in their feasts and publick councels; and the Antient Romans, as appeareth in their Ora­tors and Historians (though I never read of any duels among them upon these occasions) were wont to applaud themselves, and reproach their adversaries both in their Comitia and their Senate; yet our modern manners seem utterly to disallow [Page 44] it. The Italian will continue his fair carriage, while he has retained Bravo's to revenge his con­ceived malice. The French after some short Broüilleric will recollect his jollity, and send a challenge to your lodging. The Spaniard will call you no worse then Senor at the rapiers drawing. So much we must approve, as carries the shadow of vertue along with it, and saves embroilments in civil conversation. For the rest, a Good Na­ture is not subject to exception, is not lightly im­pelled unto anger; but easily reduced unto satis­faction, and is never transported to revenge.

1. Not exceptious, for the causes of that are incompatible unto this. It is not of a saint and wearish temper, having a sound mind in a sound body: the one of which (however) is able to cor­rect some imbecillity in the other. It hath never been out of love, or use of conversation, where­by what liberty it hath wont to take to it self, it hath still allowed to another. Ingenious persons have a power over one another without usurpa­tion. It is not shady or retired, fancying it self to be unintelligible, and grieving when it is dis­covered: for it desireth nothing more then to be rightly understood, and if it find otherwise, is glad of an occasion to vindicate itself without alterati­on. It hath no prejudice against any person or pro­fession, or condition: neither thinks itself to ly so much at open guard, as to be obnoxious to every pass of wit, or censure; or is so tender as to be lightly [Page 45] hurt by them. And to blow away a little dust, or to put by a ruder chocque in play, or exercise is but a sport of Candour. In a word, being void of pride, it is not pricked about punctilioes, that such an one saluted another, and passed him by. That another observed not his right of precedency. That a third descanted upon his words. Or that the company did not treat him with such respects, or caresses, as he might have expected from them, for he is more magnanimous: and knows there can be no violence upon mens minds, but that in their own free actions they ought to do according to their discretions, though it be to do amiss: since the strictness of equity is hard to be had even from law, and honor: & we do not live (as Tully saies) among men absolute, but such as are (tanquā simulachra virtutum) moving statues or apparitions of vertues.

2. Not lightly impelled unto anger. Because it va­lueth not it self higher then another; nor preferr­eth its own apprehension. Opiniastreté is common­ly the boutefeu of anger both in those that are lightly angry, and lightly pacified, if they be hu­moured; and in those that are slow to anger: but tenacious, and almost implacable. Which latter is tyrannical in some Natures: but with some difference has been observed in persons of highest vertue.

M. Livius Salinator, after he had borne the Consulat,Liv. 1.28. was brought to judgement by the Tribunes of the people, and [Page 46] unjustly cast and censured, which he took so hai­nously, that he absented himself from the City, and all publick meetings. Eight years after, the Consuls bring him back to Rome, but he came in old cloathes, hair and beard neglected, import­ing in his habit, and countenance a signal memory of his disgrace. The Censors compel him to be shaved, and to lay aside his obsolete weeds, and come into the Senate: where he sate long without a word speaking, till the cause of one of his Kins­men forced him to arise: and therby mov'd the Senate, and all the Roman people with considerati­on of the indignity wherewithal they had disoblig­ed such a man, whose head & hand they had so long wanted, while Annibal had been at their gates, and A sdrubal was now entred with another Army, no less formidable then the other. They unani­mously choose him Consul: only he himself stands our accusing the levity of the City in choosing him, that was not yet acquitted of their condemnation. After much submission and entreaty of the Com­mon-wealth he is contented to hold, and to be reconciled first to his collegue Cl. Nero (with whom before he had had contention) but not without great difficulty, because he thought the iniquity of his fortune did not set him on even terms in the action. Then to go out and archieve his Province, which was to meet Asdrubal, while his Collegue went to oppose Annibal and to im­peach their conjuction. But as he was about to [Page 47] go, when Fabius Cunctator advised with him, how he would wage that war: He answered, that as soon as ever he should see his enemy, he would engage him. But why in such haste replied Fabius. Aut ex hoste, egregiam gloriam, inquit, aut ex civibus victis gaudium, meritum certò, eisi non honestum capiam. Notwithstanding he acted in entire correspendency with his Collegue, and they returned both in Triumph. But when afterwards this Magistracy was expired, aed they were both chosen Censors. Nero who before was the more placable, discovered now his Malignity rather was the greater; for he degraded Livius his Collegue, because he had been condemned by the people, and in revenge, Livius did the same to him for false testimony, and reconcilement: and withal left all the Tribes (but one which had no part in his censure) in arriere, because they had con­demned him unjustly, and after made him Con­sul, and Censor, Itaque ibi foedum certa­men inquinandi famam alterius cum suae famae damno factum est. L. 29. On the other side, when there had been most publick, sharp, and invete­rate enmities & competitions between M. Aemy­lius Lepidus, and M. Fulvius Nobilior; when they were both chosen Censors, and reconciled by Authority of Senate and people, they continu­ed so unanimous in it, that although their actions were divers between themselves, and disagree­able to the liking of the people, they could not [Page 48] afterwards be dis-jointed; though the people would have been as glad to have made them ap­pease one another, as ever they were to have re­conciled them. These great persons who have much reasons and reality in them, are the more excusable if they do not remit of the heigth of their spirits, without as good reason to return to a good will, as they had to turn from it. And yet many times their mistake obstinacy may be such, as may render the task very difficult to give them satisfaction. The misprision of Madam de Bar, the only Sister of Henry le grand, about the Duke of Sully's traversing of her marri­age with the Comte of Soissons proved dangerous,Mem. de Max. de Bethunc. and a long time unpracticable unto that favourite of the King her Brother, to recover her good graces. And the Cardinal of Richelieu pin'd and languished, and yet failed in his endeavour of appeasing the dis­pleasure of the Q. Mother of France, who had raised him, and afterwards in hatred of him retir­ed, and dyed at Cologue.

There were great interests compounded in these passions, and the persons great; If there­fore they were bound to make account of them­selves, and peradventure did exceed in it, in the same act making too little of these others whom before they had honoured. What wonder if the indignation bare high, and their own tempers suffer'd violence? In simple Nature, it not just [Page 49] to make our selves the standard of another mans worth, or his approving of himself to our judge­ments and apprehensions to be the exact quadrat of the rectitude of his actions, or as he pleaseth or displeaseth us, so to set him by, or to set by him: for we may value our selves as we are valued by others, but we may not value others as they va­lue us, to respect them just to that degree and no otherwise: although it be (in effect) the more frequent use and practise.

Besides the same impulsives that are ordinary are not a Good Nature. For what is a sense of incivility, or contempt to one that is void of pride? Or how weak to one that is so full of goodness, that he rather accounteth the same to have been but a negligence or omission, or inadvertency? Or in fine, how null and void to one, that doth not more take upon him to be Judge of the Acti­on, then the party obnoxious, whom he presum­eth to have judged outherwise?

3. Wherefore it is easie to be pacified, having such arguments ready; and being apt to coin more such out of the same mint, for it cannot re­tain its anger without pain, though it have not had satisfaction It cannot so highly resent opposition, since it knowes none escape it. It cannot stick precisely to its own rules or apprehensions, know­ing that other men have others, either in the ge­neral, or as to their particulars, no less conve­nient. It knows that no man serves to all turns, [Page 50] but to be used as far as he is proper, more not to be expected from him. That allowance is to be given to mens defects, and to some mens wil­ful humors, which are not any just cause of anger, although impertinent, or troublesome. It hateth the acts as rude, and the effects of anger it dreads as brutish, sometimes it cannot but remit its anger to occasion, if the person be removed, or the like accident not probable to fall again in the same manner. In effect, it considers, that all men can­not be obliged by it self that hath its common fail­ings, and restraints of fortune: And therefore having not expected overmuch, it hath not been much disappointed, nor cannot be much angry. In a word, it will do any thing to satisfy, or be satisfied, rather than to quarter such a souldier long, as yields no quiet where he is billeted, but drinks up all the oyl and wine of cheerfulness. But I shall either Tautologize, or anticipate; For I shall come again to border upon this argument hereafter.

Yet it remaineth. That the best disposition may be moved to a just anger, being quick and sensi­ble as any other, and the more rational by the better temper. Anger is a power given by nature (not a vice in it self) to repel evils, or obstacles of good; and the exerting of its acts doth more discover what a man really is, then any other passion. Never any man was so innocent to whom some cause of anger has not been administred: [Page 51] whose just and reasonable designs have not been opposed, whose person hath not been affronted, whose rights have not been usurped, whose name hath not been maliciously traduced. It is but rea­son that these move anger, until the cause of an­ger be removed: our rights be vindicated, our obstacles be removed, our opposites give way, and those that abused us be brought to a sense and acknowledgement.

4. But, what difference is there in this act and passion in a good man and a wicked? Where ma­lice is, the first beginning moves towards revenge, and knows no moderation in its progress, it in­tends to do as much mischief as it can for the time, with more respect to the anger, then the cause of it; And it commonly does so agitate, and dis­compose the countenance, and the violent mo­tions of the body, as renders it ungrateful and odious to spectators, even unconcerned. Where­as a generous anger is becoming to many persons, such is the incension, while it is opposed, such is the remission, when way is made to it. Such is the motion of mind and body, as sheweth force and not violence. Such is the progress, that if brave carriage will reduce the party, that is ob­noxious to it, the passion strait is in suspense, If not, yet it is not transported beyond satisfacti­on; to bring as much more wrong (by way of revenge, and beyond the Talion) on the subject of its displeasure. So can it rise, and fall with a grace, [Page 52] and resume its equal temper without any straining. And where there is such a just anger, and a go­vernment, and temper of reason in the prosecu­tion, it moves every one to be affected with the wrong, to respect the person that seeks his own righting, and not to hinder. But against revenge all the world is opposite, when it does discover the intention. For (indeed) there is no re­venge just, but in hostility: and there it may be acted beyond the law of nations too; In private revenges, only pride and malice do exulcerate the kidneyes and inflame the heart. What would we have for a word misplaced? An opprobrium? Or a slander? Who shall judge of it? Will revenge let the cause go out of its own hand? Will it suffer it to be extenuated, or argued? That indeed were against it self: but to be aggravated, to make an Odium, to move the great Coloss of honor (like the mighty shade that haunted Brutus to Philippi, that fatal day to him) with the conjuration of arbitrary punishment. This it acts and executes within it self and by that means never wants de­pending causes. For a suit sometime commenced in the Court of revenge, upon a sleight occasion, is transmitted to the sons and Nephews to be fini­shed. Neither are they small matters, that revenge dealeth in; while it can look on bloud spilt with­out horror, on ruin brought upon its adversary with delight and glory, and on his loss with the more content by how much it is the greater, and [Page 53] the provocation given to the Procurer less. For in this, revenge doth magnify its own Patron, making it equal to offend a proud man and a Prince. But I dare not enter farther into this Ar­gument, least I be questioned into a Duel, which is a thing now in fashion, and which I do not in­tend to answer at the present.

§. §. II. To come to particular affections in respect of friendship, so far as they are coincident with a Good Nature, It may seem, that there three sorts, to which we cannot deny this appella­tion, depending all, more or less, upon our proper choice, and will. Our common, our concerned, and our dearest friends; which may pass out of one sort into the other without any fault or vio­lation. For a common friend may prove benefi­cial, and a faithful friend to our concerns may prove dear. And a dear friend may stand in every particular consideraton of friendship. The observ­ing of which distinction may serve to expedite us in some questions, and save us in the mention of some others.

1. And first of common friendship there is difference of degrees. Some are our acquaintance that salute us, and some come into our company, as occasion serveth; Others our familiars and confi­dents that usually converse with us. Others our obliging friends, that inervisit us, entertain us, and study to procure all mutual offices of kindness to us. How low might we descend in division and [Page 54] subdivision of these orders, if we might be as cu­rious in the learning, as we ought to be in the life and practice of it? For of our ordinary acquain­tance, some are fleight and perfunctory; others ceremonious, that regard our quality rather then our persons; others truly honourers and lovers of us, as far as it happens to them to express it; some are accomplished with vertues, some are superficial. Towards all a Generous spirit hath a large and open heart full of love unfeigned, as the merit of things and persons calls it out, you shall see a fresh alacrity rise in the meeting of every of them, more or less, according to the secret classis, wherein they are disposed in his mind (Neither is that classis made fraudulently, or corruptly, but according to the true knowledge, or genuine appre­hension that he hath conceived upon the measure of his acquaintance.) You shall see what pleasure he conceives in parleying with any of them, what delight in making, and receiving of addresses, what light in his countenance when he congratulates, what shadow when he condoles, what naturalness in his comportment, you cannot doubt of his reality. Neither, that it ought so to be among good men, since all do dissemble the like behaviour, as the most effectual and commendable amongst men, And when we come to look into it, none of these can be neglected. On the sleightest may depend our fame and reputation, whereby we live in the common light, like Cameleons on the air. To the [Page 55] Ceremonious we are beholden, that they think us worthy of that quality that we obtain, and would not envy our Advancement. Though Alexander could distinguish, and note the persons, that loved him, and that loved the King. Yet he did not therefore hate them,Q. Curtius. or think them Enemies. The vertuous command, regard, and honour, and nothing is so superficial, but it may serve for ornament, if it be well disposed of. In those that truly love and honour us, we have a seminary of succeeding confidents, and a scope to exercise all obliging vertues, and fashion our times to pregressive motion. Who are negligent of all degrees of friendship have neither learned how to live, nor how to go about it. The source of all pleasure and contentment! the treasure of all seasons! the communion of joyes! the Univer­sal life! I know the Politiques that teach us so much caution, suspicion, secret malice, and dissem­bling, and I contemn it, as the greatest vanity and folly in the world, locked up in Archives. Wic­kedness as it were skrcen'd up in sanctuaries, or Princely Cabinets, yet gathered up from the dregs of people. Odi prosanum vulgus & arceo. For our familiar and obliging friends, we will suppose them to be of spirit, and humour agreeable to our liking, for to build upon a crafty nature, is to build upon an hollow ground undiscovered, and to asso­ciate with persons that are humerous (self-lovers) is in vain, for they will leave their companion in [Page 56] the middle of the way without reason, and if any thing or person come to thwart them, they pre­sently break into outrage, and hate incontinent what even now they seem'd to favour. It is enough to know these, and a kindness, only not to have to do with them, beyond the hour of the day, or the bon-jour. Yet we must acknowledge a good friend may be found sometimes among the more morose Natures. And among the more severe, where it happens; that is, among those that have a temperament of good qualities to their seeming fowrness (they may have excellent vertues to it) none more noble. But let us enter into our dis­course, and stick in the Porch no longer, the Acts of a Good Nature in these respects are divers.

1. It loves to satisfy its own propension, having agreeableness for its proper object. One may de­sire, but they cannot love for need. One may ho­nor, but they cannot love for an opinion of worth. One may revere, and accommodate ones behavi­our; but one cannot love through the tyranny of duty or obligation. It is so free, that it cannot be constrained from without; neither can the ultimate dictate (as they say in the schools) of the practical intellect it self command it. It is not a con­cession, or voluntary act meerly, (though most vo­luntary) but anemanation, Nay, many excellent per­sons, known & acquainted, may not be the object of any great kindness to a Good Nature, for want of somewhat in them suitable to a Gentle Heart. For [Page 57] what does it signify to be valiant, learned, wise, it there be withal in the same person, an aversation or indisposition to that, that I delight in? Or if he be a stranger? This love is nursed with jocundity, and playes where Nature, or the use of fortune has prescrib'd it. What though the ob­jects be not so accomplished as others? Yet they are our Brothers, or our Cosins, or our Comerades, or our dayly Visitants. Or they are most loving to us, most joyous in our company, most apt to please us, and most concern'd to serve us in any kindness. What though they may have their faults, or mis­carriages? The love is to the person. I love him as I love my self. Can I hate my self for my failings,Deuc è amore, quivi è fede. or misfortunes, that happen to me as their punishments? Or can I but desire earnestly my own recovery, and better doing? There is a sort of friendship (if I may so call it) or benevolence rather, ground­ed in a principle of vertue, which when it failes, the vertuous lover withdraws his affection, misses of his object, in the subject where it was before. But this is more Divine, and Philosophical, then to be sought purely in a Good Nature; which having once conceived an affection (upon liking) to a per­son cannot choose but prosecute him with a good will, though he become vicious, even to the gallows or to the utmost of disgraces. Whence it was never counted an unseemly thing to take notice of con­demned persons, & to salute them, & to cheer them [Page 58] up, going to their executions. But a base thing to be ashamed of their chains, while they retain any sparks of those good qualities, that we once re­spected in them, or any. Colour for their misfor­tunes.

2. It is born to go out of it self, and live among its friends, to be pleased in their satisfaction, and advanced in their emolument, and afford its pri­vate gustoes (if it have any) to their content, and pleasure. But I'le let this rest a little longer.

3. It is not weak, or apt to be discouraged; Not of it self, for its love is from pure Nature (quea agit quando, & quantum potest) it cannot mantle, or corrupt like a standing water: it is rest­less and never weary, but in every act refresheth its own vigour, and buddeth in new desires of fruition. And which is more. One friend cannot supply the defect of another; for a Good Nature hath sym­pathy with them all, that make up its body Poli­tique of Civil life; uno avulso non difficit alter. But the pain and grief of loosing, or of missing any part shewes by how quick a nerve it is united to the lover.

Nor by fortune, which though possibly an occasion, never was a cause of love. And so, who loved not for need will not leave for need; or cease for fear of loss; who never sought gain by his love, or ever knew any other use of wealth but enjoy­ment, or any enjoyment like the pleasure of serv­ing of his friends to the utmost. If he joy and [Page 59] grieve with them, will he do't for nothing, Or stay for asking? Or keep account of exchange of bene­fits or kindnesses, to do or return only so much as he has before hand; or as he owes on interest, or in strict gratitude? There is no account, where all is common. There is no incentive of love like adversity, 'Twas but pretense what ever flaggs, or droopes, while the Relative friend is in being: or droopes not when he deceases.

Nor at last by any other impeachments or pro­hibitions: for bars and walls cannot sever true friends, and in this case (if in any other) Nitimur in vetitum: we are the more invincible to attempt to succour, when we are inhibited: either raise the siege, or loose the battel.

4. It is hardly dissolved, though possibly it may, if he that was once familiar to us, do utterly neglect, or forget us; or fall to shameful vices, and so precide the continuance of our correspon­dency; or if he proove unnatural, or malitious, seeking as industriously to disoblige, as ever he did to oblige us. Otherwise, how should enmities arise? Who never knew us do not hate us: Nor is any disgust bitter, where the sweetness of mu­tual favour were not more ancient. We may in­stance in all manner of examples. When Medea had left her Countrey for the love of Jason, and found her self despised, and forsaken, she could do nothing else but meditate on revenge, for (as she argued with her Nurse,)

When one Octavius had layen with Pontia Posthumia at Rome, and enflamed with enjoy­ment of her, did in vain sollicit her unto mar­riage, he slew her in revenge of that repulse. When Caesar and Pompey (who had served one another in the highest concerns of honour) the pledge of alliance failing, came to contention, nothing but the ruin of one, or other could determine it. When Lewis II. King of France came to quarrel with his Protector the Duke of Burgony. When Edward the IV. King of England with his Resto­rer the Earl of Warwick and Richard III with his supporter the Duke of Buckingham, what means to compromise those differences but extre­mity? We see the same in private friends, who once falling out run to duels; the sooner by how much the Amity between them was the greater. Disdain on this part, blazeth suddenly, and in­censeth. Contempt inflameth, despight addeth oyl and brimstone to the fewel of discontent: So that nothing resteth, but a pointed most acumi­ned revenge, because there seems to be no other reparation of dishonour; Love and favour (how­soever generous) are couditional to be under­stood: [Page 61] for they cannot consist if they be not mu­tual and reciprocal, who faileth once in such a point, he is not to fail again: There cannot be a reconcilement, unless you can make a man to be what he is not, or not to have done what he has done, which is impossible.

Pian piano! fair and softly! There is no such precipitancy incident to the case, if a Good Na­ture (that is no Coward) might interecede in it. Medea was not the best of women, and the Poet rather brings her in speaking as a fury, then a Saint. He could not have put those words in Cornelia's mouth, when her husband Anthony was in the Arms of Cleopatra (not superiour unto her in wit or beauty) and sought to withdraw her subsistence from her, and his own children with her. Nor were Lewis, or the Crook-back equal Princes: Or the Earl and Duke of the better sub­jects.

But when Caesor had overthrown his enemy, he pitied his misfortunes, ingratiated his friends, restored his statue. When his head was brought to him, he turned away from seing it. When his ring was presented to him, he received it with tears (being possibly the seale of many offi­cious tables, that had past between them) and shewed in all his actions, that he did not seek to destroy Pompey, but to save Caesar. In fine, what inward monster hurried on Octavius? A woman is the more beloved, that repelleth her lover [Page 62] with disdain, and the more sought, and the more honoured, if not by him, who had before de­bauched her. Of a villany extroardinary, I need not undertake to give a reason.

But if we examine such contentions, Good Na­ture may seem in the origine to have been depress­ed by passion, and suppressed afterwards. For, at the first, if a man thought modestly of himself, and honourably of his friend, he could not have been so soon transported, nor so violently. Have we not seen a gentle spirit submit his passions (for a time) and his reason too to his friend, and ac­counted it no vileness? And have we not presently seen the submitter to be the vanquisher, and ac­counted more noble? Either there was no cause of anger, or not of so much, as is conceived. What, if that which is taken for contempt (as it often happens, being misinterpreted) was intended for an office of friendship, and that (it may be) not indiscreetly neither, if the reason had been appre­hended? What if it were but an escape? Or a little start of passion? But I grant it was an in­jury. Goodness is a patient thing without the help of Phlegm, and of it self will ventilate the heav­ing broiles within, without a trifling fann, or Ombrella to allay them. It will make many good constructions, ere it will admit a bad one. Or if it find (at last) so good can­not be made, as it wished, La forza de amore non risquanda al delisto. it cannot bear malice [Page 63] through excess of its own goodness and respect to its friends, but it presupposed some excesses or defects in him from the first beginning, and re­solved not to cast away a jewel for a flaw.

Besides it cannot stand upon punctilioes, but rather bow the decorum, for it suffers no other­wise from the injury of a friend, then it would do by some great wrong that it had done it self by neglect, or indiscretion. And who that hath wrought his own dishonour or diminution by his folly, will add the madness to it to stab himself? And will he add to his boisterous passion the re­putation of killing, or of seeking the life of his friend? Are not one and the same bowels com­mon to them both? To diminish the injury, and magnify other kindnesses opposed to it, this is friendly. To condescend, to remit de jure, to take a part of the blame upon himself, and to think of taking up, this were a way to give a day to reason, and resolution, and a certain expedient to redeem any lapse of reputation. But he hath done what he cannot undoe, and I have suffered what I cannot wipe off, but with his blood, or the licking of his tongue? Then you are both with­out my lists. To deprive his friend of his favour is the greatest punishment here. And one true friend is impatient of that displeasure from ano­ther; and cannot live in quiet under it, though he suffer unjustly: He cannot but seek to be re­conciled; and if he can obtain it, will hardly [Page 64] ever need a second. These joynts well set grow firmer than before, and the cicatrice more callous against offences, then the brawne and muscles.

To conclude. If our friend neglect us, it is but a lapse, and addresses renewed may revive it: If he fall to vice, he retaineth only our wishes, and endea­vours to serve him another way, & to reclaim him. If he injure me, I may be angry to reduce him. If he be ingrateful, or malitious, I have no other way in nature but to punish him with aversation. It is against Nature that I should seek his mischief, in whom a part of my self is lodged, in hope of a civil resurrection, or entombed in his unworthi­ness; and there to ly sacred, and inviolable. If I am necessitated to wrong him in my own de­fence: so I may be, to cut off one limb to save my whole body.

II. While they strive for the glory of the price in a cornish hurling, they sometimes cover the ball in the midst of the press; sometimes leave a single observator to go way with it to the Gaole: so in this contention concerning the nobleness and use of friendship, while on one hand they admit no end, or fruit of friendship but it self: no plea­sure, no profit, no private or publick business to forge, or nourish it; on the other that all friendship is but an idle fancy, a meer notion without some solid interest, as the basis of it; or only an abstracted consideration, no more to be found in Nature, then materia prima in things [Page 65] sensible: They may leave the truth in the middle. Which to find and bear from them, let us first consider of the later. I must confess it passeth among the fineness of the age, as a paradox of court­ship (and as if untutored spirits were only kind and loving) to be civil among men: and more to some then others; but indeed to have no friend, or friendship: as if it were but a meer fondness, a feminine or a childish vagariness, not to be admitted amongst the wise, or valiant part of men: to whom of all the rules delivered to us from antiquity, there is none that soundeth so authentick as that of Chito. Ita ama tanquam os u­rus, ita odi tanquam amaturus. So love as if you were about to hate, so hate as if you were about to love. For what account can be given of this chariness, or these endearments betwixt two, or a few persons; but only to humour one anothers fancies, or to bolster up one another in self-con­ceitedness; and so take them off from action or design, wherein he should be no friend, that stands in our way, though he were as a friend be­fore? There is a time in prudence to know, and to forget, to take acquaintance, and to pass by without notice. As our ends alter, and as we advance, we must leave those persons, and things behind us, that we cannot take along with us, it being not sufficient only; but more then ample, if we have been just, or courteous, or beneficial [Page 66] to them for the time, wherein we had to do with them. All things slide, and nothing bide, [...]. is more true in this sence then then in the scepticks. And is it not a madness to go about to stop a current, or impale a river for a fish-pond: while every man is bent upon his own concerns to hold them back to be intent upon ours; or our own which are equally fleeting, upon theirs? To think to impropriate the use of any man, or immancipate our selves, while on both sides we are bound to covet liberty, and ampliate our scope of living, as much as possi­ble? Besides, that change and variety in friends and friendship is no less acceptible, than in any other case: but far more commodious, since friends are to be used sparingly, some in one thing, some in another, and our needs are various, and our fortunes variable. Persons too do vary from themselves: wherein a man hath served us at one time, he cannot or he lists not at another, what we loved in him, at another time is altered: And to pretend constancy to one, that is become an­other, is but forced: So that we had need to be cautious and versatile in this maneige, where we cannot depend upon any sure or certain points. When did Caesar (the most sufficient man (per-adventure) in all assayes that ever was) though he loved many women fore slow an hours march for any of them? Though he entertain'd his friends and partizans at most prodigious charges, [Page 67] when did he ever stick at any of them that halted in their carriere? Though he were so liberal, he knew how to make more of them, then they had made of him. And who would willingly come off a looser with a flourish of friendship? Qui sibi Amicus est, scito hunc amicum omnibus esse. Aristides would acknowledge friendship unto no man,Plut. least by favour or disfavour he should be led into inconveniences. So little estate have some men made of that, which others idolize, who had rather be accounted Atheists then indifferent friends. Notwithstanding, we are not so easily to be put by. To covet and to seek a pretended Amity for our own ends, and cease as they are served,

To seem to have a multitude of friends, and have none is to deceive our selves more then o­thers, in the true solidity of our own concerns. He hath but light hold of another (however he imagine) whom he would oblige strongly for his purpose who is but lightly affected within himself. The pack is discerned, and the fraud as covertly re­turned? As if the language of those feigned cour­tesies, colloguing passions, falsifying promises and Apologies were not understood! Especially, when they are to court for advantage (as it often hap­pens) [Page 68] the same that have been legerly dismist be­fore, and have a sense of our ingratitude! These are veiles only of pusillanimity, which in effect atchieve no great matter: A Roman generosity will tread upon them. Loyalty is essential to a Good Nature and business and commerce to ex­press it. We cannot deny but mutual interests are a solid ground of friendly correspondency, be it more or less. Some are only in more trivial mat­ters, wherein whatsoever is given to civility, ne­cessity, expediency doth noth derogate from fide­lity, integrity, and a good mind. Others are more neer and intimate to us. And is it not most natu­tural to us to love our dependencies, our benefici­aries, our faithful co-adjutours, our trustees and Relyances? And as we find the worth and value of them in reality, so to prize, affect, and endear them. That is, to add them to the number of our excellent friends, not according to the advantage only that we receive (for we may love a friend more who is less useful) but the mind where with­al we are served. Who but these know our se­crets? Who but these relieve us in our straites? Who but these confirm us in our doubtful states? And who but these have power to become our enemies if they prove unfaithful? Therefore who was sought only that he might be used, may be retained, that he may be endeared. A friendship may be refined from interest to vertue, but every one with whom we may have to do, may not be [Page 69] worth the while: for who will go about to extract gold out of lead or tinn, though he know it may be in it? Though Good Nature be not interessed in design yet it is in consequence: for advantage and and pleasure cannot be abstracted from benefits, and favours, and mutual aides and offices. And it is but an ill constitution that doth not thrive upon good diet, and convert it into good humours, which is but a perpetual seading of new and inex­hausted gratifyings. Wherefore, under favour, it is no part of imbecillity to be chary of our friends, to commute and symbolize in all man­ner of affections with them. Nor is it any restraint to a large heart to have multiplicity, and retain a fresh affection to those, that have been contract­ed from his infancy, with the rest that he shall collect to his last end; but rather this is one, and the only accomtling of his felicity to be a Patron unto one, a companion unto another, a corre­spondent unto others that are absent, an Allie to more, and an intimate yet to a few confidents. All with frankness and reality. This is no im­peachment of just designs, but a sure Promptuary of ready aides: no incumbrance in advancing, but a certain furtherance without seeking, no en­snaring of our fortune; but a means to clear, and expedite it. Let Caesar be considered, and he ne­ver sleighted any of his true friends, never lost any that he could retain: nay, had so good a way of ingratiating himself with his souldiers, that [Page 70] hardly any of them ever did revolt from him. A Captain belov'd like Alexander, whole souldiers besieged him in his Tent, (their arms cast down) with tears and groans three dayes together, till he was willing to come out, and be reconciled to them in the same postures. Such is the power of goodness, where 'tis mixt with greatness, where­as many triumphs of the Rigid, and Tenacious Roman Captains have been disgraced with the murmuring of their followers. And many battels only lost out of hatred, where there have before been such defects of gentleness. Let us know then that a friendly nature is bold and confident, not more actively with its friend, then passively to­wards him. To spare him is to loose him, and disoblige him by the most unkindness; spare your doubtful friends; but use your certain ones, and the more you use them the more you have them; Only be sure you be certain, and most of all confident in your own vertue, & generosity; which (like providence) produceth and maintaineth friendship with continuance of one perpetual Action.

III. But to descend to the other part and con­sideration of dearest friendship, which (having spoke alreay of Heroick love) we may now term Heroick friendship, which I take to be the meet­ing and coincidence of two good Natures, that resemble one another, in identity of souls & wills: whereof many times the likeness of outward fea­tures [Page 71] and complexions may be an indication, and a ready token of commencement (where it hap­pens) at the first encounter of such an happy pair of lovers. So that this must be imagined to be somewhat rare, and extraordinary: it being not only hard to find such a second self: in whose bo­som we may have equal confidence, as in our own: in whose help the same assurance, who can have the same delight in our affection, that he hath in loving of himself, and in our embraces the same satisfaction, that he hath in cherishing of his own soul and body, and who can be equally concerned in our welfare and his own, but also to find a first, who can love as much, as may deserve such requital. Let every one try how he finds it in himself, how he feels his pulse beating to­wards it, or his heart panting to escape from him into another breast. Rel. Med. p. 2. s. 6. This noble affection fals not on vulgar, and com­mon constitutions, but on such as are mark't for vertue; he that can love his friend with this noble ardour, will in a competent de­gree affect all. I begin with this sentence, since it comes into my mind: That it is but ordinary for some men to have sometimes a pheere, or con­cubine,Scudery. as Mahomet the great (who after sacrificed her with his own hand to his pride and tyranny) that takes up all their time, and pleasure. Others a Privado, or only fa­vourite, the solitary object of their fancy and [Page 72] delight, as our Edward II, was accounted to have in Piers Gaveston, which was reputed (too) an effeminate impotency, and enthralment of his mind. An affection springing out of weakness and insufficiency, and only tending to ease and pleasure: When a man is captivated with a man, as if he were enamoured of a woman; while his time, his business, his honour is distracted: while a senseless humour is only gratified: and he that is beloved (for the most part) knoweth how to make other use of it, then his lover. A thing so fatal (notwithstanding) to that unhappy Prince, that when sedition and rebellion had removed one he could not live without the raising of another in the person of the Lord Spencer, whom the other Lords finding to draw all the Kings heart one way; they never left till they had ungraci­ously procured both their ruines. So we see in common instances, who are fond of one, neglect all others, which breeds contempt and hatred; for who are despised, despise again: and who think they ought to have an interest in one that is transported, where they have it not, do envy the transporter, and cannot well refrain from some attempt upon him. In vices it is most common to have one seducer, who gains a power upon his ward. We must not therefore measure this af­fection by intension, much less by excess, or in­temperance; but by adaequation of the object, vertue of the persons, and regularity of the Acts. [Page 73] Let us therefore hear my Lord of Montaigne's report (instead of many other) of his singular Amity with Monsicur de la Boitic, De l' Amitie ch. 27. l. 1. which indeed he hath propounded to us (though of himself as a rare ex­ample.

Which he affirmeth to have been such, that cer­tainly the like was not be read of; and that amongst us men, there is no track of it to be found in use. That there needeth so much happiness of rencounter to raise such another, that it is much if fortune do afford the like once in three ages. They were first known to one another by report they sought one anothers acquaintance, they found it by chance at a feast, and became forthwith so taken, so known, and so obliged betwixt them­selves, that presently nothing became so intimate, as the one to the other. That it was not one special consideration, nor two, nor three, nor four, nor a thousand. It was, he knew not what, quintessence of all, which having seised his whole will brought it to be plunged, and lost in his friends; and his again in like manner with a pareil longing, and concurrence in his own: not re­serving any thing that was proper to either of them: nothing that was his or mine. That such a friendship abolisheth all words of difference, benefit, obligation, acknowledgement, request, remerciment, or the like: all in effect being com­mon between them; their wills, thoughts, judge­ments, [Page 74] goods, wives, children, honour and life: and their agreement to be but one soul in two bodies. And such a friendship he affirms to be discussive at all other obligations, incompatible with any other friendship. Though his life had been sweetly passed to the time of his writing, without any other great affliction, then the loss of his friend: yet if he compare the whole to those four years, wherein he enjoyed him, that all the rest was but smoak, or a dark, and a tedi­ous night to him. In fine, that thereafter, he abandoned all pleasure, since his Participant was gone, since all the comforts in the world did but redouble to him the regret of his loss, thus far that noble Humanist, Let us yet hear another refined spirit of our own Nation.Dr. Browne loc. cit. I confess (saith he) I do not observe that order, that the Schools ordain our affections, to love our Parents, wives, chil­dren, and then our friends: For excepting the in­junctions of religion, I do not find in my self such a necessary and indissoluble sympathy to all those of my bloud. I hope I do not break the fifth Commandment, if I conceive I may love my friend before the nearest of my bloud, even those to whom I owe the principles of life. I never yet cast a true affection on a woman, but I have loved my friend as I do vertue, my soul, my God.— There are wonders in true affection, it is a body of Enigmaes, mysteries and riddles, wherein two [Page 75] so become one, as they both become two, I love my friend before my self, and yet methinks I do not love him enough; some few moneths hence my multiplyed affection will make me believe I have not loved him at all; when I am from him, I am dead till I be with him, when I am with him I am not satisfied, but would still be nearer him: unit­ed souls are not satisfied with embraces, but de­sire to be truly each other, which being impossible, their desires are infinite, and must proceed with­out a possibility of satisfaction.—If we can bring our affections to look beyond the body, and cast an eye upon the soul, we have found out the true object not only of friendship, but charity, &c.

I am ashamed of transcribing, their sense and eloquence hath imported me: And yet I have maimed both by the culling: But 'tis more to my purpose then mine own.

What shall we say to all this? If it were but wit, or generosity, pity to be wrack't or chopt with Logick: but these are no ventets of smoak or chass. If there be such an Amity, what shall I think of my self? if not, what of these excellent persons, that have dilivered it? We must suffer such souls to have suffered somewhat extraordinary. There­fore I am still either querulous, or inquisitive.

For what is that, that I should love in such an Amity? The person of my friend? not for one special consideration, nor two, nor three, nor four, nor a thousand, but a quintessence of I know not [Page 76] what, that plungeth my will. Will it not also plunge my reason, while agreableness to my fancy is all, that is in view? While I seem to abstract from sense and pleasure, will not this ingulf me in unwary sensuality? Is it likeness? How can I then love him before my self? Or how can I have a principle before my self, though it be to love my Creator and Redeemer? Is it the unity that is be­tween us? Whether then do I love my self in Him, or him in me? Whether more? Or how do I di­stinguish so, as to prefer that in will and reason, which in Nature is the later? Besides souls have no union but of consent, they know no plunging, or confusion. Therefore stil I am the rule and measure of my own affection, and the constant principle to it: My friend can be but a moral or objective informer to me. He cannot bound, or comprehend me; much less can he circumscribe all my powers and my faculties; though I may yield them to be determined at his pleasure. So that I am plunged indeed in this Rhetorick, though I would be loth to spoil so fair an argument.

But in what order shall we place this Amitie? The learned Doctor prefers his Countrey: But Montaigne hesitates in a fine story.Ch. 27. l. 1. When Tiberius Gracchus was con­demned of conspiracy: C. Blosius, his principal friend suspected of intelligence with him, was convented before the Consuls, who demanding of him, what he would do for Gracchus? answered, [Page 77] All things. And what if he had commanded you to burn our Temples? He would never have done it, replied Blosius. But what if he had? said he, I would have done it. Whereupon my Author. Those which accuse this answer as seditious do not apprehend this mystery; nor presuppose (as it was in reality) that Blosius had the will of Grac­chus in his sleeve; both by power and cogni­sance They were more friends then Citisens; more friends, then friends or enemies of their Countrey, then friends of ambition and trouble: Having perfectly committed themselves one to the other, they held perfectly the reins of one anothers inclination: And make them to guide this har­ness by vertue, and the conduct of reason (as it is impossible to suppose it without) the answer of Blosius was as it should be. What do we think of this? If the judgement of one lead him unto Trea­son by vertue, and the conduct of reason, as he supposeth, must the others too? Again must we prefer our friend, or vertue? If our friend, we are as before. If Cic. de amicit. Sic de­finit. Haec habui de ami­citia quae dicerem. Vos autem hortor, ut ita vir­tutem locetis, sine quâ a­micitia esse non potest: ut ed excepta, nihil amicitia praeftabilius esse puretis. vertue, our wives and children (at the least) have a preobligement on us. And vertue defends any intercession of a later act of choice, between the first, and the pledges of God and Nature. Some things are incommunicable of their own Nature; of [Page 78] all others friendship may have power. But it can­not by seising of my soul, procure, that I should not be perswaded as I judge, that I should not will what I think most meet. Nay, external things, My Prince and Countrey bear away my allegiance, and the rights of my wife and children are invio­late against the necessities of my friend (but not the hazarding of them if it ly in my power) I can do no more but communicate with him in all I am and have, that is communicable.

But methinks, my Authors has improved this Notion very curiously; when he tells us, that such a friendship abolisheth all words of difference, be­nefit, obligation, request, or remerciement, &c. And so it seems to me in comparison; that the dearest friends cannot be beholden the one to the other; cannot exceed, or surpass one another: nor have any thing private, saving wherein priva­cy advantageth community. For if our thoughts and apprehensions were plainly one, now should there be place for advice and councel? If our mu­tual endeavours did meet one another in the same actions; how could their be accommodation? If estates and interests were not distinct, how should one have to supply what the other wanted? But such is the Candour of benevolence, making no account, or difference of penury or abundance in one subject, so either be supplyed. or both alike miserable: Wherefore a miserable man is not ca­pable of this beatitude. Now 'twas ever agreed, [Page 79] that the friendship of dearness cannot extend unto many. My Author seems to hold, not only that it cannot be beyond a duality, but that one fail­ing the other never can repair it. Though a man may renew his espousals, he must live a perpetual widower to his friend. Indeed, we cannot put but one in the superlative degree, but a father of 20. children may have so natural an affection to them all, that he can hardly tell (in all respects) which to forego, if he were put to the necessity of his choice. And of a few friends, when one is present he may be as the dearest, when another comes he may be in balance. Gold may weigh against Gold, when the pieces & the scales are both even. And it is not probably want of high affecti­ons, that holds the common lover of more friends in this suspense; but only want of partiality, act­ing by the goodness of his Nature, and not calling reason to distinguish. Of this unique Amity, we are the less sollicitous, because it is not proper­ly any part or consequent of a Good Nature, but only of some Heroick vertue: if any such be in Nature, whose effects are impossible (to be truly each other) and desires infinite (to be satisfied with enjoyment) whereas by Nature, never any tendency was in vain.

But by this, I am put upon examining, what kind of passions I have ever found within my own breast towards an high Amity. In my childhood, I found the first allective of my affections was ad­miration. [Page 80] When I saw any of my play-fellows of a jovial, hardy, and complyant Nature, fashion'd to his own pleasure, and others favour, I remem­ber I were wont to have an unquiet fondness to be endeared to him: sometimes with more, sometimes with less success, until my passions, oft returning weary & disappointed, (finding (as I imagine) spirits light and aiery to be made to favour, rather then af­fection; and that friendship could not be without somewhat of the deep humour) became timerous & sollicitous about the next objects that I assayled; thinking that I wanted wit or spirit to go about to gain any one; since I still seemed to my self to love more, then to have been beloved. Therefore where I found my childish accoglienzaes answered, I thought my self beholden, and were ready to spoil all by being over-busy with my foolish kind­nesses. But when I came to have learned some letters, I found to be of one form, of one exercise, and often one in fault together & one punishment, was a means of endearing me to one or other of my Classis: and that indeed, there was some geni­ality in that affection, that was able to hold us great friends in the University. Addicting my self to some study, I had a fit of great regret of the times past (like the pang of Doctor Faustus, who desired of his familiar to see Rosamond, that had been dead an 100 years before) I could not be sa­tisfied for want of pictures to represent those brave men whom I read, and read of, thinking [Page 81] that they had left no commendation possible for posterity. Nay at last, I could not be kind with my stars, because I were not born to know, and live in the constant sight of that most accomplish't and taking person the immortal Sir P. Sidney, un­der whose two pictures I have stood gazing at wil­ton-house, till shame has impell'd me to look on other things with little notice, and desire has brought me back again. In the ardour of my youth, those same vagary qualities, that keep women from being tame, and entice us, with we know not what Graces (as the birds in the air, render themselves amiable, as they fly in their par­ty-coloured feathers, which being taken are despi­sed) allured me no otherwise in men; suspecting still there was more in such persons, than I could discover, and holding me enamour'd to the ob­jects of my suspicion, which touched me in things as well as persons. So that being ready to visit France, I expected to find as much difference as if they had had another Heaven and Earth, then we enjoy, And so I found my self in vain affected at the Key of Calais, there being a goodly high wall and magnificent towards the sea, and an indiffe­rent town within it. Since I came to years of dis­cretion (which I am feign to account by law, ra­ther then by reason) admiration ceased; but not that opinion; that there are some inimitable qua­lities and graces in certain persons which do ne­cessarily draw my heart to a bien-veilance, and a [Page 82] passion of acquaintance, yet it seems to me, when I have made my addresses, that not what i like in them; so much as what they like in me is my assured ground of friendship: but if I am sought unto by any, that has so mean a spirit, then what I like in them only; or in their inten­tion is my obligement: for I ask no more but recti­tude; other accomplishments I account matter of respect, but only this of true affection. And having found this but in divers breasts, I cannot complain of the falseness of the world (as many do, which should rather reflect on the fallacy of their former judgements, & their oscitancy of conversation) but rather of my own deficiencies, if I have not any one friendship high and absolute. Nothing is more molestation to me, then to apprehend, that the meanest of my friends is unsatisfied in any thing of my behaviour; that the best should not be highly drawen and allured with the postures and expressi­ons of my affection. Of reality I cannot doubt, feeling how effectual it is within myself; but to noble strains and advancements every wit and spirit is not proper: Only when Stars meet they leap into conjunction, and accomplish their own orbe, and amuse the world with their light and splen­dour. In brief (that I may not spoil my character with too much oftentation) I account my friend­ship my repast, my entertainment, my diversion, my religion, and no fault to be so great as any Act of pride, or ingratitude, that tendeth to dissolve it. [Page 83] I love with vertue, and I love for vertue (to what degree soever I observe it) yet I do not covet to Monopolize any one unto my self, that he should love no other besides me, (I do not think that I can deserve so much of any man) nor am I myself willing to be sequestred. But I love to walk, and talk, and intermingle with all the world: taking such friendship for restraint, and no bounty, which shall go about to abridge me, or confine me: save only in respect of special Acts, and ser­vices. I am contented to live only at the rate of a Good Nature, without attaining higher glory, or seeking of an Amity in Unity, and an Unity in Identity of soules, or of Platonical Ideaes: which every man that can be a friend, cannot understand; or hardly any other, who is so perswaded (as generally we are) of creation, and production of things visible.

§ VII. When I would dispatch, I am incum­bred; I did not think there had been so much in hospitality. Whoever receiveth me with a good look is presently become my Host; and a mans bounty is a much seen in his countenance, as at his Table. Sometimes an invitation obligeth more then an entertainment: commonly the lesser feasts are the more gracious; and the meaner houses, and narrow entries afford the more re­ceipt within. The fair City of Siena hath an anci­ent wall, and a strait gate: but with his inscrip­tion (that slack'd my weariness when I arrived [Page 84] there) Cor pandit tibi Sena magis. Thy heart Si­ena's more, enlarged then thy door. And so it has reputation of the hospitablest Town in Italy. I know not whether receiveth the more content in it: he that affordeth a bounteous aspect, or he that accepts it: for it is no less hospitality to accept of kindness worthily, then to bestow it freely. A Good Nature is seen alike in both, what joy and promptness is there in the action? What love and service in the addresses of mind and body? It stands not upon its provision. Let decency, or magnificence see to that: If it have it, it is ready to produce it: If not, it is not abashed, it ab­sents not itself: it supplies, as much as may be, with good will: and it may be grieved, if things necessary be not in its power to procure. Caesar in an house where he was honestly entertained, dip­ped his salad freely in corrupted oyl (which by error was brought to the Table) rebuking his com­pany for taking notice of it; and eat of it yet more freely to rebuke them; & save his Host from having any apprehension of it. Such a value did he put upon a small punctilio of civility, as some other might have reckon'd it; but indeed it was no small matter in the reason, which touched so nearly on the Coast of Gratitude. And so I leave the rest of this vertue to liberality, and her asso­ciates.

I know not but I may borrow somewhat from the next title, if I entreat here of Charity, first, [Page 85] of that which receiveth strangers in, and next of that, that relieveth them without: whether it be Humanity or Hospitality: It is certainly, a cha­racter of Good Nature, which is more apt to con­descend, then to aspire, and to yield to pity, then to rise to glory. The poor Mariner driven in by tempest is not to be questioned for his pratique: nor an enemy ship-wrack't upon our Coast to be treated as a prisoner of war. If it be in boistrous weather, a poor Traveller is not sent to seek for a sign, where Gentle people live: Nor a man that commits a trespass by his own misfortune: espe­cially when he seeks no more but succour, to be distrain'd, or roughly handled. I will dismiss this also with a pleasant story. In the dreadful Massacre of Paris, while the Catholick swords reak't in vengeance, a poor Huguenot, escaping his pursuers, came violently bouncing with hands and feet at the chamber door of the King of Navarre (at that time protector of the miserable party) cry­ing Navarre, Navarre. The King was gone forth:Mem. de la Reyne Mar. l. 1 a Lady of the bed-chamber, thinking he was returned in hast (and knowing that mischief was abroad) hastily ran to ope the door; and let in a wounded Gentleman pursued instantly by four souldiers. To save his life, he cast himself upon the Queens bed: who for fear leaped out, and he after her, holding her alwayes by the middle, and using her as his buckler. She, poor Lady knew not the [Page 86] man, or whether he came to mischief Her, or whe­ther the souldiers intended it to him, or to Her­self, but upon her out-cries: in came the Captain of the guards, who chasing at the rudeness of the Archers, he chased them out of that presence; and granted the life of the poor Gentleman that embraced the Queen, to her discretion; which was (though she her self were a zealous Catho­lick) to lodge him in her own Cabinet, till he were cured of his wounds was not this a noble act of bounty?

2. For the other part of tenderness, which we call charity; it may admit of some dispute, whe­ther a Good Nature do it for the love of the Acti­on, or of the good that is in it; or only to grati­fie its own humour, or the importunity of its own Nature? Once again: our most ingenious Doc­tor who has shew'd himself no superficial Statist of his own, or our common humanity tells us thus. I give no alms to satisfy the hunger of my Brother: but to fulfil and accomplish the will, and command of my God. I draw not my purse for his sake, that demands it; but his that enjoyn'd it. I relieve no man upon the Rhetorick of his [Page 87] miseries: nor to content mine own commiserating disposition;Rel. Med. l. 2. S. 2. for this is still but moral charity, and an act that oweth more to passion, then to reason. He that relieves another upon the bare suggestion, and bowels of pity, doth not this so much for his sake, as for his own. For by compassion we make others misery our own; and so by relieving them we relieve our selves also. Yet (to do my noble friend, to whom I have a particular obligement the more right) he had told us before.Sect. 1. I have ever endeavoured to nourish the merciful disposition, and humane inclination I borrowed from my Parents, and regulate it to the written, and prescribed laws of Charity.

Yet am I apt to imagine, that a Good Nature acting only to satisfy the importunity of its own inclination, is more abundant in goodness, then acted by a rule, or precept; unless it be a rule, that comes to it in effect, (though not in form of words) by its proper observation.

We hang (a good part of mankind) wavering, and trembling in the balance, while on the one hand, we are prescribed a strict and rigid vertue, consisting in certain rules and dictates from which we may not vary without offence, and danger. On the other; all kind of actions are presented to us so disguised with the same titles, that there is no­thing left to be vice: neither any part of life to be serious, The Mantle of wit, or love, or honor [Page 88] serves to palliate all, that were ugly in its proper colors, both to sense and reason. But if we can­not easily be exact with the first, or dissolute with the later, it were worth while to know this my­stery: That to live by rule is but to hamper Na­ture, to live in fear, and fall into superstition: but to live without it, (as it is a glass or mirror, wherewithal to dress our Natures) is to steer our course without a compass: for excess and de­fect consist in curious points: and our own Na­tures (in the case) are the first Monitors, and the most intimate: and which employ our rea­sons to be exact about it. Temperance, and ab­stinence are certain and prescribed vertues: yet there is no written rule that can keep us entire in the practice of them in particular cases: for the vertues are not in the objects that are indifferent: nor in the acts that are variable (for that may be excess to me, which is temperance to another; and the same act as to my self at one time may be an ex­cess, which at another time was just) but only in right reason, according unto Na­ture; [...] as a wise man shall judge (not another wise man; but the same that is to be engaged in the action.)

To come to our purpose. To be moved with compassion upon the sight and sense of anothers misery is a token of Good Nature, which is a di­vine instinct within us, the Original (if I may say so with the favour of our Divines) of the second [Page 89] table. Therefore to hear when the bowels of com­passion call upon us, is to hear when God calls, and to execute his will, though we do not think of his command. Whereas to give liberally, meerly on a sense of duty, if it may be called obedi­ence, it cannot be called Charity. And what avails it to give away 10000. Manors without Charity? Indeed the Fathers Confessors are apt to teach their suppliants of Absolution, that it is not Charity to give from a motive within ones self; but only out of love to God, and obe­dience to his Commands; whereby they have made themselves Masters of mens Charity: and have not been a little charitable to themselves. I suppose we have the same sense amongst many of our Religion: since only Rich and Old take themselves to be bound to Charity, and to see a young Gallant drop an Alms in the street were enough to make him question'd to be soft. I am (almost) of opinion, that who giveth of com­passion (when he doth not actually thing of God, or his command) is the more charitable; and not the less obedient: and shall be noted, and re­warded, though he forget, and take no notice of his own benefit. For (as I conceive) the Sama­ritan, that took up the wounded Jew did it not out of Religion (because they were as excommu­nicated persons to one another) but only out of sense of humanity and compassion. And yet the Saviour of the World commends that Act, as true [Page 90] Religion. If a beggar importune us, shame may move us, though there be no witness; and where­of, was that sense given us? If another do not give when he thinks he ought, fear impels him. And whether is it better to act out of fear, or out of shame? Notwithstanding, I am afraid of this argument, as intrenching too much upon Divini­ty. I do not question, but it is a more excellent way of Charity to give for the love of God, rather then for the love of our selves, and our own quiet or any man, and his relief: but I do not think in Religion, that they can be dis-joyned, or distin­guished. As to say, I give out of Charity: not because I campassionate my Brother; but because I am so commanded: but I am commanded to have compassion (if Nature do not give it me) and so to exhibit. I do not think, that to give out of Good Nature is so much as a Moral vertue; but a good disposition: that by reason may be di­rected to any height or perfection whatsover; but without it, that neither will not reason can produce an Act of Charity. So that still to ad­vance reason, or Religion is not to derogate from the simplicity of Nature: which when Divines lay so low in corruption, and imbecillity, I sup­pose they mean in another sense, then I intend.

§. VIII. I reckon not much what entertain­ment I have made; but I am now ready to serve up the disette with a few sprinklings yet remaining under the notion of humanity; with its adjuncts [Page 91] and embellishments: knowing that the banquet is oftentimes more valuable, then the whole meal.

1. And first, it is the part of humanity to re­frain all disgusts, to restrain all incommodities, and to aid against the incursion of any evils in our common life. Therefore it doth not cherish in it self any private humour of diet, or repose, or sin­gular mode of carriage to be allow'd, or yielded to it by any other: it affecteth not usurpation of precedences or accommodations; but is content­ed with such part as time, and occasion, and the persons present do freely and readily afford to it: nor to fill any place with it self through vain glory, and self commendation; or assume all the talk; or take upon it self to censure persons, or judge of things; nor admits of jeers, or abuses; or suffers the dead, or the absent to be traduced; or the simple to be too much disparaged. It questions not the merit or the quality, which any one pre­tends to; though it discern an incomportment, it makes no semblance of it: it will not expose any one, unless it be to detect some malice: it helpeth good constructions, being tender of others fame, as it is of its own, and desireth to have others so: it taketh notice of distinctions, being a sign of rudeness to come a second time into the Company of any Noble Person, and not to know who he is: [Page 92] it yieldeth honor to men of spirit, and of vertuous acquirements (though modest) and to their arro­gance too sometimes. For in Ben Johnson's com­pany, they say, that an absolute domination ruled with the pleasure of his subjects.

Further, though a Good Nature do avoid oftentation for its own part; yet is it not impati­ent of anothers impertinence, or idle commenda­tions of himself: but rather sollicitous and concern'd for him how he will come off: it is apt to bear a part of shame for him, if he be impudent: or with him, if he be sensible (as it often happens) when he doth not find that applause, that he expected. I know not how it happens to ingenious spirits, such as have real wit, and real courage to be bashful: when dunces and droans are confident: is it a ver­tue or a weakness in them? Only this we may ob­serve; as there is a laughter that sheweth no com­placency, so there is a blushing that argues some­times a conscious guilt and no goodness: some­times a purpose of revenge. And how do you think does blushing become a Blackmoor? But where this passion doth express a sense or doubt (thought it be but a misprision) of any indecency, or unhandsome faltring, or miscarrying, I can­not say, it is it self a vertue, but a token of it: nor a weakness, but a kind of remission: such as is an ample satisfaction of it self for any small fault, [Page 93] and a tacit promise of amendment: for he that hath blushed for his mis-adventure ha's stopt all an­ger, and has his pardon without asking: which is some relief to such an one, as knows, That apo­logies are not to be made without reason; neither are as other Compliments, but intrench so much upon the Quality, or discretion of the Author. I should say more, that it is an excellent token when blushes do not put out of countenance; for then a vertuous confidence is seen under it, which will soon recover and overcome it: and then, these foolish blushes do not misbecome, but add a sin­gular grace and lustre to a young face (especially) and to the other sex; for who sees a Lady Blush, and take it up handsomely, can hardly escape to be enamour'd. It is a sign of vertue, which is more alluring then the fairest skin and neatest fea­tures in the world. But still it is to be regarded how this suffusion is recollected; for if the shame­fulness proceed from ignorance or imbecillity, it rather paints then lightens; if it happen to a sullen nature, it dejects and stains it; they cannot pre­sently resume their confidence, and reduce it with a glory, as our Good Nature can, and can do no otherwise.

To restrain incommodities it behooves us also to bear our own infirmities and inconveniences, and (as much as possibly) to conceal them, that we [Page 94] may not disturb our friends or neighbours, or im­pede the alacrity of our company. Sick persons do retire, and they that visit them come on pur­pose to condole and sympathize with them; only they that have the Plague love to spread their in­fection, and many that have the Itch; and of this latter sort are the Querulous company, that are ever complaining or finding fault with one or other, being either old, or crazy, or prejudiced, or otherwise distempered.

‘Nescio an Anticyram ratio illis destinet omnem.’

Humanity requires us to take sometimes a part of others inconveniences upon our selves to alievi­ate them; to personate another man (sometimes) to save a mischief that is coming towards him: to bear a part of anothers blame, when we are inno­cent, and to conceal his, to save anger, or divert punishment, for a Good Nature is averse to all punishment and inclin'd to all lenity. It was a speech taken well from Nero, and promising a bet­ter reign, when a table was brought to him to be signed for the death of a malefactor, he took the style, saying of his own motion. O quàm mallem nescisse literas! O how I had rather that I could not write! And as Tacitus has left the History, he became worst the soonest, that we ever read of any. Nay, it is but humanity (sometimes) to run [Page 95] voluntarily into danger to prevent a greater or a publick jeopardy. And some one man has taken strangely upon himself. A soldier of the Great Caesar took a pile into his own body to cover his Commander. Curtius mounted and arm'd at all points leaped into a gulph to divert an ill Omen. The two Decii devoted their lives for two victo­ries. Tribune with 400. soldiers took a mortal station to redeem the rest of the Army out of straits.

We see, besides, when there is a fire, every un­concerned person will adventure himself to extin­guish it, when violence is done to an innocent, every one will concern himself to rescue; when a man is in danger of being drowned, a stranger will venture in to save him. So that Humanity and Good Nature are not only in sleight and super­ficial points, but extend to realities. On the con­trary an ill Nature, though it be strong, or weal­thy, or well accommodated cannot find in its heart to be helpful, or compassionate, or commu­cative with another; but if it be in misery, it ha­teth all that are more happy, and wisheth it were but able to involve them in the same state with it self, Medea (the fairest copy that we have of an ill nature) in the Latine Tragedian:

[Page 96]Or with its death to conjure the dissolution of the Universe with the prayer of Nero,

Or as Perseus, the last King of Mace­don, when he was taken captive by the Romans (trained from a Sanctuary) cursed those Gods, that had not afforded him protection.

Which makes me think of what an admirable temper that ignoble vertue patience is compound­ed, while it is either not at all regarded, or noted only by superficial animadverters, as a mark of ab­jection, or a poor spirit; it signifies an excellent aequanimity, an invincible fortitude, a certain prudence, and a singular piece and proportion of good humors, which neither taxeth fate, nor providence, nor repineth at seeming inequalities, while it sees its inferiors preferred, its fortunes dissipated, its merits undervalued, its friends dis­heartened; while nothing in the world seems to favour it; it is not curdled, or turned, but saves it self with salt, and reserves it self for the fresh water: what were all the arguments of Philoso­phy concerning vanity, indifferency, metriopathy, if they had not this subject? What were all valour, or hardiness, or skill of enterprizing, if there were [Page 97] not patience to endure incommodities, and expect the best seasons? In fine, what end would there be of injuries, if there were not this Good Natur'd quality to bound, and determine them? Either to subside in oblivion, or a voluntary sequestration of revengeful thoughts? When we read that Wine, and Women, and Truth are strongest, why was not time thought upon, which conquers and preys on all things? [...]. Yet patience bows the fangs of time, and brings about that victory by culling seasons out of it, which neither force nor fortune could complete at once, compatible but to a Good Na­ture and an high Spirit, if it be not maliciously mistaken, a stupidity (suppose) or a rest after weariness, or a manicle of pure force and necessi­ty are no more then brutish.

Lastly, as an aid against incursion of evil acci­dents humanity is never out of one office or an other, either to procure Amities, or prevent en­mities, or reconcile breaches, or to clear some mens reputations, or to cover some mens disgraces, or palliate others just designs that they may gain effect, it being most essential to a Good Na­ture to be loyal and trusty, and as secret as its dis­cretion serves to be. It delights in speaking prai­ses, and in relating any mans goods fortune, with­out any glance of envy or detraction: Nay, it is [Page 98] not much concerned with the success of an enemy, or repineth at anothers gain obtained to its own prejudice, if not unjustly. For it seeks its own interest with a most indifferent industry in respect of passion; though a most intense in respect of action, because it moves only in a streight line, and will rather waive its own advantage, then interfere with another, that seeks it in the same way. In fine, a Good Nature is entirely so just, that a dog, or an horse, or an old tree fare the better for it.

§ § II. It is the part of Humanity to ampliate all favours, to extend all bounties, to share and not exempt it self from common lot and fortune.

To begin with affability, which is an exhibiting of ones own person to ordinary use and accommo­dation, to confer and to converse among men without exception; it hath ever been in such honor amongst all civil Nations, and in such re­straint amongst the barbarous, as argues it to be an excellent point of humanity, though nothing seem more natural and familiar. The life and in­stitution of King Cyrus was form'd to this kind of liberality, insomuch that if any of his friends were disjoyned from him at the Table, he would not fall too,Xenoph with any cheer, till he had sent somewhat of his own service to each of [Page 99] them. Alexander was free and open to all his soldiers: Mithridates could call whole regiments by their names; and Caesar was so conversant amongst his men, that every one was ambitious to be known to him, and by him to be call'd upon by name gave each man invincible resolution. M. Antonius, Herodian. l.1. who alone of all the Empe­rors (in the judgment of the Histori­an) did apply the study of Philosophers not to terms of speech, or knowledge of opinions, but to use and practice in his life; did demean himself so civilly and agreeably unto all men, that he gave his hand freely to all that came to him, and suffered not his Guards to prohibit any one.

On the other side the Kings and Emperors of the Barbarous Nations have used from ancient times hitherto, to keep themselves at a great di­stance from the people, rarely to be seen, never to be spoken to but by some few of their favou­rites. As at this day the Russian, the Mogul, and the Grand Seignior; a thing that renders them as odious, as contemptible to our European man­ners; which exact from our greatest Persons (one time or other) the greatest affability. Much more of meaner subjects to be easie of access, ready of speech, and speedy of dispatch.

And to this it may seem that curtesie properly doth belong giving and receiving all kind of favour [Page 100] in comportment, wherein it is a shame to be van­quished, and a glory to contend in condescenti­on. Every Complimenter knows this, but he turns his back and laughs, and this that is not seen makes the compliment (as the vulgar count it) the other is but obligation, and ought to be sincere. And it implies two things; first, that a man does not esteem himself better then another (saving his quality, if there be any diffrence.) And second­ly, that he is sensible of any favour, and does not take a kindness (as I have heard the French to tax the humor of us English) for an obligation, which also implies two things farther, first, that a cour­teous person gently weighs the tendency of a fair address; and secondly, that he answers it with reality according to import. If it be an excuse, he takes it in good part, and is not difficult: if it be a tender, he receives it with remerciment: if it be a benefit, he shews what account he makes of it by his expressions of alacrity. And when the party is gone, the sense is doubted, by how much assentation is removed, and to acknowledge now is more free, for what else can a man justly glory in, but in that wherein he secretly rejoyceth? Gratitude in a generous heart is sweet, and most prolifique of good humours. It gurgleth with the heart-bloud out of one ventricle into another, till it be heated to perfection, and fit to engender more kindness, And what pleasure doth it mul­tiply [Page 101] in that conceipt? how doth it prefer to live in other breast, more then in its own? And to perish that it may revive to a loving remembrance? Which is the reason why it is perpetual, and can never be disobliged; boundless, and thinks it never has requited; and insatiable in the covering of new exchanges.

It is a part of courtesy too, to be ready to be acquainted, as well as accosted; but there is a secret difficulty, which I have observed ordinary in this particular amongst the better spirits; and that is, from whence in point of decency, or ex­pediency an acquaintance should begin, if two persons be well disposed to it. One is loth to seek: the other loth to interpret such apparence, before it is exprest (though possibly perceived) least he should be overforward, or mistaken : for a free spirit cannot be like Horace his tantum in seeking of acquaintance: he cannot impose himself, or demit of his own spirit, to be ingratiated with a stran­ger:Occurrit quidam notus mihi nomine tantum, &c. Ser. 1▪ Sat. 9. but they do not observe while they affect to reserve to each other a particular point of grandeur, they stand off in punctilio's, which are petty feminine intrigues, and not magnanimous: whereas true greatness is preserved only by generosity. Every man is open to another, when occasion brings [Page 102] them into presence: and every good intention justifies it self, if there be no interest to draw it into suspition. Access and recess are free, and to fashion an occasion more particular out of a gene­ral, with a natural address; addeth more grace to him that commenceth, then to him that secon­deth an application; and it should be considered; that to enterprise was ever more noble, then to hold ones self passive, wherefore, where there is such a sense betwixt two, it becomes both to be­come discreet essayers, and not to affect the glory to be later: for it is the more Humane to be con­fident, where a retreat is alwayes Generous. It is another point of this Good Quality to be com­plaisant in Company; serious where they are so disposed; free and merry when time serves: composed, when we are to conserve dignity. Light and active, when we are to entertain, or to be di­verted. The humour is not to be brought with us; but to be taken up at the sight of the presence. Such is the correspondency of discourse. Not to bring in Cato among Poets, nor Lucian among Divines and tender consciences. Nor a Councel of war into a banqueting house, nor the Privy Councel into a Ladies Chamber, nor a subtle Contract into the Temple: but to shew our selves well affected and delighted with the ball that is in hand, or the argument that we find upon the Carpet, And such must be the procedure to the [Page 103] persons, in whom we are to take content: and acknowledge their variety. If there be of the (beaux esprits) the refined wits among them, or of the (Cavaglien garbati è politi) more accom­plished Gentlemen; or a mixture of Qualities and Tempers; Humanity requires us to consort withall for the time, as far as our sufficiency conduceth, and forbiddeth not to delight more in what we find agreeable, and to make our own company out of any number, when it may be done without Scism: for we may not break up a society, till it is for their own ease, or intercourse. But if (perchance) our fortune bring us into company, where the defects exceed the treat; Humanity will hardly allow (unless by the way of wit; which is either of little force, or apt to afford more matter to their peculancy) least we seem to make our selves Masters where we have no Authority: much less to condemn like judges in full commission: but yet obligeth us to disprove without disgust, and to retire without passion, if occasion do not bind us. But if it do, a good countenance may be able to qualify the company, or to keep any thing that is unhandsome, or over-bold from fastning on it self. Not, but that reproof may be sometimes very natural; and sometimes necessary; where it is like to do more good then hurt. Especially, ones private friends humanity calls upon one to admonish: but not to entermeddle (though with [Page 104] one particular) where the ill qualities surpass the good. [Je trouve rude de juger celuy-la, en qui les mauvaises qualitez surpassem les bonnes. Mon­taigne. l. 3. ch. 13.]

To pass from words to act; we are bound in humanity to direct a stranger upon his request; to reduce him, if we perceive him in an error, without asking: to assist him in attaining his de­sire, when we can do it without indecency, or impediment to ourselves: but we are bound to guard some decorum, even against civil offices: for a man may not offer his service to a vertuous Lady, that is a stranger to him, when she wants a ready servant, though peradverture it would be a kindness to her, because it will bring a point of decency on both sides in question: but if there be any great need, it will not only excuse, but over-balance it to the side of high civility. So it does not befit a person of Quality to aid a porter, though he be nearer then another; but if it be to save the poor man from any great harm, he ought to consider himself also to be but a man. And the like instances we might deduce to other cases. Therefore to proceed a little farther, when we fee another labouring about a business, that we can do without pains, it is a part of Good Nature to relieve and expedite him. Some smaller inconveniences we are to take upon our selves for [Page 105] the greater commodity of another, and a little greater on our selves, if they be divers that shall perceive the benefit of our decession. Why should I take up a great room by preoccupation, to strai­ten others, if I may do as well or (almost) as sweetly with a less? Why should I eat alone if I have to spare and others want? Nay, why should not I delight, or at least command my self (some­times) to want for company? Alexander the Great, when he was with a choice party of his horse in pursuit of Darius, was like to perish with his men for want of water. At the last, some of his men brought a small quantity, whereof when he was about to drink, seeing how wistfully his Gentlemen, that were about him look'd upon it, he return'd the water back, saying, he would not drink and they faint. And when they saw his continence and generosity; [...]. Plut. they all cryed out, they were neither thirsty nor weary, nor wholely mortal, while they had such a King. In the Sacred Story King David would not drink of water that his Champions brought him though his soul thirsted, because they had ventured their lives for it. And never was a King of Israel so beloved as he. Sir P. Sidney, when he had recovered his mortal wound near Zutphen, and thirsted by rea­son of the inslammation; while he was setting [Page 106] the bottle to his mouth, espied a poor soldier,S. F. Grevill who had likewise took his last at the same break fast, looking gastly towards it. To whom the noble Knight, my friend, saith he, thy necessity is yet the greater, And so made him drink first, and then pledg'd him. And what English man was ever so lamented at a Funeral? A Good Nature is not willing to exempt it self from its part of suffering,Ferre quam sor­tem patiuntur om­nes nemo recuset. when it may, or can: but a Noble Nature will suffer voluntarily to excuse a weaker. Which is yet more: Humanity will offer violence to the stoutest soul breathing, when it self suffers, and cannot surmount the rage of destiny. Marcellus, who was the most pugnacious, earnest Captain of his age, when he saw the City of Syracuse, which he had so long besieged sack't and burn't by his soldiers, while he could not help it, wept in grief, and indignation. And so did Titus, called the delight of mankind, at the subversion of Je­rusalem, complaining of the Jews rebellions that had constrained him. These were manly tears, that are able to affect men, more then all the art, or eloquence in the world: for they cannot happen without a great commotion; nor come from a brave man without a vehement disturbing the spectators: yet when common Nature suffers every man must be moved. If a man weep easily, [Page 107] he is soft and childish; but if he can weep at his own discretion, I would not undertake to write his character. I think I have heard, that the Fox and the Crocodile can dissemble weeping, but they are both but dissembling. Ingenuity can on­ly press them from a noble heart through pity of some irreparable loss; or grief of some indignity that deprives it of the honour and favour that it most esteems with a Prince, or a Parent, or some Heroick lover. Shall I add to these, that it is a part of the bounty of a Good Nature, that it de­lights in mens affections, and real inclinations? That it thinks it not worth the while to live in this light, if there were not a mutual transmigra­tion into one anothers breasts? If it were not to raise our memories above the level, and to live upon the wings of favour after we are dead? And as no Appetite is given in vain, this makes it do acceptably, and avoid all things ingrateful. But however, it is its own reward at present, for what in this life is so sweet as favour? If we are present with our friends, this only makes us feel the value of our enjoyments: If we are absent, or dejected, or fallen into disgrace: that they will vindicate and recommend us is our hope of recovery▪ And when we dy, we feel (almost) within the Coffin the wind and showers of sighs and tears, wherewith they follow us to our graves: from whence we may chance to answer [Page 108] them in a pale Violet, or a lock of time, or (it maybe) in the sprig of a Palm-tree, with this Motto, Depressa resurgo.

§. §. III. To conclude with some embellish­ments, which we consider as attractive qualities in a Good Nature. A person may be more beloved for a little vertue well managed, then for many great ones, which (peradventure) cannot be made to serve the ends of meaner qualities. There are excellent vertues, that are not properly the objects of our love, but rather of our honor and admiration, and so by consequent have not their attraction so much to sense as reason, for wisdom, and learning, and constancy, and severity, and courage, and resolution are only good bottoms: if they come to be nealed with an amiable temper, they may then affect with advantage, and gain more by their light, then they could have done by their heat. For commonly the fortune of mens fancies playeth more with superficial graces, and makes the plausible and compliant more happy then the Valiant or the Politick. As if it were more humane, and obliging to be versatile, facile, tem­porary, then stout, invincible, constant and immo­vable. Though these be the more Heroick ver­tues, which turn the world about in spite of mean­er courages. For attraction, it is it self no vertue, but a splendor of liberty, that giveth grace and [Page 109] honor to every action; it is a coruscation of ma­ny fair qualities in divers postures, as a Diamond hath a lustre from divers points according to the polishing. Here there issues a ray of wit, promi­sing more in reserve, then an height or flight of spirit, not to be defined by any other; here ala­crity, there resumption; here a lovingness, there a chastity, not to be attempted; here a little courage (and not too much, for a rampant lusti­ness doth not become, not a valiant man; and among meticulous women, we prise not a Virago) there a deal of pity. Here is bounty, there is mo­desty. In fine, that which is reserved, or seems to be, though it is not seen what, gaineth more, then that which is discovered. There is one sort of at­traction that affecteth our superiors, and infalli­bly draws their favours and condescentions, which is more in the manner of submissions, then in the thing it self. Where there is a sensibility of their pleasures, a resentment of their concerns, a con­venance with the points of their honor and tender­ness, and a promptness of address to usher up those tendencies; they are taken with their servant, as if it were with their own familiar Genius. There is another to raise the benevolence of our inferiors, which is in curtesie, modesty, reservation, and per­mission. And another of obliging equals, which depends upon their various inclinations.

[Page 110]A liberty of address, a grace of motion, a round­ness of recess, an alacrity in presence, and secret forms of transition affect all Gentile spirits, and leave an admiration in the vulgar. To appear to be kind, and loving, and yet to be choice in bestow­ing of its favours maketh every one, that is not haughty, or stupid, to seek to render themselves worthy. To be free and pleasant, and as dextrous to take it up, and become what is requisite to de­ceive the expectation; when it begins to be bold and thinks of discovering and mastering what be­fore it admired, trains a lover into new mazes. Ex­pectation is to be answered, and not satisfied, sus­pition to be dissappointed. Besides, there are se­veral suits and modes of temper, which a rich spi­rit hath ever ready in its wardrope: the dress may be altered every day with a little cost or pains. Who appeareth still in one habit of mind and hu­mor is soon comprehended, and contemned, though he pretend plainess, it is taken for simpli­city. What took at one time will not please at another. But a subtile spirit will soon find in com­pany what is acceptable, and how to train and di­vert discourse before satiety; while we give our selves freely, we should not nostri copiam facere, but from the best entertainment rise with an appe­tite, and part cleanly, that the next meeting may be more sweet.

[Page 111]The rest I believe are inexplicable, but if they were to be discabined by Art, they could not be translated, where Nature were not a bounteous Mistress.