THE MIRROR OF MINDS, OR, BARCLAYS Icon animorum, Englished by T. M.  
LONDON, Printed by JOHN NORTON, for THOMAS WALKLEY, and are to be sold at his shop, at the sign of the Eagle and Child in Britaines-Burse, 1691.   

TO THE RIGHT HOnourable, Richard, Lord Weston, Lord high Treasurer of England, Knight of the most Noble Order, etc.  
My Lord,  
I MIGHT be fearful, that so great a Master of the learned Languages (as your Lordship is known to be) having before read this acute discourse in the Original, and enjoyed the Author in his own strength and elegance, might not only severely censure my weak translation; but justly neglect the Presentation of it, as a thing needless and improper to your learned self. But may it please your Lordship to admit i● my reasons? First, the greater your abilities are, the more authority will your Name give the work to those that are mere English Readers, and to whom my pains most properly do belong.  
Barclay, the learned Author, having with a sharp and penetrating fight surveyed the difference of humane dispositions, and loath to bond his fame within the narrow limits of his own Language, clothed his work (and that most elegantly) in the Roman tongue. ay, lest our English Gentlemen (as many of them as cannot master the Original) should lose the sense of such a work, have made adventure to ●ene't them, and with the oss● (perchance) of mine own fame, to extend the fame of Barclay. The second reason, and the chief, why I present it to your Lordship, is drawn from that analogy which I conceiu● between the matter of ●●is book and your mind, ●eing such, as it may be thought, if the Author himself had lived in this state, he would have chosen the same Patron; your mind (my Lord) being not only moulded for the Muses to love, but made for public and high employments, has not only occasion to meet the differences of humane dispositions, but ability of judgement to discern them; and with a conscious delight may run over the mention of those things here, which your self have by experience already found, and meet in some parts of third discourse your own perf●ctions truly charactered.  
To you, my Lord, to whose Noble bosom the Muses heretofore have resorted for delight, they now fly for Patronage and shelter. To your hands I humbly presons this weak endeavour, beseeching Almighty GOD to bless you with continuance and increase of temporal Honours, and after, with eternal Happiness, so prayeth  
Your Lordship's most humbly 〈◊〉 THO: MAY.   

The First Chapter. The Four ages of man Childhood, Youth, Midle-age, Old-age.  
THe making, or marring of mankind, as of other creatures, is, especially, in their first age. In Trees, the sprigs, whilst they are tender, will yield with ease, to the grafters hand, and grow by his direction, either strait, or crooked. So, the minds of infants, by their Parent's skill, no less, than their bodies, by the midwives hand, may with ease be moalded into such a fashion as will be durable in after-ages. The seeds espeicially, and fundamental parts of virtue, are by an early, and strong persuasion, to be so engrafted into them, that they need not know, whither nature or precept were the teachers of them. To be dutiful to their parents, and obedient to their counsels; to abhor intemperance, lying, and deceit, as prodigies and things unusual; to adore especially the power of God, and sometimes by mercy, sometimes by judgement, to consider of it. These things must be taught them, without trouble or severity; for what ever we follow for fear of punishment, from the same things with a sad loathing we use to be averse, and the hatred conceived in our youth, I know not by what custom of horror, we oft nourish in our old age. The must daily be seasoned with instructions concerning the excellency and rewards of vert●●; and vices in a shameful and disdainful manner, must be named to them, to make them altogether ignorant, that such vices are now often in public practised, and without infamy. Being thus brought up in such gentle rudiments, they will hate vices, and learn not to fear virtue as too rigid, and harsh a mistress. They will easily be brought to these beginnings of right discipline, by the guidance of their parents and teachers, whose opinions, like divine Oracles, will altogether sway their minds yet weak, and not troubled with the ambition of judging. Besides this, they cannot be alured, by the fiattering promises of any vice, whose age as yet, is not only unexperienced of pleasure, but utterly incapable of it: they will therefore easily condemn that thing, which in the judgement of their friends, is dishonest, and commended to themselves, by no temptation. Nor, would we here initiate their childhood in any such torment, as superstitious, and anxious piety; but manly, and wary virtue; for since the minds of men, by an inbred weight, bend heavily downward to the worst things; we had need to bow them, while yet they are tender, quite contrary; that by this means when their natural force shall bring them back, they may yet retain a happy means betwixt their nature, and education. But in this discipline of tender youth, as soon as their minds are sensible of praise, the desire of it is to be kindled in them, that they may then learn, and accustom themselves to affect honour; and in all exercises, either in schools, or abroad at play, they may labour with delight to excel their equals. Besides, when their age increasing, shall bring them by degrees as it were, out of bondage, so that both the awe of their parents may not too sensibly decrease in them, and they not wanton it, through a sudden, and unexpected increase of liberty: we must leave their childhood to those delights which are proper to that age, lest we should seem to accuse nature, which hath ordained that age to be weak and feeble; and unseasonable sowing of wisdom in them, corrupt their natures, not yet ripe for such instructions. Let harmless wantonness be freely allowed them; let them gently be taught learning, rather as a change of recreation than a loathsome burden; and rather fear, then feel, the correction of their parents: let them lastly, enjoy that freedom which nature in pity hath bestowed on them; nor be forced to endure the punishment of humane cares, before they have deserved them; unless we think, it may 〈◊〉 accounted among the least of mischiefs, when children altogether restrained from playing, are (like the wife of that Stolen) terrified at all noise of ●ods; and do exhibit to themselves, and revolve wisdom, in the shape of an Hobgoblin, whose sour, and sharp documents they are not yet capable of.  
That sense of misery which is most cruelly exquisite, is most incident to that age: whilst their tender minds do want ability to govern their fear, and judge of miseries, which yet they know not, worse than they are. And as men, whom fortune hath broken with great calamities, how large so ever their capacities are, will fill them all with the sense, and contemplation of their own miseries: even so in children, when that happens which they fear the worst, all their ability of fearing, and grieving is spent upon it. A man, which by chance had escaped the hands of thieves, who threatened to hang him; being asked, with what mind he expected death; with the same (quoth he) that, when I was a boy, I expected whipping. Moreover, the bitterness of perpetual fear in children's minds, consumeth that moisture, which nature intendeth to make abundant, for the spreading of their limbs, and growth of their bodies. For the stomach we see, doth then want his natural vigour, when the heat, and spirits are called from thence, to aid the distressed brain; nor is the blood strongly diffused upon promise of joy, being too much consumed with the interruptions of sadness. Therefore such dispositions in the bondage of severe custody, the abilities of their minds, either frighted, or wasted, will stand at so unhappy a stay, that those, who were wise above their Childhood, do afterwards want the ordinary wisdom required at Man's estate. To Colts, and young cattle, we freely allow an uncurbed wantonness, lest their first strength, which is then growing, should be hindered by a fearful apprehension of future bondage; and are we so blinded in mind, that what we behold in other creatures, we either neglect, or will not understand in our own children? Neither yet is this age of Infancy to be let loose to an in finite liberty; let them with moderation be kept in awe, taught to reverence their parents highly, and be ever ignorant, how much liberty is permitted to them. For if the nature of a child be too malapert and full of fierceness, these pracepts of lenity belong not to him; that swelling, which the vice of nature has engendered in him, and which often the parents too much gentleness hath ripened, and brought to a perfect ulcer, may be easily lanced, and taken away▪ whilst yet it is green, and of easy growth. After this manner, their delighted childhood shall be freely left, both to their own, and their parent's pleasure; & after they have fulfilled the folly of their harmless concupiscence, age itself will by little and little, change their desires; and the roots of virtue will spring up in them, which they will love, not so much by heat of nature, as judgement. Then they will bring to their first youth, and twilight of wisdom, a mind free, altogether quiet, which by the virtue of their education, is ille ●sily embrace the beauty of that light.  
But as every means is directly opposed to two extreme vices more contrary to each other, then to the middle virtue; ●oe those that would call the raw minds of children to too hasty a ripeness of studies, may well be accusers ignorant of the strength, which nature hath bestowed upon that age. For beside, that some children have rath ripe wits, as Papyrius Childhood was judged worthy of the Roman Senate. There is also a natural dowry, and wealth bestowed upon those years, a strength of capacious, and easy memory, which is ever greatest in the time of their childhood, and with an obstinate felicity able to retain what ever it hath then learned: but as age increaseth, the memory by little and little decayeth; like to a Dew of sovereign Medicine to the body of man, which in the hot countries falls upon the leaves of Hol●ey; unless it be gathered at the break of day, it will afterwards vanish at the sun- 〈◊〉 Therefore with many, and often discourses with much reading of profitable Hi●●otry, let their minds be filled, that children unwittingly may receive such good things as will afterwards grow up in them, whither they will or Noah. The variety also of Languages, which is gotten by us, with much expense of time, will be easily taught our growing children by often discoursing, and conversing with them; so that these things of little labour and no judgement, will easily be attained unto, by that age, which is neither strong for labour, nor ripe for judgement. But if we shall suffer this easy, and most memory, to grow emptily dry; those very things must be afterwards learned with long and wearisome labour, which in our infancy, had been better and with less wearisomeness stored up: for what is more miserable, then to be enforced to spend that time of man's estate, which nature hath or damn a time of wisdom (though too to short for so many Arts and Sciences) in such things, as our empty childhood, if well nurtured, had stored up safely in the closerts of our memories.  
But in the childhood, there are often presages of future virtues, or vices; nature beginning to build a foundation fit for their following abilities. Cyrus, that first founded the Persian Monarchy, was then believed to be a shepherd's child, when there appeared in him that great spirit, which afterward put a yoke upon the necks of the whole Ea●t. when he was a Boy, he played among Boys of his own age; and being chosen King by the chance of play, he truly exercised the regal power over his play fellows: those that were stubborn, with a high and confident (if not too proud) a Majesty he severely punished. The fathers of those children, whom Cyrus had beaten, complained of it to King Astyages: the King commanded Cyrus to be brought to him; who was nothing daunted, nor expressed any childish, or low fear, at sight of the Throne, and royal Diadem; he said, he was chosen King among the Boys, and had done nothing but the office of a King. Astyages suspecting from this some greater matters than the present fortunes of the Boy persuaded, enquired more narrowly of his birth, and parentage; and at last found him to be his own grandchild, his daughter's son. That Cato, who was afterwards called Vticensis, from the City of Utica, where he killed himself; was in his infancy more than a child. When he La●me Emballadours were come to Rome, as suitors for the endenization of their country, they went to the house of Livius Dr●●us, Cato's uncle, who brought him up: There the Ambassadors ask the child in jest, if he would entreat, his uncle for them, he answered not a word, but looked upon them with a fierce countenance. The Ambassadors wondering at the stubborness of so young a boy, began to fiatter, & and afterward to threaten him but could not extort a word from him, at last, lifting him out, of the window in a high chamber, they made him believe, they would throw him down; but he scorning to fear at all, knit his browrs, and looked more fiercely on them, than he did before; ap●esage, or beginning as it were, of that awfall severity, which his whole life did afterward express. But they are often 〈◊〉, who by the beha●● of children, will judge too 〈◊〉 of their future disposition. For it must be some great 〈…〉 which must be brought as an 〈◊〉 argument to judge of the inclination of the future, and flexible years. There is one presage, which seldom, or never deceiver h●s, the easy shedding of tears in a child. For those children, which at the first appresion of grief can truly weep, are of a softer nature, and moulded, as it were, for humanity and love. Some other children you shall see, though they cry aloud, yet maugre the threatening, or beating of their parents, are dry eyed: those, when they grow up, are of fierce natures; or else, their dissembling and dark bosoms, do never entertain, either true affections, or just fears.  
At their first entrance into man's estate, the hear of blood, and too great an apprehension of their own strength, doth breed in them a wonderful change, and carry away their minds, as it were with a tide of inconsiderate confidence, and vain security. That age, is the first that is s●●ted entertain delight; and rejoices not more in the taste of pleasures, then in the firedome and liberty, which they have, to enjoy them. They know not how to be provident for aftertimes, for their strengths yet raw, cannot consider how ●●oxious they are to the turns 〈◊〉 fortune; and the many objects of pleasure, and delight, have so possessed their ●●les, they have left no room, nor leisure, to 〈◊〉 fear wisdom, which at the first view doth fear troublesome. Then indeed, doth nature not strongly carry every disposition (not with a vain, or dissembled desire) to his own sudies, for which especially 〈◊〉 was first form. For than 〈◊〉, whom an humble fancy doth invite to low maechanicall trades, do by the guidance of fate, embrace those Arts, which, were ordained for them: Some are addicted to the discipline of war: others by the vigour and ability of wit, are carried to the Muses, or public business; and every kind of humane dispositions, by the conduct of Nature, is thus adopted into his own tribe. For if Nature do not join certain desire, and sweetness, to the profit of those labours, which she do●h prescribe, certainly youth, which is ●ca●ce governed by any reason, nor apt to entertain any thing unpleasant, might almost be excused, though it went astray.  
Moreover, that natural vigour, and invitation of industry will show itself, even in those are less lines, which are altogether sequestered from labour and business, like the Seeds of grass, which in spite of stones that oppose their growth, will shoot out their tops, through little cranyes; to show (at the least) that their growth is killed. For when young men have lost themselves, either by sloth, ●iot, or a mad desire of too much society, and wearied with their sports, and pleasures, they retire sometimes to a show of labour, and slightly busy themselves in it, only to serve them as a change of delight; they will fall especially upon that business, which Nature had given them in fit mind and Genius to follow with industry. So that those motions to certain actions infused by fate into everyman, can never be wholly extinguished or p●●sh.  
But as 〈◊〉 out of strength and plenty of how nourishment do grow too ra●cly, and spread themselves into unnecessary branches, but when that r●n●●nesse is better ●●pened, and concocted, they prosper with happy fruit: so, a young man of a hot, and high soul, after his first freedom is overpast, may well take up, in such a moderation, as is fit to entertain the best wisdom. But i● from the beginning of his youth, he have always showed a nature and sober strength o● mind; be will 〈…〉 in unprofitable 〈◊〉 before his did age. But his specially is a great token of future 〈◊〉, if amongst all his pleasures and delights he love with with eagerness any one thing; and follow that delight (whatsoever it be) with too seemingly vehement and fierce an appetite. For this hot desire of his, at the least declares, that he is able to entertain a true and laborious 〈◊〉 of those studies, which he ●ff●cts; without which disposition no man can truly either follow virtue, or dedicate himself to glory.  
But although the counsels of old age be sometimes distasteful to the freedom of youth; yet the opinion, which young men have, that their own wisdom will ●et increase, begets in them a high esteem of old men as thinking that they, which have already traveled through the paths of youth, are able to direct those, which are now in it. The mind of man, in this age, is wondrously ambitious of praise, and glory; impatient of disgrace; not long persisting in the same resolutions; much selfe-admiting not able enough to choose friends, not to resist that loathing, which may afterwards grow. But for any exploit, which by a sudden strength, and ability of mind, may be invented, or done, no age of mortality is fitter, than the heat of youth. So, that we might judge that the office of Childhood is to learn, and retain by a strong memory, the deeds, & speeches of their Ancestors: of Youth, to invent, act, and speak things altogether new; and lastly, of Middle age to moderate itself by vations from both the former.  
The next, is the Middle age of ma●, equally distant from the dangerous giddiness of youth, ●nd the burden of old age: in which, the mind and body do both so flourish, that then only you would think them to be truly men, and that all the life which man enjoys, may seem ●o be given him, for this ages ●●ke. The body, and mind, are ●oth exceedingly changed from what in youth they were: as ●heir choice of meats, and plea●res, are not the same; so, ●heir manners, and all their de●es, are much different, and scolded (as it were a new). The ●inde is strong, enlightened, and ●larged, (as it were from the ●arke mists of youth) it begins 〈◊〉 censure with much rigour, the trespassed errors of the same, and wonder at itself, ●hat before, so improudently it could go astray. From thence, arises a profitable repentance, and diligence, to repair the ruins, which youth has made.  
They are great seekers of wealth, and honour, and so greedily labour to acquire the ornaments, and supporters of life, as if they thought, their life were endless. No age is more cunning, than this Middle age, in dissembling friendship, and governing their affections. They then begin, to be truly valiant, moderating, not extinguishing that heat of courage, by which youth was rash●● carried upon revenge and fury. The judgement than is sound, and perfect, nor carried hastily by the torrent of youth, nor suffering under the infirmities of a crazed body. They are wary in their vices, and love not virtue, (for the most part) without hope of reward. But, old age by little and little, like a tide, overflowing this happy middle estate of man's life, doth benumb his blood, and afterward his understanding. This age differing in habit, affections, & manners, doth partly increase the virtues of the former ages, and partly make them degenerate into vices. Fear especially, is the companion of that age, & disturbeth the mind, a seat otherwise fit, to contain wisdom. For old men, destitute of that heat of mind, which inspireth fortitude, and through many courses both of their own, and other men's dangers, having arrived at that age are usually too much perplexed, in consideration of those evils, which either themselves have escaped, or others have been ruined by. From hence it happens, that the strength of counsel, and wisdom, the greatest endowment of old age, is often corrupted by too much fear, whilst it looketh too watily, even into the safest things, and had rather have wounds unhappily concealed, then come in other venturous danger of a cure.  
Happy was that delayer, who closely encamped kept off, (as it were with a shield, or bucklet) the fury of Hannibal, from the wine of Italy, that Fabius, the chief preserver of the Roman Empire; yet how near was it, that this Fabius, by too to fearful, and 〈◊〉 an opinion, had averted again from Rome, her felicity, which was then returning. Publius Scipro had laid the project, of carrying the war into Africa; by that means only, was Hannibal to be removed, and drawn out of the bowels of Italy, to relieve the distress of his own country. Fabius Maximan too fearfully weighing all the dangers of so great an expedit ●on, (when to his own too much delaying nature, old age was added) had almost intervented this whose some proiest of so brave a General, and in that, the safety of the Roman Empire. But this one blemish in old men, their other virtues may well excuse; especially, their wisdom in conjecturing of things to come. Which wisdom confirmed in them, by the remembrance of times past, the less it is obged to the organs of the body, with the greater purity, and consulting, as it were, with heaven itself,) it forseeth all things.  
How many Cities, and Empires, by their wisdom, have been preserved; how many benefits private men, which have followed the counsel of the aged, have reaped thereby; as ancient histories have all recorded, so daily experience may well instruct us. And from hence, (perhaps) proceeds, that great, and unwearied desire of talking in old men; as if it were a spur, given by Nature, for fear it should be wearisome to those men, to teach and instruct, who of all others are most able to do it.  
But many of them in this matter, can seldom observe a moderation, but in an infinite discourse (when young men apply themselves unto them) relate all needless passages, and actions whatsoever, of their former lives; and not contented (which is most 〈◊〉 blesome) with one vexation, as they light upon the same young man, they will either find, or make an occasion for the same discourse; and the m●●e patient, or shamefast the young man is, whom they have gotten to this torture of hearing, the more cruelly they will be sure to punish him. Nor, ●oe they love only to be ●●ard; but when their counsellors asked in any thing or they of their own accords do give counsel, they are too imperious in enjoying belief, and prescribing every thing, after their own way; urging men against their wills, and supposing themselves to be then neglected, when they in all things are not ruled by them: the counsels and a ●●ous of youths, and men, they behold, and censure with great scorn, being placed, (as it we●e) in the higher seat. Do thou therefore, (i● thou wouldst truly deserve, that young men hereafter should excuse the errors of thy old age) endeavour to please them, and suffer them in an harmless delight, to applaud themselves. Hear them with gentleness, and seem (at least with a pleased countenance) joyfully to accept whatsoever they deliver. For what less reverence can be at any time showed to that great age, which deserveth a fatherly respect and honour, then to seem to like and approve their sayings? and with a gentle obsequiousness (which cannot disparage us) suffer so venerable an age as that, ●o enjoy a delight which is proper to it.  
But the long experience or worldly affairs, which hath followed them to this age and the sad examples of other men, which have fallen into poverty, doth commonly breed an extreme covetousness in old men. What a strange prodigy, or mockery of men kind is it, at that time with greatest greediness to a 〈◊〉 wealth, when we can neither keep it long, nor enjoy at all the delights of wealth, by reason of the decay of strength? but this mischievous affection is still fostered in those dry breasts, and Nature decaying, is then most fearful to fall into poverty, when she is least able, by reason of weakness, to relieve herself.  
But as for those old men, whose wisdom has avoided such rocks, as before we mentioned; there are none more beneficial to humane society, than they are: They are happy in government, both of public states, and private families: they can vanquish those ill affections, which transport younger minds with vnaduis●d fury: they can advise young men and forgive 〈…〉 not forgetting what themselves once were, and what then they thought: lastly, their grave wisdom has made them worthy, long to enjoy that old age, and compose the affairs of the whole world with that excellent philosophy, which experience has taught them.   

The Second Chapter. That every age almost, hath a particular Genius different from the rest; that there is a proper Spirit to every Region, which doth in a manner shape the studies, and manners of the inhabitants, according to itself. That it is worth the labour, to find out those Spirits.  
GReenewich is an ancient seat of the Britain Kings, her situations by the Thames side, four miles from London. A hill there is, that over tops the palace, and at a moderate distance of height, takes a fair survey both of the town, and river. You ascend to the top of it, by other little hills; upon the summity of the high hill, is a flat of great circuit. In a morning, by chance I ascended thither; no man was near me, to disturb the recreation of my thoughts, which wandered about with delicious freedom. But the wonderful pleasure of the place had almost sooner ravished my mind, then filled mine eyes, with the fairest prospect, not only in Britain, (but it may be) in all Europe. A spacious plain commanding from above the lesser hills, and those hills environing round that lofty plain, did neither suddenly debatre the prospect, nor suffer the sight to be too much dispersed through the empty air; the river Thames filling the adjoining fields with a most pleasant fruitfulness: and at the foot of the hill, the waves returning in manner of a ring, have almost made an Island of it. All along the channel, were ships of all kinds, both for war and traffic; those, that were near, I might wholly discern; those that were farther off, or partly hidden, by interposition of rising banks, appeared to mine eyes by their mast, and fail yards, like a naked wood in the winter time.  
The whole coast is most 〈…〉 of pasture has exempted it from tillage; nor hardly, is there ground any where more abundantly fruitful for grazing of cattle. The lands of private men, after the manner of their country, were fenced with ditches, whose banks were adorned with rows of trees: especially the high ways one each side were planted with poplars, that the whole valleys to him, that surveyed them, from the top of the hill, appeared like continued gardens, and walks of pleasure. But the greatest delight is, that so fair a verdancy is almost distinguished into divers colours; the places, which are farthest distant, shadowed 〈…〉 of the sky, do 〈…〉 of trees more thick-leaved are of darker colour; the grass on the ground presenting a thinner, but brighter green: but the most beautiful object, is London itself, esteemed among the fairest of the Cities of Europe, a City of innumerable houses, yet scarcely able to contain her people. For at the other side of the River Thames, it is far extended, and adjoineth itself to the neighbouring towns, so that the buildings are continued for four miles together. In all this space, not only private houses, but fair Churches of perspicuous height do every where display their beauty; and the middle of the City, (like the swelling o● bo●●e of a buckle●) is raised by the structure of their greatest Temple.  
Whilst I was carried 〈◊〉 with this sudden delight, 〈◊〉 began to recall my mind●, and thus to consider with myself: what should it be, that thus unawares had ravished me? why should this prospect see wonderfully please● when ladden force, or 〈◊〉, had thus wrought upon my 〈…〉 as it the C●ty of London? the course of the river? the mountains? or the prospect of the fields; and woods? None of all these; but so fair a variety, and the industry (as it were) of Nature, displaying her riches.  
I began then to think with myself, that there was nothing in the world so exactly beautiful, but at last would glut. and weary the beholder, unless after that manner (as this place was) it were beautified with contrarieties, and charge of endowments, to refresh continually the wearied beholder with unexpected novelties. And, because the world was to be framed in perfection of beau●y, Nature was not forgetful of so great an art. Some countries she hath lifted to the tops of mountains: others, she hath thrust down into the valleys: Some, she hath scorched with immoderate heat, others, she condemneth to extremity of winter; the residue, she ordained (though not equally) temperate.  
All lands are not fruitful, nor all barren: nor do ei●her continue so at all times. Some countries, that heretofore 〈…〉, are now deformed, and covered over with barren 〈◊〉: others, that of old, were miserably barren are now grown into that abundant fertility, as to afford means, not only for life, but for riot and excess. So that in the beauty of the whole world, the parts are often transformed into manifold 〈◊〉, and different appearances. Nor have the stairs, though they always keep their constant motions, the same influences upon inferior bodies, nor breed in the air the same effects: and therefore, though all years do in equal spaces finish their circuits, yet does no year altogether imitate that that went before, nor is the exa●t rule of the following year.  
But man created after the image of the deity, and for whose sake especially, all other ornaments of the world were framed, is the greatest instance of this beauty of variety. For men have not only in their bodies a difference of habits, and proportions; but their minds are fitted for so many things, that no picture can with more colours, or lineaments delight the eye of the beholder, then are drawn by the fates, in the minds of men. What orders, or ranks of virtues and vices? what excellencies of Arts? what subtleties of wit has not Nature stored up in this Magazine of wisdom? but there is no diversity. which is more worthy of wonder, than this, that men borne to liberty (for how could they else govern themselves, and by their own endeavours, deserve praise, or ●●mons punishment) should also some; their ow●e dispositions, the fate of the times, wherein they live, forcing them as it were, into certain affections, and rules of living. For every age of the world has a certain Genius, which overruleth the minds of men, and turneth them to some desires: Some ages breathe nothing, but martial discipline, & within few years, all a●e again composed to peace, and quietness; Sometimes commonwealths, and sometimes Monarchies are affected by the people. Some Nations, that seemed (as it were) to be borne to barbarism, in process of time, are brought to perfect civility: and in some few ages, are perverted again to their old barbarism. So the world in general, did oft flourish with great abilities, and after a while, industry slackening hath been covered, (as it were) with a cloud, and lost. When the affairs of Greece did flourish, what civility, what wit, or subtlety, was wanting to that Nation? So great was the skill of their handycraftes men, that their carved statues of men, and beasts, did seem almost to live: so fluent their oratory, so sweet their poetry, that even the ambition of Rome proposed them to her sons, only to imitate, not to excel. But fortune removing after ward to other Nations, no people, more than the Grecians, did sorrowfully sigh at the mention of their ancestors, from whose ability they were then fallen.  
But if we observe the turnings of the Roman Empire, and the passages of times nearer unto us, we shall more certainly discover the changeable Geniuses of the ages. Under Augustus, Rome in peace had adorned her greatness, with all the dresses of true humanity: and among other things, her language was then in the height of purity. By small things we may guess at the greater. From whence proceeded so many Poets of happy raptures, and numerous strains in those times, but from some certain Spirit, which then inspired them? which had never before been propitious to Italian Poets, and afterwards again forsook them. Those few years, from Nero to Traian had many Poets, and many that laboured in the study of Rhetoric; in whom the declining of the Roman language did plainly appear; instead of the native beauty, and majesty of it, which was then lost, they used obscure, and swelling heights, with forced sentences instead of natural. At the same time, in the reign of Nero, that peace was broken, which had long settled the Roman Empire, and all the world was filled with combustion; nothing, but war was in the minds of all men, in France, in Germany, and the uttermost parts of the Eastern world. From whence proceeded it, but from a certain force, which I may almost call ●●●aying the hearts of men to 〈◊〉 ends, that are ordained 〈◊〉 them? in the age that followed, the elegance of language w●s wonderfully lost; and because the soldiers had all power, the manners of the people were turned back to their old freity. Yet humanity strove against those mischiefs, until foreign Nations invaded the Empire; and what of all things was most miserable, no memory almost was left of the lost sciences; those that were borne in these times, seemed to be borne, though not to a fierce, yet a blind barbarism; and most of their ancestors, whose writings contained morality, or hi●●●y, whi●e their books by the ●●●gence of posterity were lost 〈◊〉 a second & a worse death.  
The other Arts were taught in more ●ude and unpolished wa●es, or e●e were altogether lo●t. Not long after, man were again grown to the love of learning; but such was the unhappiness of the times, that b●edd them, that they might seek learning, but not attain it; it we c●ll that learning, which is the knowledge of antiquity, and judgement, not only in the schoole-subtilties, but in the highest and nobest things: and last●y, such a kind of instruction and ●●erature, as our ancestors did honour in men of their time.  
There was notwithstanding, a kind of learning then used, agreeable to the dispositions of those times: as with 〈◊〉 disputation, and eager 〈◊〉 (●nstead of explaying) Philosophy and Divinity, to perplex them more: in the Law, to extend the sentences of wise men, the decrees of Emperors, and ordinances of Popes, into mad and immethodical volumes, to the eternal vexation of the student: but most of them had gotten this way of writing, that what argument soever they made choice of, they delivered to their readers, as their own, the words and sentences of former authors concerning that subject. So the error of one, was oftentimes as a slippery place for others to fall; and many from the right opinion of one man, did bo●row wisdom.  
And what titles soever they gave their books, they thought it not 〈◊〉 dignesse into never so general discourses. What histories written in those times, did not begin at the creation of the world? what part of humane affairs, as oft as it was written by those ●ude wits, was not drawn into a strange confusion? and that you may perceive, that those men were not wanting to Nature, but Nature herself was straightened and sick, they were very industrious, and wanted not the signs of sincere wisdom, in handling those parts of science, which only were allowed by fortune unto that age. Which was in the Philosophers, a subtle way of disputing in the Lawy● a skill rather to 〈…〉 of the law, ●●en 〈…〉 of the times, 〈…〉 forms, and th● 〈…〉.  
Last of all, in this age, that dark mist is vanished away from the minds of men, which are now composed to all kind of light and subtlety,  
Nor is this change only to be observed in the schools of learning, the affairs of Kingdoms and commonwealths are more cunningly administered; wa●●s offensive, and defensive, are made with more skill, and demurity; and so great a curiosity in many trades, that whatsoever is rude and unpolished now, we use with scorn to censure it, as made, or likely to be made in the dull times of our ancestors.  
Nor can this change proceed from any thing but the Genius as it were of this age. Whose excellency, when after an appointed time it shall expire, will give up the world, as it may be feared, unto another, and ruder Genius; and after the expiration of certain years, return again So that we may distinguish the difference of the ages, not more perfectly by the motions of the sta●rs then by the de●●exion of mankind into diverse dispositions, and abilities.  
But there is another force, that ravisheth away the minds of men, and maketh them addicted to certain affections. Namely, that spirit which being appropriate to every region, infuseth into men, as soon as they are borne, the habit, and affections of their own country. For, as the same meats according to the various manners of dressing, may be changed in taste, but the inward quality of nourishing, or hurting, can by no qualification be altogether lost: so in every Nation among all the tides of succeeding ages, wh●ch alter the manners and m●d●s of men, one certain 〈…〉 never to be shaken oft, which the fates have 〈◊〉 to every man, according to the condition of the place, wherein he was borne. 〈◊〉 hence come those ancient v●●s, which still endure, as proper to the climate, which in histories have commended ●rbranded whole Nations: as here, the people are naturally light, unconstant, and wavering in their resolutions: there, the grosser and graver minds, are naturally swelled with a melancholy pride, under the show of hidden wisdom. Some Nations end●re not thirst: Some people with extemporary wits, are able to encounter any sudden alteration, or unexpected business. Some Nations are implacable in desire of revenge: Some, as it were by right of inheritance, enjoy a perpetuity of the highest virtues: Some people are naturally plain-dealing, others subtle, and many valiant. And s●eing that nothing is more beneficial, then from the Genius of divers Nations to be 〈◊〉 informed, as to know how to behave ourselves in different countries, and what from every place to expect or fear; it will ●e worth our labour, to define here the especial manners of some Nations, that from the common disposition of many men, we may find out the private in particular persons. Nor will there be found so superstitious a lover of the place of his birth, but will be contented to hear some vices named in the character of his own country. For if Nature did never form any mortal man of such accomplished abilities, but that something in him, as the last hand of the workman, was still wanting: what pride were it in any man to exempt whole provinces from this public fate? and disdain to be borne in such a place, as is subject to errors, that is among mankind? far hence be all wilful partiality to our own, and envious detraction from other countries. Let us sincerely acknowledge our own vices, and be truly delighted with the contemplation of virtue in others.  
Therefore before that with a serious and sequestered contemplation, we begin to consider the dispositions of people, let us survey the world, as from a tower, and look who now are the inhabitants and masters of it. Asia, and Africa swallowed up by the power of Barbarian●, and the great calamity of Greece, and Thrace, have thrust, and confined civil humanity to these utermost parts of Europe; that we, so often oppressed by the fierce Barbarians, and gelded, as it were, of our richest countries, might learn truly to account our own strength, or fear the strength of others. But we insensible of these evils, a●d oppressed with a deadly and pestilent slumber, have neither feared the hand or heaven, nor combined the strength of those provinces, which are yet left us, against the 〈◊〉 threatening of those barbarous Nations. But on the contrary, have most impiously wasted, by factious and quarrels, our own strength, and by 〈◊〉 divided that, which tho●gh combined into one ●ody, ●ad been searce of s●●ci●● strength. But at the last, the 〈◊〉 of these combustions either 〈…〉 differed in dispositions and language, so could they not be guided by the same Arts, These were the French, Brittain●●, Italians, and Spaniards, and all that mighty people comprehended under the name of Germany. The relics also of Pannonia, and as much of Illyrium and Dalmatia, as is now left us: those Sarmatians and Scythians, which are now called Polonians and Muscovites: the Cimbrians also, and what ever is contained within the dominions of Denmark and Sw●thland; nor are we so far (oh misery) removed from the Turks, but that we have occasion to acquaint ourselves with their dispositions and manner of living.  
In the manners of these people, we may consider the riches of Nature, with a delicious and profitable meditation, which in a mixture, resembling the members of a body, hath involved the habits and affections of so many different minds. But to examine all other climates with the same diligence, were more for the curiosity of pleasure, than the profitable use of commerce or conversation. For who but Merchants go into Africa, and there upon the shore, or by chance, by river, somewhat farther into the country, do traffic suddenly, or make bargains of no great trast or friendship. The Persians not only by impiety or superstition, but a great distance of sea and land, are divided from us; I●dia in like manner is visited by none but Merchants, and Sailors, except the Lucanians who frequent those places and there settle their plantations; the people of China do abhorie all fellowship with foreign Nations. Nor do any of our people desire at all to commerce with that sordid, and (or the most part) miserable Nation of the Tartars. America, as fair as it is civilised at all, is possessed by the Spaniard only; so that none other besides themselves, may with safe●y comme●ce, or 〈◊〉 there. It is therefore expedient, or indeed lawful, for ●one but the Spaniard, to know the dispositions of those people. But those parts of America 〈◊〉 naked barbarism, abho●ed by mankind, is 〈◊〉 by the 〈◊〉 people, 〈◊〉 no l●wes nor industry 〈…〉; have been diligently observed by some o● our men, who in hope or gain have gone thither.  
The Natures of those rude people are incapable of our civility. They account all 〈◊〉 angers, that arrive on their coasts, as enemies, & ensna●ers of their liberty; neither a●e those ignorant and savage mind● destitute of subtlity to impious a●ts; cruelty & treachery, ins●cad of prudence and true fortitude, they often excercise.  
What profit will it be, to examine farther the manners of these people, who by a barbarous wildness have seemed, as it were, to forsake Nature? especially, seeing they contain themselves within their own shores, and admit no forr●iners unless upon compulsion, or some slight occasion of s●ddaine tra●lique.  
But to leave those Nations, which are either unknown to us, or by too great a distance of sea, and land, too far divided from our acquaintance; to examine the inhabitants and Genius of our own world; the habit of each country, the condition of the soil, the temper of the air, or distemper in either kind, will not be improper to our present discourse.   

The Third Chapter. FRANCE.  
GAllia, according to the ancient bounds, the greatest almost of all the Provinces in Europe, (a terror heretofore to the Roman Empire, and renowned by victories against Greece, and Asia) is now distinguished into divers Kingdoms, and different manners Whatsoever is bounded within the Rhine, the Ocean, the Alps, and Pyre●an mountains, was once comprised under the name of Gallia. It extended moreover, f●om the farther side of the Alps, to the river Rubicon, and lay heavy upon the Roman territories. For the Gauls a valiant Nation, invading Italy, sacking and fitting the City of Rome, were so great a terror to the Roman Senate, that a decree was made, that as often as the Gauls were up in arms, not the Priests, nor old men, should be exempted from the duties of war●e. It was afterward subdued by the power of Rome, but then when in itself it was divided by domestic factions, nor did th●y 〈◊〉, wholly united, either know perfectly their ow●e strength, or make trial of 〈◊〉 against Italy. In process of 〈◊〉 people out of the 〈…〉, called Franks 〈…〉, invaded Gallia, and ●●●ned to reduce it to a second ●ondage. But when they were conquerors, they mixed themselves with the conquered Nation, and seemed not soemuch to have subdued the Gauls, as the Romans which possessed Gallia. The country then being 〈◊〉 among ma●y Princes; that part only retained the old name, which was possessed by ●he French; a Nation of great virtue a● renowned in deeds, and well deserving, that 〈◊〉 to their praise, should make use of the vanity of the common fable, to style them the relics of the Cry of Troy.  
This Rea●me of France, the fairest and richest of all Provinces in the Western world, seemeth within itself at happy a m●lation betwixt the Genius and dispositions of the inhabitants, and the riches and temper of the Land itself.  
The country aboundeth every where with corn and wine; fertile in oil, and all fruits, which brook not a raw air. Especially, that part which is more Westerly: or lieth necrer to the Alps, or Ligurian seas. There is no land in the whole world, for the extent of it, that en●icheth the inhabitants with more blessings. It abo●ndeth so much wi●h all kind of wealth, that it uses to tra●lique with foreign Nations, for nothing almost, but pleasure only. For nothing but royt in this wealthy people, did set an high price upon the silks of Italy, and the cunning work manships of the Germane Nation. But their traffic with Britain, doth bring them Merchandise, if not altogether necessary, yet certainly of great profit; which affordeth them both for use, and ornament, great abundance of Lead, Tin, and Saffron. But France, beside her corn, wherewith she relieveth the barrenness of Spain, and wi●es, which she sendeth into the neighbouring and colder countries, is rich also in hemp and fiaxe, whereby she supplieth the want of sails, cordage and such tackling necessary for, shipping in many Nations. By which merchandise great plenty of gold is daily brought into that country, though the ground afford no mines of it; and those Nations, which with painful: diligence dig it out of the bowels of the earth, and with care transport it from the farthest regions, do seem but servants to labour for the felicity of France.  
In so large a country, composed of so m●●y and so great provinces, no one part is barren, or neglected. o● Nature, but all enriched by h●r great favour. For these vast parts of Aquitaine, which may seem unfruitful, are neither void 〈◊〉 inhabitants, no● unpleasant unto them; that country is s●ored with●ood enriched with 〈◊〉 of high price, and abounding with plenty of dainty fow●e: that whatsoever it wants in fruitfulness of soil, which is there sandy, as m●●h it ●s indebted to the temper of 〈◊〉.  
France is beg●ted at one side by the Ocean, at the other by the Mediterranean Sea, which f●oweth fro●●he coasts of Spain, and Africa as 〈◊〉 as Egypt. A situation so compendious for sea-tr●lihque, that ● may send out 〈◊〉 into any sea o● note, and arrive at any 〈◊〉, if the Frenchmen could delight as well in sailing, as in horsemanship, and en ●ertaine lasting projects, as well as sudden ones.  
The people in general, are lovers of their Prince, and very obedient; their King does truly reign, and they ccount it a crime to question the greatness of his prerogative. They are able in feats of war, especially the horsemen; free from perfidiousness, especially in public counsels; of an uncurbed strength within themselves but when they invade a foreign Nation, their heat and fury is quickly forgotten: by that means they possess not long any foreign conquest, and are only powerful to their own destruction. They have conquered heretofore by often victories, Lombardy, Naples, Sicily, and many other provinces in the world; but within a while, they have too securely con●emned their enemies not wholly subdued, or out of an inconsiderate, and open disposition, too much trusted to their sergeant obedience; or else they have used their victory with too great a licence, and more wantonly insulted them the nature of those Nations was able to suffer; or last of all, to forget they wars, and think of th● 〈◊〉 country, whose absence the● are not long able to 〈◊〉. By these vices, the 〈◊〉 come a pr●y to those Nations over whom they have triumphed, and their wa●s, which have begun prosperously, have oft ended in dishonour, and loss.  
Noah men in the world have a Nature more fitted for manly behaviour. A bold countenance, gesture, and motion, becoming the whole body. And this comely garb is an ornament to the virtue of brave men; but to weak souls it serves but as a vizor, or natural co●erture to hide, or qualify their abject m●ndes. so elegant and graceful is their carriage, that what fashion of attire soever (among a●l their 〈◊〉 variety of fashi●●●) they are pleased to take, or 〈…〉 of body in their 〈…〉, you will still think 〈…〉 could become them 〈◊〉.  
But their neighbouring Nations dece●●ed with a ridiculous error, and hoping to attain the behaviour of the French, by a 〈…〉 of their apparel, and garbs of ●rindging: not knowing that in gestures of grace, every thing by the same Genius, is ma●e pleasing in some men; but in o●hers whom Nature ha●h not enriched with those changeable habit, sa studious imitation of s●chd●lectable garbs is not only unpleasing, but most ridiculous.  
For virtues and vices, and what ever motions are bred in the innermost lodgingss o● the soul, may easily be counterfeited, for these affections are 〈◊〉 closely hidden, and far from the sight, that no man can discover whither they be true or not. So we may easily dissemble humility, hatred, love, or piety. But those things, which are not only done by the government of the mind, but by custom, and the outward hability and fitness of the body, thou canst never counterfeit, when Nature doth s●●iue against it. As a comely posture, and carriage of the body, a facility in reasting, a grace in speaking, are things no● begotten in the inne●, but the outward man. But these things being most eminent in the French behaviour, can never be attained, nor imitated by thee, unless thy Genius of his own record have disposed thee for that way.  
But the world can never be 〈◊〉 thankful to the 〈◊〉 of France, which seemeth to open a temple of humanity, or sanctuary for 〈…〉 of all forreynes' to fl●● unto. They consider not the country, but the worth of a m●● and make not a stranger, o● new-dweller among them (according to the error of other Nations) to suffer for the pla● of birth, which chance allow him: so with a simple and fr● love of virtue, they admire 〈◊〉 men (what country m●● 〈◊〉) without any c●●y, a●● are gl●d to see then 〈…〉 reward of the humanity, the● 〈…〉 ●to the French State. Nor need ●hose strangers to put of the 〈◊〉 of their own country, ●nd imitate the garb of France, ●e their carriage be free from ●ride or barbarism. For the ve●y profession of a foreign fashi●● will moon the desires of ●hat curious Nation, who with ●ore simplicity admire foreign then their own customs; ●somuch as that some vices of ●fe, and blemishes of body, have ●eene there in esteem, if ●rought from another country. For we have seen the eloquence of a foreigner, even for ●he often errors of his tongue, 〈◊〉 been more pleasing; and 〈◊〉 a great opinion of wisdom, because they were not understood.  
The common people are truly respective of the gentry, not out of fear, or institution only: and again, their greatest nobility are by the same Genius honoured by inferior Gentlemen; but pride, or disdain, they cannot brook; if thou wouldst seem to domineer, they are ashamed to serve. A courteous behaviour, which by artificial countenances, and gentle glances is expressed unto them, or by familiarity of discourse with them, will gain to the Princes more officious servants, than the greatness of 〈◊〉 power and dignity can do. All wealth, and life itself i● of less esteem among them, than honour; especially, the Spirits of their great Princes do often f●ye out, both to their own damage, and their country's affliction, because the very experience, and 〈◊〉 of poverty it s●●fe, can persuade none of them to undertake Merchandise, or any profitable course of trade. They are pleased with a preposterous ambition, to a mulate the greatness of their ancestors, and conceive it a disparagement to noble blood, to live in a calling like the common people. So the vain name of Nobility, and foolish ostentatation of magnificent idleness, doth arm them with patience against the burden of their cares, which do never leave them before their death. This loftiness of mind, although it please themselves, and seem to be far from all baseness, is often corrupted by almost necessary wickedness, and raises in their poor fortunes a turbulent industry, either by secret villainies, or public commotions to st●●●e to repel the contempt of poverty.  
Merchandise is baselier esteemed of there, then befits a thing of so great utility, and which first did spread humanity through all the world. Selon the famous Athenian Lawmaker, and most of the Grecians, which were famed to our ears, transported their commodities by such traffic into foreign countries, and acquainted their countrymen likewise with the riches of other lands.  
Nor doth Italy disdain that custom, where the Noblest families by industry in merchandise, do heap up wealth. Brittnry likewise accounteth not her blood of Gentry any way debased by such a calling.  
But in France, not only the ancient Gentry do altogether disdain this way of thriving, but the merchants themselves, as if ashamed of their calling, when they are grown rich, do bring up their sons in some other discipline, enjoining them, as it were, to look higher than their fathers did.  
But the high minds of the French Nation are in nothing more perfectly discerned, than the eager pursuit of Magistracies, where the shameful sale of them doth exclude the needy, how virtuous soever.  
To undo their families, to consume their estates and credits too, is not thought unfit, to purchase an eminency above their equals, and repair the ruins of their patrimony, either by a bare dignity, or by corruption and bribery in their offices. Nor is there any doubt, but that strange itch after titlts and places, unless of 〈◊〉 self it do abate, will at last defile all offices, governements, and iudgment-seates, with men of the basest blood, and lowest dispositions. For many from the basest trades, do sooner arrive at great riches, than those who are noted of ancient Nobility, and live according to the dignity of their birth. By this means of money only, whilst they contend about the purchase of a government, or place of rastice, they do most often carry it away, which are of basest blood, and least ability in ●derstanding. Besides, the gentlemen of good descent are not so forward tooth owe away their estates upon such dignities, as upstarts are, who are hasty with gold, to bring their children out or obscurity, S● buy for their families that splendour of Nobility, which the ancient gentlemen, without any cost, do challenge as a part of their inheritance.  
So by little and little, these honours may grow to be only in the possession of the basest men, and (〈◊〉 only bought for money) by reason of their 〈◊〉, be censured as a token 〈…〉 Neither is the po●●cy of the royal exchequer to ●ce much accused, although it ●ncrease by the money of such ●ficers. For who would not ●hinke it far fitter, that those dignities should at a set rate be ●old by the Prince, who undergoes the burden of the State in ●enerall, then secretly to be ●ade a prey to the covetousness of the Noblemen, who ●oe oftentimes thrust officers ●pon the King, whom they have ●eene bribed to commend, and what they freely obtain from ●heir master, they sell again vn●o others? So that the commonwealth can have no better choice of Magistrates by that ●eanes; and it is indifferent to ●hose ambitious purchasers whither they suffer for their ambition from the King, or from Noblemen; since both ways tend equally to the ruin of their estates.  
These things therefore having been first instituted upon reasonable grounds, are now grown into extremity, by the madness of the buyers, who do now exclude all virtue of but reasonable wealth, and at the rate of their whole estates purchase those dignities, whose price their own madness has so much enhanced.  
But as wines, the more generous they will afterward grow, the more thick of lees they will be when they are young; so the young men of this Nation, made for humanity, and wisdom in old age, are carried away with the greatest rashness, and wildness of behaviour The young men are given to a strange freedom of bold ●esting, and provoking, both strangers, and their own acquaintance, and every where affecting tit●es of too great security. Unconstant, minds, and easily carried away with any rumours; sometimes impatient of idleness, sometimes of business; a foolish o●entation and bragging of their lusts, more than by Nature they are inclined to; inconsiderate, and undiscreet sco●fings, which spare none. Their stirring, and hot affections impatient of rest, break out into various and troublesome motions. But some of them in the beginning of all businesses, do put on a feigned no true wisdom, and therefore expressed with the greater show: as if they were tempered with mature judgement, they put on a stayed countenance, expressing subtlety joined with humanity, and utter their words with long deliberation. To which according to the Nature of it, they have found out a name, call it f●●gidity.  
But that counterfeiting of virtue, is then altogether unpleasing, nor long can their cunning hide that levity, which will show itself in spite of all disguises. But the middle disposition between these two, which is not wanting in that Nation of the French, flowing with chieerfulness and capac●ousnesse of mind, not brid●ed too much with a feigned gravity; is a disposition of transcendent excellency, and exactly framed to the image of wisdom joined with alacrity.  
But one thing in the Natures of the French is very unhappy, that that love and courtesy, which in their own countries they express even to strangers; abroad they will hardly show to their own countrymen. Who would believe, that people of so great humanity, should not agree together in a foreign Land, Birds brought together into one cage forbear to fight with each other; and beasts which wander out of the woods together to seek prey, by the ●llowship of their fate are con●● in love and amity. Only the Frenchmen, when they converse in another land, especially if they be poor, and seek relief by the service of a foreign State, so quarrel among themselves with a most cruel emulation.  
How many secret scoff●s, unseemly envies, professed quarrels, and ridiculous contentions, citing each other before foreign Magistrates, do arise among them? contending in this manner among themselves, they cast an infamous aspersion upon their Nation, as if they were a people borne to envy, incapable of quiet, or of that love, wherewith Nature hath secretly combined the Citizens of one country.  
This fault of the Frenchmen in foreign countries is more cruelly raging in the bowels of their own land; where in all places, like swordplayers condemned to the theatre, upon sudden and rash quarrels, they violently hazard their lives in single duels. A most horrid thing ● a miserable opprobry of these times! a flight quarrel, arising only out of ambition of argument, or an innocent jest, or oftentimes only a thirst of fame in turbulent dispositions doth hurry with violence the mad young men into most miserable slaughters, and utter extinguishing of Noble families. From hence, so often are the purposes of miserable parents intercepted, and their hopes utterly lost; and peace almost in vain established in France; as much Noble blood shed (well nigh) in these private combats, a● in time of a public war. What madness is this? after the manner of beasts, not with reason, but choler, to revenge their ini●●ies, and put the judgement of their greatest matters upon the trial of a stage art and fortune, which often deceives the skilfu●est in that art? that whosoever can most fortunately fight, should make himself the justest quarrel? wild Nations, which came among us from barbarism itself did not long ago infect the world with their brutish manners. They were the first beginners of a custom, that upon doubtful titles of estate, where the proofs were obscure on both sides, the cause by a combat should be decided. The combatants did meet in an open 〈◊〉, or siage, and he that was vanquished, was judged to have the worse cause. From thence the original of this madness proceeded, which doth now infested the age, and going beyond the first bounds, a● than it was only at the disposing of the Magistrate, it now rageth licentiously according to the humours and cholers of private men.  
But the pretence for this sword-play, whither more accepted ●or the show, or profit of it, ●s the furtherance of sk●●l in ●ighting. For who can deny, that skilful art of striking with the sword, or avoiding the blows, which were aimed at him, ●s a thing appertaining to the military ar●? this the Grecians, the Romans and every Nation hard● in arms, have sought after, with great intention.  
But now they fight, not as enclosed and 〈◊〉 in the pre●●e of an army (as war●s are mad●) but as it were in the freedoms of an open theatre; they trau●●se their gro●nd, ●hey shift their bodies with all agility, and by safe proffers of the hand, and glances of the eye, they deceive 〈◊〉 her, 〈◊〉 do rather (as every man may see) enable ●heir murderous cruelty vpo● 〈◊〉 hatreds, then instruct themselves in a pious 〈…〉 of th●●r country and ●ow their rage, ●uen between friends and kindred, ●ul●●leth the height of madness and all impiety. Kinsmen and most familiar acquaintance upon no heinous injuries but vain exceptions at idle words, or almost for nothing, are engaged in quarrels and embrued in each others blood: and which you may justly censu● the highest degree of madness, they fight, not only ●pon their own injuries, but wickedly interpose themselves into the quarrels of others, and engaged in hat●eds, which belong not unto them, they sacrifice themselves, and the dearest of their friends. For they freely go, when by these men, which are to fight, and a●e loath to die alone, they are 〈◊〉 to th●s mortal play as it ●ere to a supp●● recreation; and there do 〈◊〉 doubt to 〈…〉 should be near and dear to man; out of a most foolish desire of fame, that they may be said with a great contempt of life to have gone into the field; that is, to ●aue undertaken a most horrid cruelty out of a barbarous ignorance of true valour.  
But these evils, and whatsoever else have crept into the dispositions of the French, may be well excused, for the virtues of those men whom the maturity of age, or weight of judgement doth so temper, as that they are not carried away with their country-vices. There is in them a wonderful courtesy, not feigned, nor treacherous, to ensnare them whom they court with friendship; they are free from dec●it, and secret hatre●s; they are free to entertain all, who desire their acquaintance, a●d society; and respective of all men according to their degrees and ranks.  
It is enough for a foreigner, which is admitted into their company, to preserve their friendship, if he keep himself from open villay, and too absurd fo●y; so that in other places thou hadst need have a care of other men dispos●●ons, lest they ●urt thee: but among true, and accomplished Frenchmen, to keep thyself from giving offence. Nor is thei● any thing more happy in humane society, than the ma●ly sweetness o● such complete company.   

The Fourth Chapter. BRITAIN.  
THe greatness of Britain (though it be an Island of large extent, and exposed to many and different seas) may be rather esteemed by the several and unlike manners of her inhabitants, then by the names and harbours of so many shores: As if in the Ocean Brit●a●●e alone were another world all kind of dispositions are to be found in her inhabitants.  
There is not a fairer Island 〈◊〉 the whole world. Sicily, Crete, and Cyprus, though they have all carried the state, and names of Kingdoms, if they were all joined into one 〈◊〉 were not able, either in circuit, or wealth, to equal Britain. Being in former times a valiant Nation, they gave occasion of many fabulous stories, which by foreign wits, and languages were commonly written and read; as if nothing could be feigned so strange, but might be achieved by the people of Britain: it was once divided into nine Kingdoms. But afterward by continual wars, and frequent leagues, those Monarchies, and their bounds were often changed; until at the last, the whole Island became subject to three Princes. The colonies of Saxony whom we call English, are gathered together under the felicity of one s●epter: the relics of the old Britons, which constantly clear to the Cambrian Mountains, and are cal'ed 〈◊〉: Thirdly, the Scots, inhabiting the North part of the Island, to whom a remnaut of the Picts, who were almost ●ooted out, have joined themselves. But Wales in a sho●t time unable in war to resist the strength of all England, was joined to that sceptre. The Scots though despairing ever to be able to conquer England, yet disdaining to yield unto it, as an argument of lasting emulation, contended with the English, not more stiffly by war, then by a different and averse Nature from them: until the fates condemning at last this pernicious emulation, conjoined them both under one King, by whose spirit, as it were, the whole Island is now united in one body.  
England abounding in rich pastures, and ground fruitful in procreation of divers, and different trees, doth every where delight the eyes of the beholders with a most beautiful verdancy: the easy and free increase of fruit doth nourish the sloth of the common people. The fertile, and fat grounds do every where yield such abundance of pasture for horses, and bullocks, as sufficeth the perpetual greediness of those beasts: in other places, where the ground is drier, and clothed with short grass, it feedeth innumerable flocks of sheep, excusing the barrenness of the soil with an incredible profit, which is made of wool; not the sharpness of winter (unless perchance it prove harder than usual) doth drive their cattle, which are ever accustomed to the open air, into stalls or houses. They are usually contented with open sleeps in the cold fields, and such pasture as the moderate warmth of the winter doth nourish. For the winters are not there so sharp as the climate, and nearness of the North would make us imagine, when in France where it is nearly opposite to the coast of Britain, the winters are extreme, and much more rigid in the air of Holland.  
In so great an indulgence and favour of the air, the grounds of Britain do with great ease receive, and foster the seeds of all fruit.  
They have tall Baytrees, and Rosemary, which is precious in many countries, by reason of the care in planting and preserving of it, is there common, and growing oftentimes in hedges, as a fence for gardens. The country is able to foster vines, and bring grapes to full ripeness. For the pleasant & fruitful mountains o● Kent, and Hamps●ire, with other places situated to the South, or East, had heretofore vineyards, which afterwards they omitted to cherish, by reason of the commodity of 〈◊〉 there, and the cheapness of wine transported from Aquitance. Wolves also are rooted out of that part of the country, and do not vex the flocks of Sheep, which freely gra●e, and often times without the guard of a dog.  
For the diligence of their forefathers, when the rage of wolves was exceeding fierce, and deceived or wearied the care of the shepherds, rooted out by great industry the whole race of them; so that the hardiness of their cattle, which are able to endure the open air in all seasons, and the destruction of wolves, do bring unto the people an inestimable wealth. The inhabitants at ease, and almost forgetting labour, do grow rich in victuals, hides, and fleeces, as benefits which the ground of her own bounty doth bestow upon them. They scarce take any pains at all in nourishing of saffron, whereof they have store, and exceeding good; the herb itself, not in reward of care, and industry, but of her own accord, opening and offering her treasure to them. And that nothing might be wanting to so prosperous a fortune, they have felt no invasion of foreign soldiers for many ages: homebred commotions in this age are very seldom: neither do wars ever long continue in England as in other Lands. In the compass of eight days, many times are great insurrections begun and ended. They war with men, not with houses, and goods; and commotions, but fresh, and newly risen, are suddenly decided in set battles.  
By reason of wealth so easily accrueing, the careless, and rich common people, are not a little puffed up. So that neither (according to the use of other Nations (do they humbly reverence the dignity of their Nobles, nor are they industrious, or skilful in handicrafts by reason of their ease, and plenty. For those that are bound to any trade, do for the most part finish their apprenticeship in seven years; after which time they are free of the company, and then, as if themselves were exempted from-labour, they take other apprentices to be under them: who after a short learning are employed as journeymen. They themselves, not only on solemn, and festival days, but every holiday (who would believe it?) do freely take their ation and pleasure, if it be fair weather, in the fields adjoining, or, if it be rainy, are merry in taverns. Which causeth a dull and unskilful trading, trusted to the knowledge of their apprentices, and the buyers are more peremptorily raised to greater prices, that the work of the apprentices, and the idleness of the Masters may be so maintained. But yet notwithstanding, some kinds of workmanship wrought both with industry and most exact skill, and highly prized through the whole world, do sufficiently declare, that in that country there is no fault in the climate, to dull their wits, but too much abundance to make them idle. For as for the stirring up of wits, and cherishing of Arts, too cruel, and rigorous a government is not at all good, too much depressing the minds of the people, and dulling them with despair; so too plentiful, and wanton a fortune, which intendeth labour, but only, as it were, in recreation, and sport, can never raise the industry and ability of the common people, to an exact diligence and skill in Arts.  
There are no tributes paid any where in that great Kingdom, nor stations of Publicans in Cities, or the passages of bridges, except only in those places, where shipping is set forth into foreign countries. For they are strictly tied to make acknowledgement unto those, who are fanners of the King's customs, of all Merchandise whatsoever is brought into the Kingdom, or carried out.)  
But the pride of the common people is not more bitter, and distasteful towards strangers, then towards their own gentry, who account themselves equal almost to the best and ancientest of them. By which pride of the clowns, the gentlemen do suffer in some, sort for the richness of their country, and are brought almost into an hatred of that precious cause of their indignation.  
They are all in general grea● honourers of the Nobility, which is confined within the small number of those whom they call Lords. Those are, Dukes, Marquesses, Earls, and Barons: all the sons of Dukes and Marquesses, and the eldest sons of Earls; in equal honour with these the piety of their ancestors hath placed Bishops. To these Noblemen it is not thought a disparagement, for any tostoope to the lowest service; and the Nobles understand well enough, that the people seated, as it were on the ground, do behold with admiration their height, nor are those dignities bought by the common people for money, but descend to their heirs by right of inheritance, or new Noblemen by the grant of the King, are advanced into those degrees; and that you may not think it a vain title, many Laws and privileges do increase the respect of those high names.  
For if it happen that a Lord be in debt, and not able to pay, the creditors can have no law to attach his body; though the bodies of other debtors, even before judgement, are imprisoned in England. But this is a greater and more glorious privilege, that Noblemen being accused of the greatest crimes, as namely treason to their country, are notwithstanding free from the rack; the ma●●ers of the law would not have it imagined, that truth, if no● otherwise, could be forced from them, by racking or torment.  
The English for the most part grave, of retired spirits, and fit for counsel; they admire themselves, and the manne●●, wits, and dispositions of their own Nation. When they silute, or write letters, they scorn to descend to compliments of feigned service, which the flattery of these ages have brought up, unless it be these, which are infected with foreign behaviour. The people are studious of sea-businesse; nor is there any stronger defence of that great Island then the diligence of so many sailors. They are as good soldiers by land as by sea, especially when they are accustomed to another air, and have tasted of foreign diet, which whilst it is novelty to them, they affect with too much greediness  
For those inconveniences of gurmundizing, have been often the consumption of a●mies brought from Britain. And when that Navy, which was sent by Queen Elizabeth, arrived on the shores of Portugal, and had wasted the country, and defeated their enemies, the immoderate heat, and the sweetness of apples, and berries, which that climate afforded, destroyed almost the whole army. They contemn all dangers, and death itself, with more courage, than judgement; and hence it comes, that they are the best soldiers, when they are governed by wise captains; but when they go on of their own accord, possessed with the blindness of that desperate valour, they have reason, after sad defeats to accuse themselves more than their ill fortune. In the late wars of the Low-countries, some soldiers of the Spanish party were taken by the Hollanders, and were to be hanged, in requital of the enemy's cruelty, who had used their prisoners in the like manner. But the Hollanders did not intend to execute them all. Of four and twenty (for so many were taken prisoners) eight only were appointed to be hanged, and the rest to escape with life. There were lots therefore thrown into a helmet, and the prisoners were commanded to draw their fortunes, whosoever should draw a blank, was to escape death; but whosoever should draw a black lot, was to be hanged presently. They were all possessed with a great apprehension of their present danger: especially one Spaniard with pitiful wishes, and tears, in some of the standers by, did move pity, in others laughter: There was beside in that danger, a certain Englishman, a common so●ldier, who with a careless countenance, expressing no fear of death at all, came boldly to the helmet, and drew his lot; chance favoured him; it was a safe lot. Being free himself from danger, he came to the Spaniard, who was yet timorous, and trembled to put his hand into the fatal helmet; and receiving from him ten crowns, he entreated the judges (oh horrid audacityl) that dismissing the Spaniard, they would suffer him again to try his fortune. The judges consented to the mad man's request, who valued his life at so low a rate; and he again drew a safe lot, a wretch y●worthy nor only of that double, but ever of a single preservation, who so basely had undervalewed his life.  
The laws, which the English use, were delivered them by the Norman Csnquerors in the French tongue, but obsolete, and differing from the language which is now spo●en. They are sew, and very ambiguous. Much dependeth upon custom, and the opinions of judges; so that a great way is left open to conventions, to an infinite power of judges, and the close dispositions of the people, who seem to retain the fashions, as it were, of their Norman original; do open themselves in subtleties, which fill the courts with perpetual wranglings. From whence I think that common●able took first original, that the Englishmen had long tails.  
They endure with so constant a patience all customs and laws, which were anciently delivered unto them from their ancestors, that they account it a heinous matter now to alter, or abrogate any law, which was heretofore established, either by reason of the rarity of delinquents, or innocence of the Lawmakers. For from what reason, but the unwary goodness of their ancestors, comes this law to stand in force, that a husband is commanded to father a child and receive him for his heir, though he were borne a year or more after the time, that he accompanied with his wife; so it be proved, that he lived that time within the shores of Britain.  
But in Philosophy, and the Mathematics, in Geography, and Astronomy, there is no opinion so prodigious and strange, but in that Island was either invented, or has found many followers, and subtle maintainers, but such as through tedious disputations cannot plainly state the question, which they would seem to uphold: That the Earth is moved round, and not the Heavens: that the Sun, with the Planets, and all the other Stars are not moved in their globes celestial; ●hat there are no such globes at all; and lastly, whatsoever any doting Philosopher hath heretofore broached, some of them do either ●old, or would seem to do: as if then they were more deeply vile their common men, when they neglect and slight the ordinary wisdom as poor and low, and search deeper into the secrets of Nature, which few are able to apprehend.  
But as nothing doth more deeply work upon the minds of men, then points of religion; so in no disparations are they more vehement then in those. In the worship of God, what religion soever they choose to themselves, they run ever into extremes. In the former ages, their richest men leaving the would, betook themselves by oath into solitary places, and Hermitages; so that the best part of the Lands of the Kingdom were bestowed upon such devotion, with too timorous and dangerous vow, both to the givers and receivers of those Lands; for the givers too much exhausted the commonwealth, and the receivers suffering themselves (as it were by the fault of fortune) to fall into luxury, did afterwards draw a great envy, not only upon themselves, but the religion which they professed. This kind of devotion is now publicly banished out of all England; and many of them are so much turned to the contrary side, that he farther they tread from the steps of their forefathers, soemuch the nearer they think themselves to Heaven.  
Nor is that the public opinion of the State, nor any way safe for them, if the Magistrates find it; but of private spirits deluded by superstition, inventing to themselves a new religion of their own, and therefore the more pleasing. Therefore all those, which are once possessed with this pleasing pride of understanding more than others in religion, are divided into diverse sects and names; and have divers Laws and rites established among them, neither by the authority of the men, nor the number of them, but only by wilful obstinacy; and th●● which is most worthy of pity and laughter is this; that with cruel censures these sects do persecute one another: holding that they only are the children of God, and all other reprobates. It happened one time, that a plain fellow one of the common people (whither you esteem the common people by the meanness of their estates, or of their wit and education) and two of his sons were of one faith in a superstition of their own. These three men (as often times those religions consist of no greater number) did make a sest and Church by themselves. At last, disputing too hotly in divinity among themselves, they fell at discord; the father forsook his sons, not because he had found out better, but different opinions: and was therefore by his sonn● (for so those fools called it) excluded out of their communion of Saints: in the mean time, they thought, there were no other Saints in the world but themselves. But presently after, the two brothers falling at variance, one of them excommunicated the other; 〈◊〉 that so little a Church consisting only of three person● was at last divided into three Churches. A most prodigious mischief, and prone to all madness: nor will they slightly maintain the madness of the●● own dreams. Many new 〈◊〉 are every day cited before 〈◊〉 judgement seats, in whom 〈◊〉 judges can find nothing agreeing with each other, but on●● a wilful obstinacy. They 〈◊〉 abominable opinions unworthy of men, and are author's 〈◊〉 their own superstition, misled by no predecessor, they fear no tortures; but refusing to be governed by any wisdom or wholesome advice, they will endure the fire, and sacrifice themselves to their own madness. But strangers that converse with that Nation, must take heed, that they do not censure the country in general, by the behaviour of a few, and those perchance of the commo● people; nor is it easy to learn, what behaviour is fitting among natures so much differing. The common people heated either with wine, or choler, are oftentimes forward to abuse strangers: in such a swelling fury of theirs, ●t were a little more then, madness to provoke them by the like surliness; nor is it then a fit season, when a tumult is raised, to plead thy excuse with confidence, m●ch less to express courage in defending thyself. By a gentle speech thou mayest better disarm their fierceness they must be base and low entreaties, which must assuage the fury of their first assault. For this torrent if it be opposed by no resistance, will languish in a moment, and become quiet. This wariness, and timorous wisdom is only to be used in Towns, or public fields, where a concourse of people to side with them, th●● did first abuse thee, is either's gathered already, or presently to be expected. But in priu●●● places, and where thy 〈◊〉 would not prove too 〈◊〉 unequal, then be sure to express (at least in show) a bo●d spirit not brooking injuries; by which means, thou wilt terrify them, which do not insult, out of true valour, but are as ready to receive, as to offer wrong. The Magistrates and judges, are favourable to the complaints of strangers, and forward to punish the people, which do them wrong; unless it be a multitude that do offend, whom it is easy to blame, but hard, and for the most part too much cruelty to punish. And so wondrously hospitable are the seals of justice in that Nation, that if a stranger offend, he shall find them favourable: or if it happen, that a stranger, and an Englishmen be both guilty of one fact, which deserveth, either the whip, or the gallows, the stranger many times is no further punished, but only commanded to depart the Kingdom. The gentlemen are naturally inclined to a kind entertainment of all strangers, and are worthily ambitious in such courtesies. So that no man, unless of a froward and barbarous disposition, and altogether unworthy of Noble company, can repent himself of travelling into Engla●d.  
Among those Noblemen▪ whose carriage is grave, and their speech and gesture fitted to their dignity, you m●st comply with an answerable gravity, and emulation as it were, of majesty; lest they perchance should undervalue you, from their own gravity, and your speech, which must not be to them in a soothing manner, like the Italian and French humility; you will otherwise carry a lower estimation among those men, who accustom not themselves unto affected humanity, and lying compliment.  
To the Northern parts of England, Scotland adjoineth, governed by a sceptre of incredible antiquity, compared with other Kingdoms: for the crown of Scotland above twenty ages hath endured in the possession of one Family. An hundred and twenty Kings have successively reigned from Ferg●●●● the First, to james that now 〈◊〉; who to so anciancient a pedigree, adding the Royalty of England, is the first, that combined the Kingdoms, and reigneth entirely over all Britain.  
The Scots are of dispositions fitted for society; of behaviour, and gestures of the body, excelling other Nations, and like unto the French in all things, but the riches of their country. For the country Northward 〈◊〉, in many places not fit for 〈◊〉 and full of barren mountains; neither are those mountains clothed with woods, unless some, which are raised into a sharper climate, and give a woody and barbarous name to the inhabitants. Yet Nature hath bestowed upon it those hardy people, abundance of v●●tuall in fowl, and 〈…〉 beside their flocks, and herds of cattle. It is sight usual, to see three hundred red Deer, or more in one heard. But the inhabitants can rouse far greater herds, when the Noblemen are pleased to hunt there. Neither do they want comodities in their country fit to exchange for foreign merchandises, which are transported thither of necessary use. But the scarcity of money by no art or industry can be redressed, foe that they which in their own country do live in plenty, and with great attendance, are not able in foreign parts to maintain their port. But no people are more mindful of their pedigrees then they; that they had rather sometimes disgrace their Family by their poverty, then conceal the unseasonable expressing of their titles, or not mention their kindred. For it is necessary in a country more populous, then fruitful, that some of Noble blood should be borne to extreme poverty. So that the Scots dispersed into many countries to get their living, (and none are more faithful and industrious than they) being still eager in publishing their Nobility, are often laughed at by the hearers, then believed, or pitted.  
But the people courageous also against themselves, are divided by many and fierce enmities, and cruel to each other, beyond an laws of humanity or hatred. For being divided by Families, and Names, they hold those as Princes of their factions, which possess the most ancient inheritance of the Family. To those men they are wondrously observant, with a love as great ●●most, as to their country itself; to them, when they are wronged, they 〈◊〉 for succour, using the patronage and strength of their own Family. By this means it has heppened, that small quarrels betwixt men of obscure condition, have been the causes of great and horrible commotions. For they that have quarrelled, complaining on both sides to the Princes of their Kindred, have turned their 〈◊〉 wrongs into the in●●●es of whole families. Nor are these differences decided with little blood; for sometimes gathered into troops, and almost into just armure, they fight it out; and these 〈◊〉 continue to their heirs after them. They think i● glorious to reu●●ge ●urder with thunder, and firewith fire. Nor do they always deal by 〈◊〉 force, but by s●●res and treacheries. Nothing can be 〈◊〉 or ignoble to them, 〈…〉 cure their eyes only by the miseries of their enemies. And this mischief has often been the overthrow of Noblemen, who have either been slain in fight, or else undone in their estates, by keeping such multitudes of servants and tenants about them (for so it was necessary for fear of sudden assaules from their enemies) whilst their Lands 〈◊〉 lyen●ntilled, and waste. And some have thought 〈…〉 of wood in the country, has been caused by these enmities; whilst these cruel people on both sides have burnt up their enemy's woods, and 〈◊〉 their private injuries with the devastation of their country. But these things 〈◊〉 were more, to 〈…〉 when they were 〈◊〉 where ri●●; now, since we see it other wise, we may cherish hereafter better hopes For although heretofore, it lay not in the power of the Kings, to remedy so great a mischief, when the Nobles by the faithfulness & number of their clients were more fierce and strong; yet the now reigning King, james of Britain, has at last bestowed this benefit upon this country. 〈…〉 have encouraged others to the same audacity; especially, lest they should seem to have borne a fearful, and degenerate anger. He therefore thought it best at once, and for ever, to compound these deadly 〈◊〉.  
The King therefore took a diligent account of those, whose Families were engaged in such quarrels, and partly in his own person, partly by the me 〈…〉 any more named among them: a great and admirable work of a most wise and industrious King, yet not performed without much time and wonderful felicity.  
Two years after he had thus appealed Scotland, he was called to the succession of the crown of England; a great happiness for the strengthening of this amity among the Scots, who now with a fitting, 〈…〉 inconsiderate bounty, and love the fame, more than the possession of riches; or else deceived by the quality of their own country, when they have attained to such a sum of money as would make them rich for ever in Scotland, they grow too secure of future poverty, and do not understand, 〈◊〉 in every Land; the expenses, and prices of things, are answerable to the plenty of gold and silver; so that a great quantity of money can hardly be 〈◊〉 in any place, but such as is used to great expenses. What studies soever they incline to, they prosper in them with wonderful success. None are more 〈◊〉 of 〈◊〉 duties, 〈◊〉 none more vallant in fight, than they nor 〈◊〉 the Muses ever appear more beautiful, then when they inspire the breasts of Scots. They are capable also of city-businesse, and can fit their industry to any kind either of life or fortune.  
But those that travel, or 〈…〉 and rely upon no other means, then going to the houses of their countrymen, which are grown rich in other Lands and demand as it were the tribute of their country are most intolerable in their proud begger●.  
Ireland, by the ancient Latins called jerna, and now Hybernia, is an, Island not far from Britain, and subject to the crown of England; a great and 〈◊〉 Island, commodious for shipping, by reason of many havens; nor is it to be, censured by the barbarism and sordid, living of many of the habitants; for the fruitfullinsse of it inviteth many 〈…〉 of England, and Scotland to 〈…〉 mortal to any venomous creatures. Newets' and Toads, if they be brought thither, will not live. The wood transported from thence no age nor neglect will make worm-eaten, no●●hung with spider's 〈◊〉 although the Irish have their spiders, but harmless and free from venom The beams rafters, and boordings of Westminster hall, where the Courts of justice sit, are made of that wood; and there (a wonderful things) the walls round about are filled with spiders, but none of those sordid nets are spread upon 〈◊〉 wood.  
The Irish, which live not in Towns, or civil places, are wonderful hardy in enduring any air, or diet, by reason of long and accustomed poverty. They can satisfy their hunger with any victuals gotten on the sudden; as venison, or beef halfe-raw. They temper their meat with milk. They build brittle and weak houses about the height of a man, where themselves and their cattle live together. But this in those people is a thing to be wondered at the four of 〈◊〉 and ease, doth soften the courages of other Nations, but maketh the Ir●● valfant in war. For by reason of their sloth, though their fields are fertile, yet tilling and sowing are things almost unknown to them. They are content with that graft, which the ground yieldeth of her own accord for pasture, for their cattle. They exercise no 〈◊〉 dycrafts, for fear of disparaging that Nobility, which they so highly boast of. So in a sordid, and filthy idleness, they lead their lives, and had rather cure by patience, than industry, the discommodities which are daily companions of their barbarous living; and so far are they from knowing delight, as they feel not want and misery. In one single garment they endure both wet and cold; by often hunting, they grow wonderful swift in running, equalling almost the wildbeasts; when they are weary, or benighted, the ground serves them for a lodging, and covered with snow, or wet with showers, yet they are sooner raised by satiety of sleeping, 〈◊〉 by the 〈◊〉 of the weather, excellent rudimeats of war and valour, if they did not proceed from such filthy sloth. This beastliness, in time of peace also, neither the fellowship of the English, nor the emulation of the Spanish fashions, can make them to shake off; but they love this life so full of sordid discommodities, as free from cares, assured by a wicked shadow of liberty, which in different kinds has foully deceived divers 〈◊〉.  
They are obstinate in their 〈◊〉 viees, haters of labour, and foe of all profit; but very industrious, in thieving, and, 〈◊〉, or any 〈◊〉, which is like to hunting. And these are the slothful miseries of the common people. The Noblemen are many of them very faithful, of brave minds, nurtured in 〈◊〉 virtues that befit their dignities.  
Those also that live in Cities or the pleasantest parts of the Kingdom, are adorned with great humanity; and declare by this, that those wild Irish are barbarous by their own wilfulness, and not borne to that vice, by the fare of the Island.   

The fifth Chapter. GERMANY.  
THe River Rhine arising from the foot of the Alpe●, and flowing along the borders of the Low-countries doth there fall into the Ocean, It was once the bound of Germany; but now by the changes of 〈◊〉 and Empires, the limits of Germany being increased, it may be said to run through it.  
Germany is a spacious country, reaching from the Alpe● and France, as far as Sarma●● and Pannonia, divided into many principalities and commonwealths. It was once full of ●oods and wild inhabitants, but now beautified every where with fair Towns; the woods which were once great, and o'erspread the country, are now reduced to use and Ornament. It nourisheth vines in that part, where it bordereth upon Italy, and where it declineth towards Pannonia, as likewise upon those hills which overshadow the Rhine; and some few places beside, where the ground by favour of some hills, and warmth of the rivers, is fitted for that purpose. The cold grounds in their mountain's 〈◊〉 with fir trees, and other woods. Ister, the Prince of rivers in Europe, doth cut almost through the midst of Germany, and rises in a sealike channel, to the yearly ruin of bridges there, whose banks are beautiful with famous cities, but to● few for the greatness of fo● noble a river. Rhine, Alb●, and many rivers famous in old times, do flow through all the breadth of Germany. The country is full of good ●●nes on the side where the Alps bound it, and all along the course of Ister; in those places 〈◊〉 where Rhine runs, and M●nis with the Maz●, encre●● of so great a river: but the side of the country which ly● toward the Ocean and the ●●ner Land, removed from the famous and public roads, fo● nasty Inns, and sordid 〈◊〉 of living in general, 〈◊〉 much of that Ge●●●us which Ancient Writers have ascribed to it. Yet there are cities not unworthy of some: the market-places and streets especially craftily handsome; the houses of lofty and even structure, the frailer parts of the building covered with printings.  
The inner parts of their houses are not with like skill fitted for use; their beds are placed in the remote, and (for the most part) obscure places of the house. They do not use lightly any chimneys at all. They had rather use certain little stones to expel the cold, which are made in the chamber-walls, and fire put into them according as the quality of the weather requireth. But this heat is many times troublesome to strangers; for it maketh their head; heavy with unusual vapours, and when they go one from thence, their bodies being chilly, and the pores opened, are not able to endure the air. Besides, when the fire begins to be remitted, these kind of hothouses have ill savours; especially those, which belong to their dining rooms, where the confused vapours of so many sorts of meat do fill the air, and so much wine is drunk, and spilt. And not only in those hothouses, but in other chambers and parlours also, are many of the Germans too slovenly, and careless; insomuch that strangers, when they come thither, can hardly brook the air of those rooms. That Nation is infected with a wonderful love of drinking, which now is a confessed vice, and therefore the more freely used. Nor is this barbarous drunkenness used as a pleasure only, but grown into a part of their behaviour and discipline; the favours of some of their Princes are purchased only by this base price, when the Princes do seek some companions in their vices, or purpose to entertain Ambassadors and strangers with the f●eest hospitality. For the Germans think, there can be no entertainment so pleasing to a stranger as a long, & drunken banquet; and think themselves never truly welcome to another man's house, unless he that i●●ited them be wondrous forward in making both them & himself drunk. That is the chiefest urbanity there, and in nature of a league upon the first acquaintance.  
It happened on a time, that some Dutch regiments of soldiers were entertained in France, and commanded by Colonels of their own Nat●on: a Nobleman of France invited one of these German Colonels of supper, knowing how dear a league of friendship might be made with a German in drink: he provoked him therefore to mirth, with store of wine, and many forms and devices of drinking there were. At last, the German, either to make trial, how freely welcome he was to the French Lord, or else grieved, that the drinking 〈◊〉 went so slowly forward, 〈◊〉 seeking a glorious victory, he challenges the Frenchman 〈◊〉 pledge him, and begins 〈◊〉 a cup of great measure; the Frenchman nothing affrighted (to all our wonder) rises up: noble guest (quoth he) that thou mayst know thou wert invited to a friend, I will not only pledge what thou hast drunk, but in a loving quarrel, challenge thee to pledge me us much more. With these words, he pledges the German Colonel at one draught, and filling the same cup again for his guest's sake, though his belly swelled, be drank it off to him. The Colonel wonderfully taken with so great an expression of love, rises up (though he could hardly stand) noble si● (quoth he) do not think this love is bestowed upon an unthankful man; you know, I have no small regiment of soldiers under my command. Their entertainment for two whole months shall cost you nothing, since I know your treasury those hard times is much exhausted. After these two months, if it please you, and that you be well able, they shall take entertainment again. At so great a requital of one carouse, we were all amazed for the present, but much more, when the Colonel performed his promise. Among these people plain and open behaviour is most pleasing, and such as first gave to Da●●hu● the name of freedom. They hate all kind of hidden subtlety; either because, that they themselves loosened by drink, cannot firmly keep a secret in; or because their minds in such bodies know themselves to be dull, and are ever suspicious of the subtleties of other men as bend against them, and aiming to overreach them. The Magistrates of their commonwealths, chosen from among their fellow-citizens, bring to the Tribunal no minds adorned with high parts: but cleave fast to the institutions of their fathers, with an e●●caclous diligence. The people are very obedient to those that govern them, and will often give credit to their Magistrates, even in points of religion. And you shall hardly see any private man what soever, g a n●say any rites of religion, which the Prince, or common wealth have approved of 〈◊〉 mischmiefes, which have troubled England and France for a long time, the (I had almost said) felicity of this miserable carelessness hath quite avoided.  
Yet I must except Austria, which lieth almost out of the Germane●lirnate ●lirnate, & hath not yet lost her ancient Nature, though she have changed her name (for Austria in old time. was accounted a part of Pa●●●●a.) And Bohemia also, not in this age alone, divided in itself by most unhappy contentious about religion; but Bohemia, though it he 〈◊〉 in the bosom of Germany, is divided from the body of it, in language, in manners, and different Laws. Learning in many places of Germany doth flourish; but she men are more desirous to teach, them to learn. They write more, than they tend: and value their reputation, by the number and greatness of the volumes which they publish in print.  
Their wits, as they are dark and dull, so are they strong to endure endless ●oyle, so that others may be able to understand better, but they to understand more. Many of their Noblemen, who contented with their own wealth and manners have only steeve, and do only admire their native Germany, though in their own judgements they seem endued with grave wisdom, yet wa●t much of the humanity of our age. Their words are much of the old stamp, and their learning wanteth the dress and colours of later wisdom. They are desirous of travel, and great counterfeiters, or retainers of foreign behaviour, until they return home into their own country. It is not usual for strangers, to dwell long, or rise to preferment in that country; and the name of a forreyner is almost accounted a word of disgrace among them. Germany oppressed with these manners, is notwithstanding recompensed again by other excellent endowments, and manly virtues. Treachery is a thing unknown among them, yea even in hired soldiers of that Nation. Noah deceitful cunning, or hatred, burketh under the titles of friendship and the simplicity of that modest people is altogether unskilful in great villainies. They are little given to lust, and that in great secret; their youths boast not of it, like some other Nations, as a pride and sport; for the men of Germany are as far from that almost, as the accustomed modesty of women. But wisdom, as if finds not often there subtle and sharp heads to entertain it, by whose cunning it may be drawn near to deceit: so it many times findeth true and nature judgements to rest upon, who can easily be provident in their own affairs, and contemn the errors of other men. There are among them lofty minds, in whom the felicity of a lively and raised spirit, doth well temper their natural gravity; especially if they have long seasoned that ability of wit with sudden arts and manners. The Nations, though valiant beware, can very well 〈◊〉 peace. They are not suddenly moved to 〈◊〉, but being once raised, they 〈◊〉 like men, and are not easily appeased. The people are excellent at working in 〈◊〉, or iron, and drawing it into curious sculptures.  
For the Inuen●tion of Printing and Gunpowder, the world is indebted to the German wits; a benefit, altogether doubtful, whither 〈◊〉 to the 〈◊〉, or behoof of mankind. Their minds are full of 〈◊〉, nor ●●ying, nor car●ing at the virtues, deede●, or 〈◊〉 of other men, especially, th●se th●● are absent: but extolling them with sincere, and many times immoderate pruises.  
But nothing is more magnificent in that Nation, then that the Christian Empire, and Eagle is seated there; as if Germany had vanquished Rome; and the lost of the Prounces that bowed to the Roman yoke, it now the only country, where the name, and relics of the Roman fortune do rest themselves. The Sacred Majesty of so great a name is eclipsed by no a mulation of other Princes, and Kings, though far greater in power, than he, yet willingly give place to the Imperial Majesty. That highest dignity was heretofore supported by a power answerable, which by little and little as were in a fatal old age, did lessen and consume away. For by domestic wars, and the immoderate power of Princes of the Empire, and beside, the dignity being elective not haereditary, the vigour of the Empire falling to ground, hath only retained a venerable name, more by the piety of others, than her own strength. Among other causes of the decay of this power, this you shall find to be the greatest; the Princes being of great wealth, and increased by the bounty of former Emperors, have at last changed those Provinces, which were first deputed unto them, into absolute Principalities, & to have some privilege about the Emperor (who oweth his estate not to right of inheritance, but their suffrages) they have made their own dignities, inheritances to their posterity. By this means the minds of those Nations and People, which are naturally inclined to honour their Princes, and heretofore only in loyalty to the Emperor, came by degrees to honour those Princes, as his deputies, and afterwards as their own absolute Lords: which was a nearer way, either to profit, or danger. See the power of those Princes begun and strengthened, did exhaust the strength of the whole Empire: and first of all, as much as remained in France, than Italy, itself, the fountain of the Empire; afterwards the strongest parts of Germany, taken, as it were, out of their own body, did fall away, and were divided by the variety, and number of Princes, into other loyalties. But in France, and Britain, which are most true Kingdoms, it was ordered far otherwise, and those Princes, whose power was too great, and worthy of suspicion, by the providence of God, and industry of the Kings, were suppressed, and rooted out. For what room were left for the Majesty and State of Kings, if Normandy, Britain, Aquitaine, Burgundy, Awergne, P●cteirs, Provence, and Champain, were possessed by Dukes, or Earls, as once in the government of petty Kings? who safe in their own strength would obey the King upon courtesy, and only not contemn him as inferior to themselves. But what miseries in the Kingdom of Britain have been caused by the great, and too formidable power of Dukes, and Count Palatines, endued with regal privileges, and mighty in faction, and attendance? what bloody rebellions have they oft raised against their Kings? there is no more certain safety of the Kingdom at this day, then that the power of those great men and their Families, are utterly suppressed, and the nerves of the Kingdom guided by one only.  
The Emperors therefore should then have prevented this renting of the Empire, when first the Princes began to grow too great. But now the disease too far grown, and all affairs too long settled, so that the Empire especially consisteth of those Princes: to extort the power out of their hands, were not only an unseasonable, but a vain enterprise; so many upholders of those dignities would join in confedency against him for their common security: especially seeing at this day, their Principalities do as lawfully belong to them, as the Empire doth to him; their titles accrueing both from the consent of them that first gave that power into their hands, and also by time and long possession; whereby all titles of Sovereignty, which for the most part are weak, or wrongful at the first, are made lawful.  
But the last and mortal disease of the expiring Empire was this, that many, or most of the cities, imitating these Princes, gathered themselves into Commonwealths, making themselves Laws, and ordaining Magistrates; and to make it known, that they had renounced their first loyalty, in this sliding from the Empire, they challenged the name of Free States; entering into leagues among themselves, to maintain each other against the Sovereignty of the Emperor.  
So that country which in one State, & under one Governor, had been able to contest with all Europe, puissant in men, and strong cities, and worthy to receive the translated dignity of the Roman Empire can now find no Province, nor scarce any city, that she can deliver to her Emperor in free power and Sovereignty. For the Commonwealths and Principalities will suffer no Imperial garrisons within them nor can that Prince, that bears so great and glorious a title, find any place among so many cities, where he may h●●e his subjects leave to dwell. By this sweet, and public error, they have deserved the Majesty of their own country,  
The seven Electors, by the custom of the country, are to choose no man C●s●●, but a great man possessed of a Kingdom, or other great wealth, and Territoryes of his own already. Virtue and Nobility alone can never carry those voices. For where should the seat of the Emperor be, unless be had one already without the Empire? where should that Court be kept, which were answerable to the title of so great Majesty? they would hardly suffer him to dwell any where among them, whom they love to honour in his absence. But if the fate of that valiant Nation would permit, that the whole Province might be absolutely subject to their Elected Cas●●, than they might easily find among themsel●● some, that were fit for that great and puissant honour, and be forced to seek after nothing in their Elections, but virtue only.  
The Emperor than hath some power (but limited and straightened) over all the country. In civil contentions they do often appeal to him. But capital crimes the Princes and Free States do judge in there own territories. The Emperor has power to call diots, to proclaim wars, and determine controversies between the Princes themselves. When wars do threaten Germany, he commands men and money from the Provinces, if that may be termed by command, which cannot be obtained without their free consent.  
The Free Princes in that spacious country are very many, but the re●enewes divided among the brothers, or male kindred of a Family, do by that means grow many times ●●e differences in dividing Provinces or Principalities, and in parting private estates, and patrimonies. In that manner, the Dukedom of Saxony was in this age divided among many brothers, and because it was a hard matter, those that were skilful in the laws and customs of the country were by their command assembled together. To whom, as they sat in counsel, and the brothers were contending about their right, a fellow of somewhat a distracted mind, but such a one, as used to delight the hearers with his harmless and pleasant madness, came in among them.  
The eldest brother of the Saxon Duke looking upon this fellow, (for he had used his Court, and waited at his table) w●●t thou also (quoth he) give thy opinion concerning this division of the State? why should I not answered the fellow? upon which, they were all in expectation to hear some ridiculous and pleasant jest from the madman, and entreated him earnestly, that his counsel might not be wanting in so great a matter. But he denied to bear any part in the consultation, unless they would give him such a gown as the Lawyers used to wear, saying that with that gown he should put on wisdom. with that a merrier Genius possessed them all, insomuch that his Lord laughing heartily, commanded a furrd gown to he brought out of his wardrobe, and put upon him. Which when the fellow had fitted well, he walked twice or thrice about the room, and began to ask his Lord, whither that garment became him well or not; excellent well, answered the Duke; but now it remains, that thy wisdom should determine the controversies that are between us. He told them, he would presently be ready for them, but first he must retire a little into the next chamber; and there he would call some spirits of better wisdom to counsel with him. When he was retired thither, he shut the door presently, that no man might enter to interrupt his witty knavery; and putting off the gown, with a little sword, which was girded about him, he cut it from the shoulders to the lowest hemm, into long and slender slashes. Then putting it on all ragged as it was, he opened the door, and coming out to his Lord asked him again, how well that gown did now become him: anger had kerbed his Lord's laughter, for the gown which was so spoilt, was of great price. Thou wretch (quoth the Duke) I will have thee whipped, for presuming so madly to spoil thy Lord's gown. The fellow not at all affrighted, answered them thus how ridiculous is it in you t● be so extremely angry wit● me, when yourselves are far more dangerously mad, th●● gown, which I have put on, is the representation of your fortunes, and much more foolishly do you go about to rent, and spoil the Dukedom or Saxony, than I have done this garment. Whilst it was whole, it become met well, and you laugh at it, now it is thus mangled.  
So Saxony united in one body doth flourish, and is puissant in arms and wealth; but when you have rend it into many pieces, no man can uphold the ancient dignity.  
The wealth of the German Princes, besides some taxes and tributes, are, for the most part, arising out of flocks and herds of cattle; as also out of the fertilty of the soil, which commonly they exercise with the voluntary, not hired labour of the Boores. By this means they cannot certainly define their wealth, and annual revenue, which is to be valued according to the changeable price of come. The Nobility have a great and superstitious ca●e of their pedigree; and think that ancient blood is stained, if it be married into a● lower or upstart Family; nor is such a slain washed away in many generations. For to a clear testimony of Noble birth, are required eight descents of ancestors in both lines, which have not at all been tainted with this unequal marriage. In their discourses they have certain titles and forms of speech fitted to all conditions of man; which they account it almost a sin, either to neglect, or came lesly confound; nor doth any Nation use more set forms, overburdening even the memory of those who from their child-hoods have been trained in that Art, and superstitious distinction.  
In that part of Belgia, which is accounted in Germany, are those Provinces, which heretofore by war, marriages and successions were incorporated together under the house of Burgundy; and afterwards transferred by marriage to the Spaniard; and the chief strength of that Nation, if they could as well obey the harsh command● of their Prince being absent, as they can honour him present in person with them. Some of these people in this age complaining of hard usage, breaking the bonds of concord, by which they were tied both to their Prince, and among themselves, have risen in so great a storm, as may well deserve to put all Europe into a fear. In this commotion part of them by arms have acquired their liberty; the rest either mastered by power, or detained by loyal reverence of their ancient Lords, continue still in obedience to their Prince. Those that despising the Sovereignty of the Spaniard, have made themselves a free-State, inhabit chiefly about the Ocean, and are called by foreign Nations Hollanders, which was the chief Nation among them. By a boldness necessary after their revolt, they have given themselves to sea-affaires; from whence they are grown to great strength and wealth, searching all shores, and infesting the Spanish Sea. By this means, their cities are increased, and their wealth, by daily booties. Auxiliary soldiers from France and England, have come unto them, by reason of that mutual benefit, which accrues, both to the aided, and the aiders.  
The other which remain under the Spanish sceptre, taking also their name from one of then Provinces, are called through the world Fleming's.  
But the people, though thus distinguished into two Governements, retain the same Genius and dispositions. Their wits are candid, but made grosser as it were by the fault of the climate, which yet they do more depress by the distemper of drinking; whither this thirst be kindled in them by the fortune of their situation, and neighbourhood of High- Germany; or by the manner of educating their, infants. For they give to their infants to ab●te their desire of milk, whilst yet they hang at their mother's breasts, bottles full of beer, made after the fashion of a dug.  
That innocent and uncurious age oftentimes listing to the mouth the beer which comes so slowly, is delighted with the likeness of sucking, and kept from the wearisomeness of idleness. Nor is the thing without some profit, if from their first growth only you esteem it.  
For infants so ordered are brought to have strong bodies, and full of cheerful and wholesome juice. But the perpetual custom of drinking, grows by so using it into a perpetual pleasure, stirring up the desire of the palate, which is ever afterwards, either overflowed, or thirsty. To this may be added, the quality of that drink, not quenching the thirst after the manner of wine and water, but in a thick liquor, leaving first that upon the jaws, which by the next draught would be washed away.  
But by this strange delight in drinking their wits (which you would wonder at) are not drowned, and made slothful, but industrious in all the arts of merchandise, beyond the diligence of other Nations.  
Their strong and accustomed bodies are able to buckle with that vice, and with a wondrous felicity dissipate again those clouds of drink, which in banqueting arise in them: so that their drunkenness late at night makes them not slothful in their business the next morning.  
None excel their industry in low arts. Idleness with more than Athenian severity is punished among them; their boys (if need be, at the public charge) are trained up in action, and their maids to the spindle; every age is exercised, and sweat in a fitting calling; and labour familiar to them from their childhood, banishes, even by custom alone, the love of unknown sloth. By this frugal discipline their cities are wonderfully enriched with trading, and few of them sleep in the lethargy of beggary. The wits of the people are neither capable, nor patient of fraud.  
They do easily value others with that trust which they are worthy of; but the● simplicity, once deceived, with an irreconcilable hatred a●vides the perfidiousness of those that cousin them.  
Among these people there have been in all ages some excellent minds that have kept up the dignity of learning's or else admitted to the Privy Counsels of Princes & States, have with worthy dexterity managed the affairs committed to them. As in those regions, where commonly, and as it were, by the privilege of their birth, sharp and elegant wits arise, few are either careful, or able, to exceed the tenor of their own mediocrity; so Nations, of a lower fate as it were, and more furnished with the ancient goodness, than the vain ornaments of subtlety, are sometimes excellent in wit, and grow nearer to heaven, than they were borne to the earth.  
The chief men of Holland have commonly framed their minds and manners according to the Genius of that Common wealth, which themselves have made; either by a facility of Nature borne, to that form of Government which now they have, or else by a subtle and popular garb, ready also to undergo all offices of mutual servitude, unless when they are commanded to bear ●ule.  
But those Noblemen, which are under the Spaniard, are more filled with Court ambition, and with their Belgic positions han●mixed the manners of that people that reign over them. Whence it come to pass, that they have, as it were, a double Nature, and a disposition various, and almost divided between two most different inclinations. But among all their desires, the desire of honours is the greatest. They do ambitiously seek, and carefully maintain those titles and names which the craft of flatterers has invented to distinguish dignities. Nor can you any way win their affections more, then by saluting them cunningly with honour. They are courteous to those that flatter them, and prodigal in giving respect where they expect greater. So with true and sincere love they recompense a subtle flattery, unless that they being moved to love for vain reasons, are often changed by the same rashness; and perchance by a vain suspicion of contempt, are lost as far as to extreme hatred. The common-people in those Provinces on both sides do more esteem a show of liberty, and vain tokens of parity, than liberty itself. From hence proceeded those arts, which so easily catch them: as; not to disdain their clownish jests, to entertain discourse with them by the way, and to mix thyself with them (though much their superior) in a kind of humility, which shall neither be disparaging, nor long-lasting.  
William Prince of Orange, a most politic man, by this art, more than by any warlike force afflicted the Spaniard.  
The Boors of Holland inhabited many Towns by the Ocean-side; the greatest strength (no doubt) of Belgia revolting from the Spaniard: and able to weary the wealth of both the judies: for the Towns guarded both by Nature and situation, might by no very chargeable fortifications be brought to an impregnable strength.  
Therefore at the beginning of their revolt, William by a new way of popularity had won all the affections of the people, who thought in how much more happy a condition they should live under such a Captain, as owed his power and authority to them, then under the King himself.  
For coming slovenly from sea or the plough, they had free access to him, whose Majesty, and attendance was not great or troublesome. He himself in a deep subtlety, was glad to have himself saluted by those, that met him or came to him, by no high or envied names, but sometimes plain William And very well knowing by what ways especially the affections of his Nation were to be gained, he did not proudly look upon the lowest condition of any that saluted him.  
Remarkable was that saying of his, to content those that reproved his toomuch humanity; That man is well bought, who costs but a salvation.   

The sixth Chapter. ITALY▪  
ITaly, which was once confined by the small channel of the river Rubicon, is now bounded, (more suitable far to the intention of Nature,) by the enclosure of those lofty Alps. A Land owing much to her own commodities, but more indebted to the favour of fame. Renowned heretofore by the Gracian Colonies in her Eastern part; afterward by the spirit of her inhabitants, and the greatness of her spreading Empire, whose state no age could ever parallel.  
And lastly, since the nerves of the Roman greatness are quite cut, she remains even at this day, an example of life and breeding to many Nations; our people supposing that to be the only p●ace for the polishing of youth, and the nursery of all humanity.  
The very Names of her cities and other places, so celebrated in true and fabulous stories, driving the ignorant even into amazement, such as give more true credit to others then to their own knowledge.  
By this strange favour of men are the faults of Italy concealed, and her good things set off with greater lustre. Nor is their any doubt, but that at some places it exceeds the felicity of other regions, there where the r●uer Benacus with his Mascalinest came sporteth along the side of the mountains, and where Auer●ns, Puteoli, and Cuma wanton it. As rich and beautiful (being a country almost level, and well watered) is that which the Lombard's took from possession of the French.  
But if we compare the fortune of all Italy with her neighbours, as Germany, France and that more Northern Britain; then perchance we may justly be ashamed that Italy, by our prevarication, feeding so much the glory of it, should eclipse the felicity of our own country.  
The Land is rugged in general by the frequency of mountains, or par●●ed with too great and barren heat. The soil is dry in many places, and where it is arable, their come, before it be ripe, is corrupted by frequent smuts, or destroyed by violent hail.  
Of pasture-grounds there is no greatstore, and in those the wool of their sheep is naught, and their flesh worse. And scarce at any time has the fruitfulness of Italy been able to fustice plenteously her own inhabitants for three years together; nor muchless would it suffice them, did not the frugality of the men, and the condition of the clime, requiring no plentiful diet, accustom them to sparing and sober feasts. Trees of diverse sorts, which under the moderateness of our clime do thrive happily, are there enfeebled by too much heat, bringing forth weak, and unprofitable fruit. Oranges, Pomegranates, and Figs of diverse razes do there abound to temper with their coolness the excess of heat in the country: which fruits, though not at all necessary for humane use, yet carried about the world, are grown precious more by ou● delicacy than their own value.  
For Olives (though there they are counted one of the three great blessings of mankind, with Corn and Wine,) they have reason to prise out of the condition of that country, in which by the fault of pasture, their dry cattle do afford the milkers but little and 〈◊〉 ●●ders. Their flesh meats ●egenerate from the sweetness of ours almost into another kind of taste, except only some few, which do better indute the violence of the sun. So that now those palates of parasites so frequently filling the Greek, and Roman Comedies with commendation of fishes, may seem to have been especially suited to that country.  
Their Cities are for the most part fair, and situated in pleasant places.  
Their houses built of no slight matter, especially those which they call Palaces, are commonly more beautiful for the greatness of their structure, then convenient for the use of the dwellers in them. They glitter with marble of diverse kinds, and sometimes with gold; their roofs extended with magnificent work. Old eaten statues are placed upon fair & precious supporters, which for their gorgeous places are sometimes indebted only to the lying report of those that fell them. But where their walls do afford space for windows, there their houses do lose somewhat from the lustre of the other building. For commonly either course linen, or oiled paper do cover those places which are ordained for letting in of light. Which thing as it is unsightly to the beholders, so it imprisons the eyes of the dwellers within; the bounds of their Parlour or gallery doors, far from the comeliness of the French or British manner, where their windows are made of glass, affording them a free prospect of that which is without, the beams of light dancing as it were cheerfully upon them. Their temples also (for that is part of their fame) do not fully answer the expectation of strangers. In images and figure's is the greatest lustre, and nothing more beautiful than their altars. Purple & silk are accounted but mean ornaments in respect of the gold, and gems of price, The panements of different marbles are adorned with various workmanship, where in suitable colours the figures of flowers, of birds, & beasts, are represented. Their pillars of marble are so wonderful large, as may almost bring that ●●one into allow esteem. But sorich a beauty in their building, is not brought to the height of comeliness, their roofs being not enough raised, and the free sun scarcely is admitted into those dark places. Their windows are shadowed with much iron, and thick pictures wrought upon them if any temple do chance to receive light either by the rarity of buildings near, or convenient situation of the doors, then either with spreading veils, or interposed walls they banish that benefit which the sun would g●ue, believing, it should seem, that devotion is raised by the sadness of night, and by the pleasure of light vanishes again. But whatsoever strangers do ●eem of their public buildings, they cannot but wonder at and abhor the sordid meanness of their private lodgings. For at their l●nes being entertained with scarcie and slat●ish provisions, their stomaches are divided between two contraries 〈…〉 and hunger; bes●●● 〈◊〉 of then chambers, and ledgings annoyed by gnats and stinging slies of many kinds, they have grating Hosts, and high prices let upon bad e●e●tainement.  
But fortune has found out for that country other blandishments to allure the minds of those which travail thither. For either public error, or a sat befriending Italy, inviteth young travellers to that place from all parts of Europe; where enjoying mutual content inso great a frequency, that which they owe to their own society, they impute to the pleasure of that country. For if you love men of your 〈◊〉 Nation, there you 〈…〉 of forremers, you have fair choice among multitudes of so many nations: especially the commerce of minds so far oftentimes obliging strangers, that to be fellow travellers, is a greater enducement to entire friendship then to be fellow citizens.  
So from all Provinces they come as it were into one body, and seem to constitute one common and extemporary home. Besides, those young men that travail into Italy, are for the most part wealthy, who there visiting change of Cries, and staying at the chief, trying besides all kinds of delight ml fe and conversing, let lose their minds, which are now in the midway between past childhood and growing wisdom, to a remissness void of curiosity; especially, when being far removed from their own countries, the face of domestic business doth not at all trouble them and that tender age doth free 〈◊〉 from any we ghty cares.  
〈◊〉 they have there all the delights of youth, the a●e of 〈◊〉- man-ship, music, spectacles, Comedians bo●● for that purpose, but scarce fit ler Tragedy. When afterwards they return into their own countries, and are employed (as is fit) in serious affixes, what wonder is it if those pleasant times of recreation do cause a sweere remembrance, and striking the mind with thought of those delights which are now past, and never to return, it make them with love to remember that place, where heretofore they enjoyed so sweet a felicity?  
But great 〈◊〉, and a soil rich so of en to the rain of itself, hath quite banished from the Nations of Italy those first manners, which we read the ancients had.  
Yet are their minds capable of all affairs. Nor with a rude hear, or natural instinct, but artificially as it were, and with skill they follow either virtue or vice. They make large promises of humanity, confirmed not only by a complete garb of their persons, but words of most exact civility, and when they please, most powerful in persuasion. They can also entertain long friendship, and where they truly love, esteem no dangers in respect of that sacred league. But if they once hate (whether by their own inclination, or some conceined injury) they are so much the more full of danger, in that hiding their disquiet thoughts, they deeply lay up the memory of their offence or emulation. Sometimes being offended, they will descend to courtesy, that so by the privilege of friendship, they may more subtly and safely work their revenge.  
This hatred of theirs will outlast an age, and which is the most mischievous, their minds are never so easy wounded, as obstinate in bearing the lasting scar. Their minds beaten to a sad and serious wisdom, will scarce endure any jests, and customing themselves to say or do nothing rashly or without consideration, they weigh all men by their own natures, and examine with too super●●●ous a subtlety the minds of others by every word and look, so that their own passion's do perpetually punish them with cares and it a ousies. Besides, the very opinion itself of too grea● a wisdom is most unwelcome every where, that even then when they do descend into a free and unsuspicious familiarity, they are thought but spies, and censurers of other men's actions. Their impoysoning and damned lusts I will therefore omit, because they are vices not proper alone to Italy; seeing it were injustice to impute that especially to one Nation, which is so rife over all the Eastern and Southern countries. Seeing besides that those villainies are wrought in secret, and may not only be denied by those that are guilty, but devised by others ill-affected to them. But there is a great and public opinion of their cruelty, such cruelty as robbers in that Country do use to passengers, and private enemies one against another; nature having so dispensed the affections of men, that in those Countries where there is generally the greatest show of humanity, there the ●age of their the●ues is most cruel, and the revenge of enemies most barbarous. For Italy being most forward, and profuse in obsequiousness and courtesy, reaches on the contrary the extremity of cruelty in the dispositions of her thieves, and those that are at enmity. The French which embrace friendship, not altogether with so much humility of words and gestures, do renut somewhat also in their entity of the Italian crucity; nor can they be so easily induced by impious murders, to violate the laws of nature; at the least they account death the height of their revenge, and make it not the goal or mark of pleasure, to which by degrees of fortune they would bring their enemies. Last of all, the English which want somewhat of the pompous show of the French humanity, do want much more of their barbarous cruelty. For English thieves are content with the booty only; it is there a strange and unusual thing for thieves to kill: but with long piked staffs they knock the passengers down, which causes in them only a short amazement, that neither are they able to defend their goods, nor the thieves enforced to their slaughter, which often causes a bloody bickering on both sides.  
But Italy, though wholly en●●troned by the seas, and the Alps, and joined together by the community of one language, is notwithstanding divided into many kinds of fashions and manners, according to the diversity of the spirits that inhabit it. For having been often conquered, and that piecemeal, and by diverse kinds of people, her inhabitants are not of one nature. Those stranger natures she mixing with her own, is, by that means, herself seasoned with the fates of a foreign Genius. Bsides, the several forms and sorts of government, into which every part of Italy, after so many changes, hath composed itself, do make much for the forming of several dispositions in men.  
Rome itself by the furious invasion of many people, was long since thrown down from her wondrous height of wealth and greatness, as if the whole world had sought from her a restitution of their spokes. Nor ever did Change show so prodigious a testimony of her power over the mends of men, as when by sloth and ba●enesse she mined that great Empire, which so much valour and worth had raised. The City itself at this time under the Pope's jurisdiction, with a great part of Latium & Vmbria, and some neighbouring people, doth yet retain minds fit for so great an Empire, and the Majesty of her Prince is more preserved through all the world by writing, reverence, and religious awe, then by the aims and valour of the old Romans. But all that farthest home of Italy, stert●h'd our into the 〈◊〉 sea, from Picenum, and 〈…〉 both sides 〈…〉, and 〈…〉, is under Kings, These 〈◊〉 of the kingdom is called Naples. No part of Italy is filled with Nobility of more haughty and proud dispositions. They are 〈◊〉 of Arms and Horsemanship, lovers of honour and studious of all magnificence.  
In that other 〈…〉, which first 〈…〉 Adri●ticke, have the Venetians built then City, 〈…〉 deprived of the land-townes, in that waste of Italy, which Attila made, they were fa●ne to hide themselves in their fens and marshes. In that City, though the power and government of the Commonwealth do belong to all the Nobility 〈…〉 government, as must needs be, among so many patent neighbours, and wealthy Citizens of their own, whose riches and greatness might tend to ambition, if it were not kerbed. So their minds by that discipline are corrected, and not only not trained up in the bravery, and state of Courts, but want also those delights and ornaments, which all the Nobility of other Countries do use and enjoy, as Arms, horsemanship, and the like; besides other elegancies and courtships which the customs of the age do teach them. 〈…〉 also upon diverse suborns of Italy had settled themselves in the form of Commonwealths, whom the strength of fortune hath since deprived of the lustre of that government, which they from foreign seas had brought with them, and forced them to come under the protection of Kings and Princes.  
In those people there are mixed souls, and doubtfully he● vering between the desires of glorious liberty, of which they yet retain a shadow, or representation and the necessary, yet heavy yoke of those Princes, under whose protection they were forced to put themselves.  
But the Lombard's both in their minds and bodies have mixed, as it were, the Image and Genius of France and Italy; their countenances and garbs being composed to the fashions of the French bravery, but yet retaining the Italian qualities, and filled on both sides with the virtues and vices of both Nations.  
The other regions of Italy are under the command of their own princes; they are little States, and therefore to be governed with the greater skill, as small barks in the midst of a wide Ocean. And seeing that in such small Provinces the majesty of a Prince cannot be richly supported, but by great tribute and exactions, long and wholesome custom hath taught those people not only to be industrious in getting of wealth, but also not to deny it to the use of their Sovereign Princes.  
But there is nothing so hard for humane diligence to attain, but the excellency of an Italian wit will aspire to it. From the meanest ranks of their common people many daily by happy industry do advance themselves, both to great name and plentiful estates. No kind of cares, or (if need be) no condition of humility will they disdain, if it promise wealth; long pains and long hopes they will undertake and foster: one of which, the pride of Spaniards, the other the sudden and hot dispositions of the French will not endure. They have deep and able minds for the governing of Commonwealths, and fit for any fortune; frugal men, and provident of the future.  
Many among them can write Latin, but not speak it so well. That language also which vulgarly they use, though it be nothing else then a mixture of barbarous words with corrupted Latin, yet both in speaking, and writing they strive to alter, as far as they can, from all marks of the original; and to that end they draw back the words into their throats, so that the roughness of the sound, and contraction of words (for scarce do they come wholly to your ears) may seem to be nothing akin to the old Latin. After that manner hath Spain also at this day infected her language, so that drowning the simplicity of words, with a confused harshness, forced as it were from their breasts, they lose the sweetness of many letters: but the sweetness of learning doth not a little flourish in Italy, especially those parts of learning to which the lively elegance of nature doth invite them: which is witnessed by that fair plenty of their native poetry envied by all their neighbour-nations; which hath made sacred the Poet's names, burning in so many feigned fires of love, to the renowning of their supposed sufferings. For it is no matter whether they express themselves in their own language, or in the old learned tongues, seeing it is the same rapture which leads a pure and rich wit in their own popular eloquence, as well as in the ancient. For the Grecians wrote those things which their people understood, and the Romans fitted the Greek Comedies, and all the pith of Athenian eloquence to the ears of their common people.  
Last of all, what shall we say of Italian Historians, those whose sincere and faithful wisdom shall eternize their writings? or those that offend by too much eloquence and partiality? but religion, and heavenly wisdom, as well as humane learning, with whatsoever is left in the custody of the Muses, was ever highly indebted to the wits of that Nation. And to conclude, you shall no where find more true examples of sacred virtues, or abominable vices, then in Italian minds: so that as one said of Athens, There grows in no place more venomous hemlock; nor any where else are the Bee-hives filled with extraction of sweeter flowers. * ⁎ *   

The seventh Chapter. SPAIN.  
THe 〈…〉 ●ou●d of Europe, as you trau●●● to 〈…〉 great Ocean, is Spain, 〈…〉 it, 〈…〉, from the name of 〈◊〉; and lastly by that name, which it now 〈◊〉. A spacious Land, ●●●●posed 〈…〉 the 〈◊〉 and Africa, an Island 〈◊〉 way, vn●●sse only there, where the Pyren●●● mounta●nes are the 〈◊〉 of it. A land famous heretofore for her fertility, but at this day by her great barrenness, derogating 〈…〉.  
〈…〉 blessed 〈…〉 in those places 〈…〉, as doth almost recompense the barrenness of the other grounds. You would think it strange, that in some fields the husbandman receiveth 〈…〉 with increase an hundred fold. Their towns are 〈◊〉 many, and in those that are, they want provision to entertain travellers in such a manner, as France, Britain, or Italy can do. The inhabitants are constant in keeping still the ancient habits, and the very Genius of their forefathers. They are able men, and patient of labour, not such labour as belongs to ●illing of the ground, or handicrafts, but such especially, as is suitable to warlike actions; as for example; Watchfulness, hunger, thirst, and all kind of sufferance that belongs to military discipline. For their minds being constant in pursuing those hopes which they once conceive, account it an especial point of virtue, not to be wearied with misfortunes and dangers.  
From hence in old time, was Saguntus so constant to the Roman party, renowned for her overthrow, and the courage of their mutual slaughter.  
Afterwards, Numantia a small City, in respect of the greatness of her fame, a conqueror first of so many Romans, and lastly of itself. Lusitania also, under the conduct of Viriatus, with sudden forces easily raised, and disbanded again: And last of all, all Spain, both in their faith, and manners, fitted to the discipline of Sertori●s, were able to weary both Metellus and Pompey.  
While the Spaniards were yet barbarous, and divided into many and rude governements, they were taught the●r own strength by the Carthaginians & Romans wa●●ing against each 〈…〉.  
The 〈…〉 their conquerors, that Spain was 〈◊〉 altogether quiet, but almost every year provoking the 〈◊〉 Italy.  
Augustus Caesar himself also 〈◊〉 not that war against the Cantabrians to be an action o● light import, and therefore committed not the managing of it to his Lieutenant, but was th●●e in person, as accounting it a d●●ger and achievement worthy of his felicity. No● did the Spaniards in so many wars, and so much effusion both of their own and others bloods, think at all of forre●●e conq●ests, but strived only not to be 〈◊〉 themselves. At last, when they were accustomed 〈…〉, they 〈…〉 with the 〈…〉 fierce storm of 〈…〉 afterwards 〈◊〉 of 〈◊〉, which lighted not only upon 〈…〉 with the same shock 〈◊〉 upon France, spreading 〈…〉 strength and violence of those invading Saracens. But those moors beaten out of France, and the neighbouring parts of Spain, seated themselves beyond the rivers B●tis and Iberu●.  
The other parts of Spain were divided then into several and 〈◊〉 principalities: until (being the first pledge of 〈◊〉 Spain) Isabel, who succeeded her brother in the Kingdom of Castille, was married to Ferdinand the Arragonian King, and by the greatness of her dowry, brought Arragon a Province, that had ever been more free than befitted a true Monarchy, into due subjection; afterwards with conjoined strength they vanquished the moors, and chased them again into Africa, who almost eight ages had possessed Spain.  
Under the felicity of their reign did that Columbus discover America in the West-Indies, and that the affairs of Spain with prosperous fa●es might be fully exalted on all sides, the Ne●ther-lands also, by the new alliance of Philip of Austria, were added to the Spanish Empire.  
At the same time also, the forces of France being driven out of Apulia, did Ferdinand make himself m●ster of the the Kingdom of Naples.  
Immediately after, did Charles the fifth, honoured with the title of Rom●n Emperor, bring to the growing affairs of Spain, a new reverence, and ripeness as it were, and by prowess subdued the Duchy of Milan.  
There remained now out of Spain only Portugal, disjoined both by name and affection from it, a Kingdom enriched by their traffic with the East-Indies, to which with bold adventures they sailed along far and dangerous African shores, & established a Kingdom there by conquest, and plantation of rich colonies: but this Province also was by the death of King Sebastian, united again to the body of Spain, and were brought under the subjection of Philip the second, the Spanish Monarch.  
But by these increases of the Spanish greatness, the manners of the people are not changed, but excused 〈◊〉 For there was in them, at the time of their meanest lowness, a pride be●●●ting the greatness they have now; to which those people were come by t●e 〈◊〉 of their own nature; and that is the spring of virtues and 〈…〉. They have grave minds, and 〈…〉, but 〈…〉 a kind of 〈◊〉, which makes them not ●ashly carried upon 〈◊〉 things; they know as well how to use their victories, as to obtain them: so being constant proof against all dangers, they are not vanquished by time, nor wearied out. Nor can you 〈◊〉 from those 〈◊〉, which it once posse●●●s, this Spanish gravity, which nature and art together have made. But the words in which they magnify themselves and their Nation, loathsome to the hearers, and often traduced by satirical Comicke-writers, their countenances also, gestures, and conversations, suitable to their swelling language, intolerable to all but flavish and vanquished minds, doth add almost a kind of hatred to their severe Majesty.  
The Spanish soldier is better in any army, and especially in their Phalanx, then in a single encounter. That wealth which patrimony hath acquired, and often denied to the necessity of their temperate-made bodies, they love to spend upon apparel, and so display it in ostentation; with a confidence of themselves always great, but most of all among fearful or patient men. They are wondrous frugal, not only in the heat of their own climate (where their bodies enfeebled by the excess and violence of Sun, make them desirous of little food:) but all other places where they eat at their own cost. A little quantity of bread with herbs and sauces of no great price, will commonly susfice their Nature so hardly accustomed; but at another man's charges, none are more free for the mirth of feasting, and then there can be no courses of rich banqueting, which with their eyes and hands they do not fully examine but in the most wretched and low estate of por●●ty, a 〈◊〉 cannot forsake his saperci●ous p●●de. There was a poor 〈◊〉 on his deathbed, who, ●hen his son borne to the 〈…〉 came unto him and a 〈◊〉 in i● he would comma●● 〈…〉 him in any thing before his death; with his ●ast 〈…〉 breathe thus answered his son; Remember 〈…〉 that thou keep up thyself in that port that beseems the majesty of thy family. But a poor woman of Spain seemed to me a miracle or pride in this nature. She was clothed, but scarce covered, with rags and p●ches; and accompanied with three children, by misreable begging she sustained her hungry life: she lighted by chance upon French Gentlemen, and one of them moved with compassion of her apparent misery, said unto h●r, I will ease thee, woman of part of thy burden; give me the eldest of thy sons (he was 〈◊〉 years o●d) he shall attend upon me, and be p●●onely to easy services befitting his age; and, when he grows up, shall at my charges be bound to any trade that he best likes. The woman answered, God forbid, Sir, that, although you see me in some wants, I should condemn my son to follow a baseness, whom neither you nor I can tell to how high fortunes he may be ordained and by what eminent virtues available hereafter to his country. It were better for him (if so the ●ates will suffer) to be pined with hunger, then to descend to services a thing abhorred by brave minds, especially under a foreign master.  
But the Spaniards oftentimes cousin the world, with a false shadow of those great spirits, which naturally, or unadvisedly they make show of. For many of them contented with a poor and mean fortune, seem not at all to erect their thoughts to any advancement beseeming their supper cilions garb. From hence it comes to pass, that you shall see them for small pensions grow old in garrisons (as it were in their own houses) entertaining no cares of that height that may be suitable to their ambitious language. Which things the minds of the French can less endure, being always erected to any new archievement; nor the diligence of an Italian, watchful always to lay hold upon a future fortune.  
The studies of learning shine not in Spain with that lustre, which this age hath restored to the naked and po●●e Muses, when even that sp●●t of crudition, which ought to tell a●l parts of the se●nces, d●d seem altogether lost and vanished. For there neither elequence in the Latin tongue, nor the elegance of Poetry, nor that profitable and solid knowledge of History, and ancient rites is at all regarded. They keep their old and (almost barbarous) ma●ner of attaining learning.  
Philosophy they study, they love d●uinity, and despise not the knowledge of the Laws and Canon's but cannot endure that those learning, should be dressed at all in the Greek or Latin elegancies; as supposing that by those a 〈…〉 (as they think them) he 〈…〉 to profess divinity in Spain, became shortly of low esteem there, by that infamy (as it were) of the best learning, and was constrained earnestly to beg leave of his pageants, that he might 〈…〉 books written 〈…〉 languge●) So that 〈…〉 of warlike 〈…〉 on purpose put on th●s misbecoming form of cruelty and neglect toward the Muses.  
They have deep and reserved minds, fitted for slow projects: hence will they undertake long mines, and unseen, as it were, by the besieged, most wisely esteeming of war and peace, according to their own occasions.  
They frame their minds according to their wealth, and by this invincible art to triumph over the most valiant Nations. But their most usual matter is, for procuring of reverence, to use the names of the calestiall powers, and by pretence of religion, to conceal their ambition from the people's eyes: imputing their desires and covetousness to God's cause, and fight, as it were, for him, they conquer subtly for themselves. With that preface-like beginning before all their attempts, they enter, as it were, into a Scene or Tragedy.  
Ferdinandus and Isabel taught to their successors that sleight, which is now grown their country fashion. For they would ever find out in their enemies some cause of public hatred, that they in all their wars might be thought executors of the wrath of God.  
When they negotiate with Princes of other nations, they choose not their Ambassadors out of the number of their Dukes or Grandes, but from the solitude of some monastery or other. And so, besides the charges abated in the Embassage, such kind of Agents procure to the business 〈…〉. This thing 〈◊〉 most worthy of praise, 〈…〉 name of the Indies, together with his great brags, his wary and industrious fraud, can uphold a fame of wealth in his Exchequer. But that p●mp of 〈◊〉 language in the Spanish Nation, is therefore less d●atastfull, because it 〈◊〉 not at all affected or put on by them; but to swell of itself even from the instrict of nature. Of which, every motion, though declining into vices, I know not by what Genus, doth seem becoming.  
But that you may not think them unworthy of such a fas●ion 〈◊〉, as may seem fit for the personating of a Tragedy, they are great ha●●●s (at least in public) of all sordid baseness; they are great lovers, for the atti●e of the●● 〈◊〉, of neatness, and the National 〈◊〉 in their apparel.  
The● weapons (as the chief ornament of a man) though they want meat, they will both keep and wear.  
They ●aue 〈…〉 folly (except one●y thou bragging) either in 〈◊〉 or other conversation of life.  
Their 〈◊〉 are subtle, and fit for all things, nor are they so ignorant of what is in themselves, as desirous to deceive others with a g●●sse of pompous words.  
The beginnings of their discourses and friendships, they do adorn with a colour of the most gentle humanity; and you in those beginnings, may accost them in the same mild behaviour; but when they afterwards come to their supercilious pride, you must encounter them with the like Majesty.  
But if thy slender fortune doth enforce thee to be a parasite there, then with a bashful silence and applause thou must feed their minds swelling about their own, or their Nation's greatness. And then also, but that thou already coozen'st him, think not, that thou hast him fast enough; but remember, that as he feedeth thee with mighty promises beyond all credit, so thou art tied to promise him greater services than ever thou canst be able to perform, supporting thy lies with proportionable boldness. * ⁎ *   

The Eighth Chapter. HUNGARY, POLONIA, MOSCOVIA, and the other Northern Nations.  
PANNONIA, when the affairs and strength of the Roman Empire were in declining, was seized by the Longobards and Huns, who bestowing their name upon the Province, called it Hungary.  
The bounds of this Kingdom, according to the strength and puissance of their Monarches, have been often changed; as fortune hath either contracted them, or extended them upon the neighbouring countries. It is watered with the rivers, Sa●●s, and Tibiscus; Ister augmented from many fountains, doth run thorough it, and at Taurunam in his wide channel doth receive the Sa●●s.  
The country from Polonia and Germany extendeth itself unto the Dacians and Masia; but at that side, which lieth toward Illyricum and Dalmatia, the Alps do bound it. A soil happy in all increases. It restores Corn in great abundance. How rich it is in pasture fields, their cattle which are sold about the world, do sufficiently declare to other Nations.  
A hundred-thousand head of cattle, or thereabouts are yearly sent from thence into Germany, and so to the countries bordering upon Germany.  
Some parts of Italy also are fed from thence with the like provision.  
Their wine is most rich and generous, not much unlike to that which grows in Spain.  
The Climate also is healthful enough, save only that about Autumn a distemper of the unconstant air (hourly changing) doth breed diseases, but most cruelly upon strangers. Their nights are chilly with extreme cold, which hot days succeed, at noon both parching their grounds, and sweltering with heat the bodies of men. Whom in the evening the cold astringent air again surprises unawares. The earth in the bowels of it hath many metals both of different natures and estimations; and gold itself is roled up on the sandy shores of many of their rivers; and the same rivers most fruitful in breeding of fish, which are cheap there by reason of the plenty.  
The nature of the people is therefore more hardly to be learned, because in this age they are o'rwhelmed with afflictions and scarce left to their own dispositions; for they are oppressed on one side by the Barbarians, which have made themselves masters of a great part of it; on the other side auxiliary Soldiers levied amongst all the nations of Europe, have by their multitude and long abode in that Country, and long abode in that country infused, in some measure, their manners and dispositions into the people.  
I can suppose it should spring from no other cause, than continuance of war and calamity among them, that the Country-Boores have quite lost their innocent simplicity, and are turned so extremely cruel. For without any difference they lie in wait, both for their own soldiers and the enemies. And if any do happen by night to stray from their quarters, the Boors are ready to surprise the prey, and rob (with most unthankful villainy) those soldiers, who 〈◊〉 all dangers do endeavour th● in preservation; and reverla them but naked, and in all extremity.  
Their Noblemen (as is fit) are of a braver and better disposition, their minds and visages framed to magnificence, and their whole garbs composed to a pleasing Majesty.  
They use Gowns and such robes as the Eastern people, but especially purple, or sky-coloured. And this attire doth wonderfully become the men, a short sword commonly adorning their gowned side.  
They are excellent at subtle and great counsels, and of a courage equal to it; especially if the project lie in sudden, short, and stolen erterprises.  
Their chief Nobles are of great wealth, and retaining (though in a Monarchy) very great mar●es of true liberty.  
They are attended, according to their riches, with store of Clients, and those exceeding faithful in their service to them: And no greater care at all possesses them, than not to forsake any of th●se prerogatives, which they from many ages have maintained inviolable. For that reason is their va●our more constant in fight against the Turks, who under one Law of servitude do oppress all families, of how great blood or eminence soever. Without this, the inclination of their minds might well be feared, that they would choose Kings from other places then from Germany. For the German● and Hungarians (a thing ordinary in 〈◊〉 a neighbourhood) are at great emulation betwixt themselves.  
Their rai●ing at each other in their common discourses at home are very cruel; and with great curiosity they are both busy in discovering or inventing vices in each other.  
The Hungarians are lovers of Horses, and have excellent good ones; they are curious in their arms and attire, even to delight and pomp●.  
They had rather fight on horseback then on foot.  
They are most greedy of honours, and have a great ambition to be feared by others.  
By imitation of the Italian arts and dispositions, they are thought to have learned the 〈◊〉 vices, and to perpetrate their wicked revenges with the same arts, and the like maliciousness. You would suppose them most easy men to embrace friendship; but whether it be true or false none can be better judges than they themselves which enter into those friendships; seriously considering whether they have deserved so to be beloved: or whether that Nation so skilful in taking of advantages, do pretend friendship, the better to perpetuate some intended mischief.  
There is a Magistrate among them of great note, whom they call the Palatine: he of himself hath not power to decree any thing, but may resist the King when he determines to enact any public matter, which is altogether void if the Palatine gave his voice against it. To him the most of them give great honour, as to the supporter of their liberty, and our opposed against the Regal power; no otherwise then of o●d the Roman Tribanes were ordained as curbers of the Consul's jurisdiction. From hence might you see ●hat the great and swelling spirits of that Nation, would 〈◊〉 brook a hard, and unlimited power over them: unless they be forced (as it appears in those Hungarian Provinces which the Turk now possesses) to an awe of their sovereign Lords by so stern a discipline as doth for ever reave them of any hope of liberty.  
The Illyrians and Dalma●ians, whom we call the Istrians and Slaurians, are seated upon the shores of the Adriaticke 〈◊〉 Towards the Land they border upon Pannonia. That Region is unpleasant on the back of the great Mountains, upon whose ridges cold Winter coth perpetually tyrannize. But that part of the Country, which is seated in the valleys, is of a milder temper, and well stored with Villages and Castles.  
They are Nations that live under the command of others, and having been long accustomed to diverse Lords, do for the most part follow their manners and dispositions. Part of it is subject to the dominion of the Austrian Princes; much of it that lies by the seashore, the Venetians are masters of; and the rest is under the Empire of the Turks: from hence it comes that their habits and manners are partly Germane, partly Italian, and partly barbarous, according to the several Genius' of their sovereign Lords.  
The Region is almost not visited by any, save only that in their havens at some times they do harbour ships, which are sailing from Venice into the East, and return from thence again into the Adriaticke.  
The other places do not at all invite strangers.  
Those soldiers which are levied from thence, are renowned for valour and great audacity, especially in the Turk●● 〈◊〉; and few but they, are ascribed at Constantinople, into his guard of janissaries.  
At the North-side of Hungary is Poland, which stretcheth from thence to the great Ocean, and bordereth upon Russia. A country, which though wonderful spacious, yet no where almost hath any mountains in it, and from plainness of it, is ●o named; for plainness in the Scythian tongue is called Pole.  
Their fields lie out in great Champion-plaines, which in the Winter are coue●ed with deep Snow; but when the Snow is gone, are very fruitful in Corn, not only for the use of the inhabitants: but their grain transported by sea to many countries lying along the Baltike seas, doth supply the dearths and ba●●en season of other Nations. Their Winters are raging, and strongly congeal both their grounds and rivers: because the violence of Northern winds, wanting the repercussion of any Mountains, hath, as at sea, a free passage in the open air, besides their nearness to the Northern Pole, where the force of the Sun is very feeble, especially in Winter-tune.  
But Nature, for their assistance, hath afforded them great and spacious Woods, which do not only furnish them with ●yring to expel the cold; but within their coverts ●oe nourish beasts, whose skins for clothing afford them furs of greatest price and esteemation. This double assistance have the Polanders against the tyranny of their winter. But their woods do yield them another benefit; in which the●e are at many places a wonderful number of swarms of Bees.  
They are wild Bees, hived, or kept by the care of no man; upon pla●e Okes, or trunks of other trees they ha●g by clusters; there do they build their houses of wax, and fill them within with most delicious honey. From this alone is the country exceedingly, and with great ease, enriched. Their wax is merchandise to other countries, and of the honey they themselves do make a kind of drink, which they esteem very delicious. Some provinces of Poland are too full of rivers and perishes, in so much as that in Sommer-time they are scarce accessible: but in winter, when the waters are frozen, they have S●eds, in which they pass with speed upon the ice. With those therefore they travel the country, & that is their 〈◊〉 of 〈◊〉 with foreign merchants, who come to buy the●r wax, their furs and whatsoever else is of price and 〈◊〉 in so cold a country.  
They want stones, for the most part to build them houses; their walls are of timber, and their houses 〈◊〉 covered with thatch, except only their chief Cities, and palaces of Noblemen, which are adorned as curiously as that country can possibly afford. But the Poles, under a rough clime, live hard lives, no● are the dispositions of the people composed to the elegancy of our age; and from thence also are they of more cruel natures.  
Their Inns to receive strangers, are far different from the manner of our Countries: they are brought into a room altogether unfurnished, and commonly where the wall is digged thorough to afford light, and stand open to the violence of wind and winter. There are no beds for the gu●●ts to lie upon, nor tables for them to eat on; but the walls are full of tacks, where the guests in order may hang those burdens, which they have brought with them; and the ground is strewed with straw, which is intended for bed● in those Inns. Therefore whosoever do travel thorough that country, do accordingly provide themselves as if they removed their dwellings with them; their meat, and other provision, together with their beds, they carry in Wanes with them; that being entertained in those naked Inns, they may with their own provision defend themselves against cold and hunger.  
They are a Nation borne to cruelty and 〈◊〉, which they call liberty; insomuch as they can scarce yet be brought to abrogate a ●aw of unspeakable barbarism which for many ages hath continued among them.  
By that Law it wae appointed, that whosoever had killed a man, should be absolved from all fear of justice, 〈…〉 did throw upon the carcase of the dead man a certain sum of money, which in that Law is mentioned. Nor would they so basely have prized the blood of man, if out of the cruel fierceness of their barbarous Genius, they had not judged the murder of man a slight offence.  
They do abhor the very name not only of slavery, but of obedience to a just and lawful Sceptre.  
Their King by force of arms is compelled to observe their Country-lawes.  
The Nobility have bestowed upon themselves most mischievous prerogatives, by which they may safely abuse and hurt each other; because the King hath not power enough to punish their offences in that kind. They are wedded strangely to their own fancies; nor do they take to themselves a greater licentiousness in manners and uncivil conversation, then in opinions of religion, and 〈◊〉 matt●rs; of which, 〈…〉 man without any fea●● 〈◊〉 both think and 〈…〉 self listeth: Which 〈…〉 and are ashamed to learn 〈◊〉 best wisdom from another man's direction, from hence it is, that their minds at this day are divided into so many 〈…〉 have among 〈…〉 fortunes. They are apker to be outrageous, then deceitful to any man, and themselves easier to be ruined by fraud then 〈◊〉.  
〈…〉 Poland, Russia lies, 〈…〉 the Prince of the 〈…〉 doth reign. The 〈…〉 is named from the city 〈…〉 which by reason of 〈…〉 of inhabitants, 〈…〉 of their Emperor, is 〈…〉 of Russia also. It extend in a long and sp●cious tract from the Ocean to the Caspian sea; and borders upon 〈◊〉 sides both with the 〈…〉 upon other 〈…〉 till the Spring be far spent; and then succeeds a cruel Summer, which striving (as it were) to redeem those delays which the long Winter had there made, doth ripen their fruits with a most 〈◊〉 heat, but not so kindly 〈◊〉 trees in our Countries. 〈◊〉 almost beyond belief, 〈◊〉 should ripen there, 〈◊〉 among us require not 〈…〉 very hot, but a continued S●●mer. There are many woods in the country, and in them beasts of most precious Furs. They have store also of 〈◊〉 and honey, which 〈◊〉 the chiefest merchandises of that country: 〈…〉 inhabitants, but yet not answerable to the largeness of the Land which they 〈◊〉.  
They are a Nation borne for servitude, fierce upon any show of liberty, but quiet, if strictly kept under, and refuse not the 〈◊〉. They do freely confess 〈…〉 slaves to their Prince, 〈…〉 both their estates and 〈…〉 at his disposing; the 〈…〉 are not in a more sordid 〈…〉 subjection to the Scep●● their Ottoman emperors. 〈◊〉 esteem also of all other 〈◊〉, according to their own Genius. Strangers also that either by chance or on purpose do come into Mosco●● are condemned to the same 〈◊〉; and forced to be slaves to that Prince; 〈◊〉 they go away, and Be 〈◊〉 again, they are punished as fugitives. The great men; although themselves be slaves, are very proud toward the common people; and they very fearful of the great men's frowaes. The people are reported to be so ignorant of learning, that few among them 〈◊〉 the ordinary prayers of 〈◊〉 Church unto God, by hea●●. 〈◊〉 are fitter for war, than 〈◊〉 for the most part are in 〈…〉 ther to repel the invasions 〈◊〉 Tartars on one side: or on the other, either to invade or keep off the Polonians: in this age they have been much busied in civil wars among themselves. Their batta●lts consist all of horsemen; they use no foot for this reason, because they place the moment of all their designs in celerity: with great speed they both assault & fly. When once they begin to fear, they are brought to utter desperation; so that when they fly from a battle, if the enemy overtake them, they are far from making of the least resistance, and do so absolutely yield themselves into the Conqueror hand, that they do not so much as beg 〈◊〉 lives. They are remiss in 〈…〉 of theft, though seuere●● 〈◊〉 execute robbers.  
〈◊〉 awary Nation, and very 〈◊〉 in deceiving others; nor 〈◊〉 ignorant that Merchant's 〈◊〉 in that kind suspect them; whom that they may get to have the better opinion of them, in their commerce oftentimes they 〈◊〉 themselves to be other countrymen.  
They are exceedingly given to drinking, and besides their country drinks, they have Wines brought them from foreign parts.  
Their Wives live in great bondage, detained strictly at home, worthy also of greater afflictions.  
They are (according to report) of such incredibly servile dispositions, that they measure the kindness of their husband's, by the number of the 〈◊〉 they give them: and 〈◊〉 think themselves so well, 〈◊〉 when they fall upon men of fierce dispositions. A mean fellow of Germany traveled into Mosco●ia, and (if in such a tri●ling tale you desire his name) he was called 〈◊〉. He continued there, and liking the country, married a wife in it. Whom whilst he loved dearly and by all kindnesses sought to gain mutual affection from her; she with a sad dejected countenance did often sigh, and express other tokens of a sorrowful mind. At last when he demanded the cause of her sadness, professing that he had been wanting in no office of love to her. Why (quoth the woman) do you so cunuingly counterfeit affection? do you think I know not how little you regard me? and withal she began to make great lamentation. He amazed at this, began to embrace her, and still asked her wherein he had offended, and if perchance he had done ill, he would hereafter amend the fault.  
To this his wife answered, Where are then those stripes by which thou testifiest thy love? For husbands among us by beating their wives, do express their love and care of them. When jordan heard this, amazement a while suppressed his laughter, but afterward when they doth vanished, he thought it his best course to use his wife as she had prescribed; and not long after, he took occasion to beat the woman: she appeased with stripes, began then earnestly to love and observe he: husband. But he could keep no measure, but grew more cruel than his wretched wife desired: and at last with an unhappy stroke (they say) broke he thighs and her neck also.  
Germany, where it is washed by the Baltic sea, borders upon the Cimbrian Chersonesus, and through a small distance of sea surveys the other Lands, which make up the same kingdom of the Cimbrians. It is called at this day Denmark; from thence is but a short cut to Swethland; to which on the North side Norway adjoineth. And these are the regions, out of which so great Nations, famed both for their multitude and victories, rushed like a whirlwind over all Europe. From thence came the Cimbrians, Tentones, Goths, and Vandals; by whom Italy, Libya, Spain, and a part of France were sore afflicted.  
But of later times those Colonies that came from thence, were called Normans (that is, No●●hrea men.) By these Britain was long possessed; and much of France wasted with fire and sword; but there atlast, after many dangers, peace was compounded, and they seated in Neustria, which they afterwards called Normandy, so that nothing in Europe escaped their fury; and being terrible to all, they were commonly accounted to be invincible. How it should come to pass that so great a multitude, and a spring (as it were) of Nations should at this day grow dry, it is uncertain. But fore it is, that now in those countries, towns are very rate; and they are so far from fending Colonies abroad, that when they have war, they are enforced to use foreign soldiers. I could believe that those barbarous Nations, frugal in old times in their barren soil, and ignorant of vices, increased in Children; and because the unfruitfulness of the soil denied nourishment to so numerous a people, they did often send out their young men to seek out new plantations: which then men of all ages did desire. But now by that mad vice of tippling and surfeits they have over whelmed their genital strength, and can beget inhabitants for no more than their own countries. They exceed the Germans in drunkenness. When they awake in the morning they fill their stomaches with a wonderful hot kind of drink, which by the fire is extracted from Wine itself. When they are thus refreshed, the fumes of that hot liquor ascending into their heads, do cause sleep; their rest is but short, and then they return again to drinking. Then they drink▪ Wine or Ale, as many a like it. That time that remains till noon, they bestow in business.  
At last they meet at dinner, which by continued discourses they make no bones many times to prolong till supper time; from thence they are carried to bed, neither apt to do nor receive wrong.  
They break no promises, when their hands are given.  
There are among them many footsteps of the Germane language, but more of their Germane manners and behaviour.  
Norway is but thinly stored with inhabitants: their lives they spend for the most part in hunting; no country affordeth Timber more fit for masts orplankes for ships. It is a rude Nation, and with most men infamous for witchcraft.  
They by report can fell winds, which those that fail from thence do buy, equalling by a true prodigy, the fable of Vly●●es and Ae●lus.  
They have cruel winters, and very dangerous to those that are not aware of them. A be●●mming air, with little or no feeling, doth seize the body; that before you perish, you can scarce know that you are perishing.  
From this plague, by a memorable example, was He delivered, whom God had ordained to be Monarch of all Britain, james, as then but King of Scotland.  
Frederick the second King of Denmar●● had espoused unto him his daughter Anne; but she sailing to Scotland, was often cast back upon the coast of Norway, by the force of chance, and evil spirits that raised up winds at the command of a witch; who afterward suffered for her offence.  
The King being young, and a Lover, impatient of delay, resolved to ●a●le unto his Wife, and in midst of Winter entered that sea so infamous for 〈◊〉; after he had long struggled with weather and tempests, he arrived in Norway. And not long after, the ship that carried him, as if it had been set upon the land, hard frozen up with ye remained immuneable.  
The thing was told to King james, who had presently a desire of seeing this unusual sight. For about none of his Britain shores doth the sea freeze.  
There was (the weather being fair) a haven not far from the King's lodgings; he went therefore along, the winds neither blowing, nor the air (as it seemed) very violently cold; and beholding a while the frozen sea, he returned into his chamber, suspecting nothing of the danger of the Winter. But when he drew near to the fire, one of those that stood about him, looking by chance upon the King's right hand, perceived that finger that was next the thumb, to be blue, pale, and bloodless; and knowing the condition of that air, cried out to the King not to come near the fire; the air, s● (quoth he) has hurt you, and be●●mmed your finger, being in this case, the fire with an unseasonable heat will quite undo it. The plague of this cold must be expelled by another cold. The King wondering at this, denied at first that he was hurt at all; for he felt no pain: but he shortly perceived, that he was well advised. For the finger grew stiff and dead, losing all sense and heat of blood.  
When he desired remedy, they told him there was at hand a certain cure, which with a short, though cruel pain, should restore his health, and that he must endure it, unless he would rather lose his finger, which was stricken with th●● pestilent Winter: then there was suddenly brought him a vessel full of snow, not melted by the fire, but thawing softly by the heat of the Chamber. Into that, the King advised by the inhabitants, thrust his finger: when on a sudden, a cruel p●ine creeping thorough the joints of his lately benammed finger, had almost put him out of 〈◊〉.  
His pain was that, which first taught him how sense was restored to the finger. By this 〈◊〉 the King was made whole; and being admonished of such an unlooked for mischief, he could afterwards more easily avoid it, or cure it. For not long after, his right care, as he rid, was taken with the same malady. * ⁎ *   

The ninth Chapter. TURKS and JEWS.  
THe Turks, a barbarous people, borne to the destruction of Cities, Arts, and Learning, have prospered more by our vices, than their own virtue. This public calamity of the world, by barbarous violence, multitudes of men, and obedience to severe discipline hath grown great. Their beginning was from Scythia, which we call Tartary. From thence they were called as stipendiary aids in the dissensions of Persia, or of their own accord forsook their barren country, invited by the neighbouring regions fertility, and with a wonderful religious obedience followed the fortune of him whom they made their captain. To him they gave both themselves and their estates, either never acquainted with liberty, or now voluntarily throwing it away from them.  
Nor are other Nations more constantly obedient to their good and lawful Princes, than they to that horrid tyranny, to which they have condemned themselues; unless that now it is thought, the extremity of that reverence is by degrees abated under Princes unworthy of it: or that the affections of people being too violent, are never corstant.  
They first seized that part of Asia, which heretofore was said to abound with all delights; and from thence under A●●urath sailing into Europe, with the aid and shipping of the Ligurians, that famous Greece, the ancient seat of the Muses, became their prey. But they by the harshness of their dispositions striving against humanity, continued still in the freity of their ancestors, that you may know, a civil Climate may herbour 〈◊〉 people. Whilst they stuck in Bythinia, or afterwards in the shores of Thrace, on either side the two emulous Empires of Greece and 〈◊〉, which, unless they could unquish, would vanquish them, stirred up their barbarous courages, being then in the heat of their first victories: where (to our shame) they ruined those mighty enemies, and chose Constantinople taken by Mahomet, the chief seat of their Monarchy, being delighted with the situation of the City in the borders of Asia and Europe, as also the convenience of a most stately haven, and the fame of that Empire which so many ages had there flourished.  
That which remained in the East, was either possessed by the Sultan, who to his kingdom of Egypt, had io●ned Syria, and the neighbouring regions: or was under the Persians, whose Empire from E●phr●tes extended to India. The Persian was to the Turk an open enemy, and in continual and cruel war with them about the bounds of their Empire. They both made league with the Egyptian Sultan: but Selimus the Turk, thinking that the Sultan did more religiously observe his league with the Persians, made that an occasion of war against him. Never in so short a war was there gained a greater victory for spoils, for men, and Countries; and which is more, a constant possession of them. For by two set battles, and one tumultuary fight, all the dominions, wealth, and arms of the Sultan, were by fortune translated to Selimus. From hence, he grew more terrible to Persia, and began with ascornefull pride to overlook the wealth of Europe. But returning from Syria in triumph, he ended his life by a sharp disease in the same place, where once he fought a battle against his father Baiazethe as if his father's Manes had claimed a revenge. But presently Solyman, more furious than his father, invaded Pannonia, and taking Buda, which is the head of Hungary, he presumed to besiege the Austrian Vienna. But the pleasures of Constantinople did by degrees mollify the minds of those Princes, and avert them from our ruins. But we in the mean time weakened with wars among ourselves, and emulation of nations; blush not to expect from the Turks hands war or peace, daring to offer nothing against them, but contented if not provoked, we send Ambassadors to those tyrants of Constantinople, to sue for leagues and purchase peace; whom they either through pride, or hate to our religion, esteem not worthy of their audience, or scarce their sight; and think it toomuch below the dignity of their Empire, to send: (for a commerce of mutual friendship) their own Ambassadors into Christendom. But as the felicity of so many victories hath raised, almost beyond humane greatness, the majesty of the Turkish Emperor; so, (which is wonderful) it hath made the people wretched, by whose hands and strength the Empire was raised. For when the Ottoman Princes were yet low, and contained within their camp, almost their whole nation, then surely what prey or dignity they would divide, must be divided among those soldiers, nor had they any beside those Scythians to join in friendship with. But their wealth increasing, and they free in choice whom of their own or conquered nations to prefer to governements in the commonwealth, their greatest honours are never bestowed upon the ancient race of Turks, the posterity of those soldiers, from whom the Ottoman family received together with the Empire, a power to be now safely unthankful to them.  
We cannot tell, whether through disdain, or custom which among barbarous people (is in stead of religion) or through secret policy for security of their Empire, it come to pass that great governements, dignities, and places of judicature are conferred on none but those which are borne of Christian parents. From Dalmatia especially and Illyricum, Boys and Girls are taken from the bosom of their parents, to be cloistered up in Constantinople. There they change into a mad superstition the religion of their fathers, which they cannot remember, and being circumcised, are trained up in the religion of Mahomet. And this company so taken by rapine, are to the Turkish Emperor as a seminary of Captains and Princes, to whom the guard of his person and the strength of his Empire is committed. From hence are taken his Eunuches for nearest services, and therefore there not contemptible. From hence are his wives and concubines, and always the mother of that heir that must succeed in so ●reat an Empire. Out of that band he chooses husbands for his Aunts and sisters, to beget Cousins and Nephews to him. And so far is it grown advantageous not to be borne of the Turkish race, that those chief places in the Empire, which those that are borne of Christian parents do hold, never devolue unto their children. And for no other reason, then that they were borne to the Laws and Rites of Turkey. This doth that Nation suffer, so much dejected even in their own judgement.  
The Turke● are of a ●usticke and base nature, not worthy of liberty, which they care not to acquire. The Law of Mahomet forbids them to polish their rude minds with any humanity of learning, that so being ignorant, they may be drawn with more case to the madness of that Law which he hath prescribed.  
Their chiefest care is about their household stuff, their flocks and herds of cattle. Their buildings are scarce for use, much less for ornament, either yet mindful of their Scythian original, and that wandering kind of life, or else because they are but tenants at will, and at the Prince's pleasure must remove not only their dwellings, but their countries. By an inbred affection they do wonderfully adore their Emperor; they call him the shadow and image of God.  
The cruelest in that Nation, and the greatest haters of Christians, are not those that are derived by a long pedigree from the old Turkish race, but those that lately have revolted from us; the other (they say) are of a milder nature, but far from our dispositions.  
There is no where more subtlety in poisoning: and it is scarce credible with how much art they do extract and temper the strength of venomous things; nor do they destroy any man that way, but in a wonderful subtle manner, every man in that country alike viciously studying how to give or avoid death by poison. Who would believe it? they require not a taste nor touch, a little air corrupting the vital parts will bring death, and that a quick one. A Bashaw lately had bought the government of Aleppo, of some that were gracious in the Court. It is a City not two day's journey from the Cilieian sea, enriched by the frequency of merchants, and traffic from the East; from whence merchandise is brought, partly by the river Euphrates, and partly by land-carriages. From whence the Governors get great wealth, and rob the Province as licentiously as they buy the place dear. When this man therefore was sent to his government, another with greater bribes had corrupted the same courtiers, and was appointed to succ●ede the other, who had scarce as yet tasted the sweetness of his government. The Governor speedily he●●ing of this news from his f●●●ds, was (as is likely) sadly strucken with it; having as yet scarce got any thing to recompense his cost in buying the place. He therefore calls a counsel of his friends, and among them complains of the loss of his estate, and the perfidiousness of the mercenary Court. He seemed in doubt, whether he should obey the letters which called him back to Constantinople, or resist his successor by armed force; and so with a new sum of money either to obtain pardon for his boldness of the Constantinopolitan courtiers, or else not to survive his honour, and estate. Whilst in these cogitations he was anxious and raging, the faithfullest of his friends called him aside, & bade him to nothing rashly; he tells him if he resist his successor, it would be censured rebellion; that in their state there was no crime so heinous, as not only to 〈◊〉, but delay obedience. Take (saith he) a safer counseil; meet thy 〈◊〉 with gifts; and lest he should suspect thy boun●y, complain to him that thy fortunes by this untimely succession are almost sunk, yet thou preferrest nothing before obedience. Entreat him to receive the Province which he is sent unto, and accept, as a pledge of friendship, those gifts, which thou in hospitality bestowest on him, and that he shall make th●e 〈…〉 for them, if he give th●e his letters to Constantinople, signifying in them that thou without delay didst resign (according to command) the government, privilege, City, and Province, into his hands; among thy gift (quoth he) there shall be an handkerchief, which I have, of ●●re workmanship, but anointed with a most mortal poison. If thou hold this near to his face, as to show him the elegance of the work, that the least insensible vapour may but come to him, I will promise thee he shall never govern in Aleppo. The Governor takes the counsel of this sub●●●e fellow, and with great pomp meeting his successor, brings him into his house. There, among other blandishments of his treacherous liberality, he shows to him the fatal handkerchief 〈◊〉 wrought with silk and gold. The other with 〈…〉 in the wretched man was 〈…〉 taken with the 〈◊〉 of so bountiful a predecessor; and so when the night was well spent, they went to bed. In the morning the new Governor not able to resist the poisonous air which he had drawn from the handkerchief, lay in his bed a dead man; nor did the cause of his sudden death appear to any, but to those that contrived it.  
When this mischief was done, the murderous Bashaw sends letters to Constantinople, both those in which his successor had signified his kind entertainment, and others of his own, to signify the others death, entreating that now his government & Province might becontinued to him; which he easily obtained, fortune rewarding with felicity so great a wickedness. In this cruel wickedly wonderful art, you need not more admire their exquisite study and wretched subtlety in poisons, than the corrupt manners of the Nation, people sold by magistrates, law and right measured by money, and other mischiefs of the basest tyranny; there scarce lie any actions against bribery and oppression: the great magistrates do too cheaply esteem of the injuries which the common people suffer, and think them not worth revenging, who by continuance of slavery, and education according, dare not so much as repine at the misery of so abject a condition.  
I wonder at nothing more among the Turks, than that men that so constantly aver the immortality of souls (that they may from thence less value their lives) do give themselves licence to act those crimes, which Nature, even without a Law, would abhor. Yet to relieve the poor and strangers, many of them are very forward; for these offices of humane compassion, houses every where are builded, for the sick or weary to abide in, and maintenance, either from the public charge, or pri●ate men's Wills is given to them; nor are we, though 〈◊〉 think us, and call us d●g●, debarred of that humanity and relief. They do wonderfully reverence their parents; and though at any time they be injurious to them, yet the remembrance of life received from them, pre●ailes above the sharpness of the injury. They eat much meat, and are more careful in adorning their bodies then their minds.  
For all those lusts, for which they are infamous, there is less fault in them then in their filthy prophet Mahomet, who by his Law forbids not such concupiscences too much inbred in mortal men, though restrained by the laws of God and modesty: so did he think to allure that military people, but yet (as being Eastern) es●aemi●ate in pleasures. So that, by a wretched ignorance of virtue, they are exercised in these vices, as being allowed to them. Nor is cruelty severed from their lust, especially in their Prince, who challenges to himself, aswell the blood, as the wealth of his subjects.  
The Turkish Emperor passing thorough Constantinople to hunt in the adjoining fields, spied at a soldier's door a young youth want only glancing his effeminate eyes. The lust of the wicked Prince was kindled, and he commanded the Youth to be taken▪ and carried into his palace. But the soldier that abused the boy, love overcoming his allegiance, ventured himself to rescue his Catamite, & with a drawn sword resisted the Prince's ministers. But what could one do against a multitude? The Emperor that used to be bloodily enraged at any disobedience of his men, yet censured not so ill this soldier's violence of love; but gave him a farm in the country as a price for the loss of his boy, and commanded his stipend to be increased. Immediately the Prince burned in lust with this Catamite, and kept him not only for his pleasure, but ranked him highly in his friendship. Which when the soldiers heard▪ he desired much to see his once dear love now in such high honour. Therefore by entreaty and gifts he prevailed with the guard at the door, that when the Emperor dined in his garden, he closely at their backs might see him and the youth together (for he was always admitted to banquet with the Emperor.) At the appointed time he came: the Emperor after that country-fashion sat down on the carpets, and by him the impute Catamit, proud with too great rewards of his unchastity.  
The soldier by chance unwarily stepped forth from his place, so that the Youth spied him, who remembering his old service, ran speedily to him, and kissed his hand. The Emperor, when the Boy returned, starting up, and viewing him with a ●●erne front, and furious eye, asked him whither (false as he was) he had turned. Sir (quoth he) to my old master; whom I could not choose but salute at least. Immediately the Emperor mad, that he had a Rival, with a short sword, which he wore about him, thrust the Boy thorough. But when he saw him fall, he fell upon him to the Earth, and with his breast coue●ing the wound, he bewailed his death. The soldier presently was commanded to die, as being the occasion of so great sorrow to his Prince; but he breaking thorough the tumult, escaped by the favour of the guard, and lurked in concealment till the Emperor was appeased. So that no ties of friendship can be safe from such fell tyrants, who value not only their own safety, but even their pleasures, above the lives of their subjects.  
But the wars in that Nation are now but moderately followed, and not with the fierceness of their forefathers, since their Emperors were idle, whose presence heretofore put greater courage into the soldiers. Their Pratorian bonds in Constantinople, whom they call janissaries, discontinued from the exercise of true war, in idleness and city-delights, are grown to a mutinous, but 〈◊〉 boldness. Hence the proud soldiers begin to lose their discipline, as not fit to endure 〈◊〉 labour or felicity. There were the 〈◊〉 that made the Romans there to 〈…〉. But those of them, which govern Egypt, especially the 〈◊〉 at Great-Ca●re, do with great praise exercise the glory of their old warfare; for, removed far from Court, they are exercised to daily labours, incurbing those troops of robbers, which from the mountaine-tops use to make roads into the valleys.  
But these soldiers valiant only against a troop of flying thieves, and yielding enemies, if they should fall upon the strength of our armies, would perhaps use the 〈◊〉 of their horses, in which they excel, not so much for battle, as for their own safety by flight.  
That use of the bow (the special strength of the Turk) which was once so formidable to the world, is now neglected; I suppose, because this art cannot be attained without much 〈◊〉 and labour of the body; and at this day, the soldiers spoilt with ●ase, and discipline ceasing, will not buy valour at so dear a rate. Their bows are short, and cannot be bend but by those that are skilful; but they discharge their arrows with much more violence than our 〈◊〉 do their leaden bullets. We saw indeed (and could scarce credit our own eyes) a piece of 〈◊〉, three inches thick, pierced by a little arrow. And no less wonder was it, that a shalt wanting an iron head, shot from a bow, thorough the body of an indifferent tree, appeared at both sides. This art was taught to a man of great account among us (when he was at Constantinople) by an old soldier of Sclymans'; who confessed, that skill by the slothfulness of his fellows was quite lost, and that there were scar●e three in that vast Empire, which were careful to preserve in themselves that fortitude of their ancestors, he said, the rest had weak bows, and only dangerous to light-armed men.  
If we would make use of the benefit of God▪ and their vices, what were more easy then at this time to 〈◊〉 those wealthy Provinces out of their barbarous hands, their oldbury, which they accounted valour, being now forgotten? This do those poor Christians, who groan under the yoke of their barbarous tyranny, expect from us, being a great multitude, but destitute of arms and leaders; this, ●ur temples and rites of religion which they wickedly have abolished; and lastly, humanity extinguished, and countries once richly tilled, now rude and desert, nor ever, unless by our aid, able to regain their old lustre. But if any be discouraged, to think of so many attempts, and so much wealth heretofore vainly wasted, whilst our ancestors strived to redeem Syria, Palestine, and Agypt out of the hands of Saracens, and as often with great forces taking expeditions against the Turks; let him consider that they were more vanquished by emulation among themselves, then by those enemies. To let pass the Grecian Princes who were always ill affected to our Western soldiers, how often have we by unprofitable hatred wasted our own strength against ourselves? It were not fit to shame this age with late examples, nor curiously to rehearse old calamities.  
The mortal dissensions of the French and English in those wars, shall be argument enough of grief and caution.  
Richard the first King of England surnamed Cor de-lion, led an Army into Syria, and having revenged the wrongs which Cyprus had done him, he had driven the Sultan to extreme fears, who was advising to deliver up jerusalem, and so make peace with the Christians; when lo, Philip King of France, surnamed Augustus, returning himself from Syria, ill affected to King Richard, marched with his army into Normandy, (Normandy was then under the crown of England) and assaulting his towns, some he took by force, others by fear, and faction. So King Richard's intent on the public quarrel of Christendom, was called home into Europe to preserve his own estate; and the Saracens at that time were by means of the French, delivered from the Christian army; who were afterwards beholding to the English for the like benefit. For scarce an age after, when Philip of Valois, King of France, with all the strength of his Kingdom was bend upon this Pious war, there came to join with him the Kings of Navarre, Arragon, and Bohemia, and many beside, whom either the strength of their kingdoms, or the holiness of the war had invited.  
Their Fleet lay at anchor, which carried forty thousand armed men, and victual for three years; their army to march by land was 300000. men. But this so great preparation, and hope of the Christian world, was quite hindered by Edward the third, King of England, who at that time began to lay claim to the crown of France, as the inheritance of Isabel his mother. So have we turned our strength against our own bowels, and vanquished by ourselves, have given triumphs to Turks and Saracens. These are most sad chances, but great is the comfort, that we have yet strength enough to destroy that barbarous Monarchy. Nor need all the Christian Princes so, 〈◊〉 in this; there are many of them that are alone sufficient to gain this victory. We need no innumerable Army, nor a F●eet to o'erspread the wide Ocean. A man of singular judgement and prowess, and by long experience, well acquainted with the Turkish affairs, was not afraid to promise to his King, that if he would give him a Fleet, and an Army of thirty thousand, with pay for two years, and victual for a year, he would reduce under his dominion Peloponnesus, 〈◊〉, & the greater part of Achaia; which unless he performed, he, desired that that Army which was committed to him, should take punishment of him for deceiving the King, and by 〈◊〉 most cruel death revenge the rashness of his vain promise. The same hope of victory there, and scarce with so much charge, not long since was given to a great King by a 〈◊〉 expert Captain, a man ●oth for dignity, and blood, worthy of the charge of so great an expedition. But death 〈◊〉 his great design, and 〈◊〉 was, whether by poison or no. Both these Captains grounded their hopes upon the strength and warlike discipline of our soldiers, the number of Christians there, and their prayers imploring our arms to their relief; and lastly, the slothfulness of the Turks, who hold by no other title the fame of fortitude, than 〈◊〉 memory of their ancestors not yet wholly expired. But it was the advice of those Captains, that this firebrand must be thrown into the enemy's bosom; and not stand to defend our own bounds, in which, the greatest reward of victory is, to remove the enemy from our Country, who will afterwards return more fierce upon us But if subdued, our own bondage and our Countries is present; and therefore they would not have us stay in Hungary, but marching speedily to encamp ourselves in the midst of Greece or in Thrace. This kind of making war, many of the ancients used; so Hannibal in Italy conquered for Carthage: and Scipio in Africa for the Romans; so lastly, the Turks themselves have conquered those Nations, whom now they govern, by carrying the war into their countries. Nor did the Franks by a slow removed war, as it were, at the entrance salute Gallia, nor the Normans Britain, a kingdom stronger than themselves▪ but broke into those countries, sharing (as it were) before the victory, the reward of victory.  
Besides many helps which we have to this war, our ancestors wanted: They sought out the enemy in the farthest East, then swelling in his first 〈◊〉 of victory, whom we may now find in the bowels of Hungary, and the shores against Italy, waxing old as it were in a full, and shortly ebbing fortune: which we may know by this, because he doth not increase: And we are taught by the errors of our ancestors, so that those very things, in which they failed in those expeditions, may be all cautions to us or better discipline.  
Now also the enemy urges near upon us, that we may almost consult only in this, whether we would vanquish or be vanquished. Young Athmet who is now their tyrant, thinks of war, and threatens Iransiluania, either wearied with his idleness, or to gain esteem among his subjects, he bends his thoughts upon this expedition; from thence arises a great danger to us, when military discipline, languishing among them, may by these incitements be raised up again, and a Prince hitherto slothful, and voluptuous, fleshed with the taste of victory, may come on more hotly to our ruin.  
They say that Charles, the last Duke of Burgundy, spent the first part of his age, not only free from warlike Actions, but in a wonderful love of quiet and repose; afterward, when France was fired with that war, which they called the public good, his affections were turned so quite contrary, that no part of his life was afterwards free from military action. God forbid that Achmet should be raised to such resolutions. But who in so great a danger, would not think it better to take arms, whilst they have not yet shaken off their Lethargy; then to stay 〈◊〉 they grow expert by use, and swelling with victories, should from the midst of Italy and Germany (which God forbid) advance their fatal ensigns, to impose a common slavery upon us all? But if Achmets own lusts do call him back to his slothful idleness, not extruded by us, nor hearing our Arms within his Countries, surely we shall owe this (almost shameful) safety not to our own virtue, but the gift of Fortune.  
After the Turks, let us come to the jews, even in this regard, because they esteem us below the Turks. We asked a jew, Of whom he had the better opinion, Christians or Turks? and could not but wonder at the impudence of the sellow: for in the place where he was, h●e dared not speak ill of Christians, yet he could not hide his mind; but certainly (quoth he) the Turks are content to be circumcised. They are a vagabond au● scattered people, Lords of no Province; a nation eager and able in getting wealth, ●renuous in all merchandise, and thriving by wicked usury. Wheresoever they are, they serve; and their minds tamed, that were heretofore so fierce in maintaining their liberty, do now stoop by custom to this low condition. They have every where mixed their manners, and to their own disposition, (in which with greatest obstinacy they continue) they add the Genius of the place where they are borne. Th●●r minds are obstinate in their own superstition, and scarce can they how much soever they counterfeit) be truly converted to our pi●ty.  
Their bodies are commonly said to stink, and that not without reason, ●or they use a strange●asty carelessness both in their houses, and apparel, and some strange, unusual vapour exhales from them. In greatest wealth they never rise in apperell, either fearing our envy, or loving a parity among themselves. This is a great argument of their servitude, that they are allowed no where to possess land or arms.  
And justly do we take away strength from so hostile a people, who, if they could prevail, would punish us ●●ne worse.  
Now having reckoned up, and called (as it were) to a censure all those people, whose minds and manners it behooveth them to know, that must converse in public among men; let us come to the several kinds of wits and affections; which as they do not altogether, or of right possess any one Nation; so, scattered in all Lands, they abide in many men, and are both the seeds and the nourishment of virtue and vice. * ⁎ *  
FINIS.   

The Tenth Chapter. That besides the Spirit of the Country, every man bathe a proper Disposition and affections given him. The chief of them may be found out, but all of them cannot be written. Of wits that are strong at sudden jests and Sentences. Of others that flow in a natural and facile Eloquence. Of men of 〈◊〉 slow, and deliberate wisdom. That they are most perfect which are placed betwixt those two. Whither those minds are best which are fittest for letters, or administration of public business. Delicate wits are not so fit for centinuall and daily labour, as those of a slow and depressed capacity.  
AS under those Climates, which by reason of much cold, and moist air use to produce people fair and grey eyed, yet some notwithstanding, as if near neighbours to the Sun, are of dusky visages: and in those Regions, which being scorched with the Sun's violence, set a black and thicker tincture on the bloods of their inhabitants, the fairness of some men differs from the usual tawninesse of their Country: So amongst humane people some minds are rude and r●gged, others partake nothing of their country's barbarism. There are some gross minds in a clear air, and some clear minds in an obtuse climate: Nor hath any region the influence of such happy or malignant stars, but that she may find a pattern of all vices and virtues in her inhabitants. For Nature hath granted, besides the Genius of their native Country, something proper to every man: and by a great miracle, among so many ages, and names of people, hath sound out for every man his own lineaments, that may distinguish the habit of his visage and mind from the likeness of other minds and bodies. From hence can no man sooner by contemplation find out the wonderful play of nature, varied in the minds and affections of so many men: than a painter in his tables can include the forms and similitudes of all bodies. Yet let it be lawful for us to survey, as eminent trees in a thick Wood, the chief kinds of dispositions and affections, of which men use to be composed, and by them wholly swayed, and notably distinguished from other men.  
Nor shall it be a superfluous meditation to recount, and examine so many different ranks of men; in which every one may find himself, and see as it were in a sequestered mirror, what himself would either wish or fear to be. And since no kind of disposition is so near bordered upon vice, and leaning to it, but by the reins of prudence may be restrained, and kept in the right way: and none so near a kin to virtue, but by ill usage may be corrupted; it will be good to contemplate the affections of men as they are attended with good or ill, and search out how far they may be hurtful or available; lest we be miss immoderately to praise some; and too unjustly to undervalue others.  
As we recount the dispositions of men, those of a sudden and extemporary wit shall be our first; those, that as often as they list to speak, can in a sudden facetious discourse run through an argument. These men, if they want just weight (as many times it is) as neither eloquent by study, nor wise in counsel; but then only Orator's or Philosophers while they talk, may be valued at such a rate as those wares which being vain and useless of themselves, do by an adulterate varnish cozen the beholder. Of them there are two kinds; some in private and close discourses excel with a short and stinging wit, ever intent upon the follies of other. The other sort comes nearer to the dignity of eloquence, and whensoever they please publicly or at home to discourse, their wit is like a torrent, and their memory doth opportunately prompt them with all things that they have either seen or read. The bravery of both these sorts is admired not only by the ignorant, but sometimes by those of better learning: when they see many jests and sentences with great ease and suddenness flow from such men, which themselves not without much pains and study are able to express.  
For whom can we imagine to come nearer to the image of industry and elegance, than those sudden witted men (to begin with them?) What is more elegant than to find a pretty sentence for every argument? What more courtly than to answer all that is done or spoken either with a sudden jest, or such a wisdom as being easy and at hand, is pleasing for the quickness of it? If this gracefulness be joined with a fair personage, and a secure (though not immoderate) boldness, it will be predominant in all societies, and be pleasing even to those men which are hit by the jests; nay the noise of it will drown the true and exact wisdom of a blessed slow men. But this felicity in speaking is troubled with its proper diseases. Take them from private company, from sudden and broken sentences, from bandying of wit, to an argument of longer discourse: then out of doubt thou shalt con●emne the barrenness of their empty minds, not being furnished for true and lasting wisdom. Nay if those very concise sayings and fine flashes, which thou admirest in them, were written down; that they do not only come forth by 〈◊〉 and vanish again, but be examined by judgement; how idle and foolish would those things seem, which by a vain prejudice, and grace of celerity did before 〈◊〉? Therefore in those men there is no deep and ●asting river of wit, but sudden floods of Nature; for as small waters from high springs, straightened in their passage, do fall with the greater noise down: so these sparks of wisdom, which would presently expire, unless they were caught, do fly with a more vigorous noise out of the custody of these narrow minds, which are only happy in such a kind of abortive wisdom.  
But the other sort, which are copious in longer eloquence, and fitted continually with an unexhausted store of words and sentences, are famous men among the people, when they are heard in public assemblies, Churches, or pleading. They are pleasing also in private society, if they be able to be sometimes silent. But as all living creatures by a secret instigation love to be doing of that thing, in which they are most able; so these men especially delighted in their own eloquence, wherein they excel, can hardly contain themselves within a mean when all occasions of discourse● are; that you may justly wonder, that such absurd men should speak so well. When their tedious discourse is done, and they see those men whom their discourse hath wearied, to look cheerfully, they do not consider that the other are only glad to be dismissed from the trouble of their tedious talk, but think them ravished with a pleasant admiration, and go away resolved to entertain them in that manner again the next time they meet. These large minds, opened by Nature itself to the Series almost of all things, are never exact, or thoroughly soaked in knowledge, but cursorily they taste of all things. And as an Echo can neither keep in those last words which it receives, nor dive any farther into the sentence, so these men with a wonderful ease, and before they are aware (as it were) are guided by Nature to the first glympses of all things and Sciences, but they are scarce able to do, or (almost) to desire any thing p●●fectly or exactly in them. I should think it a great argument that it is only chance & heat, not judgement of the mind, which brings from them so great a copiosity of things, and undigested elegancies; since whatsoever they chance to discourse of, they never fail of this pompous plenty of words and sentences. But whensoever their memory, even in the very course of their speech, prompts them with any thing, they presently divert to that, and anon to another matter, as it happens; and at last, lost in many subjects, they remember not the original of their discourse.  
They therefore being of wandering minds and settled in nothing, are usually unable to attain not only to the highest Prudence, but even the common discretion of other men. Some of them are immoderate praisers of themselves; others not helpful to their friends nor themselves in those offices, which diligent and settled industry should be fitted to. They are for the most part unconstant, and as they waver in actions, so they easily fly from those opinions, which they seemed strongly addicted to. Yet notwithstanding, as they carry a great show of a polite disposition, adorned with all kinds of science, in matter of fame and wealth, they oftentimes possess the rewards which are due to true wisdom; especially if they do understand their own faults as well as abilities, and know subtly how to hide, at least from the common people's eyes, their spots and imperfestions. This especially is attained, if they can govern themselves in talking, and not wander whither soever their desires carry them; and, because by eloquence, as the best condiment, all things are made grateful to the ears, let them by a nice deflection fit diverse discourses to diverse men, and always of that nature as may be able to go beyond the hearer; as for example, among Soldiers or men ignorant of antiquity, let them discourse of divine points, of the rites of the ancients, of the original of people and Nations, and whatsoever hath a show of the most graceful curiosity in the sciences; among Scholars which have only lived in study and contemplation, not employment; let them talk of the fates of people and Rulers, and the Genius of Princes; and lastly contend with no man in his own Art. Nor is it unpleasing in the mixing of discourse, to fall upon those things which are strange and unknown to the society; especially since new things are pleasing, and we conceive●sually a higher, and more reverend opinion of that which we do not know. These Orators are in least danger when they converse with men of a low and narrow disposition, who reverence every thing as sacred and miraculous, which a bold eloquence puts upon them. Therefore they always take those parts which according to the conditions of the hearers, they think most advantageous to their fame. Which is therefore easy to them, because their diffused wits are capable of some instructions in all arts and sciences. Nature, & little use enabling them to speak not improperly in all things; though they cannot be said to be learned in them, but only not to be ignorant of them.  
But for such Orators, to write, is commonly as hard and fatal to their fame, as to speak is easy and graceful to them. For to that easily fluent eloquence the strength of judgement is seldom joined, which must continue the style graceful to posterity. For their prompt, and almost turbulent mind, when in that leisure, which is given to Writers, it revolveth itself, is overladen with the multitude of fancies that meet, and confusedly oppressed with its own wealth, can neither write all which it doth invent, nor judiciously elect the best.  
Lastly, the way of writing is so different from that of speaking, and requiring other kind of Nerves, that even he, who by a strong eloquence could freely run over what he list, in writing doth make but vain strokes, and such as men in their dreams attempt. Yet blinded and corrupted with their own and others flattery, they do many times, by an itch of writing, destroy that same which they had gotten by eloquence. They should do better for themselves, by far, to keep the world in a long expectation of their writing; than to publish books to the hazard of their fame.  
By these cautions, that lively and spreading mind, may conceal his own weakness from the people's eyes, and rise in an opinion of wisdom, whether he be able to govern himself (which you shall not often see) or will admit counsel, and be quiet at the persuasion of his friends: as those, that are but half drunk do yet know that they are not sober, nor will they with too stubborn and obstinate a confidence refuse the admonitions of their friend's.  
Contrary to these men is another so●t, who seem at the first show as far from that virtue which is truly in them, as those eloquent men do from the imperfections, to which they are borne. These men when there is occasion to speak suddenly, have a speech tardy and hard to come off. They do often stick, and are squibbed with jests and taunts, which like little da●●s, are in daily discourse thrown against them by th●se sudden and nimble witted men. Nor do their words only come slowly off: but when heir opinion is required, they are to seek and do not suddenly find what to determine. But when their mind is recollected, and reduced into itself to meditate, they can ●ive wi●h subtlety enough into the depth of affairs and business and conceive fit words to express their meaning. There is in them a deep steng●h opinions true and pro●●●ab●e, not adulterated with Schoo●e-sophistry; but most worthy, if they be scholars and use to write, to be delivered by themselves to posterity. But in ●his, fortune hath 〈◊〉 till with ●hem, that since in the first entrance into speech or business, they resemble men of a dull and narrow soul, they are oftentimes by most 〈◊〉 prejudice neglected and contemned. Therefore the greatness of their minds being sometimes unknown, doth what the favourable hand of Princes to advance them into employments and honours worthy of ●heir industry, even as ●he lustre of most precious wares, if they be wrapped up within bese bundle, without a title, can draw no customers at all to it. Therefore for those men it is a most profitable course, to make their way well, that their inward weith of mind may be known and those Clouds removed which Nature had placed in the entrance to it. And this they may attain unto either by writing (for what is ●ha● else but displaying a Table of the Soul) or by daily exercise to stir up the edge of their slow wit, that it may be known to be as great and strong as it is; and last of all by as inward and long a familiarity as they can, to join themselves to those great men, who by that long experience may not only understand what abilities are in them, but advance them when they know it.  
Between these inconvenient extremes of gravity and levity, is the most worthy disposition, and fit to reach the height of humane dignity. They have a moderate eloquence, then showed, when it is needful and more perfect i● is, when they hare ti●e and study: but in their familiar conversation a discourse 〈◊〉 and clear, not troubled at all with haesitation. A strength of judgement not very much involved and slow; but though it be good on the sudden, yet after delay and consultation it is fa●e stronger. This is the man is built for virtues, and made to express private and public wisdom; or if he give his able mind to vice, the weight of such an extraordinary villainy, which way soever it lean, doth fall with great danger.  
But great minds from those which are dark and ignoble, are in this distinguished by nature; that the first knows his own dignity, and does all things freely, with an erected (though modest) spirit, ever contemplating somewhat that is eminent and full of vigorous majesty: but the close and obscure mind condemns itself to be imprisoned in narrow cogitations and counsels, never daring to depart from his fearful humility. In small matters, not exceeding the measure of his mind, he is exactly diligent; and there is fitted to that disposition a kind of policy, not noble and high, but such as we see in the least and weakest creatures, careful to keep their twne.  
There are some among learned men, who either favouring their own endowments, or deceived with the benefit of learning (which all but the very Barbarians know to be wondrous great) deny that any mind is to be esteemed great, but that which is capable of letters, or can possibly attain to just perfections, unless it be adorned with them. By this means they exclude from the rank of magnanimity and true humanity, men famous for public virtues, and borne to govern people, if they be (forsooth) unfit for the subtiilty of learning: a great error, or rather madness; for they may on the contrary more truly affirm, that no man● fit for civil affairs but one conceived in the riches of nature but many vain and superflud● witted men in the School● have arrived even to the high●est praise, such whose nature confined, as it were, within the bound of some one science● is dazzled at the splendour of that profitable Prudence, to which all other sciences must give place; unless you think not him more truly wise that can play the angur among his Citizens, & fitly compose the commotions of the people, than him, who by a perpetual contemplation doth nothing but observe the eclipses of Sun & Moon, the courses of the stars, and vici●situdes of the year. Those men themselves, who do with such absurd praises extol the Muses, do not account that man only absolute, who is adorned with all kinds of science; but count it enough to make him so, if he do excel in any one kind of learning; as if an excellent Orator be unfit for controverted Philosophy, or if a Philosopher be not capable of eloquence, and altogether ignorant of history and Poetry, yet they will not exclude him from the number of learned and excellent men. That praise therefore, which any one part of learning may gain, how dare they detract from that Science, which consists in governing the people, and is far more excellent than any thing belonging to Mankind! Do they think that wisdom speaks to her Scholars only in Greek and latin, and not rather by a secret inspiration, containing the worth of all languages? It were a poor thing to be borne of an excellent mind, if that excellency lay in nothing but a disposition fitted for Academical learning. Those, whom we account the first Authors of learning, did not sweat in the Schools, and yet we thought them borne under good stars. To compose the manners of the people, to strengthen their Country with wholesome counsel, to examine forreinerites, and transport those that are good, into their own land: to observe also the motions of the heavens, lest the seasons of the year, for profitable uses of the people, should not be known: This than was learning, and this our lettered men do but only imitate. For when those ancients did strive to teach humanity and virtue to the rude minds of the ignorant people, civil Philosophy by that means had her original; when they contended against each other to persuade the people to this or that action, eloquence had then her beginning. Lastly, what doth history, but leave the Prudence and subtleties of those ancients to our now learned men, as their successors, if they be men of action; but if they be of minds unfit for business, then as to registers only, and enroliers of the ancient virtue. For to read history only for contemplation, in a vain and idle pleasure, which passeth away without fruit: but to imitate the virtue of those praised men, is the true and public learning.  
I will not deny but that is indeed a most absolute accomplished Soul, which is framed both for the Commonwealth and Learning too. For then these two endowments do by their mutual aid, advance each other to the sky. His high and active policy doth govern his learning, that it grow not light, nor base: his learning again doth arm that policy, that it should not only trust to experience and knowledge of his own times, but make use of the skill and labours of antiquity.  
But if any man, as sometimes it happens, fit for public employment, and to aid his Country, have no felicity at all in learning, he is notwithstanding to be esteemed of a higher order and elegance, than he, which is only capable of quiet learning, and School subtleties, unfit altogether for civil discipline, which is most useful. Insomuch, as Favorinus may be thought, rather Philosophically then jestingly, to have measured the knowledge of ADRIAN by the greatness of his power. The Emperor Adrian was ambitious of the fame of learning, and lighted by chance upon the Philosopher Favorinus. He being provoked in argument by the Emperor, answered sparingly, and as if he yielded, that the Emperor might freely triumph. His friends blamed him for yielding so soon; but he replied, that they were deceived; for why (quoth she) should not I think him the most learned, which hath twenty Legions? The Philosopher spoke not this without good ground: for to govern discreetly so many Legions, was a point of higher science, than to find out any thing in the Schools by the strongest and most exercised head in Contemplation.  
But the splendour of wit, as of all things else, is often spoilt by too great a confidence of itself. For many conscious to their own weakness, do endeavour by labour to obtain that, which nature had denied to them, and by daily diligence do so mould and frame their minds, that at last they exceil those, which were borne happily to great matters; but considering too much the strength of their own minds, have abstained from labour, as a thing not necessary to them, but altogether superfluous. There is also a great difference even betwixt those, who by industry endeavour to perfect their wits.  
For some of them, whatsoever they purpose as their study and labour, are busied only in the main and highest points of it; but do not so much as let their thoughts descend to the lower and less necessary points. Others are overtaken with a contrary error, who fearing to leave any thing behind them untried and undiscovered, do so strictly search into the least things, and are so desirous perfectly to scan whatsoever they learn, that they cannot make any great Progress in their intended Studies, nor ever arrive at the true and liberal knowledge of that thing, whose every part they have so superstitiously desired to discover.  
Besides, all wits have not the same strength of patience to endure continual labour. For the more subtle and apprehensive that the mind is; so the more easily it penetrateth into any learning; but is dulled the sooner either by greatness or continuance of labour. For such minds are not kept in thick constitutions, but such as are open, and fit to receive aerial draughts, and pervious for the passage of animal and vital spirits; who as more subtly they can display their sharpness, so by their thinness they vanish, and are only repaired by idleness and recreation. And of such men not only the labour, but even the recreation is precious, as filling their discharged minds with a new strength, and for the most part storing their loose and wandering fancies with high, and serious cogitations. As the felicity of rich Fields, when they lie untilled, doth sometime of it own accord plentifully and wantonly produce such Plants, as are not inferior to the best Garden Fruits: So thought COSMO DE MEDICIS, a sufficient Author of Prudence, the Founder of that flourishing Tuscan Monarchy. He had taken his rest quietly, and without care as it seemed, till it was late day; when one of his friends coming in by chance, found him as yet between sleeping and waking▪ And where (quoth he) is that COSMO, to whom we, as to an ARGUS, have committed our Commonwealth? He does not use his eyes so much as in the day time. I have already dispatched all my business both abroad and at home. Cosmo replies; Dost thou think that in diligence thou hast outgone me●, whose very rest is more active and profitable than thy labours?  
Yet some notwithstanding are exempted from this fate; and, though men of great capacity, can endure continual labour; few they are, and bestowed by Nature as her dearest gifts upon the public affairs, who can exercise their deep and piercing wits in lasting diligence, able to undergo perpetual employment, and not confounded with the different face of business; so that they seem to be borne as a relief to humane imbecility, and a preservation of Commonwealths. ⸪   

The eleventh Chapter. Of valiant Minds, rash, fearful, proud, sordid; close and reserved, open and free; of 〈◊〉 minds following all things hotly, but not long.  
Minds undaunted in dangers, and confident in themselves, are as eminent among the common sort, and exalted above others, at as great a distance, as Beds in Gardens, or hillocks in plain Fields. But that disposition is at equal distance sea●ed betwixt the confines of good and ill; and of itself affordeth nothing to those, whom it possesses, but a froward heat, to make them excellent in what ever they follow, virtue, or vice. For those men on both sides, by true valour, or rashness, (two affections of kin, though much different) are stirred up to the pursuit of vice or virtue. Rashness hath almost the ●ame appearance and countenance that valour hath, and doth oftentimes so far deceive, that those, which make themselves the judges of great men's actions, do (which you would think unjust) measure them almost only by the event. How many Soldiers of the basest rank, because they have survived the dangers they underwent, have attained them fame of warlike knowledge, and that dignity which accrues to it? Others have been accused of dotage, because upon the same projects, and in the same dangers they have been ruined. T●berius Gracchus by the love of the people and his own power, was ambitious to be a Lawmaker, & by a combination of the Nobility was put to death; the like destiny his Brother Cajus tasted; they therefore, say some, were men of unadvised rashness. Cajus Caesar by popularity and bounty winning the people, attained to the Sovereign dignity; he therefore was accounted a valiant and wise man. King AGIS contending against the Ephori, was strangled at Sparta with a base halter. CLEOMENES boldly by the deaths of the Ephori, did establish the royal dignity. What shall we censure of both their actions? Chance, or virtue? But this instance is an especial one; ALEXANDER the Great, having quieted Asia, had designed part of his Army to go, and keep Europe in obedience; and the other part to stay with himself, least that any Commotions might arise in the parts of Asia.  
The Soldiers not knowing upon what reason the King divided his forces, do all arise in a fierce mutiny; and casting off obedience, are not at all moved at the presence and speech of Alexander. But he boldly, either through wrath, or policy, leapt from his Throne amongst the maddest of them, and with his own hand drew forth to punishment those men, that had most saucily contradicted him. That Majesty, which could scarce preserve his person, while he sought to appease them, did then guard him in the act of punishing. This action of his by the consternation of his relenting Soldiers, was renowned for high virtue: But GALBA the Emperor going boldly amongst his mutineying Soldiers, was slain in the midst of the Market place. Shall we call this valour or rashness? So near, or almost confused is the reason that mixes this virtue with vice; or, to speak more truly, valour is oftentimes forced to take the ways of rashness; and then scarcely can it be vindicated from the suspicion of that vice, unless the happy success make it honoured: or he, that was driven to that dangerous necessity, have by a long estimation of prudence, deserved to have it thought, that he used not rashly, but by the prescript of judgementt, hose extreme remedies which so nearly trenched upon the vice of rashness.  
Therefore this affection, when it is wary enough, is corrupted with too fatal a confidence in itself; despising all things with too great a scorn, and liable to the mischiefs of pride: apt to boast, not careful enough either to avoid hatred 〈◊〉 gain love, but ●unning headlong with a mad violence, until the indulgence of fortune, and success of rashness be wasted, and no longer able to bear him out. But where this affection can keep a mean, it grows up into most eminent virtue, and raises the courage only in that case, to value the dangers of life and safety, less than the infamy of forsaking their duty, or betraying the cause of piety. But if any man with that undaunted courage can join meekness, and have the power to bridle choler (which commonly waiteth upon the strength of those minds) he is then a man of a most excellent and accomplished society; and being awful in Peace, shall by his ability procure a reverend fear, and by his moderation a loving respect from all that converse with him.  
There is another kind of adulterine boldness, but more safe; which may fall upon spirits of the basest rank; when they dare to do things, not with their own, but others dangers. This, but in name only, doth almost in nothing agree with that courage which we described before; and yet notwithstanding hath not been enough to raise undeserving men to fame and glory. None are more beholding to this boldness, than Generals of Armies and Physicians; one by the danger of their Soldiers, the other of their Patients do attain fame. And indeed how many, not only Generals, but even Tribunes and Centurions have not hunted for fame by the blood of their Soldiers? A hard condition of those common Soldiers, whose praises must be all intercepted by one man! Yet the policy of men in that kind is excusable to preserve the general's, by whose wisdom, more than the strength of the Soldiers, the foes are sometimes vanquished; and the Soldiers upon this condition are entertained, that whensoever the Commonwealth needs them, they are to pour forth their Mercenary lives. But Physicians not by APOLLO the Father of AESCULAPIUS, nor all the Muses, together with APOLLO, can sufficiently be excused; those, I mean, who hasty in acquiring of wealth and fame, love not their Patients, as the sanctity of their calling, and mutual affection of humane society doth require: but esteem them as Sacrifices to their own glo●●●, by a villainy, which is safe, and therefore the oftener practised. They use untried and suspicious medicines at the peril of those, whom they come to cure; not content with the sure rules of Art, and precepts of the ancient, but accusing antiquity, as if they would (if they may be trusted) invent a new art under their own names. If fortune this way do assist their rashness, and the medicine given either for destruction or health (for they know not themselves which) do good either by chance, or the strength of nature in the Patient; they strait have gotten among the people a fame of certain, and almost divine knowledge; and many others by their deaths shall pay for the cure of this one man; while these Physicians do then sin more boldly and even with the applause of dying men. But this Tragical boldness ariseth not from that disposition of mind, by which courageous men (whether valiant or rash) are carried upon high undertake. For boldness or valour is not to be terrified with a man's own danger; and to fear in the behalf of others, is humanity.  
Contrary to this confident and undaunted mind is the timorous nature; which as sometimes it is carried upon honesty, so most commonly it turns to vice. For if it be altogether joined with sloth, as loving security of any nature, it than degenerates into the basest vices, and is altogether unfit for virtue, or for private or public business. But it is hard, unless only when dangers are at hand, to know such cowards; because that, knowing 〈◊〉 themselves this base fear, they strive with diligence to hide the signs of 〈◊〉, and cunningly counterfeit ●old speeches, challenging (as it were) all dangers, when they see they are far from them; but injuries, affronts, and reproaches they can put up, as well as fear. They tremble at every show of threatening fortune; nor do they strive to decline those evils, which they fear so much, by a valiant and constant endeavour, but by a dejected and ignoble way. They esteem the virtue and force of every man, although untried, above their own. They hate all men, and yet admire them with a secret veneration, which is not 〈◊〉 against their wills, but ●●pleasing to them. But, when they may safely, they are very cruel; either to counterfeit courage, or that their base and narrow natures are prone to revenge, or else to prevent their future fear by destroying them that might afterwards threaten them. But their countenances are kind, and much different from their inward cruelty: so that you may think them like quicksands, covered with still waters, but deep and devouring in a storm.  
But especially, where a Prince is altogether of this timorous nature, his Servants, and Subjects have just cause to suspect that softness of mind, which seeks indeed to give content, but is not safe nor happy either to himself or others. For even those men, that durst insult over the captived disposition of their fearful Master, do sadly at the last suffer, in satisfaction of contemned Majesty: and the Prince himself, though he suspect those, whom his inbred cowardliness makes him fear, though he give them respect more than is fitting: yet he hates those men, and sometimes breaks out against them (letting himself loose wholly as it were) with a storm as sudden and violeut, as before basely he had yielded to them. But to have the Servants and Subjects cowardly, is oftentimes of great moment to secure the Majesty of the Prince. But then he must not govern them with too gentle a hand, lest they think he fear them: nor provoke them by too harsh and unseasonable commands, as altogether despising them; for a dangerous insurrection may be made, even of the most cowardly men; where every man, in so general a mutiny, is bold, not trusting to himself, but his fellow's spirits.  
But if any man be so borne to a fearful nature, that yet notwithstanding by prudence and wisdom he can acquire true valour; and where there is need of it, temper his natural fears; he is not only far from baseness, but worthy of exceeding admiration, that can change a weak passion, and most commonly bad, into true virtue. A notable example of fear, joined with these strong virtues, in our father's memory, was a great and renowned Soldier, to whom France in her Wars did owe much. Stout he was of hand, and wise in counsel, yet at the very approach of fight, when the enemies were in sight; filled with a representation of the danger, his Body was so loosened, that he needed a private place to empty himself both of his excrements, and his fear; But when he had recollected his spirits, so skilful he was in marshalling his Soldiers, and so courageous in fight, that you would doubt whether he performed better the office of a Chieftain, or a common Soldier. At the end of his life also, his noble (though calamitous) courage proved to the world that such a pitiful fear may sometimes be joined with true valour. For that tragical battle of Pavy, where King FRANCIS was taken Prisoner, and the French lost their hopes of Italy, was made more sad by the death of this noble Captain. The day before this overthrow, the King called a Council, and, though himself were eager of fight, yet desired his officers to give their advice. This old man did exceedingly persuade the King to stay for supplies, which were already leavyed, and near at hand: desiring him not to throw into hazard (especially at a time unnecessary, and in a foreign land) the estate and welfare of France: that their consultation was not only for the King's honour but his safety. There was in the Council a hot young man, who, of a turbulent spirit, was fitter to begin than continue a fight. He alleged, that nothing was more honourable than that the victory (of which he doubted not) should be gained by fight; that the enemies would receive too much honour if they should be feared by so great a King, and so cheerful an Army; that the King's name had already frighted them, and the French horse would at the first onset tread them under foot; he taunting besides this old Captain, said, it was no marvel though an old man, and fearful, sought delays, whose mind was shaken with his usual fears, and now was seeking a passage through his guts. The old man could not endure the scurrility of so immodest a jest; but I (qd. he) seeing the K. will have us fight, wildy to morrow Turrian honourable death before his face; when thou forgetful of thy brags and rashness, shalt by abase ●light forsake that battle, which now thou hastenest on. This sad Prophecy they both fulfilled; for the young man fled basely from the battle; and the other, through noble wounds in the King's sight, poured out that life, which he before had promised.  
This wary and modest fear may not only be joined to Prudence, but is sometimes a great part of it, and very profitable in those men, for whose too too forward and rash spirits the Common wealth might smart. But those men that by this just and wholesome Art can govern their own minds framed to fearfulness, are usually adorned with a most mild humanity, and full of courtesy; and pious modesty will injure no man; reverencing as it were, even in the basest and poorest men, the communion of minds and mortality. They are by this inbred fear, more troublesome to themselves than others. For secretly within themselves they labour by manly precepts to compose their sick minds distracted with terrors against their wills; but openly they neither think it seemly to confess their timorousness, neither through the impulsions of their unquiet fears do they love to manage any thing either of their own, or committed by their friends.  
The proud and sordid minds are different from the bold and fearful; but borne as it were, upon the borders of them. Pride the tinder of worst dispositions, breaketh forth diverse ways in manifold and heinous vices, obnoxious to all the tortures of hatred, love, and chiefly envy. Perpetual and troublesome are the vexations of those men, which do not so much strive to gain praise, as think it is already due to them. They easily suspect themselves to be neglected, & revenge in themselves with most bitter grief, this scornfulness (as they account it) of other men. They know not their own vices, nor the virtues of others. And when men are of this h●mor, faith, piety, and whatsoever is sacred among men, they value below their fame & thirst of honours. And how much soever succeed, nothing breeds their quiet, but carries them upon new, & more distracting hopes: but there is no greater affliction than when Pride falls upon a man of a fearful & effeminate mind. Shamefastness and fear do then restrain his mad desires: and he in the mean time with a concealed swelling punishes himself. But this disposition is unfit for friendship and every where unpleasing; unless sometimes when pride by the dull and fearful minds of the common people, is adored for magnanimity. But But minds that are base, and of a sordid lowness, as they take no care for high achievements, so they account nothing unworthy to obtain their Lusts. They either sleep in lazy Idleness, and the Lethargy of pleasures; or else gape after wealth with an afflicting desire, that cannot use it when they have it. With such commotions are these abject minds usually troubled. If for a time they be raised with high projects, and seem to follow reason, yet strait they are benumbed by their natural sottishness, and wallow in their former baseness. Those that are sunk in this disposition, are not borne to bear rule: nor yet are they very fit for obedience; for they repine at other men's virtues, which they indeed do neither love nor conceive; and therefore seek for a kind of freedom, in which quietly, and without the check of any man, they may enjoy their own base and narrow affections.  
But we do sometimes favour vices, and give them the names of those virtues which are are near to them. So rashness is honoured for fortitude, and pride adorned with the name of an erected manly nature; and this base dejected humility puts on the colours of humanity, and that simplicity, which is taught by true Philosophy. But we commonly censure no dispositions more unjustly, than those that are open, and apt to do things like rashness. For upon such men, as if they forsook modesty, the brand of levity is stuck: and on the contrary, dull and close minds do among the people carry an image of wisdom; we censure them both amiss, but not without some show of reason. But open and active wits are neither fit for secret malice nor deceit, nor for the most part filled with that malapartness, and other vices, which they may seem to make show of. For in such men a desire of sudden speaking, and harmless jesting is more predominant, than any malicious intent. They scarce brook idleness, still seriously intent upon some action, whether great or small; so that this kind of diligence doth usually shake off those sordid qualities, which commonly grow upon slothful minds. They cannot spare their jests, though against a friend; but the present delight more than any man's wrong, is ●ought by them. They are gentle, not only in admitting friendship, but continuing it; and are not hotly led by that pleasure, which flatters most men (as new) in the beginning of society or business. Whatsoever they take in hand, if they do not exactly perfect it, yet somewhat and that pleasing, out of their own Genius, they will bestow upon it; especially since what they do, is not wrought with anxious labour, but excels in the grace of facility; as if brought by natures own accord to its proper decorum. And if in Learning they write any thing, they offend not the Reader with an opinion of too much pains; for the readers do almost seem to partake of the labour with those Authors, who are known not without much watching and trouble, to force in their sentences and words.  
Contrary to these dispositions, which are not at all disguised, but always (unless it very much avail them to conceal) by an ingenuous confession betray their actions, are those natures, which by a ponderous secrecy, like to wisdom, do hide their intentions and desires. To these men many without further trial do allow the name of virtue and industry. For it is a great show of wisdom to speak sparingly, and by prescript; to bend the brow at every mention of vice; and to affront or injure no man, at least openly or of set malice. And lastly, what can come nearer to the image of an ample Soul, than to seem by a deep and continual commerce to talk with wisdom? For so would you think those men composed, which are given to the forenamed quiet and solitude. But this slow and grave tranquillity has many lurking holes, into which it receives vices also, whose very names he cannot hear publicly without the signs of shame and horror (for they have tender foreheads, and not reserved like their minds.) That silent and imprisoned Army of cogitations cannot always be intent on the studies of industry and true virtue. For as the heats and desires of all men decline from labour to the sweetness of pleasure, so especially theirs do, as being of a more soft and effaeminate nature. Hence comes it that this often and id●e solitude represents unto their minds all manner of pleasures and of vices: in which filthy contemplation they therefore more securely rest, because there they can freely be conscious only to themselves, and openly, with piety, not very laborious, yet enough to gain this credulity of others, adore virtue. But yet do not think that they are always intent in the speculation either of wisdom or vices; for, for the most part, those slow minds do therefore stick, because they find not fit matter of discourse; and in the mean time by their countenances, their silence, or (if thou wilt) weightiness (which as the gravest of men, so the dullest of cattle do express) they gain the estimation of integrity and industry.  
There is another kind of disposition which contains in it almost all these how different so ever, with a wonderful, but not laudable variety. Yet a brave disposition it were, if nature had allowed it a bridle as well as spurs. And that is of men that run into the extremes of whatsoever their affections lead them to. If they would be Religious, presently as if it were not lawful to interpose any recreations among those holy duties, they put on a mortified face, brooking no remission, and a look of such holiness as cannot last. They are proud Censurers of other men's lives, and measure all men's honesty, by their own sudden severity. Then they shake off the pleasure of their old friendships, and cannot brook innocent mirth, which wise men mingle with their cares, as an help either to forget them or overcome them. Anon, when the strength of their minds is broken by too much intention, when they begin to be weary of this rigid piety, which they so unadvisedly followed; not by degrees, and ordinary turning tides (as it we●e,) but like a torrent tur●ing 〈◊〉, they run again 〈…〉 themselves as immede●ately, as before they had forsaken them foolishly; 〈…〉 the very name 〈…〉 with all manner of jests 〈…〉 the Professors of that 〈◊〉 piety, which themselves 〈◊〉 lately left. While they are thus busied; behold, religion comes upon them again, and with a sad repentance drives away that wantonness,; until they begin again to repent themselves of that repentance. Nor are these frequent and immoderate changes only in their religion; but in all things else they err with the same heat. From most entire love they are carried (as it were with a whirlwind) into extremity of hatred; sometimes immoderate in labour: sometimes nerve-lesse in sloth; so in their loves or lusts, and whatsoever else can stir●e up contrary motions in the minds of men. Nor can they govern their speech and silence; if they be taken with a heat of speaking what company soever they come into, themselves have all the talk, and are only heard; By and by when that mirth forsakes them, which made their minds so 〈◊〉 with talk, they sit in a sad silence, and as if collected into a discourse within themselves; so fix their eyes, that they scarce know those that are present, nor hear when they are asked questions; an equal offence on both sides to the sweetness of humane society, whereto speak opportunely, & to be silent only by 〈◊〉, is a lowed by manners.  
But the cause of 〈◊〉 great an 〈◊〉 in those men, is an inward kind of sweetness; by which they suffer themselves wholly 〈…〉 and as that guides them, they avoid or follow. That motion, upon what matter soever it carry them, how full soever of cares and labour, yet presents it first to their minds in a most pleasing shape; and overcoming their minds with a sweet and pleasing violence, carries them away, and forces them to believe it in all things. But when that show 〈◊〉 vanished, and that 〈◊〉 and fugitive sweetness 〈◊〉 another way, they strait follow it. For they are not only impatient 〈…〉 our, but of pleasure itself, as soon as that inward 〈◊〉 temptation is gone. 〈◊〉 this is a sign of a weak 〈◊〉 impotent judgement: a mind form for virtues, but 'tis only for the beginnings of virtues: not stale either in ●aith, or friendship; but every where so unlike to itself that it is distasteful. It 〈◊〉 neither command itself, nor deny any thing. But it is a sad fate, and ill for the people, when men of this unhappy disposition, exempted from the laws of fear or modesty are borne to a Sovereign dignity.   

The twelfth Chapter. Of amorous dispositions, How those affections are tempered, and sometimes changed by Fortune, and diversity of conditions of life.  
But in reckoning up all the affections of Mankind, it were against reason and humanity to forget Love, which reigning in all breasts (except they be altogether barbarous) claimeth notwithstanding a more near jurisdiction over some, and filleth them more with his cares. Love is a sweet and restless desire to be liked by them, who either by chance, or by their own virtue, o● by our error are liked by us; and so creeps upon us from those ambushes, as it were, that we sooner perceive ourselves to be in love, than we think upon the way of loving. It were not hard in the beginning to shake off this load, if it did not by degrees and sweetly assault, so ensnaring those whom it catches, especially unexperienced men, that they suppose it were inhuman, barbarous, and inconvenient to themselves to shake off by a rough severity the sweetness of this flattering mischief. But there is nothing more excellent among men, than this affection, if it be rightly governed. For it sets a certain curious gloss upon all virtues, and sometimes excuses even vice itself. Unjustly do severe men accuse Love, and paint him in a lose and feeble figure: when there is nothing more sincere amongst Mankind, provided that he burn i● just limits, and those raised by virtue, and fire not with an unlawful flame where he is forbidden. 〈◊〉 is this sweet desire stirred up only in young men, and in men of middle age; but boys also in their harmless years, that you may know that this flame is rather borne in worthy breasts, than lights by chance upon them. And 〈◊〉 boys and youths are less 〈◊〉 to govern themselves, 〈…〉 their 〈◊〉, although superfluous: therefore love in them breeds a greater and more anxious care. And from hence their minds are raised to achievements that are high, and above their age; as if by that experiment they would prove to themselves, that they are worthy to be beloved. A young youth that went to School, was by his careful Schoolmasters often admonished to learn his book; but the book was hateful to him, that loved play and liberty. A noble Lady by chance came to that Town, where he lived, with two of her daughters that were Virgins▪ and because there was acquaintance between the tw● families, this youth 〈◊〉 brought by way of visitation to the Lady's lodging. He began immediately to admire one of the young Gentlewomen, then to hold discourse with her, and in conclusion, even the same day, to fall extremely in love with her. Then first his simple and free mind began to be enthralled with cares. The next day he goes again to the place, where he received his unfelt wound, and by prolonged discourses, so fed his malady, that he grew worse and worse. For on the third day the Lady with all her company going out of Town, left this youth scarce a living ●oule. And he, poor wretch (obbed even of that ease) was forced to conceal his flame for fear of being chid by his Father, or mocked by his fellows. After long consultation within himself, he judged no course better for him, than wholly to apply himself to his book; for so he thought he might gain his Father, and in recompense of so great a diligence in study obtain from him a time of recreation. And as a reward of his labour, he had resolved to get leave of his Father, to go to a fair City not fa●re from thence; and that was it in which the Maid dwelled. His Schoolmasters and fellows began to admire his exceeding diligence; and often demand from whence so great a change of mind should proceed, and love to learning in that youth, who not long before disdained the very name of it. For in the morning he would rise to his book before his fellows, and was often bid, before he would go to play. The heat of his love, which caused this diligence, did make both his labour so easy to him, and the Muses so sweet, that, before he was aware, he was taken with a love of them. Afterward (as in that age it often happens) when long absence had made him forget the young Gentlewoman and his hot love, an eager desire of learning did still remain in him. And he following the liberal study, came to so ●igh a proficiency in learning, that all the Muses are much indebted to him.  
But Love a stubborn malady, and not to be cured with that facility, that other affections are, unless it be strangled in the first motion, is hardly removed by any means but length of time; that so wearied it may expire. For while he is in his course, he finds somewhat always to increase, and advance the power he holds. For if the Lover through all his griefs and melancholy thoughts have but arrived at some success; he would think himself too cruel to himself, to banish utterly so sweet a delight from him. But if a more cruel fortune do either too long differ his hopes, or altogether take them away; then also his grief pleases him, and the mind pitying itself, and with sighs revolving the cause of his calamity, melts in the pleasure of so delicate a sadness. But that Love which is hid, is most lasting; either where both the parties are secretly agreed; the very sweetness of the secrecy doth then please them; or where the Love is not mutual, and one only suffers, who with secrecy endures his wound. Nor doth the violence of this affection grow only between the different sexes; for SOCRATES loved ALCIBIADES, and LYCURGUS thought it no ill discipline to ordain that every youth should have his lover. The chastity of nature leading men to just and brave Loves, looks not at all at that difference; and you shall see many of the most honest men tormented with a care (or to call it right) a love of some young men. And this love is a certain tie of benevolence, more hot and violent than to be called friendship. We have then a perpetual desire of instructing them; continual wishes for their safety and Glory; fear for the success of whatsoever they do; and think always that fortune, how lavish soever she be in her favours towards them, doth not recompense their deserts. That also is a fierce and restless desire, which strives for unchaste ends to win a beauty of the different sex. But yet think not but that examples of most pure chastity may continue between different sexes; although the thing so full of danger, do oftentimes deceive them; and they themselves by little and little (ere they be aware, or against their wills) do love otherwise than they either thought or wished to do.  
But the mind of that man, whom Nature moulded for a lover, is mild, expressing in the very countenance modesty, and simple virtue; of a great but merciful spirit; not had to be ent●cated to spare supplyants' and contemn revenge; exceeding penitent when he himself offends; a great lover of offices of humanity, impatient of idleness and all occasions of sloth, unless forgetting the great benefits which he hath received from Nature, he corrupt the felicity of his disposition with lascivious wantoning, and so idleness.  
It were a vain thing to desire to run over the whole variety of 〈…〉 humane dispositions 〈◊〉 which we have hear not down, are as the chief Springs, from whence 〈…〉 flow either to vice or virtue; that by the knowledge of them you may understand what men may be governed who are fit for friendship and society, who are to be feared, and who for their sloth or 〈…〉. to be regarded. For honesty & knavery, dispositions of true or adulterate wisdom, free and narrow minds, and whatsoever is eminent in public and private affairs, is by this fortune of affections distributed to Mankind. From this contemplation of minds virtues and vices shall justly be rewarded: for unless we curiously look into these secrecies of nature, a turbulent disposition will often make itself appear a valiant and vigorous spirit: a dull or vain mind will challenge the estimation due to gravity or true eloquence: and on the other side, virtue will lie unknown, & at the first sight by the opinion or show of some vice, be unjustly depressed below that honour which is due to it.  
But a disposition, which is much reserved and hid, cannot be discovered without a long and prudent search. Therefore th●se, who by the first appearance censure the manners & dispositions of men, do entangle themselves in most fearful errors. For certainly, as in the art of fencing nothing is more dangerous th●n to fight with him that is squint-eyed (for you can scarce conjecture at what place he aims his stroke his eyes seeming to turn the contrary way.) so he that will deal with those men, who either by art, or the benefit of countenance can hide their dispositions, must long & strictly deliberate within himself what opinion to hold of them; lest if he esteem too cruelly or favourably of them, he himself do first rue the rashness of his opinion. The face especially doth often deceive unexperienced men.  
How many of a fierce and formidable countenance have been unjustly avoided, as enemies to humanity, whom as soon as ever thou copest withal, the le●ity, and sweetnese 〈…〉 conversation, will 〈◊〉 opinion quite 〈…〉 by the 〈…〉, and 〈…〉 of 〈…〉 custom have been brought to it; and under this disguise retain a disposition most mild, 〈◊〉, and shaped to all the laws of humanity. There are those on the contrary, in whom, besides a person adulterately form to the show of virtue, thou canst find nothing to be beloved. Some times a countenance betokening quiet lenity doth hide a wrathful and tragic dispositions▪ sometimes vigorous eyes have a Soul quite contrary; last of all, vices do lie, as it were in ambush, under a slight seeming-tincture of those virtues, from which they most degenerate.  
This great and troublesome knowledge of minds cannot altogether ●e desired by praeccept, nor other 〈◊〉 required, than by the 〈…〉 of that 〈…〉 improved himself in this art, not only by his prudence, but his frequent errors.  
But especially take heed that by one 〈◊〉 or vice you do not in general consume the whole 〈◊〉 and disposition of a man. 〈◊〉 many are borne with so happy a towardlinese to one kind of discipline, that 〈◊〉 as they are conversant in that, no tokens of prudence and industry are wanting in them: but in other things they are so foolish and ●●surd, that they scarce seem of a 〈◊〉 mind; others have one particular blemish in 〈…〉, that being wondrous discreet 〈◊〉 in their whole life, they seem to dear 〈◊〉 in one pastor one study. Nay you must not judge, by the sweetness and elegance of their society, and conversation itself, of their wit and wisdom. For oftentimes in daily conversation men of a narrow mind are less offensive than those whom the greatness of a cheerful nature hath made more careless; whilst they being di●●ident do fearfully set a watch upon themselves; or perpetually study (as being not capable of greater matters) how to frame themselves to a fashionable behaviour: but the other of a more capacious nature, do either neglect such vulgar things, or else carelessly admit some vices as attendants upon their virtues.  
But it is not enough to find out this diversity of human minds, as nature only hath stamped it. There is another thing beside, that may either perfect or change a disposition: namely their estate of life; either that wretched condition or high dignity, to which every man either by chance or his own virtue arriveth. How may, that were borne to a right and mild disposition, have by the fault of too much felicity corrupted their natures? How many high and vigorous minds, which, if fortune had suffered, had grown to be examples of all virtue, oppressed by lasting poverty, and cruelty of fortune, have 〈…〉 forgotten their own worth, and degenerated into affections quite contrary? Athenion in his behaviour a public example of honesty, as long as in the University with thin diet and mean clothing, he declaimed for Virtue; having once gotten the Sovereign power, did strait, together with his poor clothes, put off his Philosophy. Abdolominus having long been used with his own hands to g●t a living by dressing the Garden, when he was elected to the Kingdom of Sidonia, wished that he might bear his royal fortune with the same modesty and moderation that he had borne his poverty. Now therefore let us consider also those affections, which by the condition of Fortune, or manner of life are added to men; and oftentimes do kill those manners, which the simplicity of Nature oppressed by no calamities, or enticed by no temptations, had bred in them.   

The thirteenth Chapter. That there is a difference between the Dispositions of tyrants and lawful Princes; and again between those Kings, who come to their Crowns by right of Inheritance, and by Election. Of the dispositions of Noblemen gracious with Kings.  
THose people, who subject themselves to no Sceptre, though they abhor the name of servitude, yet do not enjoy true liberty. For they must needs elect Magistrates, to whom they give jurisdiction over themselves; and the public power, which they glory to be in the whole Nations, is adored in a few men; so that in those Countries, where you would think all did reign, the greatest part are Servants; a secret law of things dispensing so the frame and order of the world, that by the nerves of one head (according to the rule of the Deity) many members should be governed. This spirit of Government, which loves to reside in a few doth more plainly show itself in the Aristocracy, but most of all in a Monarchy, where all the power is in one. But that height of power, to which GOD by a secret instinct has subjected Men, was not ordained for their sakes, which possess the dignity, but those that are subject to it. Therefore when Kings have abused their dignity according as their pleasures and ambition swayed them; or the people's ignorance hath not understood their own commodity, the name of Kings hath oftentimes grown hateful, and Monarchy with much blood and slaughter hath been banished out of many Countries, and again restored.  
All those Commonwealths that flourished heretofore, had Kings at the first. But they being expelled by those that understood not true liberty, either the blind popular government succeeded them, or else the rule of the Nobility; that is, many Kings in stead of one. And as a member, which by violence is put out of joint, cannot be put into joint but by violence again; so those Provinces, which by this means had cast off the best form of government, could not again, until they had cruelly paid for that error, be restored, & reduced to their first right estate. For in those Commonwealths, some citizens swelling with ambition, had either by arms made their names great, or by the people's error engrossed too great and too little offices; or else had seized into their own hands the strength of the Commonwealth, and called themselves Kings. But they growing fierce (as it must needs be in a new and hated State) did so pollute their reigns, which they by treason had gotten, that the people for their sakes thought worse of Kings than ever they had done, and the name Tyrant, which was once an honour to all Monarches, became a word of hatred, and public infamy.  
But he, that will consider those affections, which Kings by the greatness of their dignity do nourish in them, must not esteem alike the state of all Kings. Those different ways that bring them to their height, do cause different minds in them: and those that reign in a new-setled Monarchy, do carry themselves in another manner than those who safely, and by the people's wishes reign over a Nation long accustomed to that government. And different also are the minds of a King crowned by Election (as in Hungary, Denmark, and the Roman Empire) and such a King as reigneth by inheritance, and possesseth that state which his Father, and Grandsires held before him. New kingdoms not well established by time nor the constancy of the people, do fill their Princes with continual suspicions. They flatter the meanest subjects, and fear the Nobility, especially whilst they think themselves are feared; and daily consider with themselves that their estate, not yet settled, may by the motion of fortune as easily be overthrown as it was raised. Nor are tyrants only, that came unjustly to their crowns, disquieted with these thoughts: but those also, who are lawfully chosen over such Nations as have not been accustomed to the name and authority of a King. But this fear is greater in Tyrants. For if they have subjected a Commonwealth, they fear the Nobility, as men that will vindicate their lost liberty, and loath to serve him who lately was their equal: Or if they have invaded a Monarchy, and expelled the true heirs; with a continual care and vexation they suspect and fear the people's hearts, as inclining to their ancient Lords. Therefore they dare not trust their friends, because being privy to their counsels, they know also the means which way their Kingdoms may be undermined; and expect fidelity from no man, since themselves have violated it. But in open show, and with a garb put on of set purpose, they seek occasions of doing courtesies, and ambitiously affect the fame of integrity, and love to their Country. They are exceedingly liberal to the poor; great punishers of those vices, of which themselves gave example, and lastly either Authors or restorers of the best Laws, and public buildings for ornament of the City; to decline by those means the present envy, and infamy of posterity.  
In this manner a Tyrant is either bad by the fault of his condition, not his disposition, or else is good by necessity. His mind is wonderfully austere, his countenance wild, his thoughts ready upon all occasions, especially those occasions which he fears; true pleasure he doth not know, but is led with a hope of it; and with vain pomp sweetening his inward cruel cares, he doth as it were cousin his own mind. But a lawful King either by election or inheritance, confident in the right of his royalty, doth not so descend to base fears, or wicked preventions; although perchance he fall upon turbulent times, mad Subjects, and whatsoever else a Tyrant feareth. But those Princes, which owe their fortune to election, whose royalty continues not in their family, being as it were, private men in one respect, namely as they consider their posterity, do seldom with their whole care and endeavour so much procure the public good, as those Princes which receiving the Kingdom from their Ancestors, strive to adorn it for their own Posterity. Therefore those cares which are due to the public, they bestow upon their domestic affairs, in a piety which may be excused, if they can fitly divide their thoughts, and look both ways, so to remember their family, that they forget not their public charge. But if by chance they hope or desire top refer any of their own blood to the succession, then by rewards and courtesy the people's suffrages must be bought; Force must be omitted, and Majesty itself laid aside. So by a● hidden and troublesome care his mind is a Servant even to those men, by whom in public he is served and adored. In such cares oftentimes for their private family, is the industry of those men taken up, who for their Heroical virtues, did before seem worthy to wear a Crown.  
Many times they decline to the worse part, corrupting their manners, exercising with revenge their ancient hatreds and aemulations: when not forgetting who were before at dissension with them, or who were cross in voices to their election; their new power, not yet able to govern and contain itself, doth swell only with desire of revenge.  
But if they be troubled with none of these mischiefs, yet for the most part they are ambitious to do strange and wonderful things, and by them to renown themselves and their times to Posterity. These high desire● may aswell be inconvenient as profitable to the Commonwealth. For as in Apples and Berries too early and forced ripeness is only pleasant because of the novelty of it; but the Trees themselves by such forced manuring, and unseasonable heats, after this fruit is brought forth, do presently decay: so in public affairs, especially the greatest, acertaine order is to be observed; and those who pervert or praecipitate those affairs, do seem as it were to kill the Commonwealth. Yet notwithstanding elected Kings, almost in all ages, burning with desire of a lasting fame, have either raised Wars abroad, or sought to innovate something in their own Realms; to gain a name by their own boldness and the danger of their men; and perchance valuing it at that rate. Few of them with Stephanus Ba●tor●us the King of Poland do measure their actions not by their own profit but the welfare of their country. There is a saying of his extant, worthy to express the bravery of his disposition; I will make the world (quoth he) understand how much a King chosen for virtue by the consent of a Nation, is better than he, whom right of succession thrusts upon the shoulders of unwilling people.  
But those Kings to whom most truly this name of Majesty belongs, who leave to their children that perpetuated honour which they received from their ancestors, & now owing nothing to the people's voices, from whom a● came at the first, may seem born to reign with another Ge●t●. But to search out this disposition of theirs, that oweth itself only to God, may perchance be too sacrilegious a wisdom. Nor is it lawful for us to pry into those affections, which the power of heaven hath inspired into them for governing o● the world, for alteration of states, & managing the fates of Mankind. Some that are curious may perchance inquire whether it were better for Kings to begin their reigns in their childhoood, so accustomed to that greatness, as a thing borne with them, than to grow up under the reign of their Fathers or kinsmen, and afterward receive their great inheritance; whether a quiet and obedient people do soften and spoil a Prince's disposition, while his power has a free swinge; or rather that love of the Subjects do not endear the Prince his affections to them, as the master of a family to dutiful Servants. Lastly, if a lawful Prince, by the people's ill affection toward him, be forced to fight for his own right, whether after the victory he will reign cruelly, showing an hatred and contempt of them; or rather strive to appease them by a mutual respect, as remembering the past dangers to be such, as may return more heavily upon him. Arguments and examples are not wanting on both sides, (which in the changes of humane affairs,) although proceeding from the same causes, have not always found the same events.  
But it is in vain to search into these decrees of heaven; let the Kingly height not be touched with curious cogitations, but pried into only with adoration, as the secret mysteries of religion were: for it is piety to wish for good Princes, but to condemn bad ones is unlawful. And seeing moreover that they do not so much govern themselves, as give way to the fates leading (who by their affections do ordain the declinations and growth of States) all art and wisdom, that looks into their Genius, and conjectures of it, is oft deceived.  
The first step from this great height is the condition of Noblemen. Either thoser whom Kings choose for Counselors, to share with them the cares of the Commonwealth; or those who by a great and entire tie of love are endeared to their Kings. Through both these, as through the mouths of rivers which discharge themselves into a great Sea, are the desires and hopes of the people carried. But they, as being advanced for different respects, have different ways and dispositions. Those therefore who by their flower of age, or high birth, or sweetness of behaviour, are highly endeared in Prince's Favours, have for the most part minds bend to please; which although denied to their own affections, they square according to the disposition of their Lord. This is indeed a wonderful kind of servitude, and full of subtle art; hiding sometimes a base and abject mind, sometimes a free and bold disposition. Sometimes to follow pleasure, to sport or jest well, is as useful to them as the greatest labour; Nay even to exercise a kind of state over their Princes, and almost reign (but not too long and wantonly) doth more kindle the Prince's affections to them, who desire as well to be beloved, as to love. For Lords that are advanced to that slippery height of favour, if they know their Prince to be of a soft nature, not brooking enough a continual use of the same pleasures, must sparingly bestow their pleasing looks, or jests, or whatsoever in them is delightful to him; dispensing them in so prudent a manner, that affection stirred up often and by intermissions, may neither breed a loathing, nor by neglect and oblivion be blotted out. But if the Prince be easy and apt to change often his affections and Favourites, but wheresoever he apply him elf, his love as it is short, so is it blind and vehement; The Favourites remembering that they are now in a high tide, but shall shortly return to their own Sea, do make most greedy use of their felicity. For they are not afraid by importune suits to weary this affection of the Prince, which unless it be timely taken and made use of, like wines, which last not, it decays and perishes of itself.  
But far different ways are to be taken with those Princes, who lose not themselves in a torrent of affection, but to that sweetness of nature, which makes them love, do join reason also. For this affection, being true indeed, and perpetual (if they deserve it) as it can never do all things, so has always power to do something. Nor must you rob altogether that tree, but gather with choice the fruit of it, which will grow again for you. There fore the Favourites of such Princes, do wholly haply themselves to them; and never forgetting their Majesty, do always in their love give due observance, modestly use their freedom of speaking or advising, and ofter consider that they are Princes, than that themselves are Favourites. Those Favourites as it is their first care, to hold up themselves in that height of grace, so always make it their second endeavour to raise Estates, to get Offices and governments, that if they do remove from that height of favour, yet they may still retain some happy monument of their former power, and a stay to their afterlife. But those, who forgetting themselves, and too much trusting to their fortune, in prodigal riot do consume all the wealth and revenue of that rich favour, are worthy of a poor old age, and then in vain to repent themselves of their unseasonable and ill acting so high a part.  
Those Favourites also must use one caution, which, if they neglect it, doth sometimes ruin them; not to prefer themselves before their Prince in any thing in which he either desires to excel, or thinks hedoth. If he love the fame of policy, eloquence, valour, of the art of war or hunting; let him yield, that knows himself to excel at it; for fear the Prince should be fired with an emulation, that may not only extinguish the favour, but draw on a cruel and heavy displeasure. For many times the Prince's mind (with an ambition not small, but more than the thing deserves) is desirous of fame in such matters, and takes it heavily to lose the prize. There is no certainer way for those Lords to gain their Prince's affections, than to seem admirers of them; but it must be done with art, and so as may gain belief, for all do not lie open to the same flatteries. Every Prince who either is conscious of virtue in himself, or swelled with vain credulity, either may be or loves to be deceived by those arts; so many men striving to please and praise them do quite overcome their modesty, and make them believe great matters of themselves. Another great art of gaining their favour is to seem to love them, some Venus (as it were) insinuating an officious grace, and requi●ing from them a requital of affection. That man i● yet alive, and enjoys the height of his fortune, who by such a happy accident increased the love and favour which his master began to bear him. The King by chance with a fall from his horse bruising his side, fell into a Fever; this Lord with a sad & astonished countenance watched all night without sleep by his master's side. Whether it were art or piety, he so far wrought upon the K. affection, that none was afterward in greater grace with him.  
Nor can we say that the disposing of so great a felicity (which foam few only can enjoy, having so many rivals in compassing that happy favour) is only in the hands of Fortune. For as Fortune alone doth bring some men into King's favours; so many of them for want of art and wisdom do fall again from that height; so that it may be said to be in Fortune's power, sometimes to raise men to it; but of prudence to keep them in it. But it is therefore a more fearful thing to fall from that happiness, because having been once admitted into the Sacrament of so high a friendship, they can hardly fall from it, but they fall into hatred, or at least a kind of loathing; for love doth not so often use to dye of itself, a● to be killed by a contrary affection.  
But those Noblemen, by whose hands Princes do manage the greatest affairs of their Kingdoms, to whom they trust their secret counsels, and the ordering of foreign and domestic affairs, do commonly temper the strength of their dignity after another way; as namely so to draw all the deepest and greatest cares of the realm into their own hands, and so to appropriate them to themselves, that they stand not in so much need of their Country, as their Country does of their Service. And this they attain by a perpetual diligence in those affairs, and removing, as far they can, not only others, but even the King himself from the knowledge of them. For they may safely manage all things when the Prince is plunged either in ignorance of his own business, or credulity toward them. But these men being ignorant of their own fame, do as seldom almost hear the truth as Kings themselves. For although they be infamous for extortion or pride, or any other wickedness, and so generally spoken of by the common voice, yet themselves many times know nothing of it, until being overwhelmed with the weight of them, they begin at the same time to feel the hatred and punishment too. Their countenances for the most part are composed of gravity; access to them is not easy; therefore discourses are short, showing much business, and a kind of Majesty. Among these there are some, few, whose looks are neither confused with business, nor swelled with pride. These are worthy of high praise indeed; nor are the other to be condemned, who fashion their manners according to their dignity and fortunes. For this high Majesty, above the vulgars' pitch, is sometimes necessary, in those men, by whose hands Kings do manage their greatest affairs: especially seeing the difficulty of access & conference begets a reverence toward them; whereby the minds of common people are bridled; for the people commonly do either fear or contemn. But that asperity of a strict countenance, whether it be disdain, or a true valuation of their power, may well be forgiven in them, who for a reward of all their weighty cares, have this especially, as a token of honour and respect. Besides being worn, as tt were, with continual trouble and business, they cannot always put on the same countenances, or look with a clear, and unchanged visage.  
But if that power, and ability to help or deceive, do fall upon impious minds, who intent wholly upon their own profit, neglect the public safety: then although in their wickedness they sergeant virtue never so subtly, (as if neglecting their own domestic affairs, they were careful only for their Prince and Country;) they turn notwithstanding all their businesses that way, which tends to the preservation and increase of their own dignity. If they can help themselves while the King's estate is troubled: while with all diligence they seem to clear it, they do but involve it into more difficulties, and throw it into dark perplexities. But if in a quiet kingdom they can more securely reign, then of necessity they hate all com●motions, and will rather suffer the peace of their times to continue, though growing in the seeds of all evil, and perchance to the ruin of posterity. Lastly, the same desires, which possess elected Kings, do commonly feed these Statesmen: both of them holding a sudden transitory power, which is not at all to descend upon their posterity.  
Who therefore can choose but admire those men, which in so great a place can keep integrity, and remember true virtue, when it lies in their power to offend with so much ease, and so much advantage? Some such in every age, to the relief of Mankind, have come upon the stage, men severe to themselves, of a white & innocent honour, ambitious of nothing but the public good. But the goodness of these men many times cannot keep them safe from envy. For by the very slipperiness of their dignity (upon which few are strong enough to stand) and the vices of their fellows, their virtue oftentimes is wronged; and detracting tongues will never leave those eminent places, in which they may find matter of railing, sometimes justly, but never without suspicion.  
But glorious is the fruit of such a dignity: that being safe, and out of their ●each, they see the envy of other men against them; and those men forced to give them respect, whom they know maliciously bend, hiding their emulation, and striving to express love. For such envy joined with admiration, and stirred up only against felicity, doth yield (I know not in what sense) a kind of ambitious pleasure to those men, against whom it rises, as putting them in mind of their own greatness, and the baseness of other men.  
But they have another, and far more excellent prerogative in governing the Commonwealth, that can lend a helping hand to brave and virtuous men, whom poverty or some other calamity doth keep down, and be ready, as it were, to aid distressed nature. Which thing as it becometh them to perform, so can they not leave it undone without suffering of punishment in themselves for it, as secretly chidden by the indignation of good men, and upbraided by the image of virtue daily complaining within them: For seeing they did deserve to be advanced for this very reason, because they either are or seem to be men of the ancient and prudent industry; Why should not they acknowledge men of that excellent quality, and dear love those that are of kindred with their own dispositions? Nor are they ignorant which they be, or where they may be found. For as all other living creatures, unless they be stark blind, can see and know those that are of their own kind: so these men being of so clear a sight, of so eminent and full a judgement, cannot choose but find out, without mistaking, men that are of kindred to their own excellencies. And let them not say that they are oppressed with the multitude of such natures, and that neither themselves nor the Commonwealth are sufficient to provide for all of them; it were well with Mankind, if there were so great a plenty of excellent souls, that, when all public affairs were committed to them, some would be still left, bestowed by God upon the world, as it were, for no action or employment. But Mankind is not happy in such a plenty; and it was rare in all ages, and among all Nations to find a deep and pure wit, fit to be employed in any kind of civility, one adorned with learning, and borne with a clear and valiant modesty, to dare all things, but nothing too much. When great men invite such dispositions to partake with them in the public felicity, they do first honour themselves, as of kindred to that Genius; and secondly add strength to the commonwealth, which is never better governed than by wise men. As the fame of all eminent arts is stained by the multitude of artificers, & the unskilfulness of them, most of them being unable to do what they promise, & seeking for their commendation only the vain name of such an art: so the fame of wisdom and science hath been oft stained by unworthy men, who have studied nothing less than the Muses, or true Prudence. But it concerns great men to keep down that counterfeit and adulterate virtue; and advance true industry, vindicated from the praejudice of unskilful men, to such rewards as, of justice, are due to it.   

The fourteenth Chapter. Of the studies and desires of Courtiers; Of the different natures and affections of rich and poor men.  
BEsides these two sorts of great men, befriended by Fortune, there are in Kings Courts a great multitude of men of all births, noble and upstart, of all estates and ages, who there seek after wealth, fame, and favour. And these houses of Princes, though to the outward show they appear as places composed to all jollity and pleasure, sometimes filled with revels, sometimes (for a change of recreation) sweeting with hunting games; full of honours, glittering in pompous and gorgeous attire, and rich banquet; where every man seems to live in a garb of magnificence, and jollity above his condition: Yet to him that looks more narrowly into the nature of it, they will appear in manner of Fairs or Markets, where men do exercise a most laborious kind of traffic. How many arts, how many troubles belong to a Court life, scarce they themselves can tell you, who have that way suffered along time for their ambition. Nor does any man in this Sea deserve the haven, but he that understands that a continual care and labour belongs to him to turn even those things, which in such a life seem to flatter a man with soft shows of pleasure into severe uses; and always in those very delights, find out matter of care and industry. For as the hardest labours may grow into a delight (as when immoderate hunting; or too watchful studies are pleasing to a strong and uncurbed mind:) so all kinds of sport may by a severe intention be so tempered, that they may turn to the burden of a true labour. Therefore the recreations and delights, which are found in the Court jollity, do no way take the wisdom of those men who have not yet satisfied their wants and ambition▪ to make them, among the●● fading images of felicity, forget that themselves are not yet happy, and let slip fortune, who for the most part never bestows herself upon any man, but as the reward of an unwearied and strong diligence.  
Wouldst thou know therefore how, and with what countenance to receive these Sirens, left if thou harken to them, they hurt thee, or if too rustickly thou conte●nne them, they proscribe thee as too unseasonably grave? There is no need of a stern cou●nance or barbarous precepts. If they be of such a condition, age, and person, as they may hope to thrive by these revels and Court sports, then artificially they mould themselves to that magnificence, and pursue the fame of Courtship; and especially turn their garb to that kind of jollity, which is most pleasing to the Prince. But neither is it good for them with the waist of their Patrimonies to buy the miseries of along hope: nor to let these loose and pleasant-seeming baits mollify and corrupt their minds; thinking dally with themselves, that they are now at the hunting, not the prey. But others which are not by the same fortune invited to these shows of delight (as unfit for them in condition or disposition) suffer not themselves to be deceived with that error which the other unwary Gallants are, as to think that a man cannot be a brave fellow, or accounted a Courtier, unless he be eminent for extreme boldness, and all expressions of wanton jollity. They know that ingenious virtue can there open to them other ways, & more secure, to wealth and honour. And that Princes do more certainly esteem and reverence a man, that understands his own condition and Genius, and follows that, without any disguise or vain pride, than such men, as ambitiously counterfeit and put on a grab, which fortune hath denied to their persons and conditions. This moderation do those wise men keep, who come to such Court-baites, as to an art, to make use of them rather than enjoy them; but let them, whom Fortune has not condemned to soluxurious a charge, taste these delights in sober pleasure, and as a recreation only to their greater cares. And rather as Spectators, then to be themselves a part of the Scene; Lastly those who possess fortunes either by their own industry, or their ancestors, may be allowed to follow those pleasures and recreations, as sorting with their rank and quality.  
Nor is it wonder if those men be unfit for great matters whom sluggish Luxury, that looked no farther than itself, has as it were bewitched; since a watchful diligence letting pass no occasion, is not more required in any kind of life, than that of a Courtier. For as trees grow from little seeds, and a man may stride over the fountain of greatest rivers: so in Court greatest felicity hath sprung from very small beginnings, and such as have not been perceived by eyes intent only upon Plays and recreations.  
METELLA obtained the marriage of DICTATOR SCYLLA by this accident; coming into the Theatre, and lightly laying her hand on his shoulder as he sat, she said, she desired to partake of his fortune. MARIUS in his beginning poverty received his first encouragement from an accidental speech of SCIPIO, as prophetically pointing him out to the height of warlike honour. For he knew how the hearers of this speech might be kept in this praejudication, and the greatness of his growing fame from thence made up. So sometimes by a little and light blast we are put in mind of a commodious wind, which if we follow, will carry our vessel to such fortunes as were above our hopes, and almost above envy. It has raised some only to light upon a great man, when he was pleasant and free, and open to any acquaintance which fortune brought him: some by a seasonable and happy sentence or jest: some by a sudden token expressed by chance of spirit or industry, some by a casual commendation of one, who aimed not at that when he spoke, have been strangely furthered in the way of advancement.  
There is therefore in men that are worthy to follow the Court with fortune, no rash soul, nor impatient of lingering and manifold hopes, but composed, and always looking upon Fortune, and curious enough to find out whatsoever she, though implicitly, promise to him. Nor do they wait idly until those seeds of felicity do of their own accords, fall upon them. But by great arts they further Fortunes good meaning to them; of which the chiefest are to have friendship with many, but with still observance, to keep the favour of one of those which are of the nearest familiarity with the Prince. For that way of rising is not so open to envy, and beside, the King's friends, more than the King himself, do often bestow the wealth of the Kingdom. Let that Nobleman be such a one, as can prefer his friends with public benefits; for great noblemen neither will give away their wealth, nor, if they would can those rivers afford such strong tides, as a P. his sea can do.  
Nor must they weary the favour of that Nobleman with often and unprofitable suits; lest the very sight of them grow offensive to him, as fearing always a fresh trouble; or else least spending his favour in small matters, they become much indebted to him (as ever granting their suits) but little to fortune. In Fables we see that point of wisdom expressed. NEPTUNE granted to his son THESEUS th●ee wishes, and confirmed by a great oath that he should obtain them. THESEUS' having twice tried the God's fidelity, when now his last wish remained, he was so loath to throw away that certain benefit, which he could never call back again, that at the time of his imprisonment in Hell, when B●●STHO●S was 〈◊〉, he did not invoke the promised aid of his Father, but ●●ared (as if there were somewhat beyond death) to redeem his safety at so great a price.  
There is in Court another labour of eminent profit; to be able to turn thy nimble and active mind several ways, and to put on, at least in show, any motion or garb that may be pleasing; which scarce any man can fitly do, without strong and austere diligence, and a great command over his own desires. By this art have many men gotten both estates and honours, either in free Commonwealths, in which so many Lords cannot be all pleased with one virtue or one vice; or in King's Courts, where you must not only fashion your studies to the Princes own honour, but must court all that are in grace with him; who being oft of various dispositions must be won by different kinds of service.  
These and the like studies of anxious diligence do they take who follow the Court upon right hopes, and precepts of true Prudence: but these things are either not discerned, or else despised by the more tha● blinded young Courtiers; who oftentimes unworthy of their parents careful pains, fall away from their wealthy modesty in a luxurius (& afterwards needy) ambition. It is enough for them to be named Courtiers, & numbered among men of honour; it may be, because it is the first liberty that they taste after they are freed from the jurisdiction of their Schoolmasters; and there are enough there to draw these novices into deba●shment. But if they chance to receive the least grace in countenance or words from the Prince himself, they are scaarce able to bear so proud a joy; but with ravished eyes loo●● about them to see who are by, to witness this great honour. But especially they seek after the fame of revelling and wanton Courtship, as a note of Nobility and manly virtue; nor do they moderate themselves according to their own estates, but to the expenses of great men; so emulating the course of those that are above them, and not able to keep pace with them, they run themselves out of breath, and faint. From hence they grow heavily in debt, and complain against the Prince, where themselves are in fault; as if the Prince could infuse wisdom's into all his Servants; or that his sacred treasury, and through that, the Commonwealth should suffer for the profuse madness of these wanton fools.  
There, are not only in Courts, but in all kinds of life, different dispositions of rich and poor men. I call not only those poor men, who are in extreme want, and driven to take miserable care for meat and clothes, but those al●o which want estates to support them in that state of li●e, which they have taken; and ●●om which they cannot de●●end but by a sad confession of poverty. Some poor men do openly vent their grief; and had rather complain of the wretchedness of their condition, than excuse or conceal it. So to the great ease of their calamity, they can openly child Fortune, and avoid a greater trouble than poverty, which is, to counterfeit wealth. By this means they can enure themselves to bear their misfortune, and by professed labour seek a remedy against that grief, which they do not hide. Men become of this nature, either by their low birth, which keeps them from blushing at poverty; or else (which is almost a vice) they are so subdued and tamed by Fortune's lashes, that they dare breathe no higher; or lastly by a brave and commendable contempt of transitory things, disdaining to profess that condition, in which the fates have placed them; able to manage great fortunes, and in poor estates not dejected.  
There is another kind of poor men, who with an obstinate and Spartan patience can endure all the strokes of fortune. They with a merry-seeming countenance, do hide the anxiety of their ca●e-distracted minds, and think themselves happy enough, if they can seem so to others. So in an obstinate concealment of their miseries, they suffer inwardly for that shamefastness, being ever solicitous about their public fame, and moreover the talk of their household Servants, who must both know, and sometimes feel those wounds. As many of those poor men as do see help at hand, and near to them upon certainty (which is enough to make cities stiffly endure a siege) & have for a while with feigned cheerfulness hid their poverty, do not only deserve not to be accused of pride, but to be accounted brave men, and worthy to be speedily rescued by prosperity. But those men, which in their poverty, do suffer that perpetual vexation, without any expectation of fortune's redress (at least not hopeful) yet will so order their affairs, as in midst of perpetual domestic miseries, they will put on this mask of wealth; they are altogether worthy of pity, and may without envy enjoy that ambition, which with so many cares and calamities they have purchased. There are lastly some, through whom wealth, like sudden gushes of water, doth pass and spend itself in a magnificence too high for it. Their minds do suffer a wonderful punishment, and worthy of their madness; nor is there a greater or worse madness, than, not to decline, by a mature confession of thy fortunes, a certain ruin; and whilst by a charge that cannot last, thou wouldst have the people think thy estate great; thou makest it so small that it can never after stand in any mediocrity. This is especially the fault of Noblemen and young Gentlemen, that come newly to their inheritances, who are of an haughty disposition, not knowing frugality, but by a profusion of wealth seeking a fame higher than their own estates, or the fortune of their ancestors. Their minds are troubled with long maladies, and fall oftentimes from that greatness, which they seem to carry; for there is scarce any humility, nor oftentimes plain fraud, but they will secretly descend to it, to get money, which afterwards publicly, as it were in a whirlwind of inconsiderate rashness, they may pro●●●ely throw away. There is nothing more dangerous than to commit any public office to such dispositins, who by any means strive to respite that Poverty, with an anxious fear, but such an one as is not penitent, they daily and justly expect.  
There are also as many diversities in the condition of rich men as of poote. Some are born to estates left by their ancestors. Other men by degrees do get wealth, & learn by little and little to be fortunate. Both of these are neither transported with admiration of themselves, nor with immode are exultation, long custom having almost destroyed the sense of daily joy which is never excessive, when by degrees 〈◊〉 and expires. But there are some, who by a sudden torrent of Fortune are overwhelmed, and at one race do run as it were from Earth to Heaven. And these men, by such an unusual sweetness are transported to a forgetfulness of themselves and a most proud contempt of that condition, from whence they are now translated. There happened lately a fi● example for us to behold a mind drunke● with sudden prosperity, and worthy of relation, because by the view of one picture we may conjecture of other faces.  
There were two youths, who by education at the same Schools, were endeared together in a near tie of friendship. The name of the one was MELLA, the name of the other CAEPIO, in who●e country the School was, and this beginning of their love. The time passing away which that age doth spend at School, Mella teturned into his own Country; But first with Capil he entered into a dear league of everlasting friendship; nor was this affection in them afterwards changed by their more manly studies and delights. For by often letters and declaration of all their secrets, they still nourished their ancient friendship. In the mean time an unexpected inheritance had raised Caepio to a higher condition; and Mella about certain businesses was called into Capio's Country. Of whose coming when Caepio understood, not now so mindful of their old love, as glorying to have Mella a witness of his high fortunes, he made haste to go and visit him. Mella his affection was sincere, and not overcome by such assaults of Fortune. He therefore with a plain heart goes to meet his friend, and affectionately embracing him, begins to remember all tho●e things, which friends at the first sight, after long absence, use to do. But Caepio with a grave and composed look, and an affected voice, as if he were loath to change the copy of his countenance, began almost to sing to him. And when he was invited to follow into Mella's lodging, to which, as in houses of mean estate, there were narrow stairs; I prithee, Mella (quoth he) dost thou lead me into a chamber or a prison? Mella was offended with this scornful majesty of Caepio, but loathe himself to offend in that kind, told him, he did but hire the lodging; that the room, doors, and stairs were such as travellers might make use of. But when they were come into the chamber, Caepio carelessly flinging himself upon the bed, and smiling, began again with a rustic urbanity to detide the inconvenience of the lodging: Mella, though he were angry, yet notwithstanding (as if he consented to Caepio) he hid it with a smile also. But he casting his eyes round about upon the lodging, after he had with a careless state surveyed all the furniture, turned his eyes and countenance upon Mella: And seeing his boots, hast thou an horse (quoth he) or rather horses? Those that come out of your Country are of good price; and I find none more fleet than they, when I chase the Stag, in my woods. When Mella told him he had none of his country Horses, and though he brought some, yet he had lost them by some diseases, or, the distemper of a strange air; why then (quoth Caepio) dost thou wear boots? Mella in scorn answered him, that he provided them against winter. Can you tell, 〈◊〉 Caepio, whose Coach that is, that stands before the door? When Mella told him it was his; You said quoth Caepio, you had no horses. Not of our Country horses, said Mella; but did you think I came through this City a foot? I hired Germane horses to the Coach. Did two horses or four draw it (quoth Caepio?) By this time Mella began to be filled with disdain as well as anger, but willing to continue this Comedy, he answered smilingly he had but two horses; that he left four for such fortunate men as Caepio was. Tell me then, said Caepio; are you known to your King? What quantity of Lands have you? Or do you command any Lordships? Mella at this could scarce contain laughter, but made him answer only, that he so enjoyed that mean estate which his ancestors had left him, as that he might neither discredit them, nor ruin his posterity. Again when he more 〈◊〉 asked him how much his annual revenue was, he answered that it 〈◊〉 him, and sometimes his friends too; and by that end especially he valued his wealth. But when he saw himself assaulted with so many questions, he resolved to turn the burden of answering upon Caepio, who was most glad of it. Therefore Mella began to ask him how many Servants daily attended in his house? And afterwards how many horses he kept? And how gracious he was with his Prince? Nor was Caepio any more modest in speaking of himself than wife in questioning of others; but his especial discourse was of the Court; where he said many of the Noblemen, were simple people. Some of them by easy endeavours he gained for friends; others were taken with admiration of his valour, for he had now been twice in the Field; and others of them, in respect of th●● favour, which he had with the King, were glad to proffer all offices of friendship to him. Mella was now amazed, and confident that none but a mad man could utter this. Therefore turning all his weariness into wonder and pleasure, he began to urge him farther, and with mad questions to plunge him, that was forward enough, into absurdities. There was a little rest, and both of them after these follies had been a while silent; when CAEPIO, as if some special thing had come into his mind, breaks out on the sudden, How eager thinkest thou are my hunting Dogs now of the Game? For I have charged my men not to go abroad with them in my absence. My Hawks now are out of date; for they are mewing their feathers at this time of the year. And presently he added, the day grows old; f●e upon it; I should long since have waited upon the King. He will chide me for being so long absent from him. With these words in a stately embrace he falls upon Mella, who more humbly saluted him, and inviting him home to his house, fitting his pride to a kind of courtesy, he entreated him to make use of his faithful friendship, that desired to serve him, and request him in what he wanted; he should find him true in performance of his promises. This was the end of their discourse, which amazed Mella, and made him curse sudden wealth, if it transport a man into such madness.  
This vice of immoderate boasting is incident not only to those men, whose wisdom Fortune by her too sudden gifts has overwhelmed, but to those also which place their glory in warlike feats. For having for the most part, rude minds, and either nurtured in camps, or among those men, whose peace is infected with the faults of camps, they think nothing more glorious than to be feared; and absurdly think to be believed, while they speak of themselves. From hence proceeds that boldness in bragging and high words, as if their swords should purchase the favour and belief of all men. Hereupon in ancient Comedies were the persons of Pyrgopoliniees, and Thras● invented, to show examples of this fierceness, flourishing more in swelling words, than th● true dangers of a War. But in Old men and Captains especially this fault reigns more securely, and with more pardon; Minds indeed composed for glory, but erring sometimes by inconsiderate vanity.   

The fifteenth Chapter. Of Magistrates. Of pleading Lawyers.  
THe next Dignity, after the majestic height of Courts and Princes, is that of Magistrates, to whom the fortunes of Suitors are committed, the punishment 〈◊〉 guilty persons, and th●●e offices, which are distinguished into diverse titles by the number of those that practice, and the desire of getting of wealth. These for the most part are advanced to their places by ●pen, and permitted bargaining; or else in such Countries as these, sales are publicly forbidden, by private, and more strict contracts with noble men, they find there also some that will sell the Commonwealth. They pay oftentimes so great and immoderate rates for their places, that it is plainly showed they seek for them only through ambition and hope of prey. For to desire only to benefit the Commonwealth with a dear care, which destroys their own esta●● is not a virtue of this Age, nor to be looked for perchance since the Curij, and Fabritu. But seeing that no virtue is now followed gratis, and for its own beauty, but all in respect of their rewards are made lovely to men: Therefore this desire of wealth & gain in Magistrates may more easily be endured, upon condition that they, content with that common and almost allowed way of sinning, will afterwards with sincerity of mind behave themselves in their employment.  
But as by that height which they undertake, they have power to moderate, and if they please, to abuse the people under them; So unless that by mature wisdom, and such as is not only capable of their place of judicature, they can bridle their desires, themselves cannot avoid flouts, and reproaches; but those for the most part are secret ones, and in their absence. For openly by flattering speeches they are stirred up to pride, and a vain confidence of themselves; whilst so many suitors in law with great observance, but such as doth not last, do seek their favours: For no man, which is called into question for his estate, but can be content humbly to petition the judges, and, if they be harsh and froward, to appease them; or if they lie open to a favourable ambition, to feed them (like meat) with many prasses, and crindging gestures. Rome did long ago teach the world that art, when offenders in fear and reverence used to fall down at the judge's feet, clothed in base gowns, and their hair in a vile manner neglected. But all these suppliants, what end soever their businesses have, as soon as ever they are gone out of the judge's presence, put off again this fearful disguise of soothing; and sometimes among their companions remember with great laughter, and reckon up the flatteries which they used, and the credulity of those, to whom they put them. For judges being always full of succeeding troops of clients, do many times value themselves according to their flattery, and think that all those are true honourers to their dignity, who by a composed humility do seek to gain their favour. Those judges, I mean, whose ambition is not acquainted with the manners and subtlety of our Age; which they have seen nothing but the Schools and Courts, in one of which they used to trifle, in the other to have observance, and be deceived; or else are of narrow and easy minds, fond to believe them that speak for their own ends. But then especially are they ridiculous to the people, when, as if they were ashamed of their own condition, they put on the gestures and words of Soldiers, or in their attires imitate the Court fashions, or follow other delights, which are not suitable to the majestic gravity of Gowns and tribunal Seats. Which errors do many times overtake unexperienced young men; for young men are sometimes advanced to those dignities.  
But nothing is more miserable to a Commonwealth than when Magistrates and judges, forgetting that Goddess, under whose name, and by whose representation they pronounce sentence, swayed in their affections, either by the greatness of gifts, or favour of the pleaders, are not afraid to deceive the Laws. Nor can I easily tell which is the greater fault to be swayed by money or by friends; For that easiness in them of denying nothing to their Favourites, opens a judge's breast to all impiety, accustomed thus by degrees to injustice, that excusing his crime with a show of friendship, afterwards wheresoever hatred or hope shall lead him, he will not fear to offend, and to do that for his own sake, which at first he did for his friends.  
But if they be eagerly intent on wealth, and seek riches by the people's harms; then the body of the Commonwealth under such Physicians is more sick of the remedies than of the diseases. But there are few that in an open way of villainy, dare thus to satisfy the lusts of themselves or their friends. There is a more lingering plague, or, if thou wilt, a modest cruelty; which now by custom is almost excused; to entangle with intricate knots, and so prolong the causes in their Courts; to be ended late, through an infinite and almost religions course of orders. By these arts they prolong their domination over wretched men, and deliver them up to be more polled by their ●●●cers. And with perpetual prey they feed the advocates, and whole nation almost of those which are fatted with the spoils of wretched Clients. And how intolerable are the tricks of some? justice which they are afraid to sell openly, they prostitute under other Merchants. Their household Servants are their Remembrancers and Secretaries, who use to put into order, and to keep in record of writing the causes of suitors, and the instruments of them. But such men they do not admit into this ambitious service, until by great sums of money, which they before by suits have gotten, they make purchase of these places. Oh miserable mockery of the fortunes of poor wretches, that come to these tribunals▪ That the servants of judges are not hired, but pay money to be admitted into their family and service, what is it else but to buy a liberty of cozening, and by stolen fees to rob the suitors, and by selling their suffrages, by either shortening or obtruding books, dare to deceive both their Masters and equity itself. But many of these Magistrates have candeid minds, and prefer holiness, just honours, and that stipend, which the law allows them, before the covetous arts.  
These are grave men, and modestly composed within the greatness of their fortune; Nor are they praised more by the flattery of those that seek their aid, than by true fame of their piety and justice. But if you value the Courts of these judges not by the manners of each in particular, but by the gravity of the whole College or assembly, it is wonderful how great a reverence they will strike into you. For being admitted into their presence, you will altogether think them worthy of that speech of CYNEAS, who said he thought himself environed by as many Kings, as Roman Senators were then assembled. But yet this Majesty will be a 〈◊〉 more grateful and delightful spectacle, to those men that being free from law business, have no hopes or 〈◊〉 depending upon their sentences; who sitting, as it were in the Haven, may securely look upon the stormy Sea, and see these NEPTUNES governing the Waves according to their own beck. When Rome and Carthage were in league, MASSANISSA King of N●midia, who was also at friendship with Rome, had war with Carthage. The armies were both encamped against each other, and the day appointed for fight; when SCPIO the younger, being sent by chance upon other business into Africa, came to the Camp of MASINISSA, and enjoyed the sight of that great battle; he himself, which way soever Fortune inclined, was secure by the Majesty of the Roman name. He went therefore up to the top of an hill to view the battle, and there securely enjoyed the dangers of so many men. And it seemed to him a matter of so ambitious a delight, that he said, none ever had had that fortune before him, but only JOVE from IDA, and Neptune from Sam●thracia, who placed out of all danger, beheld the battle of the greeks and Trej●nt. The same may be said of this spectacle of the Courts & judges, than which nothing is more delightful, if thou stand without danger, and have no need either to entreat or fear. For thou mayst there grow pleasantly acquainted with the learned minds of judges (as many of them are such,) or else perceive their want of sense and eloquence in some causes, and so give sentence upon the judges themselves. Or if thou lovest to be among the trouble of the Court, the very noise of their running up and down, and different looks, some animated with fear, some exulting with hopes, will so take up thy mind and eyes, that thou wilt think thou beholdest a pleasant scene of humane madness. And especially the subtlety of the advocates, (whose eloquence is there at sale) displaying itself in ostentation of Science and pompous language, will be enough to give thee a delight sweet, and not altogether idle; which while thou enjoyest, thou shalt notwithstanding with fearless sighs grieve sometimes for the miseries of others.  
For the minds and condition of the advocates (as mankind doth turn even her aids to her own ruin) are much changed from the first institution of officious Piety. To plead causes before the judges, to accuse the guilty, and defend poor Suppliants, was once a magnificent and liberal office, performed by those men to whom the commonwealth committed the highest charges in the Camp or Senate house. POMPEY the Great stood not ofter in battle than before the judges; and the first CAESAR'S, although they had all power, yet sometimes they chose rather to aid the accused by way of advocation, than by the suffrage of their high authority. And that magnificent function was so far from having any hire but glory, that when afterward that right Nobility began to decline, and Orators began to sell their pains, laws were made to forbid, and brand with infamy such dangerous hires; and afterwards when the public vice had broken down those bars also, yet there was a mean set down, and a certain pension appointed for that mercenary eloquence. But now when the world grew mad, and suits did exceedingly increase; that thriving and numerous nation are scarce enough for their clients, who spoil themselves to feed their own dissensions.  
But as all lawyers have one aim every where, to get wealth, and fame, so according to the quality of the Countries, there are different studies, and degrees, by which they come to that end. The especial part of their knowledge is to understand the laws, not with a clear and candid Genius, such as they had which made those laws, but as they are perplexed with innumerable & troublesome poins of subtlety. To find out somewhat in them whereby to delude the simplicity of them, that go plainly to work, is now esteemed the most glorious thing. Among most nations those laws, which the Romans made for themselves, and we call civil, are now in force. And because those laws were founded by skilful Authors, they have strong diversity of learning in them, and therefore the study of them doth not only store the wits of students with deep and hard cases of right and fact, but bestows upon them a fair knowledge of antiquity, which is most precious for the adorning of humane life, and strong (at least in pleading) for ostentation. But in those nations, among whom laws were made not according to the Roman wisdom, but their own municipal, and sometimes barbarous decretals, there the unpleasant art of lawyers contains scarce any thing of humanity in it, and unless it promised them gain, would be hateful even to those that are the most studious in it. For there the Lawyers dress not their wits with the Roman and Grecian science or eloquence, but sticking upon certain terms, and contemplating the laws sometimes for caution, sometimes for deceit, they scarce ever adorn or raise their minds with purer learning.  
England, which has entertained the Muses, and all studies of Learning in most stately houses, and enriched them with great and high revenues, as it were to perpetuate learning to Eternity, cannot therefore adorn her Students of the Law with the humanity of Philosophy, and the Roman eloquence; because in her laws there are no tracts and footsteps of the Roman law, or learned antiquity. They are conceived in the French tongue, even that old French, which we now either neglect or laugh at in ancient Authors. If there be any words in it, which are now currant, even those words, by changing the accents, and error of pronunciation, they have made their own. Those that are Students in this law, do seldom regard any greater Science, and for the most part do not learn the elements of the Roman language. It is thought enough for the learning of a lawyer to be able to read over those old books, and corrupt them in pronunciation. The young students live in colleges ordained for those subtleties, and by long time, by conference with the ancients, and experience, are instructed in them: for it is no small part of their age that will suffice to make them learned in an art so laborious, and amplified by so many wits. There is no more certain way to riches in that Country. For England quiet now from foreign wars, is (with almost as great a destruction) given wholly over to Law contentions; and seeing that the greatest Offices, and Magistracies are ordained as rewards for that kind of learning, no marvel it is if the noblest young men be taken with the study of it; insomuch as there is scarce any house of Gentry, but in suits can find Lawyers of their own kindred. Those Lawyers as a badge of their profession do wear long Gowns down to their feet, faced with their own Coneys skins. This is their wear at home, and their ornament abroad; nor do they make any scruple of going in public Booted, their Spurs tearing their Gown that beats against them.  
But France in other virtues and vices doth instruct her advocates. Some time they spend in the University professing the study of the Civil law. There some with a happy Genius do follow their learning, others as if they were borne in a Lethargy. But both of them (oh the Times) are capable, as a promiscuous reward, of the same honours and the same titles. For those who have there played the truants through wanton idleness or dulness of Nature, may by the help of a little money attain the degree of Advocate; only by buying the suffrages of the other advocates, to whose testimony concerning the suffiency of Students the Magistrates and judges give credit.  
Which was by an ancient custom, that such honour should be given to their testimonies, in the old time before the minds of Learned men and Lawyers were subject to so base a mercenary way. And these men so undeservingly admitted to that degree, do afterwards live in ignoble Colonies, and among souls of their own dulness, will serve to make wretched advocates before a blind Tribunal. Or if they be borne of rich parents, they are strait received for their wealth, and afterwards (which is the grief) are made Magistrates.  
But those that have adorned a happy wit first with law, and afterwards with eloquence perfited it, they with their worth do highly honour the whole rank of advocates. Scanse in any other men are the Studies of humanity so truly found, or so great and happy a care in good Learning; insomuch as they seem to instruct the Muses (whom austere and rude Philosophers have kept as wild and rustic out of the society of men) to all the abilities of a civil life, and taking them from their secret and mountainous aboades, fit them for the true light of Conversation.  
But some of them offend by affectation of too much Eloquence, and heated with the incitations of Youth and vain glory, divert from their duty of advocation. They desire only to tickle the ear of the judges and Auditors with pleasure, and of all the company, do less good to no man than their Client; and (as the Poet of old scoffed) when they should speak of Goats, they love to begin their discourse with the wars of HANNIBAL, to rehearse the overthrow at CANNAE, and the staining of AUFIDUS with Roman blood. Others of them are great by exercising their wits in a long custom of deceiving, and to the ruin of innocence, prostitute their mercenary faith to the patronage of any Cause. So to bear down the true evidences, to draw an artificial shadow, and to make their wits have more to do than the Laws themselves in a Court of justice, are things which prove enough this public mischief; there are no causes, no offences questioned but may find a Patron, if they bring money; which, as a thing quite outweighing all love to their Country, can never want observance and respect. * ⁎ *   

The sixteenth Chapter. Of Divines; Of Rulers in Religion.  
LEt some of barbarous and unpolished nature's scoff, as they list, with contemptuous jests at the Majesty of learning; and account that mind manly and noble, which eschews all the Muses as base and useless; yet notwithstanding their estates are oftentimes liable to the power of learning, which reigns in all cases; and in judgement seats (which ought to be governed by the prescript of science) they use to tremble, forgetting both their birth and boldness. But there is another and a greater power, which gives learning a domination over all Mankind; the administration of Religion and holy rites, which is committed usually to men of learning; and which truly reigns over most men's minds; curbing no less all others, who are forced of necessity to conceal their Atheism and Impiety. Nor is there any estate so poor, or of so ignoble a birth, as can keep a man from high fame, who in the way of religion puts forth himself above the common honesty or badness. And lest we should think that this power of learning hath not taken effect; how easily may we reckon up the names of men unarmed, and only powerful in their books, who in this age living under mean roofs, and contending in points of Religion, have set these great and proud contemners of the Muses, together by the ears? Bearing, as it were, the ensigns before Princes and Nations to calamitous and deadly wars, which yet (as it seems) is not wholly appeased with our calamities, nor hath consumed the seeds of all that bitterness; which brought it forth.  
There can be therefore no survey of minds more profitable, than of those, which in these manifold storms of the world do sit at the stern of religion. And these are to be distinguished into diverse ranks; some as Captains do begin new religions, and either have true wisdom, or run headlong in ambitious error. So was he that by laws given from heaven governed the Jews returning out of Egypt. So was the great Creator of heaven and earth, who taking upon him man's nature, did by his death open the way of life to Mankind. And so (because here we describe not only honesty, but fortune, which plays her games in humane affairs) was, Oh villainy! That man which infected with his venom first Arabia and Syria, afterward whatsoever lies between the Hellespont and India, and now from thence all the Countries as far as the hither part of Hungary, and with his sacrilegious superstition hath corrupted almost all Africa. And those whom true and celestial inspirations have led to the Majesty of founding religion, are not to be looked into by us, but only with faith and adoration. But others who are not afraid in so great a matter to abuse Heaven, and cousin the people, must of necessity have such a mind as believes nothing at all either of their own Laws or of Heaven, as spares no virtue▪ nor forbears (unless 〈◊〉 in show) any vice; but 〈◊〉 especially lyefull to gain to themselves a 〈…〉 turning those laws, which they make, to the lust and superstitions of their own Nation. Nor can those which offend in this kind (as in other wickedness it oft falls out) be deceived themselves, or blinded with love of their own opinions, or the things in question; but being conscious to their own wickedness, they know themselves to be impious and the plagues of Mankind; especially when to persuade the people to such a serious novelty is required a most bold presumption, in subtle wit, and besides many lies are to be invented; as namely that they saw or heard the Deity; that they consulted with him; and whatsoever else those lewd impostors use to aver. But this is not a mischief incident to every age; for but few (and not always with success) have gone so far as to that most impious audacity. There is another kind of men, and far more frequent, of those who profess not to forsake the religion of their Fathers, or to broach any novelty; but only with more pure precepts to root out errors which by humane corruption and contrary to the mind of antiquity have crept into religion. And these men carry a most magnificent show of honesty, and reverend wisdom (for who but subtle and industrious men would venture on so great a matter?) And lastly, the very desire of innovating and differing from other men doth almost always find a multitude of followers. The wrangling of such interpreters have much more divided the OTTOMAN Princes from the PERSIAN by difference of Superstition than by emulation of Empire. But what matters it how those people perish, who must needs err, what sect soever they undertake to follow? But who would not grieve that we ourselves which are borne into the only light, should by the discords of learned men be so miserably dist●asted? For sixteen ages, in which our religions have flourished, have brought forth above an hundred wits, which by a desire of innovation, and our calamities have gotten themselves a fame. Whose proceedings as I can never excuse (for by too great a fault of obstinacy they transgress against that modesty, in which they seemed to begin) so we may not always justly hate their first motions. For wealth, sloth, and idle security have with an impotent p●ide and other vices overwhelmed all discipline among many of us; and from thence as well the just indignation of learned men hath been stirred, as the pride of busy bodies, shadowed with the veil of piety, hath been first fostered. For some possessed with just sorrow have thundered against it; others with a secret ambition have loved the vices of the age, as things that would give just occasion to their complaints and separation. They use to have both one beginning. At the first they question not many things, and those very sparingly, assisted by the prayers and exhortations of the best men: nor do they seem so much to be angry as to admonish, and with sighs to profess their grief. But when they are gotten to the height of a faction's, then with more freedom do they provoke their adversaries, and on both sides is kindled a most hot & furious emulation. Then can they neither modestly e- guide the fortune of so great a fame, nor continue in those steps, by which at the first they seemed to go to that godly and good endeavour; but rising up with a greater pride, they condemn more things in their adversaries, and with greater vehemency; either because they desire, in a miserable ambition, to give their own names to that Sect which they have made: or because they durst not betray, but by degrees, the first intention of their separation; or else because their hatred is more incited against those who did too fiercely and unseasonably contend against their first and wholesome reprehensions. So many that with pious beginnings have entered upon this task of reformation, have been afterwards betrayed by pride and bitterness of emulation.  
But there are some who by a true and stout wisdom are encouraged to tax those vices, which by the fault of Priests have shadowed themselves under the Cloak of religion. These men, whose just zeal is thus tempered with true modesty, must needs be of a sublime and valiant disposition, and (which is ra●e) not labouring at all for their own ends, but the public good. By reproaches, injuries, and ill speeches they are neither stirred to hatred, nor righted from their good intentions. This is a most excellent atchieument, and a work of high virtue? For those, who are reprehended by them, are seldom wanting to their vices, nor with patience can they endure a censurer. But they will find some gloss to set upon their villainies, or (which is worse) stand out in a stiff defence of them; & endeavour to bring those good admonishers, into an opinion of sacrilegious impiety among the people.  
But as the rites of beginning Religio is do rely wholly upon the industry and Genius of their Founder's: so, after they are approved by the people, they have their officers by whom they are administered. These men by several Nations are honoured with different titles: we call them high Priests, Bishops, and by other titles of that nature. There is no better Government than this to preserve Religion; which indeed was instituted by the prescript of Heaven. Those among them, which are of a learned and laborious virtue, do indeed up hold the safety of Religion; those that are wicked, do uphold it, at least in show, and by virtue of their dignity.  
It was once a function of great labour, and, whilst our Religion was forbidden by public laws, of high and extreme danger: afterward when the cruelty of our enemies was overcome and extinguished, that wealth, which was heaped upon them to uphold the reverence of that dignity, did almost extinguish the cause of reverence. For when temporal wealth and honours were added (as it was fit they should be added) to those Divine callings, so great a burden began to disperse them to the Earth, by the default of those, who in such a mixture of these two, began to prefer Earth before Heaven. It is a sad argument of decaying honesty, that a function of so great labour and care, which was wont to seek out for Incumbents, is now sought for with much eagerness and ambition by men, that think of nothing less than piety and labour.  
So this excellent and celestial dignity is for the most part ruined by her own wealth and ornaments. And to apply a man's mind to those functions is for the most part to be intent in raising of high and eminent riches. And those that are possessed of those ambitious titles, do spend that wealth and treasure, which was first given for public Hospitality, upon their private wantonness, which pleaseth itself sometimes with a vain delight in Pictures, sometimes in the curious labours of other Artificers; for a modest sorrow would be ashamed to speak of those that spend them in worse things, and plain villainy. But what madness is it not only to dare to commit those villainies, but oftentimes to be ignorant how much they offend? For they have prayers prescribed them to God, holy ones indeed, and such as they ought not to omit; but having performed that little task, they think than they owe nothing to Heaven, and the wealth of their Mitres is lawfully bought by them. What strange vizards are these and foolish madness? to think that that function, which by a daily and strict labour thou canst scarce perform, should be fulfilled by a slight and perfunctory work. But if they would season their delights with this wholesome cogitation, that they are placed in a watchtower, and are called Shepherds; if any of the sheep do perish by their sloth, it will prove their own destruction, this though perchance would allay the licence of their wantonness, pomp, and jollity.  
But all do not wallow in the same delights and sloth. Some do abate something from the charge of their pleasures to bestow upon learned men; themselves also are given to learning, but it is but in a short fit, not to last, and sometimes in show only. Some of them do attain to good learning, overcoming sloth by a happy strength of wit. But they u●e that learning more in nothing than in maintaining the privileges of that dignity which they possess. They find out arguments for infinite liberties of their own, and their hidden lusts do make them eloquent. By this means while they seem to look up only into Heaven, and plead the cause of God; they are staked to the Earth.  
But those that have avoided these mischiefs, that are endued with a disposition fit fo● their high calling, and do use then public splendour to the good of the people, and the grace of Divine service (as there are always some such) those will neither endure to lose the privileges which belong to their dignities, nor encroach upon othermens'; but in a good contemplation they join together how much they can do, and how much they ought. These are men composed after the image of the old sanctity, of the same cares, and the same manner of life, which in old time did deserve that wealth, which the Church now enjoys. Lastly, these men (let none envy what I say) are truly worthy of the wealth which old times bestowed, and of our highest reverence.  
The people cannot be sufficiently taught from the Prelates own mouths, for the number of them is but small. From hence a great number of learned men, and graduates in Divinity are maintained every where, of whom some truly and wisely do labour in that science which they profess; but others, you would suppose, do labour more to uphold a faction, than to find out truth. For carried away with a great violence of mind they allow of a defence of any nature to prove to the people the sanctity of their religion, and love to advance piety, though by impious means. Therefore to maintain their own propositions, they think they deceive fairly and with commendations, although evident arguments may bring credit to that which they believe true. And speaking of their adversaries, they do not truly deliver their tenets, but spitefully turn them, almost contrary to the sense of the Authors. But that mad desire of controversy doth so far heighten their emulation, that where they begin a little to differ, they will afterwards be cross in all things from those men; and think that a kind of piety. And then, as if those men who once have erred, could hold or reproove nothing rightly, they think it a sin to acknowledge in themselves any spots which those men have found out, and to wash them away by a true reformation; and therefore by striving to defend those things which plain truth tells us cannot be maintained, they bring an unjust praejudice upon the honest and true part of their controversy.  
There is a great affinity between all sorts of Learning; and the same affections which trouble Divines, do fall upon the other studies of the Muses; especially that custom of insisting upon learned Controversies, and bringing them almost to plain hatred. The wranglings of Lawyers do grow even almost to uncivil words, threatening to each other the whip in our Age. Physic is divided into sects with greater obstinacy; because they hunt for fame not only for their own glory, but to gain wealth; nor are their controversies ever in jest, or for pleasure only, whilst sick men must undeservedly suffer for whatsoever they think amiss. But the kinds of all Learned men may be distinguished into two ranks: One is of those men which are happy in much knowledge and erudition, but being polished also with civil disciplines, they do avoid the careless vility of Scholastical manners: The other of those men whose minds are bend wholly upon letters, being more conversant in the rotten footsteps of Antiquity than in their own Age; These for the most part are foolish abroad, and sordid at home. For they know not nor care for any other Elegancy, than that solitary elegance, which they receive from contemplation of the Muses, and had rather enjoy it so, than make true use of it. Yet may you converse with these men to a great benefit of yourself, if you know how to extract gold out of their crude and formelesse earth, and make yourself to shine in those ornaments, which in them are not seen, as covered over with much dust and rubbish. ⸪  
FINIS.