THE GOLDEN CABINET OF true Treasure: Containing the sum of Moral Philosophy.  
Translated out of French & enlarged, by W. JEWEL, Mr of Arts, of Exeter College in Oxford.  
AT LONDON, Printed by H.L. for john Crosley. 1612.   

To the Right Honourable and most virtuous Lady, the worthy Patroness of Learning, ALICE, Countess of Derby, etc.  
RIght Honourable: virtue was once esteemed the worthiest shelter against the tempestuous storms of worldly violence. But now (such is the misery of these times) though she deserve most, yet is she lest desired.; and is so far from being a Protectrix, that she herself doth want a Patronage. Our predecessors were wont to say, 
Vilius argentum est auro; virtutibus aurum.  
As gold surpasseth silver in account:  
So in true value, virtues gold surmount.   
But those good days are past: & the rudeness of our times gives the Lie to that worthy Sentence; saying clean contrary, Gold hath all the glory; and she is the only goddess: unto whose sacred Altar each one (almost) will sacrifice his life, his soul. He that is wealthiest, now is accounted worthiest: And to be virtuous (say the worldlings) is not the way to possess riches. Oculo eligunt, non animo. The eye of the body prevails now far more with man, than the eye of the soul.  
The glittering lustre of a pompous train, draws with it all your brave minds, and stately Gallants (according to the world's phrase) when as poor forsaken Virtue shall be constrained Tymon-like to live alone. They will scarce ever deign to look on her: or if they do, it will be in disdain; taunting at her desolate and friendless condition; saying scornfully: Is this she that thirsteth to be the mistress of many followers, yet cannot preserve herself from ragged poverty? Vice is so short a cut to honours, pleasures, and profit (as the world terms them) that they dare maintain, there needs no virtue: saying with Seneca, Cum vitia prosunt, peccat qui justè facit. He is held most foolish; that deals most faithfully; and accounted most simple, that is most sincere. Behold the height of monstrous iniquity: every vice hath its protection; but, naked Virtue wants a Patronage. Which she would willingly not beg of any, but only of those, that are as ready to proffer it, as she to sue for it. Wherhfore, most boldly she addresseth herself unto your Honour; being full of confidence (through the Sympathy of both your affections) to find with you a pleasing Welcome. For although she be worthless indeed, in the purblind eye of the fantastic world; yet she is a world of worth, in the judicious eye of your honourable mind. But, Madam, when your Ladyship shall behold me, who thus peremptorily intrude into your honourable presence, you cannot but marvel much thereat: & my much disturbed self (being almost transformed with amazement) shall stand as mute as a marble statue. Yet, calling to remembrance that old saying of the Philosopher, Neminem timendo ad summum locum pervenire, that fear is a fault in such as seek preferment, I shall be bold to speak, & beseech your Ladyship to accept of this poor excuse: to wit, that this my presumption was occasioned, through the favours which my best friend hath received from your Honour; firmly obliging both himself & me to the dutiful performance of our best services. Whom, it is not to be marveled at, if you remember not among so great a number as your Hon. doth good unto: forasmuch as you register not, as most do, an exact diary of your good deeds, in tables of brass. The opportunity of acknowledging this our obligement, could never (in my weak judgement) be fit, then by the mediation of Virtue; who, in requital of my loving and kind office for bringing her unto your Palace gate, will speak unto your Ladyship in my behalf. And so hereby I shall attain (I hope) to be hereafter known unto your Hon: which I account the greatest part of my felicity. Madame: that heretofore hath been accounted vicious, which by too much use is now become a custom; which is, to depaint the virtues of those unto whom men dedicate their books, with immoderate praises. Which I dare not attempt to do; fearing lest my words (if it were possible) might be prejudicial unto your worthiness: & also lest your Hon: should have cause to distrust the sincere truth of my spotless fidelity; It being both an usual and a true saying: Much praising begets suspicion; and that A flattering tongue hath always relation unto a false heart. Which danger I will avoid; having no occasion to fall thereinto, sithence the sun needs not the light of a candle to make it seen; nor a perfect natural complexion, the disgraceful help of artificial tinctures: It being most true which the Poet saith, 
Fucati sermonis opem mens conscia laudis Abnuit.  
Ingenuous minds, in all true virtues rich,  
Do scorn the blazon of a flattering speech.  That which Pomponius Mela said of Athens, may (with a modest face) be spoken of your virtues: Clariores sunt quàm ut indicari egeant. So that, if any shall look into mine Epistle, to see what Encomium I make of your virtues, I must refer their search to the report of the world: which is a copious Index of your honourable deeds; it being a task far too difficult for my undertakings: for, who can paint the heavens? And again, such commonly do most desire praises, as least deserve them. For in showing their great love of such windy puffs, what do they less, then give the Lie unto their flattering commenders? But your Honourable self is most directly opposite unto such as those: & rather than you will endure it, you will strike the flatterer on the check as the Emperor Sigismond did: who thereupon being demanded by him, Why do you strike me; made answer, Why dost thou bite me? Your Noble mind loves the substance only, not the outward show; and joyeth more in being virtuous indeed, then in seeming so: whereby you add one virtue more unto your many others; and deserve exceedingly to be praised, for not desiring it. Thus beseeching your Honour to deign the Patronage of this small Treatise, I will always remain  
Your Honour's most humbly devoted, William jewel.   

The Epistle to the Reader.  
ALl things, for the which men labour and travail in this world, may be reduced unto one of these three points; Honour, Riches, or Pleasure: and yet notwithstanding, the greatest part of men are often beguiled of their purposes; because their election erreth in the means, whereby they might attain unto the same. For in am of aspiring thereunto by virtue (which alone is able to crown their solicitous and painful endeavours, with the free possession and quiet enjoyance of true honour, true treasure, and true felicity, which they pursue) they slide voluntarily into vices spacious and pleasant-seeming path: and (being seduced by false promises and deceitful persuasions, to detest the pricking thorns of penurious poverty, base disdain, and irksome travels, which encounter them in the very threshold of virtues path) are in fine transported through the resembling-paradise and pleasant way of all delight; such as vice ●rotesteth the path of Voluptuousness, Ambition, and Avarice, to be: and at length (soon enough to see, but too late to repent them of their erroneous entrance & vain perseverance) they are thrown headlong into a sea of sadness, grief, and anguish, a thousand thousand dolours, and as many millions of restless miseries: which they, poor, silly, and deluded ignorants, at first did surely think they should eschew. For such things as are gilded over with the golden resemblance of honest, pleasant, and profitable, and yet are not virtuous, will in a while (the adulterate outside being worn away) appear to be vicious, damageable, and ignominious: In such sort that vice is so much the more dangerous, and prejudicial, by how much the more it resembleth virtue.  
For this reason have I spent my best endeavours, to set before your eyes that end and scope, whereunto all the actions and operations of mankind should be directed: and not that alone, but the means also which conduce unto it; that so their election may be preserved free from delusion, in the research and choice of true honour, true riches, and true pleasure. And these are the precious and rich jewels which are contained in the Golden Cabinet of true Treasure; being divided into twelve several chapters: whose heads you may here behold in order following.   


I. The description of Virtue: and of her property in man. page 1  
II. The division of Virtue into four principal parts: from the which, as from their source, all other subalternate virtues spring. 31  
III. Of such things as are requisite in the acquist of Virtue, and which make a man perfectly virtuous. 43  
FOUR Of the first effect which Virtue produceth in man: which is the knowledge of himself, whereby he may be humbled. 70  
V Of the second effect which Virtue produceth in man: which is the knowledge of vice: & of the evils which proceed from it: that he may grow in hatred and detestation of them. 95  
VI Of the third effect which Virtue produceth in man; which is both the Theory and Practice of Conquering himself. 128  
VII. Of the fourth effect which Virtue produceth in man: which teacheth him to perform his duty towards all men, demeaning himself worthily in his vocation. 147  
VIII. The description of true Honour: and how it ought to be acquired. 167  
IX. The description of false Honour, the true subject and ground of contentions and quarrels. 190  
X. Of the pretended ground of quarrels, whereunto false honour serveth as a subject, making man to be the worker of his own destruction. 209  
XI. The description of Choler: of the evils which proceed from it: of the causes which produce it: of the means of correcting, and consequently of avoiding contentions and debates. 223  
XII. The description of true and perfect pleasure, wherewith Virtue accompanieth honour, accomplishing man with all felicity. 234    

Kind Reader correct those faults, with thy pen.  
Page 24. Line 2. read mens. p. 27. l. 13. read over-daring rashness. p. 32. l. 25. read Good. p. 49 l. 22. read fleshy. p. 70. read Chap. 4. p. 84. l. 16. read tamed. p. 107. l. 1. read stomack-settling. p. 256. l. for can only read only is able to.   

In Zoilum.  

GRin, snarl, and bark. The more to move me, rack  
Thy poisoned passions, till thine entrails crack.  
When all thy spite is spit, thou shalt as soon  
Supple the hardest flint, or maim the Moon,  
As wound my Mind with one lest discontent,  
Or cross my wont meanest merriment.   

With settled patience, I can well endure  
Thy bootless, bitelesse barkings; being sure,  
That though thou belk-out fire, & bark-out stones,  
Thou canst not scorch my skin, nor break my bones.   
W. JEWEL.   

The Golden Cabinet of true Treasure.  

The description of Virtue: and of her property in man.  
CHAP. I.  
MARIUS' the Great, with the spoils and pillage which he took from the Cimbrians, and Teutonians (whom he vanquished) erected two very sumptuous and magnificent Temples at Rome, the one adjoining to the other in the way called via Appia (where now stands S. Sebastian's gate) dedicating one of them unto the Goddess Virtue, the other unto the God Honour: To the end that the Soldiers which departed from Rome; addressing themselves unto the Wars, might always remember Virtue, whereby they were to attain unto Honour's stately seat, and not by any other way whatsoever.  
And that the sense and meaning of the Temples dedications might be the better understood, he ordained that there should be built but two gates only, in such sort that those which went into the wars, could not enter into the Temple of Honour but by the gate and passage of virtues Temple: within the which there stood carved in Marble, a Goddess, wondrous glorious, and rich in beauty; but arrayed with the respectless and worthless weeds of Poverty, environed on every side with pricking thorns; signifying unto the World, that none can attain unto true honour through the wanton delights, and tender niceness of the world, but rather through troublesome travails, and a million of cares and crosses which ought to be subdued with mild patience, always persisting constantly in the intricate, and painful path of virtue. Her torn abillament and ragged cloak of Poverty declareth that she disdains the glorious frailty and glittering lustre of worldly pomp, and that she rather lodgeth under poverties low roof, then in the rich arrast chamber of a Prince's Court: she loves the ornaments of the soul, not the proud-peacocke deckings of the body.  
Whosoever could be so happily blest as to see her naked (said the wise man) would incontinently be inflamed with her beauty: But because she is one of the daughters of heaven; wanting the abundance and superfluity of worldly treasures, and cannot be entertained but by the mind and soul, nor espoused but by good manners and civil conditions, the least part of the world seek after her, by reason of the great authority and respectful observance which sinne-steept sensuality and quenchless covetousness, have with men. For they (being so inamoted, so sick, yea so drunk with the love of these two former Minions) cannot love any thing but that which is presented unto them by the wanton election of a lustful eye and allowed by the grateful acceptation of a covetous heart: which is the sol● and only reason, that (for the most part) the body (in their thoughts) hath pre-eminence before the soul, and a golden purse before a proper person.  
But if man could know both himself and it, and commit himself to the per●● perfect guidance of divine reason, he would immediately discern his blameful error, and plainly see that the circuling arms of the whole world embrace nothing that is good, but virtues Then would he see the weak frailty o● all other things, and the permanent good of never dying virtue.  
There is nothing that merits to be in equipage with her: for the acquist of her only is truly sufficient to crown the life and actions of a mortal man, with the style of happy, without the borrowed aid, or desired assistance of any others. For it is by her means, that man's labours makes him Lord of that, which scorneth the malice of devouring time, or infortunate misfortune of an impoverishing shipwreck; of that (I say) which neither fire nor sword, nor envy, nor any chancing casualty can dispossess him of. She warneth him, ●ay withholdeth him from coveting or desiring that which the world adoreth; as Greatness, Riches, Voluptie, or Vainglory: She loatheth, she abhorreth, the sugared flattery of obsequious tongues, she always charily preserveth her freedom, she still is the mother of s●me good deed or other, doing indifferently to rich & poor, high or low, ●●cited thereunto, by an earnest desire he hath of making herself agreeable unto God, and effecting things which may deserve an eternal guerdon, given by the liberal hand of God the Lord of heaven and earth in the world to come. She is also the sole divine and immortal quality in us: she is the only heritage of the soul which is the cause of its felicity; and which maketh her possessors, truly honourable, truly glorious.  
Her love is fearless, without envy, without jealous suspicion, without artificial and sophistical cunning: making her lovers so much the more happy, by how much more she is desired of them. He that loves her most, possesseth her most: & he that knoweth how to possess her aright, is the master of an unvaluable, of an incomparable treasure; in such sort that she hath this peculiar property, to serve as light unto the life, temperance to the luxurious motions of the mind, a bridle to the affections, patience against injuries, and consolation in affliction.  
She gives pleasant rest & peaceful tranquillity, (without ceasing) unto the minds and souls of all that have her, causing them to find all the course and every condition of their lives, relished with perfect sweetness, with perfect pleasance, with perfect content: carrying always with her, her reward, her recompense. But if we determine to attribute unto her the vanishing honours and windy praises of men for her price, her portion, we should deprive ourselves of the privilege which we have of rewarding and satisfying ourselves by our own hands in the managing of her treasures; & should change the repose, which proceeds from her, into a gift of fortune, if this stipend, this reward should be derived from the courtesy and discretion, of mortal men. For than we should lend our covetous ear unto the praising & pleasing applauses of their voices, and so (flattery having surprised our facile belief) we should soothe and delude ourselves with fruitless vanity. And again; this were nothing else but to search for a beneficial reward on earth, which is assigned to us in heaven, and to change the nature and quality of virtue, (which is all divine) into a frail and fleeting condition which is earthly. Virtue hath jealousy (but 'tis praisworthy) because she will be sincerely and solely loved: she will thoroughly possess our wills to avoid the peril of hypocrisy, because she cannot effect any thing without our free consent. She will subdue all rebellious vices, which assault her through the weakness of human frailty: and therefore all her faculties conspire to maintain her forces, & to conserve in us the name of virtuous, whereby we are honoured. Which name we are as soon unworthy of, as we incline mischievously towards any vice.  
For virtue (in general) is a laudable, & constant habit, which being wrought in us by true reason, impresseth in our understanding, a perfect knowledge of the true good, and in the mind & will a free election of things, according whereunto (as it is requisite and expedient) we must love or hate, take or leave, she being the never-erring Directrix of our affections.  
This description deserveth well to be examined, she ought (hereafter) to inform us how we are to distinguish, between the true and the false, in the research and disquisition which we make of Riches, of Honour, and of Pleasure, which are the 3. main points whereunto all human actions are reduced: wherefore I think it not amiss to spend both time & travel for the declaration hereof.  
We say that virtue is a habit, being a quality that springs from the actions of the will, and powerful appetite of the soul, which by being often reiterated, becomes at length firm and constant, and inclines our nature either to ●oue a thing or loathe it. To make this habit laudable then, it behoveth us ●o conform ourselves unto good manners, and that our desires be exercised ●owards the achievement of modesty, humility, chastity, honesty, fidelity, humanity, affability, integrity, boū●●, verity, liberality, gratitude, patience in adversity, moderation in prosperity; all which fruits, virtue produceth in such as do conform themselves to her conditions.  
Hence it is that she cannot be either given or received as a gift: she must be sought by a long and a continual exercise of commanding yourself, bridling your affections, & pursuing good without intermission; forasmuch as discontinuance begetteth vice.  
This habit ought also to be constant, to subdue all difficulties with patience & perseverance; which are the two soaring wings, that taking our minds from the fruitless contemplation of base frail and terrestrial things, do raise them up aloft to the conceit and apprehension, of high, permanent and celestial things, with a full-settled resolution, to possess them; and being possessed to preserve them always without change. For perseverance is the perfection and consummation of all virtues: in such sort that no man can be that, which he is not every day. None entitle themselves prudent, valiant, just, or by the names of any other virtues, but such as persever with immovable constanstancy. For reason itself teacheth, that to express a perfect agent, it sufficeth to say it is a constant agent, because vice is incapable either of stop or stay.  
She worketh in us by the shining light, which is infused into the conscience and mind of man from the glorious beams of true reason, making us to know, that all good, all honest things, aught to be achieved for the love of themselves: and that a man should not so much as think, much less desire to have, or will to do that which is nought, dishonest and ignominious, because it is contrary unto goodness and virtue, which are the columns of virtues foundation, and (to speak properly) the two objects which she proposeth and about which she is always conversant.  
We say that she impresseth in our understanding a perfect knowledge of the true good. But now let us define good to be that which is desired of all, to be beloved of itself, forasmuch as none would desire it were it not good. But the nature of that which is good, requireth also that it be honest, pleasant and acceptable.  
He than is good which hath these blessed gifts: humanity, affability, pleasance, courtesy, simplicity, liberality, modesty, and that declares the goodness that is in him by his sweet and loving conversation; doing unto all, such things as are both good and profitable. For bounty and goodness can be no more without love then fire without heat.  
Unto goodness we join verity, forasmuch as it is the basis and foundation of virtue, and whereon all things are grounded, which are, which ought to be known, which ought to be believed, said, and done, and without which nothing can subsist. It is a light which first of all is exceedingly clear and splendent in itself, and which illuminates the minds & souls of those that regard her with due contemplation.  
The means of seeking, and possessing this verity, consisteth in the inquisition, understanding and belief: for (it being a light, a shining, and a glorious light) it is our fault and not hers if she be hidden, if she be secret. Wherefore we ought to make a serious search, of her, and understand her well, before we can believe her, before we can possess her. But it may be, that the understanding and mind of man is so enveloped, so muffled with the thick cloaking and choking clouds of vice, that it cannot be able to give entertainment unto the knowledge of verity, for as much as it stops up the passage and entrance of the Soul, against both the knowledge and the love thereof, detaining the spirit captive, and forcing it down under the yoke of servitude. But as light disperseth the clouds, and driveth away darkness, being utterly unable to have any community at all therewith: so truth expelleth ignorance, and never suffers any communities, or hath any commerce with untruth. She discovereth that which is secret and hidden, discerning all things, by their true and proper differences: she teacheth to know truly and certainly the nature and quality of every one, & how to judge infallibly. Hence it is that such as work mischief, are unwilling, nay they fear to have their wicked actions made manifest by verity. And contrarily a good man is so constant, so resolutely assured in his confession, that none can constrain him to deny or disavow what he hath done, what he hath said; but rather shows himself, nay certainly is, ready to seal it with his blood.  
Verity needs not any decking ornaments or any help of outward things to magnify her worth. She taketh delight to be naked, and effecteth many things of great moment by her pure simplicity: she will not, nay she cannot be perverted by the flattering eloquence of false witness and calumnious testimonies: for by her nakedness (which is bright & glorious) she quells them all, she utterly confounds them.  
It may be that she may sometimes be oppugned, but never vanquished. For to be vanquished, is to be diverted from a former determinate consultation, to be changed from an absolutely-intended purpose, or being assaulted to become subject to the power of an enemy. Even in this sort are we vanquished by the treacherous affections of a covetous and a greedy mind, making us to forsake and abandon the paths of virtue. He is truly overcome or vanquished, that hath lost his suit or cause in judgement: and so is he, who being overcome in war either by strength or stratagem, becomes a servant, (nay, servile slave) unto his enemy.  
But if any of these or the like inconveniences chance to be found in verity, it must then needs be confessed, that indeed she may be foiled; nay, quite overcome, by violence, by injustice; but never cease to be the self same in substance, no more than the purest, the perfectest gold can cease to challenge the appellation of gold. It is most certain that it may be sometimes obscured, and disguised, by calumnious detraction, by slanderous reproach, under the face-changing vizard of treacherous falsehood: but never can be changed into a truthless fable; forasmuch as that which is, can never be translated into that which is not. If she be prosecuted by the persecuting hands of bloody Tyrants, it is not impossible for her to suffer injurious violence, in the persons of those that follow her, but impossible in herself: for she cannot be enforced to submit herself unto the pity and compassion of her foe falsehood, but continues always victorious always triumphant. For verity subsisteth by itself, and by her own force and power, preserves her essence to eternity.  
In like manner may we say that virtue is a habit in goodness which rests not contentfully satisfied, by imprinting only in our minds the apprehension and bare understanding thereof, but gives direction also unto our will; which we define to be that absolute and free faculty which only is in our power, whereby we desire the true good, and eschew the evil by the helpful assistance of reasons conduct. It is most certainly true, that the nature and quality of our will, cannot tolerate it, to embrace any other thing within the lovely folding arms of earnest desire, but that only which is verè bonum truly good; without either coveting or willing that which is any way evil.  
But herein lies the cursed cross of all, that vice and falsehood become eftsoon disguised, counterfeited; and attiring themselves with virtues abillaments are often represented unto the worldly man under the persons of goodness and verity.  
And again, the affections, breaking their ranks of order, and falling into monstrous confusion (which is to obey them) do wholly bend the courses of their desires, towards that which indeed is nothing else but a vain show, a false shadow of pretended good.  
Wherefore it is most necessarily expedient, that she be enlightened by reasons glittering rays, to be instructed and directed by the guidance of virtue, in the election of that which is good, and in the discerning of that which is pure and perfect from that which is false and counterfeit: briefly, so to rule and govern the affections, that they obey her as dutiful servants, following and serving her to the achievement of the true good.  
For indeed human affections are settled in the minds of men, to cause us to rejoice, when we have been the authors of any good, affecting the soul as it were with a joyful trumpet, and to condemn us when we have done evil as a sharp revenger of the same: so that we being convinced in ourselves of doing evil, our consciences being touched, with the remorseful feeling thereof, are incontinently most eagerly displeased, yea most vehemently incensed against ourselves, as if they sought to work vengeance by ourselves against ourselves, and so hereby begetting in us a certain affection which is called shame; near in condition unto angry scholar, which with a cruel and a tormenting hand inflicteth punishment ●on ourselves, to redeem our souls from that disease. To this blameless scholar (after this sort engendered within us) may also be added the hart-pining fear of others judgement. And then shame and fear conspire together to effect this passion: which having taken possession in the heart, begetteth that habit which is called blushing bashfulness; whose peculiar property it is to fear not only the ●ase dishonour and shameful reproach of evil doing, but the merciless ●udgement of others also, and dif●aming censure of the common sort.  
They are therefore the rains of reasons moderation, which bridle our will from either declining or persevering in that which is either evil or erroneous, and by her divine instructions conformeth us unto that commendable habit, to cause us to march forward constantly in all that which is inseparably conjoined with just endeavours, captivating the affections of our souls, under the prescript institutions of her laws. But let it be, that that the mind of man is stored with many sundry affections, as love, hate, boldness, fear, sadness, joy, hope, despair, anger, envy, a wicked, and a good will: yet notwithstanding virtue is neither an affection nor yet any other of the faculties of the soul, but an usual habit & familiar custom of doing good, through the election and desire thereof, and a mean between the extremes of affections and passions, in such sort that a wicked or a good man is distinctly discerned by either vicious or virtuous actions, and is not (as some would have it) descried by affections. For to man, for having either loved, or hated, feared or not feared, cannot be attributed this appellation of evil or good; but he alone, which feareth or feareth not, that which he ought or ought not to fear: forasmuch as he that effecteth any thing, only by the motion of his will, without advised and deliberate consultation thereof, cannot in any sort duly challenge unto himself the title of virtuous: but can rightly do the same, if he have executed it with willing desire, having before sufficiently consulted and known it to be good.  
In such sort that no man for either loving or fearing absolutely, can deserve to be reputed good or bad: nor merit either praise or dispraise, but he alone which loveth or feareth that which is convenient or not convenient. Because to love, to hate, to dare, to attempt, to fear, to be angry, to be appeased, to be melancholy, to rejoice, are all affections, which are indifferent to our soul, in such sort, as for the things which happily chance unto us, without electing, or considering them, we cannot be said to merit grace or disgrace, praise or dispraise. And therefore virtue is said to be a habit of doing well through a willing desire and free election, and a mean between the extremes of affections and passions: which ought to busy itself in such sort that she do not only grace the subject wherein she is, with the style of good, but the deeds also which proceed from thence; as the graff which is engraffed makes not only the tree good whereon it grows, but the fruits also which proceed from it.  
So that we may well then conclude, that virtue is a very powerful disposition of the reasonable part of the soul, which disposeth and limiteth the unreasonable part with agreeable conveniency, and decent proportion, prescribing unto the affections, a well befitting end, whereby the soul always persisteth in due correspondency, still plotting, still effecting that, which ought to be done by the rules of reason. But this powerful disposition (which we may very well call divine reason, whose princely place of residence is the soul) is properly called a moral virtue, possessing the mean of the affections, depending between much and little, not absolutely, but in respect. For that which is absolute, is always the self same thing in all causes and at all times: but that which is considered in respect of another, falleth out oftentimes to be divers, according to the variety of those things unto which it is referred. As for example; If the number ten be too many, and the number two too few, the number six should be a mean in respect of the two extremes. But relating it with other numbers, it will then strait way happen to be divers, according to the divers respects of the relation: as if ten miles of exercise, for remedying a disease be too much, and 2. miles too little, six miles therefore, will not be perchance justly a mean: and the reason of this disproportion ariseth from the manifold diversities of man's complexions: for it may be, that unto one, six miles will be too little, and to another of the same disease too much. That is called medium geometricum, a Geometrical mean, whereunto nothing can be added, and from whence nothing can be subtracted. And in such sort, it must be understood that virtue is the true and perfect mean of the affections of the soul, (as the number six is of twelve) not absolutely but in respect: for, having a regardful consideration, aswell unto the diversities of the estates and conditions of men, as also unto the times and divers occasions of working, it is very necessary that this mean (wherein virtue consisteth) be understood respectively. In such sort that being in the mean between too much, and too little (as six between two and ten) as when a man fears and loves extremely, as well in excess as in defect, virtue whose residence is is the mean between both, is unto the one a spur, unto the other 〈◊〉 bridle, forwarding the defect of fear ●s far forth as it ought to be, and represseth the excess of love, for fear it should proceed farther than virtues ●ounds; observing the convenient opportunity both of time and place. And ●his is that which we are taught by our ●●ench Cato in these four verses: 
betwixt two extremes is virtue resident,  
directly twixt too little and too much:  
〈◊〉 nought excessive, nor deficient,  
●orrows of none, yet no wants can her touch.   
Therefore is virtue said to sit in the ●iddest of the affections, because the ●iddle parts of all things are of greater ●●lue, far more esteem, than the extremes: and the accommodation of ●is place, gives her more powerful ●●eanes to resist, yea to repel the inordinate affections of the mind with the which she is environed. For sithence defect and excess, too little and too ●uch, are vices followers, (of necessi●●e) the mean belongs to virtue; as the white mark in the very centre of the butt, whose eminency will not suffer it to escape the eyes of any: And whosoever declineth (be it never so little) either on this or that side, erreth. And even as it is a point of greater difficulty to touch the white then to rove round about the same: even so it is a great deal harder, to be virtuous the● vicious. Vice is infinite, and therefore hath no mean, in such sort that neither too much neither too little, neither excess nor defect in vice, can make virtue; as a thief, or a murderer, be it much or little, neue● ceaseth to be a sinner. For whosoever is a thief, a murderer, an adulterer, in what sort and measure soever it be, doth sin continually. Contrariwise, virtue hath her bounds, her limits, which none can pass beyond without being spotted with vices blemish: for as rash and presumptuous audacity is the excess of that, which seemly and convenient unto manl● fortitude; so is heartless fear th● monstrous defect of the self same thing. Wherefore whosoever casteth himself ●oo saucily, too presumptuously, even ●nto the jaws of danger without counsel without consideration, ought not to ●e accounted wise and valiant, but foolish and desperate, and he whom fear constrains to tremble at the sight of ●n enemy, to be esteemed a coward.  
It happeneth then, when as virtue would preserve a man from destruction, which is procured eftsone either by o●er dare, rashness, or trembling cowardice, she carefully retains him with●n the limits of courageous valour, and true fortitude: As also in like manner, lest he should suffer shipwreck against the rocks of avarice, or perish in the quicke-sand of prodigality, she most wisely, most lovingly, directs his course through the passage of liberality.  
So, moral virtue in general, instructeth man to oversway & command (according to the reasonable prescriptions of watchful prudence) all the inclinations & actions of the souls irrational parts, keeping them all within the circle of mediocrity: cutting off all both the excesses & defects of passions and affections, holding them within the mean, between too much and too little; to the end that man might be preserved from error, aswell in regard of his own particular, as for the public weal of human society. For the multitude of the wise is the preservation of the world. In like manner the virtuous only, which through his own will, his own election, doth virtuous actions is to be much commended, and esteemed worthy of great honour. Wherefore whosoever exerciseth himself herein, and is endued with this habit, is accompanied with pleasant delectation & sweet content, as the sun with light, the gay appareled spring time with greeneness, and the choicest flowers with their fragrant smells. For virtue marcheth still before him, like an impregnable shield and an ensign of glory: in such sort that nature hath placed nothing so high, but her endeavours can aspire unto. It is she that crowneth Kings & Princes: yea, it is she that hath sceptred the sons of those, whose hands have been galled with the spade and mattock. It is she that hath tempered the trembling fearful heart, with bold assurance, & given prudence to the rash. It is she that strengtheneth our souls within, with assured constancy. It is she that expelleth from our hearts, the hideous terror of severe death of pining sorrows, and sense-benumming shame, wherewith the envious endeavour to confound us. It is she that armeth us with comfort, against the loss of children, of friends, of goods: and as soon as opportunity presents itself, she bringeth us before dangerous hazards; but with an intent, to teach us how to overcome them, and lastly leadeth us by due perseverance, full unto our God, who is the absolute perfection of all virtue, and the sovereign good of godly men. Therefore let us say, 
whosoe'er can virtues nakedness espy,  
Will be enamoured with her presently,  
Leaving frail riches, & the world's vain pride  
To trace her paths, that is so good a guide  
Her golden treasur's never will decay:  
Her honour's certain, & more bright the● day  
Such as love her, million of pleasures gain  
And whosoe'er loved her, near loved in vain  
The throne whereon she sits is verity.  
She Crowns her sons with immortality,  
To cousin and deceive, she ne'er consents  
She hates base counterfeiting compliments  
She shows at first the greatness of her pain  
And yields content (at last) a blessed gain    

The Division of Virtue into her four principal parts: from the which, as from their source, all other subalternate virtues spring.  
CHAP. II.  
AS all the imperfections of the soul are called passions, and vices: even so their contraries which serve as remedies unto ●he same, are called virtues. And although virtue be always one, and ●he very same in herself, and in respect of herself may be said to b● extreme, being accomplished with 〈◊〉 perfection: yet by making distinction of her proprieties, divers appellation may be given unto her; aswell because in every good action, there is always some particular virtue, which is mo●● eminent than the rest as also because she produceth divers effects, according to the subject wherein she is: sometimes conforming herself unto the maner● conditions, and natural inclination of such as possess her. For this reaso● virtue is divided into four princip●● parts, to wit: Prudence, Temperanc● Fortitude, and justice.  
Prudence hath the pre-eminence being the first in order, as the most necessary of them all, for the moderation of worldly things, whereby man is i● riched with moral virtue, being a● infallible rule to square out human● actions by, and by the which also he may attain unto the understanding o● the true God, and the election of th● ways, which lead thereunto. Her office is to consult advisedly and choose ●isely that she may thereby put that in execution which virtue commandeth; ●o wit, that which is honest, and feeme●y, not for any other end, but only the ●oue of the thing itself.  
It is by her, that man is always inue●ed with a well tempered disposition, prudently to undertake, and wisely to execute that, which serious and ripe deliberation, with a due consideration of ●ll other circumstances, shall truly ●nforme the understanding to be ●ood.  
The moral Philosophers have attributed unto Prudence, the having of ●●ree eyes; memory, understanding & providence. With the first eye, she con●●dereth the times past. With the se●ond, time present; and with the third, ●hat which is to come. Likewise, the prudent man, by the consideration of ●hings past, and that which hath ensued them, will judge so (in the like cases) ●f that which is to come: and then with ●●ng (but, not seeming tedious) deliberation, will attend the time, consider the perils, understand the occasions: and giving sometimes place unto time, and always to necessity (still provided, it be not repugnant to his duty) will at length, courageously set his hand unto the work. For, the remembrance of things past, to the Prudent man, standeth in great stead concerning things present, and also makes him likewise to foresee the things that are to come.  
He believeth nothing suddenly, effecteth nothing in choler, or in passion, but referreth all his actions both private, and public, to a good end: which is, to the service of God, and the good of his neighbour. Temperance is a firm and constant domination of the reason, over concupiscence, and other excessive and turbulent motions of the spirit.  
She preserveth in mediocrity, the desires & inclinations of the soul, redeeming them from vices bondage, whereunto they were captives, reposing them again in their former free estate. She serves as a bridle (to restrain the extravagant courses of voluptuousness, making a man both good and virtuous, even in the midst thereof. She serves as an abridgement of all superfluous covetousness, and wanton affections, as well of the soul, as of the body, and as a ruling discipline, directing us to govern (by the due choice of time, and observation of means) such affections as are both natural and necessary. Briefly, she is the pillar of defence, the flesh-subduer against luxury, the razor of wicked thoughts, the rebuker and chastiser of unbridled desires, and the severe mistress of wanton eyes.  
On the other side, she is the nursing mother of clean continence, she mollifies the heart, and makes reason attend thee, as thy counseling servant in all thine affairs. This ver●ue is divided into four principal branches: Continence, Clemency, Modesty, and Order.  
Continence appears as well in the actions of sobriety, as of chastity. Clemency consisteth principally in pardoning offences, even when it hath fit and convenient opportunity to revenge.  
Modesty is the knowledge of a comely demeanour, even in time of prosperity, and of using well the gifts of fortune. Order consisteth in the disposing of all things in their proper places, by suitable degrees and convenient proportions, to their well being.  
Fortitude, being the third Virtue in order, is a certain immortal good, seated in the power and guidance of the soul, fortified and confirmed by the diligent study of Philosophy; which importuneth man, both to choose and effect all things by his own desire, only for the love of the things themselves.  
She leadeth a generous and a noble spirit through the hardest things, most dangerous, and of greatest difficulty: to the end that it may augment his honour and give greater cause of joy, when as he hath triumphed over such designs. She advanceth our minds; and infuseth into our souls, a wondrous desire of aspiring even to the highest part of that, which is most high most excellent, most honourable, most commendable, most profitable.  
Her greatest undertakings are without fear: she sticks not (after sound counsel and serious advice) to enterprise actions full of threatening dangers, and to persevere therein, with immovable constancy. For, Constancy is the diligent page of manly Fortitude, and is never from his elbow, though she tread the crimson paths of war, and march even up at knees in a field of blood. Moreover, none of the virtues can be consummated, and truly accomplished without constancy. He that hath one virtue hath not always the other: but he that hath this, hath all others whatsoever; forasmuch as she is never found, but even in the full perfection, both of the will and power And therefore she magnifieth her possessor, making him to disdain either the pinch of sorrow, or the fear of death: making him to account nothing, either intolerable or troublesome, which is possible to befall a mortal wight; nor any thing bad, which is either necessary, or inevitable. Briefly, it is the knowledge of that which ought to be sustained, when as we fight for the maintenance of justice.  
This virtue is also divided into four principal branches, to wit: magnificence, Confidence, Patience and Perseverance. Magnificence, is showed in the achieving of great and excellent things.  
Confidence appears, when as a generous mind is endued with an assured hope of the happy success of his undertakings.  
Patience appares, in the voluntary and continual sufferance, which is sustained for the mere love of honesty and virtue.  
Perseverance, is seen in the perpetual Constancy, and firm continuance of designs and resolutions, enterprised upon good considerations by the persuasions of reason.  
The fourth and more eminent virtue is justice: which we define, to be a constant and perpetual willingness, of doing right and reason unto all, with an equal and proportionate distribution according to every one's merit and desert.  
Wherefore this virtue comprehendeth within itself, all others whatsoever; forasmuch as man should not be able to discern just from unjust, thereby to embrace the one and eschew the other, were he not also endued with prudence: for as much as this is a peculiar property, solely depending on that virtue. In like manner also he would hardly be able to put in practise the precepts of justice, that is not endued with temperance; wherewith he might moderate all the passions, and particular affections of his own mind.  
Furthermore, he cannot fully perform one of the chiefest and divinest parts of justice (which is, to give help and succour, unto the afflicted & persecuted soul, when there is need thereof, be it in what danger soever) if, by reason of manly courage and true fortitude, he do not contemn death, sorrow, grief, and whatsoever else the world contains, and so to be (as near as flesh and blood will permit) a perfect imitator of Divinity.  
In such sort that he alone is to be styled Just, which rendereth good unto as many as he can, without offering injury unto any one, having no striving contentions within his own breast, remaining a loving servant to his God, and a gentle friend unto his neighbour.  
This virtue is twofold: Distributa & Commutative. The Distributive, consists in giving unto every one according to his merit, whether it be honour, dignity, or punishment. The Commutative, consisteth in observing our faith, and credit in our promises & covenants; and never doing unto any, that which we would not have others do unto us.  
From this general fountain, issue forth these four rivers (which by an Allegory have been termed the rivers of the terrestrial Paradise, which always water the little world) Prudence, Temperance, Fortitude, and justice: which are as necessary to be conjoined, and united in him, which desireth to be perfectly virtuous, as the separation of them would be prejudicial to his estate. For no man can be temperate, if he be not formerly prudent: forasmuch as every virtuous action proceedeth from knowledge, and understanding. In like manner man can never be truly valiant and magnanimous, if formerly he be not temperate; forasmuch as such a one, that is endued with a generous and an undaunted spirit, without moderation would in a short season become desperate: and he that should be temperate and not courageous, would in a short time become a coward. In like manner, justice without Prudence, and Temperance, would shortly be transformed into bloody Tyranny. In such sort the virtues, being united and knit together, are all absolutely perfect: but, being disjoined once, and separated, they become feeble, & are overborne by the strength of vice. Wherefore these four virtues being ordained as a sure basis, and firm foundation unto every one, that earnestly desireth to be perfectly virtuous, they ought to serve him as an object and mirror of his contemplation, wherein he shall not only behold the ugly deformities and defects of nature; but also remedies against the same: to attain unto the which, three things are to be observed by him, which shall be declared in the Chapter following.   

Of such things as are requisite in the acquist of virtue, and which concur to the perfect accomplishment of a virtuous man.  
CHAP. III.  
THREE things ought to be united and conjoined together in the acquist of Virtue, and full accomplishment of a virtuous Man: Nature, Reason, and Use.  
It is the office of Nature, to incline us, Reason to direct us, and Use and Custom to conform and confirm us.  
Nature in general is a certain infused power or faculty, divinely planted in things created; which attributeth unto every one of them, that which appertains unto them, and from whence they receive, not only a certain quality of being, but of doing also, and engendering others like unto themselves.  
This we may define to be an instinct, and inclination of the spirit, which is naturally bestowed on every creature, on some more powerful, on others less, deriving an operation from the Qualities of the humours whereof the Creature is Composed, which instinct inciteth and encourageth the soul to search diligently, and earnestly to desire that, which is good for her; being always for the accomplishing of this effect, in perpetual action, in continual motion: like unto a plot of ground, which freely of its own accord, produceth all kinds of weeds being neglected, and unhusbanded; but being carefully manured, produceth fruits that are exceeding good.  
In such sort, that man's nature may not unfitly be likened to a balance, which is borne down, on that side, whereon the wind beats most, if it be not the better directed by the skilful hand of science and reason. For although a man covet and desire that ne●urally which is truly good, because it ●s worthy (for its own sake) to be beloved; yet notwithstanding through want of a perfect knowledge of the true good, he suffereth himself to be oftentimes transported, with the flattering outside of a false resemblance.  
Wherefore it is most necessarily expedient, to be timely circumspect for the forming of the natural disposition and ●●nbred qualities of young children, even as soon as they attain to be capable of reason; and then above all things to be curiously precise in making provision both of honest, learned, and discreet teachers. For, even as careful and skilful gardeners, do under prop their young and tender graffs, with som● supporting stays or other, to the e●● that they may preserve them strait Even so, wise and discreet teacher's season the hearts of younger youths, with wholesome counsels and good precepts, thereby the better to conform their manners to virtues Lore: For, having had a virtuous education, both in youth and infancy, they will at length in their riper years, be moderate, sober, well staid, and temperate: and therefore such tutors are to be chosen as are known to be of honest and civil conversation, which will read nothing but the wholesome doctrines of good Authors, nor permit their charge to frequent any companies, or busy themselves about any actions but such as bear proportion to honest births, and virtuous breed. But, the greatest, and most especial care of all, is to be had of the generous & tender plants of noble parents (being the principal pillars, and chief maintainers of the State) whose tender years ought to be seasoned with frequent, daily, nay with continual admonititions, counsels, and precepts, which may gently incite them, and duly forward them, to the love of virtue, representing always before their eyes, the never dying records of their father's deeds, whose immortal fame, honour hath registered unto eternity, that the fresh remembrance thereof, may beget a desire in them, of worthy imitation; for as much, as good education is the source of all bounty, and virtuous breeding the chief foundation of a blessed life.  
A curse therefore shall attend on such fathers, as are neglective of their children's breeding: and most miserable also is that Commonwealth, wherein youths education is light accounted of. This is the fountain of rebellion, sedition, murders, contempt of Prince's laws, yea of Princes themselves, of rapine, extortion, infidelity, heresies, and atheism, and the like.  
Again, the grave Philosophers of ancient time, never thought any thing worthy so much praise as the careful education of young children; having wisely considered, that good corn can never be reaped, except the field be well manured, and good seed sown upon the earth: Even so the vile corruption of our depraved nature, of its own appetite more inclining unto evil, then unto good, is an obstinate stickler against virtue, making use of her quaintest devices, treacherously to undermine, and with malicious subtlety to dispossess her of the soul of man: so that no human thing whatsoever can withstand such violent forces, but the virtuous precepts learned in tender youth.  
In such sort, that all those that are not (yet desire to be) conformable to virtues discipline, aught to solicit the Lord of heaven, and only giver of soul-saving grace, with instant and fervent prayers, that his goodness would be pleased to incline the motions of their hearts, and bend their perverse nature's (forward in vice, but froward in ●●e search of virtue) towards the love ●nd liking of the same.  
Reason assisteth us in the prosecution, as a friendly Directrix, and courteous leader of a blinded nature: and ●●erefore is she said to be that faculty, ●nd virtue of the soul, which is called estimative, or Ratiocinative, so excee●ing necessary unto man. She it is, that giveth judgement of things imagined, ●●d apprehended by the senses, to in●●rme our souls, whether they be true 〈◊〉 false, and whether they ought to e●●ct or reject them, being good or ●uill.  
On good cause, therefore is the midst of the brain, assigned to be her ●hrone, being seated as it were in the ●●ghest, and stateliest, yea the surest ●●d strongest fortress of the fleshly ●●ilding; to sit and sway there (being 〈◊〉 the centre of all the other senses) as ●mperesse, and commander of them 〈◊〉. She it is, that causeth the discourse, and giveth judgement both of true 〈◊〉 false. She can, yea doth discern, bo●● the according Sympathies, and threa●ning antipathies, of natural things; 〈◊〉 accordingly unites, or separates, wh●● ought to be united or disjoined, m●king an absolute and a true distinction betwixt one and other: and so w●●● due and serious circumspection, accounting all the circumstances, infers all things to their own prop●● place.  
And therefore it is very requisite that she fully and freely enjoy her proper accommodation, without intermeddling, entangling, or incombrin● herself with either the imagination or the fantasy. Whose judge she ought to be, either to approve, or condemns that which she shall find either to b● good or evil; and so to correct, an● detain them from outward cours●● with the rains or bridle of moderation. For if Reason should be incombre●● with them, confusion would beget suc● a trouble, that she would never be able to judge (as she ought) of such ●●ings as they would represent unto ●er; but would be transported beyond herself, as if she were deposed from ●er seat: in no other manner, then if ●●e chambermaids should be above ●●eir mistress, or at least walk with her 〈◊〉 true equipage. But if she remain a●●ne, in her own proper and peculiar ●●ate free from the troublesome encumbrances of the other two, after she hath ●ell considered and thoroughly deba●●d with herself all those things that ●●e brought before her by the other ●●ses, she will straightway pro●●ounce sentence like a wise judge: ●●r there is none that judgeth after ●●r decree.  
Wherefore it is, that her seat of justice, is in the midst; where she only ●●th commission to hear, and deter●ine of all sorts of Causes, of what na●●re and quality soever: she hath directly behind her, Memory, in ●●ade of a Scrivener, or Secretary, 〈◊〉 inrowle, and register within a certain book, all her ordinances and decrees.  
Every good thing also, whereof ma●● is capable, is preserved in the golde● cabinet of the soul. For this cause therefore, it is very convenient for man, 〈◊〉 be well advised in the search hereof, 〈◊〉 the end that he may be able to disce●● and not to choose the false, and counterfeit, in am of the good & perfect, b●ing (only through the defect of knowing: viz. of good, from ill) oftentimes deluded with the outward appearances feigned goodness, which is far fro● being so indeed; being only so accounted through error and false opinion by which the greatest part of men a●● usually deceived, making them to pr●ferre imaginary, and apparent good only of the body, before such as 〈◊〉 real and essential of the soul, yea suc● as are temporal, before eternal.  
And therefore even as our eyes a●● unable to do us service, or to beho●● any thing in darkness, without the benefit of light: so have our soul's gre●● ●eed of reason's light, to help our passage through the darkness of error, and ●●ghtles clouds of ignorance, that they ●●ay thereby gain a power to discern ●erity, from forgery, true good, from ●ined good, and honest utility, from 〈◊〉 contrary.  
But even as God out of the bowels 〈◊〉 his infinite goodness and mercy, ●ath prepared for man, a far more excellent blessing, then for beasts: so 〈◊〉 like manner hath his bounty ordained means both for the finding and ●●uition of it. The difficulty of finding (whereof some accursed wretches ●re to accuse God) doth wholly pro●●ede from our own imperfections. ●●r, the darkness of error, and clouds 〈◊〉 ignorance, which sin hath ushered ●●to our souls, have been the only & ●●solute cause thereof: from the which mankind should have been always ●●ee, had it but persisted in the perfection of its first nature.  
Yet howsoever, (notwithstanding the ●●fect wherewith the soul is so foully blemished,) we always do behold th●● natural light and glorious lamp 〈◊〉 shine brightly in the understanding 〈◊〉 mind of man, which is in far greatest measure bestowed on him, them on br●●● beasts. In such sort that we have ability to recount the excellency thereof, by the discourse of reason: 〈◊〉 she passeth from things known● to things unknown; going fro● generals to specials, and the●● descends to individuals. And in l●●● manner, she remounts again, by 〈◊〉 same degrees from one unto another and so compares them all, among themselves. For as soon as the imagination hath received the shapes, 〈◊〉 impressions of those things, which 〈◊〉 presented unto her, by the ministry the external senses, the considerati●● of reason immediately succeed●●● which maketh diligent inquisition of●● that, whatsoever may be in the understanding, both of the abundance, and the want that is there; making it to●● turn unto her view, the more de●●●●rately to contemplate thereon, and ●●e better to inform herself what 〈◊〉 is that she hath, or hath not, how 〈◊〉 is, and after what nature and quality it is.  
Then an on reason abstracteth from ●●●sible things, things invisible, from corporeal incorporeal, things secret ●nd mystical from such as are plain ●nd trivial, and lastly things general from things particular. After this ●●ee refers all these things, to the ●udgement: which is the chiefest ver●●e and power of the soul, which ●omprehendeth all the other faculties; and which is reposed in the contemplation of the Spirit, which 〈◊〉 the end of the search and inqui●●tion of verity, and as a certain ●nd sure respect of all other things, which have been collected and cho●en by reason, and received and approved also by the judgement.  
Wherefore it is, that we say, that ●here is a double discourse of reason in ●an: the one in the theoric and speculation, whose end is verity, & which having found the same proceeds no farther. The other in practic, whose end, for which it worketh, is good; and which having found, doth not re●● there only, but passeth yet farther forth even unto the Will: which is another power of the soul, of wondrous excellency, which God hath endowed ma● with, that he might thereby, love, desire and follow that which is good, and eschew, hate, and fly from that which 〈◊〉 evil; and if he do, or have erred, to return again into the paths of Virtue by the helpful guidance and direction of Reason. The will of man hath two actions belonging to the same, the first is an inclination unto good, whereby she desireth, she followeth, she embraceth it: the second is a diversion from evil, whereby she flieth, and forceth his self from it.  
Yet howsoever, it is always to be understood, that reason doth not sway & domineer over the will, as Princess and commander, but only as a mistress▪ to inform, and as a guide to instruct her, telling and teaching her, what is to be followed, and what to be fled from. For the will hath not any light from, or by herself, but is illuminated only by the shining rays of the understanding, that is to say, by reason, & judgement, which are conjoined with her.  
Even so the will doth neither covet, nor reject any thing but that which reason hath formerly declared, ●o be either good or bad: In such sort, ●hat the act of the will proceeds (indeed) from herself, but is both judged and counseled by reason, & only borne and brought forth by the will: which doth nothing else but put that ●n execution, which the understanding hath conceived and judged to be good; or fly from that which it reproveth.  
Wherefore if the Will of man do con●oine itself with reason (which is heavenly and divine) in the pursuit of virtue, she would gain by this her combination, to be like unto it, and would also then, with great facility, be able to rule and govern the sensual parts which are under her, remaining always full of ability, and power to constrain them all to obey her as their Lady and mistress. But if the will of man disdainfully disesteem her, and contem●● her counsels, and in stead of mounting aloft, towards that glorious seat of all admired excellency, descend towards the ignoble part of filthy sensuality, dedicating herself and making a league with it; she shall then be like her lustful copesmate, and in am of her commander, shall be her servant, and hereby become both base and brutish: where otherwise she might have made that sensual and earthly part to be celestial and divine, had she chosen rather to obey Reason then passions, and preferred the heavens before the earth.  
Therefore it may be said, that reason produceth the same effect in the soul of a Prudent man, that health doth unto a sickly body. For, freeing it from all torturing passions, it doth give a joyful pleasance and a sweet content in all sorts of conditions whatsoever, making her both apt and ready to all laudable and virtuous operations.  
The third that remaineth to be spoken of, is Use: whereby nature is fashioned and confirmed in the habit of true good. We therefore say that it consisteth in the continual exercise, aswell of the mind as of the body, in the study, travel, and disquisition of honest things; for as much as that which is done once and again, yea often reiterated, nay continued with a pawselesse perseverance, shall be absolutely accomplished at the end.  
For even as little drops of water, by the continuance of time, do hollow and pierce the hardest flint: Even so good manners, and virtuous conditions, are certain effectual qualities which make a wondrous great impression in the soul, by a long use. And how rude, and untractable a nature soever it be: yet at length, by labour and care, diligence and long custom, it is reclaimed, being made both attentive and obtemperate to reasons precepts.  
There are 3. points very remarkable, whose observation is marvelous necessary, and of great importance. The first is to contemn slouthfulness, and eschew all dissolute conversation. The second is to employ the time in such things as are both honest and profitable, and to forward all our beginnings with due perseverance. The third is to reap a profitable benefit aswell from the evil of ourselves as from the calamities of another.  
Concerning slothfulness, it is one of Nature's monsters. Nature made nothing idle in the world: but all things (whatsoever) have continual motion. To prove the which, our souls may serve as a sufficient argument, which are continually in perpetual action.  
And even as the water that makes a standing pool is soon putrefied and corrupted: even so the natures and dispositions of those that lead their reckless lives in lazy slothfulness, are quickly distempered with a sottish dullness; for as much as laziness is not only exceeding prejudicial to the perfection of the soul, but also a stern enemy to the body's health: for the excessive rest which is gained by idleness, indommageth more (by many degrees) the sound estate of a healthful person, than a wondrous painful, and laborious exercise. For great and continual labours do extinguish the heat of luxury, and fire of concupiscence: whereas idle sluggishness addeth fuel, and oil, unto the flames of them. For as much as he that doth nothing, learneth either to do, or to think evil, or perchance both: which our poor souls are often guilty of, being not busied with some contemplation, wandering and straying up and down like masterless and unemployed runagates, easily to be diverted from truth and honesty, and as easily induced to follow vanity: which causeth daily so many contentions, and accursed quarrels, from whence so many murders usually ensue.  
In Consideration whereof a man ought not only to avoid such sluggish laziness, but also to eschew the familiar society & inward acquaintance of all those, whose conversation is either dangerous or unprofitable; forasmuch as evil examples, and wicked designs, are great corrupters of civil demeanours, and only depravers of an honest nature: which being perverted from what is good, there is no mischief in the world too great for their attempts, their undertakings. For virtues exercises being once abandoned, idleness transporteth man unto a play, wherein he durst rail, and revile his loving neighbours, yea ban and blaspheme the name of God, and at length most barbarously consume his substance, and despise himself; and then (these things standing thus) runs into desperate and accursed courses, and makes base coney-catching the only certainty of his future possibilities. Being now become a cozening Gull, he esteemeth it no more sinful to rob, than to do that: from robbing he becomes a murderer; and so by degrees he mounteth still, and never ceaseth till such time as he have attained unto the highest top of all impiety. For one vice having once undermined the soul of man, and made an entrance into it, all other vices find the way more easy.  
And as for time, (which their sleepy drowsiness will not permit them to observe) it is so choice, so precious a thing; that it is said to be, solum sine pari, only that in the world which wants a parallel, hath no comparison. This time I say, cuius neque praeteritum, neque futurum, nostrum potest appellari, which being either past or to come, cannot be called ours: and the present passeth away so presently, that this moment, this point of time, deserveth rather to be called a little little nothing, than the real subsistence of any thing. In such sort that these little moment: any minutes being once lost, a serious debating with ourselves at last, shall find them to be a great diminution of our days; whose redemption being hopeless, they do leave in our souls a woeful remembrance that they once passed by: and opportunity posting by us, & not finding us within, or (which is as bad) not ready to entertain her, hath left recorded in the tables of our memories (to our greatest grief of all) that when she proffered herself accompanied with good occasion in gentle courtesy, we most unkindly, or carelessly either despised or neglected her: by which neglect we purchased to ourselves a wondrous prejudice: for as much as in the observance of her, wholly depends the full accomplishment of our affairs. For opportunity being a part of time which presenteth herself unto us, her acquaintance, nay her familiarity ought to be esteemed as of great importance, and not so carelessly to let her pass, and in passing, lose her; for in suffering her to turn her back, she is passed and we have lost occasion, which being once escaped can never be recovered: from whence proceeds even as much blame as damage.  
If the Pilot prise winds, times, and tides convenient for his voyage at a high rate, arming himself with manly courage, to withstand the angry seas tempestuous outrages, how much more careful aught we to be, to make good and profitable employment thereof, towards the attaining of the knowledge and understanding of the celestial Navigation; who are not to pass through the storms and tempests of the sea, but the surging billows of passions, and death-menacing outrages of our lewd affections, which are far worse than a thousand perilous rocks and dangerous shelves, which every minute, and moment of our lives, do threaten the shipwreck of our Sovereign good, if we have no learned by long use and custom, to direct our affections by the rudder of reason, redeeming our time, by applying ourselves unto the practice of such things, as deserve commendations; to the end that by an entire and full discharge of our duty consummated by persevering in our lawful vocation, we endeavour to fortify and forward ourselves, in the attaining of such things that can guerd on both our actions and ourselves with an appellation of virtuous in this world, and of truly blessed in the world to come. The third remarkable point that ought to be observed in the use, is to make our experience profitable, forasmuch as it hath belonging unto it two means: to correct our foolishness, and increase out wisdom. The one is derived from our own proper evil, the other from the example of others miseries.  
The first hath the more effectual and prevailing efficacy: but that is always some thing prejudicial unto whomsoever it happeneth; and that is the reason that it cometh still, before it be either wished for, or welcome: for it cannot be entertained without both trouble and damage.  
As for the second each one courteth it, both with a willing and familiar complement; forasmuch as his own person is somewhat free from peril, and can behold that in another, (without hurt unto himself) which may advertise him to virtuous courses.  
For the experience which proceedeth from the remembrance of others miseries, is a very powerful doctrine to advise us. For it is a compendious course and an easy method unto every one, to discern by the success of others, how he ought to demean himself in the prosecution of business of ●he like condition.  
It may then be concluded from this discourse, that every good beginning (next after God) proceeds from nature, the happy progress, and ample increase from reasons precepts, and the full accomplishment thereof from use. In such sort then, to make a man perfectly virtuous, these three things must conspire together. For nature without reason, and use, is like unto a good field that lieth like a barren desert, being neglectively left unmannured. Reason without nature and use, is like unto seed that never springeth up, because it was never sown upon the earth. And use also, without nature & reason, is like unto a good labourer that picketh straws, or takes less pains, only through want of ground and seed. And even as a good parcel of ground produceth many bad weeds which destroy and quite choke up the good and profitable fruits, if it be not carefully preserved and husbanded: Even so a well disposed nature, by bad instructions, will soon be corrupted and become pernicious: as on the contrary, having had wholesome education, and virtuous nurture, it will produce most excellent fruits; which virtue begetteth in all those, that do conform themselves unto her disciplines. For she is neither dead, nor barren in them: as it is most evidently declared, by the sweet and comfortable effects which she produceth in a virtuous man, leading him friendly to the palace of perfection, whose entertainment is a happy bliss.   

The first effect that virtue produceth in man: which is, th● knowledge of himself; whereby he may be humbled.  
CHAP. V.  
IT is the knowledge of him●●lfe that he may thereby ●●scend by degrees unto the ●●●wl●dge of the sovereign good. For it is the duty of ●●●ud●n●● man, to look into the natures of things and inquire their causes, to the end that he may find the divine reason by which they subsist; and having found it may also serve and adore the same, and afterwards derive there from, both pleasance and profit.  
In such sort that every one that set●eth his Sovereign and chiefest good, ●n any thing that is frail, and corruptible, and whereof he taketh joy but for a little time, may be more truly said, to possess a soul replenished with molesting thoughts and restless perturbations, then, with quiet content & peaceful tranquillity; and so consequently, laboureth always with a perpetual error, and blind ignorance without beginning without end, without felicity: whereas the sovereign good, (whereunto virtue still attaineth) is a lasting and permanent beatitude, which comprehendeth within itself, what good soever man can wish, and that whereunto man forceth himself to aspire to make himself thereby blessed for evermore.  
Therefore when we say that it behoveth him to know himself: that is, he ought to be careful for his soul, preparing her, to the knowledge of God his Creator, who framed him, after his own Image, to the end that we may thereby as in a mirror, contemplate on his invisible divinity, the efficient cause of all wisdom and goodness: & that by the knowledge of the Virtues with the which God hath enriched the soul of man, he might understand how much he is obliged unto his maker, knowing that he hath nothing of himself, but hath received all from God above; and so addressing himself unto him, make a reference of all his actions unto his glory, being the only cause of his essence and sole mainetainer of his existence.  
To begin therefore to know God, we ought to have a knowledge of ourselves, to understand what we are, and to what end we were ordained.  
But the perfect knowledge of ourselves (which harboureth in the soul) is so combined with the knowledge of God (which is man's chief and sovereign good) that they cannot be tru●y and perfectly accomplished the one without the other. For in the one, we behold God the Creator, and preserver of the world, who made all things ther●n, for the use of man, and man only for himself, creating and forming him for this only cause, after the similitude and likeness of himself, Just, holy, good, and upright in his human nature, the which he did compose of soul and body.  
Of a soul inspired by God with spirit and life, indivisible in respect of ●t self, and yet distinguished in the effects thereof; which are her natural faculties, to wit, understanding, memory, and the will.  
Of a body, perfect in its own nature, ●ormed of the earth, composed especially of three principal parts, to wit, essence, life, and sense; whereunto the vegetative, and sensitive soul serve as the middle, between the body, and the spirit, for a knot and connexion of those distances, which were so far asunder.  
And again for the conjunction and union of the soul of man with gods divinity, it hath another middle, ordained by God himself to stand between these two extremes; which is called, abstraction, or a separating intelligence which is nought else but a heavenly grace sometimes working on our understanding, thereby to instruct us; other times, upon our will, thereby to encourage us unto good. In the first place we call it intelligence: In the second remorse of Conscience. In such so●● that it is by her, that all good fortune happeneth unto us, when we observe and believe her; and on the other side▪ all evil fortune, when we carelessly neglect her.  
Therefore O man know thine Original,  
And bravely scorn base cel● o● earthly seed;  
Sith thou shalt shine●● h●auens glorious hall,  
And art by birth a heavenly plant indeed.  
Which is to be understood of the man's first knowledge, created by God ●o make him partaker of immortality, ●nd permanent felicity: and so to have glorified his Creator, had he not so safely defaced his Image.  
In the other, we consider man fallen ●om so great a good, of his own free●ill, for his ingratitude and disobedience: so that he is utterly despoiled of all ●he precious ornaments of grace which ●●e received from God in his Creation; ●nd all manner of iniquity and sen●●all uncleanness, have entered into his ●ule, and dispossessed justice and Sanctity.  
For the which earie-tingling, nay ●ule slaying trespass, he forthwith become a slave to sin & death; from ●hose tyrannous bondage he can ne●er be freed by any other means but ●y the world saving satisfaction of ●im, who is made unto us, through the ●race & mercy of the ever living God, Wisdom justice Sanctification, and Redemption. An incomparable treasure, such as neither flesh nor blood could ever have conjectured. For it was not revealed unto any, saving unto the members of the mystical body of this Redeemer, whom the Philosophers of the ancient time did never know.  
But, if it have been discerned at any time by some who in the erroneous opinion of the world, have been accounted wise, or to have lived virtuously in regard of other men, it cannot be said that God hath regenerated them (to speak properly) that being the gift only peculiar unto his children: but it hath been so, because it hath pleased God to repress and quell the fruits of their vicious nature, without tearing up the very roots themselves that they might serve for the conservation of estates, and families in the world, even as it hath been best pleasing to his will. And again, we cannot any way imagine, that there hath been any age, so monstrously wicked, that hath not brought forth some men of very eminent virtues, which might serve to be a shining light, a day-star in their times. Yea, there hath been found, a greater number of those which have attained unto the perfection of a virtuous life, then of those which have benewicked in the highest measure. God always making herein his bounty, and power to appear, to have the upper hand above his enemies: also without the same, the world could never have endured long.  
But we may say, that all these commendable and worthy virtues are nothing else, but certain ruinous relics of the image of God in man, which are left there behind, to no other end and purpose but to make us utterly inexcusable in all things, and which produce none other effects in us, besides the performing the office of a glass, which healeth not at all, but only makes us to understand, and know our blots and blemishes, our reproachful disgraces and disreputations with the God of heaven, so much the better, by how much they are more Crystal●●e, more clear.  
Certainly then, it is a thing much to be deplored, that human understanding should be disunited from a divine intelligence. All her beleeving are but toyish vanities; all her discourses but absurdities. She very often contradicts herself and being puffed up with vain glory and overweening presumption, voluntarily forsakes the shining light and burning lamp of the true good, to embrace error and blind ignorance.  
For this cause therefore, the source, and fountain of infinite mercy, ha●● been pleased, to suffer one little twinkling sparkle of light to remain always in the soul of man, which might push it forward, to the love of verity, with an earnest desire to follow after it, because it often pricketh and spurreth him up, not suffering him to sleep and slumber in the lap of vice: which little, weak (and scarce lively) sparkle being somewhat increased by the wind of motion, and aided also, and disposed, by the grace, virtue, and power of the Author of all good, doth invite and allure nay provoketh and eggeth him being regenerated by the holy spirit (having truly discerned, and understood his own estate, what he is and that he ought to displease himself) to inquire diligently, and fervently to thirst after that goodness, that justice, whereof he was deprived: and that glorious liberty which he had lost.  
The same heavenly grace addeth 〈◊〉 blessing to his holy desires, making his soul to suck into it, the doctrine of life, thereby to repress, and chasten, all lewd passions, and vicious inclinations; cleanly purifying it, from all turbulent motions: Lessoning him also to accept in good part, ●he frail infirmities of the flesh, only ●s loving and fatherly castigations for his sin, and necessary means to exercise himself in virtuous actions, ●eeing held-in therewith as with a ●ridle.  
In such sort that man by the knowledge and understanding of himself, hath very great means and occasions both of humbling and advancing himself.  
Of humiliation, by the apprehension of his own vanity, perverse frailetye, and vile corruption, in which estate he ought to displease his carna●● humours, and in some sort despise himself, when as he shall behold engraue● in his own conscience his perpetual ruin, and utter desolation. And of glorifying himself, having by this mea●● ascended unto the knowledge of Go● his Creator, and Redeemer (which succeed the other inseparably) an● so most constantly to assure himself that millions of his miseries may be salved by the meanest of his mercie● whereof he could never find a remedy, no not a lenitive, to redeem b●● a minute's sadness, in himself, when by a true and unfeigned humility, he disposeth himself to the receipt of grace which maketh him able to participate of that glorious immortality and endless felicity, whereof his soul was rob by sins tyranny.  
But because there is nothing in the whole world, more full of difficulty ●hen to know ourselves, because the ●oo too well conceiting self-love which we bear towards ourselves, and our own actions, blindeth the eyes of our understanding, in so strange a manner, that we cannot behold the encumbering vices of our souls, and soul imperfections that overflow within us, & which so runnet our ears with such 〈◊〉 sense-bereaving flattery, that we most wondrously sottish, think ourselves ●o enjoy a far more full fruition of sense tickling pleasure in listening to ●he fawning flatteries of such as wrong ●s, then unto those (which without dissembling) would fully acquaint us with ●he truth itself. All which things being considered, it is thought requisite 〈◊〉 before we conclude our determined purpose) summarily to anatomize the misery of man, and to give a methodical direction to be followed, whi●● shall teach us the only perfect way 〈◊〉 the knowledge of ourselves. With o●● the which, it is a thing most impossible, for any to attain unto true humility.  
First of all than we ought to be mo●● familiarly acquainted and have an requisite knowledge of the corruption of our own nature, by the remorse a●● feeling which every one ought to h●●● in his own conscience, to constrai●● him (whiles he too forwardly ouer●●●neth, with a disdainful & sharp censu●● eye, all the particular actions of o●●● men) to return home again at last 〈◊〉 to himself and take a survey of 〈◊〉 own sins. For as long as we cha●●● out some pretty pleasant fault fro● ourselves, (saying each one hath 〈◊〉 fault, and this is mine) and so compa●●●● it with the notorious imperfections 〈◊〉 some vicious man, we presently ma●● great esteem of our virtues, and thir●● our actions worthy imitution.  
But if we descend from these provider cogitations, and in sober sadness en●er into a due contemplation of our ●●rst form, which bore the resemblance ●f God himself, and make a collation ●herof with the estate which man is ●ow in, then shall we be enforced to ●onfesse that the first plant of mankind, ●as wondrous full of exquisite and admired excellency, but now the glory ●●erof is utterly defaced; and from be●●g like an Angel, is become like a ●e●●st full of savage rudeness, or rather ●●ke a forsaken desert, all overgrown ●ith thorns and thistles.  
Man being considered in the estate ●f his creation, as he was in the full in●grity and heavenly perfection wherewith God ennobled his soul, in the World's begininng; then should he have ●●st occasion to be esteemed the Metropolitan, chief Prince and Commander of all the Creatures of the World: But being considered as he 〈◊〉 to day, and in the estate where into ●ee is fallen, declining from the commandment of God his Sovereign Lord by his proud ambition, then shall h●● be adjudged the most miserable of th●● world, and far inferior unto all God● Creatures.  
O most lamentable and hea●● change, that man created after God own Image, a companion unto Angels, crowned with honour and glory Lord of the earth, Citizen of Heaven one of God's domestics, and an Inheritor of all celestial happiness, by a change, a sudden change, should be found all naked, miserable, poor, 〈◊〉 pitiful creature, yea a thousand thousand times more wretched than th● beasts which he had lamed.  
For indeed we durst not affirm th● we are now (in regard of our human● nature) in any thing more excellent than the brutish beasts. And if we would judge of the truth, as we are taught by reason and experience, was must needs confess against ourselves that they in very many things do● much outstrip us: as the harmless Dove in pure simplicity: the diligent ●nt, and painful Bee in labour and industry: the gentle Stork in kind humanity: the Dog in love, and firm fidelity: the Ox and Ass in memory and ●●membrance of good turns: the Lamb 〈◊〉 mildness: the undaunted Lion in magnanimity: the Cock in watchfulness: the Serpent in prudence: & all in ●enerall in content and sobriety.  
And if perchance he do surmount ●●me one in a good nature and virtuous disposition: for that again he sur●ounteth all others in hatred and ma●●e. For he is more treacherous, more ●uell than a wolf, more crafty than a ●xe, prouder than a peacock, more luxurious, more ungrateful than a ●ogge, and far more dangerous than ●poysonous asp.  
Besides, all the most wicked impie●es (if it be not unlawful to term them 〈◊〉) which are found but particularly in ●●uers brute beasts, (and which pro●●ed in them also, from the necessity of ●●ture, without having either judgement or free election of will, for the perpetration of them) are found all too firmly inherent in the depraved soul of man, and every one of them in the highest degree: and for the fuller accomplishing of them (if it be possible) there is hither industry, nor affection, nor will, nor ought else whatsoever, which shall not be racked to constrain the same, to perform its best endeavours.  
And shall we then vaunt, and boa●● of our judgement and reason, whe●● there is nothing besides a misty error and a cloudy darkness? Or of our fre●● liberty, or rather licentious loosen of our will? And of our eyes placed 〈◊〉 the highest watch tour of the little world, thereby to discern a far o● and discerning eschew all vanity tha● would besiege us? And of our tongu● which steadeth us in nothing, but lying slandering and blaspheming? An● of our hands, which are most employed as our chiefest instruments for the and murder? And of our feet, which in the paths of sin, are (as Mercury full of feathers; but in the paths of ver●●e turned to lead? And lastly, of all the ●ther parts and members of the Body, ●hose diligent endeavours in lewd exercises, make them seem to be as quick apprentices, or nimble pages to ●niquity.  
And so in this manner than we have miserably altered and changed that which God gave us, wherewith to embrace virtue (but most especially to magnify & praise his glorious name) ●nto the service of Satan, of the world of sin, and of our own concupiscence.  
But if when the resemblance of the world's Creator appeared in us by the ●lumination of our spirits, and by the uprightness of our (then) well tempered affections, we had some occasion of glorifying ourselves in him: now also ●t being through our defect so monstrously defaced, or at least so enveloped with darkness, and obscured with clouds that the traces thereof can hardly be distinguished; have not we then as great, nay a far greater reason of humiliation; and the more especially for that the image of the Devil hath succeeded it, who being a murderer, and the father of lies, hath nothing within the compass of the earthly Globe, that more resembleth him then wretched man, who is now naturally cruel, proud, and a liar? I would willingly ask, if man being in this sort disarrayed of the garments of grace & gifts of God (having not any thing whereof to boast, and yet most profusely boasteth) should not truly merit a public and general detestation, and that all other creatures should conspire together to upbraid him with his own arrogancy?  
In the course than which he is to observe, he should not imitate the Pharisee but the Publican; to the end, that having by our self-observing, truly informed our souls of our misery, we might forthwith make our recourse unto humility, which only maketh us capable of the perfect understanding of our own estate; and so consequently coming before the throne of God perform dutiful obeisance unto his ●oly name as well for our Creation, ●s also for all other good gifts, which ●ee daily and hourly receive from ●is bountiful and liberal hand, especially for spiritual and heavenly ●●ings, which we alone enjoy & not a●●y other creature whatsoever. And ●herefore if we have received any such gracious gift from God above, it must ●e disrobed, that we may attain unto the consideration thereof being na●ed and in its own proper nature, with ●he more facility. For man is never ●eerer unto a divine contemplation, ●hen when he meditates on human frailty. Whosoever coveteth to be ●ood, must first believe that he is ●aught. For there are not a few that deceive themselves herein, with the Pharisee; who thinking themselves, Prudent, Just, Liberal, Magnanimous, and Temperate, do overswell with self-conceit, and glorify themselves, as if they had gained all these virtues, by their own industry: Although there be not any man that possesseth any thing, which he hath not received (as a gift) from heaven.  
Knowledge and understanding, together with all the other virtues and ornaments of the soul; as also the acquaint proportion of the body, strength and agility of the limbs, the sweet feature and beautiful complexion of the face, are nothing else but precious jewels and high-prizde treasures, which God hath liberally bestowed on man, to the end that his creatures being so richly arrayed, both in the external abillaments of the body, as also in the internal trickings of the mind, they might be the greater honour unto his Majesty.  
We having then nothing in ourselves that deserveth glory, the consideration hereof is very available towards the knowledge of ourselves; sithence as often as we regard our Creator, who is our supporting maintenance, we shall straightway proceed in judgement against ourselves, accusing the infinite defect of our own perfection.  
The last and chiefest observation which is to be regarded, (a question being proposed of knowing ourselves) is to imagine how we are reputed in the judgement of God.  
For even as the innocency of any accused person, is never truly discerned till such time as he have been sound sifted by the subtle examination of a rigorous and wise judge: So in like manner, none of us all can truly discern what we are ourselves, till such time as we have passed the strict examination of God's justice, who only knoweth the secrets of the heart. It is he only that hath all the infallible informations of our whole life, and that can discern our privy▪ thoughts, counsels and most hidden desires of our hearts, according to the which we are to be either justified or condemned.  
Add hereunto, that it is he alone, that is free from all such affections, as avail much in the corrupting of judgement: for which reason, it is he that is only fit, only sufficient to be a judge unto all the World. Wherefore, every one ought to commit himself unto him, not thinking himself virtuous and honest, until such time as his never-erring sentence have approved the same. If we take this course, it will (questionless) much deject our high-touring and supercilious thoughts: For if we be possessed with a suspicious jealousy of man's justice (which is daily subject to corruption and abuse; and that there is no man so absolutely innocent when he perceiveth himself called into question, and his reputation in a ticklish hazard of judgement, but imagineth that he is not so truly clear and his innocence so great, but that he may be found culpable in one thing or other, if all his designs be sufficiently examined) what shall we do then when we consider that God is our causes judge? who by reason of his infinite wisdom, cannot be either ignorant or forgetful of the deepest thoughts and most secret imaginations of our hearts, nor alter or dissemble any thing by reason of his ever constant and unchangeable will.  
Then am I most certainly assured (if we remember his manner and rule of judgement) that we shall both know and acknowledge our best estate to be but dust and ashes, and that the swelling and proud humour which we conceived before, of our own virtues, will suddenly be quelled, and the ambitious admiration of our own worth transformed to hate: Our shame alas will be too too great, being like unto a poor tottered lagragge, that beholds his own beastly nakedness 〈◊〉 in the Chamber of Presence of a King or Prince.  
Therefore, he shall be ten thousand times happy, that in the midst of his greatest affairs, setteth always before his eyes, the true understanding of his own nature, to the end, that by the knowledge of himself, he may ascend by proportionate degrees unto the knowledge of his Creator. Therefore let us say, 
Whosoe'er the knowledge of himself can gain,  
Nothing that to be known from him can pass:  
The means whereby to the may attain  
Is to behold his soul in wisdoms glass.    

The second effect that virtue produceth in man: which is, the knowledge of vice, and of the evils which proceed from it.  
CHAP. V.  
THE second effect of Virtue, is to teach him to know vice and the inconveniences proceeding thence: for not to understand any thing thereof, having been made senseless with long continuance & always pampered with the carnal pleasures of voluptuousness, is filthy beastliness, and an ignorance (much to be lamented) of such things as ought especially to be understood of him, that would lead a virtuous and an honest life; that by the antithesis or comparison of Virtue with her most repugnant opposite, he might esteem her far more amiable, and hate vice with a greater detestation; 
Which is a rothing: an infirmity:  
A restless travel: a privation:  
A grief that doth torment the memory:  
A living death: an imperfection.   
For as Virtue is the life of the soul which causeth her felicity; even so is Vice the death thereof: Forasmuch as it smothereth, nay quite extinguisheth the shining light of divine reason.  
The one hath nothing else but goodness and verity for her foundation: and contrarily the other, hath nothing for her supportance but mischief and lying, which may (very deservedly) be called the cherishing fosterers of accursed vice, forasmuch as from this marriage as from their source, proceed all sorts of errors, and impiety. For as to have the injoyance of goodness & verity, is to be endued with a quality, that is always in action, always bringing forth effects: even so mischief and lying, are certain qualities, always in action, always labouring without intercession, for the production of Vice.  
But if evil be a defect of good, and lying falshhood a privation of verity, what then is vice? being an extreme passion wholly destitute of the assistance of reason, and consequently, a continual travail without repose, and a perpetually tormenting angariation of the mind. For presently assoon as virtues motion ceaseth, vice is at hand to take possession.  
Which swelling big, and daily gaining strength,  
Incroacheth on the soul and mars the mind:  
Bereaving man of reasons aid at length,  
Who Pilotlesse, is tossed with every wind.  
Her first and chiefest care is to charm our credulous senses with her enchanting pleasures; and having well rooted her wicked self within our hearts, doth straightway captivate our resistless will, making her a servile and a base bondslave unto the affections and passions of the soul: which having deprived herself of Reason's Pilotshippe (by falling at variance with herself) is enforced to leave her (now wretched and miserable) self, to be transported up and down, according to the extravagant desires of sensuality.  
But anguish is the boon that she retains,  
To guerdon those that are her dearest minions.  
Her pleasures are but brief, endless her pains.  
Such hate her most that are of sound'st opinions.  
In like manner, the soul that consenteth unto vice, makes herself an equal sharer of all the crosses and corruptions that proceed from it. Hence it is that she is always so overfraught with repining sadness, jealousy, vain hope, despair, inconstancy, and a thousand foolish imaginations, which continually beget so many errors, so many crimes, so many disobediences & disloyalties, against her Sovereign, forming & framing all (both) thought and actions directly against his will: In such manner that (being deprived of the gift of grace) she runneth wilfully into the obscure dungeons of mischief and error, fully opposite and contrary to her own natural quality and condition, which takes delight in nothing more than light and verity.  
Being then destitute of true understanding, she chooseth rather the evil than the good, and falsehood than verity. Miserable and wretched condition of man! which suffereth himself to be thus transported unto vice, which he ought so much the more to hate, by how much the more inconveniences, and greater infelicities it bringeth to his soul.  
This tree of death hath 3. sprouting branches, every one whereof spreads itself into many great boughs, the fruits wherewith they are abundantly loaden, are all sorts of vices and impiety.  
The first of them is Avarice, the root of all evils, forasmuch as the nature & quality hereof is an earnest desire and an endless coveting of all the riches and treasures of the World: which being congested in an huge heap, have a powerful virtue to withdraw the eye of the soul, from the soul, to it, or at least so to blind the same, that she shall never be able to perform her duty, her honour unto God, nor the well intended actions of her own Conscience.  
Of Avarice there are two kinds: the one is pinching, niggardly, sordid, sottish, and brutish: of which sort is that, which possesseth the hearts and minds of those base and monstrous misers, who for fear of losing the silver and gold, (which oftentimes they enjoy, not through their own labours and industry, but descended unto them closely enwrapped in a chest of iron from their covetous fathers & grandfathers) do with a solicitous and pensive care imprison nay timorously entomb it, within the secret bowels of the earth for fear of wasting or diminishing it. Yet unto such as these are, their greedy and insatiable avarice never begets a jot of profit, neither to themselves nor their successors, forasmuch as the desire of increasing engendereth in their corrupted and dunghil-minds so strange a humour of sparing, that they cannot find in their consciences, more than resistless and peremptory necessity constraineth, to provide bread for their even famished bellies, or convenient apparel to hide their nakedness; but daily feed themselves on brown bread and pottage, and make their best liquor a cup of cold water. All their labours and industries, all their pleasures, all their content, and chiefest felicities, consist in the contemplation, admiration, & idolatrous worship of this their sweet Saint, their good, their God, which they every moment of time, warm, cherish, sit a brood on, both with the eye of the body and of the soul, not unlike unto the Tortoise who burieth her eggs in a heap of sand. They are such cruel tyrants & merciless enemies to poor nature, that they will not lend unto themselves, eight or ten angels to work their own redemption from a detested prison, neither would they by any means whatsoever, be induced to bestow any thing in procuring a medicine for their greatest malady. And in this ridiculous and strange manner pass they over their wretched life in a voluntary poverty, that after their death they may be styled rich.  
The other is more violent and ravenous than the former, which (in some sort) may be said to be contented with what it hath; whereas this, is always tortured with a desire of having more: which still increaseth with his ill-gained gold, not respecting in the scraping in of it (so it be have-able) either from what men, or by what mean.  
In such sort, that whosoever are overtaken by this passion, may be truly said to have but a poor conscience. For thus he debateth with himself: What? shall the impiety of the action deter my soul from the prosecution of mine own commodity? No: On, and faint not: The sin is but on affrighting bugbear and a toy in respect of the gains that are gotten; making a subtle (but devilish) separation, between honest and profitable, in such a fashion that neither shame nor fear can repress or repel his covetous cruelty.  
Of this kind there are also two sorts. The one is ambitious: as when one man desireth to surpass all others in lands and substances, by what attempts or passages soever. F●●●in the pursuit of such a prize, nothing shall be refused that may be helpful.  
This kind of covetousness is full of danger, and especially if it be in such as have authority, and power. For having force and conveniency within the lists or compass of their own arms, they have (by way of consequence) a very commodious and facile means of using violence, and extortion, towards the increase of their golden dunghills; not with an intent and determination of sparing parsimony, as the former, but of lavish & profuse luxury, & of having wherewith to furnish their magnificence, & boundless liberality so that (reference being made unto this) it is not so much to be discommended, as that which cometh after. For this hath (I know not how) a generous disposition; and the other following, a violent and insatiable passion, which killeth downright as many as are under the jurisdiction and power of its command, with sorrow, care, anguish, and travel. For she will drive them through fields and woods, through thick and thin, by sea and by land, in winter and summer, night and day, through hot and cold, without the allowance of one poor minutes rest. And after this manner will she enforce them to gather riches and treasures, with pains and peril, bereaving them presently of the right use of them: for covetousness increasing, pleasure is diminished, nay quite taken away. O truly miserable and unhappy condition! Since man is never so blessed, having the full fruition of all his desires, as he should be, if he would not desire at all. For if the desire of having, be not limited with reasons bounding pillars, which have Ne plus ultra engraven in them, it is far more full of danger then pinching poverty, because great desiring breedeth great want, and is no more allayed with with purchased treasures, than flames are quenched with wood and oil.  
For, the desire of having, doth always increase by the having of things desired. The medicinable remedy which he searcheth after in silver and gold, for the qualification of his malady, doth nothing else but increase his misery.  
Chests and coffers, purses and pouches, bags and budgets may in time be filled; but the insatiable desire of a covetous man can never: for the bottom of the sea is not so deep as it.  
The covetous man never regardeth what content he might derive from the substance which he possesseth; but how well he should be, had he but some great matter which he hath not: and therefore presseth he all his endeavours by day, & care by night, for the compassing of that, which had, tormenteth him.  
This also is the most miserable, most detestable passion, that ever lodged in the heart of man. Other desires are capable of sariety, and so by consequence, of quiet comfort. But this is as far from either, as the earth from Heaven.  
The luxurious belly-god abstaineth sometimes, from a palate-pleasing morsel, because he hath already overgorged his stomach: and the swinish drunkard loathes (now and then) your sparking Claret, stomack-setting Sack, or some neater wine, because his hogshead belly, is overtunned already: but the covetous Volpone is never satisfied: so infinitely great are his desires, that they are without satiety, without end. His heart is like the Ocean, whose banks (though all the Rivers in the world flow into the same) are never the fuller. And briefly this is Tantalus, who standeth full in the midst twixt water and apples, yet starveth with hunger and thirst.  
In such sort, that whosoever is infected with this passion, becomes insatiable, inhuman, subtle, envious, curious, a liar, injust, dishonest, disloyal, faithless, a Villain, a Deceiver, a Thief, a Traitor, a false witness, perjured, covetous of another's goods, and a wicked wretch unto his lives end.  
O poor covetous wretch, who would not deplore thine infelicity, beholding thee so cruelly tormented, so pitifully tortured by the merciless executioners of thine own goods, and so much the more racked and strapadoed by reason of that which thou desirest? The earth yieldeth thee no such fruits: but the seeds which covetous & greedy desire hath sown in thy care-furrowed heart, spring up, and produce sullen sadness, perplexed thoughts, anguish, grief & vexation of spirit. Thy plaints and groans are without intercession: thy frequent exclamation is, What shall I do? Thy plaints declare thy pains, and thy demand the want of a lenitive for thy languishment. O cruel, O strange passion I little or nothing differing from raging madness: Reader I refer thy desire of reading more hereof, to the fift chapter of S. james, who pronounceth sentence against the covetous man.  
Ambition is the second branch, being the very next neighbour unto avarice. It is a desire, (inherent naturally in the soul) of having an apparent glory, and eminent superintendency above other men. It is not alike in all sorts: but in some greater, in others less, according to the variety of their humours, and differences of their spirits: for such as are endued with a more subtle acuity, and lively nimbleness of apprehension, having also more lofty and doughty hearts, somewhat elevated above the vulgar pitch, and are humoured with nothing more, then with the attempt & undertakings of your weightier affairs, and matters of greatest adventures, are much more subject unto this than others.  
In this accursed poison was Adam's soul first steeped, by the deceitful artifice of Satan: wherewith being drunken he durst aspire unto Divinity, not (by the assistance of grace) recounting the unspeakable benefits which he received from his Creator; but not contenting himself with his estate and the signiory of the whole universe, which God hath bestowed on him overall the Creatures of the earth and sea, and air, was inflamed with an unquenchable desire of making himself equal unto God, who justly incensed against him, (as well by reason of his presumptuous daring and saucy boldness, as also for his unthankful and a thousand times worse than brutish ingratitude, debased him so much the more, by how much the higher he coveted to advance himself; constraining both himself and all his cursed brood to live in such a sort, that (now) resistless necessity compelleth them to cry out, and to confess themselves to be but men.  
Behold therefore what thy first father's ambition hath gained thee: which aboundeth in us so much the more, by how much the higher we strain to exalt ourselves above the sphere of our place and calling. For the excessive, and immoderate desire of glory is in glorious: And then especially it meriteth a double blame, when for the satisfaction and content thereof, it skilleth not, whether our endeavours be either honest or dishonest, just or unjust.  
It is very usual amongst ambitious men, never to find any condition of life more distasteful than their own present: and that is the only reason why they so much wish for that which is to come. To the achieving whereof they always both shuffle and cut, tumbling all things upside down, bringing in one change in the neck of another, and never cease until such time as they have attained unto the ending period of all their lewd desires.  
Ambition only in Caesar (as in divers others also) destroyed in him the richest, and most admired ornaments of nature, that ever had existence in any mortal Creature, and made his remembrance bitter and odious, for assaying to purchase glory, prized at the ruin and destruction of his Country, which was the wealthiest, and worthiest Common wealth of all the World.  
Alexander's ambition was the decay of the eastern world: And for one Alexander that hath ever gained any thing by his ambition (yet with the prejudice of his reputation amongst good men) there are many millions that have wrought their own overthrows: At Pompey, julius Caesar, Marius, and infinite more both ancient and modern. When the Poets feigned Icarus tumbling headlong into the sea, for attempting to fly up unto the heavens with wings of wax; and Phaeton, who was violently thrown down from the skies, when he undertook to govern his father's horses and the Chariot of the sun, carrying it round about the world: they intended nothing else, but to declare thereby, that ambitious actions, have wicked ends.  
She promiseth unto a man a world of felicities, but pays his expectation with sorrows and repentance: She promiseth Crowns, but payeth Crosses: she exalteth and placeth him on the top of a pinnacle, but to this only end to cast him off, and to break his neck downwards: for the ambitious thoughts of gaining glory (wiping clean from the memory of man what he is and aught to be) do make him hate and abandon actions of duty, transporting him (too easily seduced) beyond the bounds of reason and equity, and so (ere long) his own designs are the first that consult against him, and his own counsels that procure his ruin. From this source springeth up Presumption, Pride, Arrogancy, Ingratitude, Atheism, Infidelity, Injustice, Temerity, Vengeance, Disloyalty, perfidiousness, Oppression, Tyranny, Treason, Rebellion, Factions, Seditions, Divisions, Quarrels, Contentions, and a thousand of the like mischiefs, which ruinated Families, Cities, States, Kingdoms and Empires.  
In regard whereof, we must observe that Ambition is the principal vice, that the worthier persons are carefully to beware of. For even as the wood, by how much the finer and purer it is, is so much the more subject unto worms and mouldiness: Even so (we see) that the more generous and noble minded personages, are ordinarily more inclined, more addicted unto this passion, unto this desire, than others are.  
Neither yet is it mine intent to condemn, or somuch as to reprehend that ambition or desire of honour and renown, which men are to have to live in the world, with worthy reputation & esteem, & is achieved by the performance of some high attempts & honourable deeds virtuously done; whence may accrue profit and commodity unto the common good of the weal public: but this vainglory, which some labour to enjoy by the mediation of such actions, as are partly unlawful, partly ridiculous; or this temporal Honour, which is attributed unto things which have always been, & are yet at this very day, by a vain and false opinion esteemed admirable amongst men; or a certain renown & glory which they pretend to acquire, more by a seeming & counterfeited Virtue, then by that which is so indeed. For virtue will not permit any that follow her, to be discomfited by vain Ambition: but rather to know and acknowledge sincerely, with an open heart, the slender meaneness of their poor abilities, thereby teaching them to have an humble and lowly demeanour, in the virtuous acquisition of true honour; and not to make any dependence or hopeful reliance upon the unjust and trustless purposes of vice: which by false honours, vain pleasures, sloth and covetousness, drowns all her favourites in a sea of miseries.  
Voluptuous sensuality is the next that follows: which is nothing else but a smooth tickling & delightful moving of our carnal appetite, at the very instant when it doth long for the thing desired.  
It is engendered within us, by the knowledge which we have of the beauty, the harmony, fragrant savour and pleasant sweeteness, of those things which our heart wisheth for. But seeing there is no man that can be said to enjoy a durable rejoicing in the transitory actions of voluptuousness, men do oftentimes endeavour to reject the same, that they may thereby gain unto themselves the quiet fruition of some small content: but they assay it to a fruitless end. For after a long reiteration of one and the same things, their desires are cloyed with the use thereof: and then in stead of receiving some content they find nothing but satiety and a hateful loathing of that they so much wished for before. In such sort, that voluptuousness, is nothing else but an immoderate irregularity in its beginning, a defective want in its progress, and in its end a distasteful bitterness.  
And then again; how many heartburning molestations, shall the mind be tortured with, before this imaginary shadow of felicity can be attained unto How many and great travels, how many heavy perplexities, how many instant griefs, how many importunate sorrows, how many tedious loathe and odious detestations shall interpose themselves between man and his desires! Is it not true, that as soon as pleasure and voluptuousness have mastered man, in the self same moment of time sorrow and grief, anguish and annoyance, trouble & vexation of spirit, hang over his head? And by how much the more the judgement is infected with this vice; by so much the more wicked, and violent, are the affections, and the number of them so much the more increased: which do not only prejudice the internal faculties of the soul, but hinder also (in a high measure) the health and safety of the body.  
For, from what cause proceed there so many noisome and corrupted humours, so many incurable yea strange and unknown maladies, as from voluptuousness, and those accursed pleasures, which we purchase always unto ourselves with the soul's peril, and oftentimes with the destruction of the body which being obtained, bring with them (without fail) a thousand thousand occasions of sorrow & repentance, for one of perfect pleasure and true content.  
Sadness, sullenness, melancholy, despair, doleful pensiveness, and all other kinds of woeful discontents, are not these the choicest flowers and godliest shady trees of thy voluptuous Paradise? Are not the Crystal tears, that trickle from thine eyes, and Crimson drops of blood distilling from thine heart, the pleasant bubbling fountains of the same? Are not thy griefs, thy groans, thy sobs, thy sighs, thy lamentations, the eare-inchanting tunes, the warbling melody, & sweetest shrilling music of the pleasant groves?  
O case, O most unhappy case ●as truly lamentable as it is strange; and than which, nothing deserveth more, our most serious and considerate deliberations, thereby that we may be lessoned to know the greatness of our miseries, and the corruption of our judgement, and to change our erroneous opinion whereby we strive to persuade ourselves that there is no other content in the world, but that, which may be attained unto, with the satisfaction of our depraved desires. Whence it is, that we preserve with all possible care, and fear of losing, that, which finally is to us, the only cause of our own destruction; and by loving whereof, we separate ourselves far off from the love and pursuit of such riches, such honour, and such pleasures as are truly perfect, truly certain. Thus then may we see that virtue is soon drowned in the midst of pleasure.  
In this only point the Covetous man becometh prodigal; and the Ambitious man tumbling headlong from one extreme unto another, liveth like aswine in voluptuous sensuality. For the unbridled desires of the voluptuous can not have any contenting satisfaction, or determinate end: because that enjoying one pleasure for a little while, they (shortly) desire, and woo a greater, a quainter and a more ticklish delight: & so their wishes (being void of firm resolution & settled constancy) creep still groveling forward, till they fall into the searchless depth of disastrous calamity.  
Man through unlawful irregular and immoderate pleasures, grows to be Intemperate, a Gourmandizer, a lickorous, a sweet-mouthed companion, a drunken tosspot, an incontinent lecher, whorish, adulterous, prodigal, effeminate, cowardly, impudent, slanderous, slothful, lazy, a gamester, a poor snake, a penurious starveling, & in the end a miserable wretch.  
So then, the evils that sprout from these three branches, (as from their stock) are linked one unto another (as it were) with a massy chain, which draggeth man unto all kinds of impiety whatsoever, (the end of one being the beginning of another) never leaving him, until such time, as they have brought him full unto the gates of hell. For vice is always blind, and runneth heedelesly into apparent dangers: She enticeth man to assay all sorts of villainies: she is more full of perils than the miserablest chance that can befall a man: She makes him accursed within, that is in the outward show a blessed man. For indeed she is nothing but a glorious-outsided sepulchre stuffed within with worms and rottenness.  
She being masked under the false appearance of virtues ornaments, doth oftentimes beguile unwary man, lending his ear too attentively to her enchanting phrases, and heart-beguiling flatteries; in such sort, that by her cunning subtlety she induceth his desires to covet that which they ought most to fear, to love what they should hate, and follow what they should fly from: blinding him in such a fashion, that he (poor credulous wretch) establisheth all his felicity in the frail fruition of earthly vanities; never imagining that he, that settleth his hope of happiness in them, is never without a soul, full stored with restless disturbances, and torturing vexations; and so by consequence is nothing else but in perpetual servitude unto his own passions.  
Wherefore there is no danger or affliction whatsoever that can befall a mortal man, but is better to be undergone, then to suffer himself to be made a slave to vice; sithence it is the most cruel detestable Tyrant that can be imagined in all the world: such a one as never gives one minute or moment of repose and quiet, unto the heavy soul wherein it harboureth. For howsoever she underprop his sitting or lying, with soft cushions or pleasing pillows, thinking by these nice and dallying flatteries to sooth and smoother-up his painful languishment & so to lul his charmed thoughts asleep yet questionless the soul of him shall always be found full of anguish, horror and confusion. The lewd and vicious man experienceth us, that it is a great deal harder to work actions of impiety then of godliness. For the vicious man in the resolution of wicked purposes is much disturbed by the remorseful plead of his own conscience; which cannot be adjudged the meanest torment: for it crieth on him without intercession; 
More of thyself, than others be ashamed.  
Thyself art most wronged by thine own offence.  
And of thyself, thyself (first selfely blamed)  
Must give account to thine own Conscience.   
It is also a great trouble to search out lurking corners and secret nooks, which may serve as retiring covertures to his mischievous actions. But how closely soever he cloak his wickedness, he fears to be descried even in darkness itself: inasmuch as he beareth always within him a tell-tale conscience, which (being notable by any bribes nor by the world itself to be suborned) will absolutely bewray his impious deeds: Crying on him continually; 
Thou labourest much, and tak'st great pain in waist,  
To hide thy fault. For none could ere prevail,  
Nor shalt thou now: for 'twill appear at last.  
For from himself, who can himself conceal?   
Finally, admit that sin be both conceived and borne, yet sweet mean must have sour sauce, and one pleasure must be purchased (or not had) with a thousand pains and as many perils: yea hell itself is within the conscience. For the law of duty pronounceth, It is unlawful to do evil. And presently the Conscience produceth at once all the testimonies that can be, the Information, the judge, the Condemnation, the Executioner, and the punishment. The law of Honour trumpeteth out by the mouth of Fame, the reproachful shame and shameful reproach of base dishonour, condemning the remembrance both of the vice and of the vicious man. And yet again this is the worst of all, that the death and destruction of the body is not the last affliction to a wicked man For if death did bring unto man (as to the bruit beasts) an absolute privation of all sense, and a total annihilation of the soul, certainly the vicious should enjoy a far greater advantage than the virtuous, in the fruition of all their wishes, and desires (in this ●●fe) and not be punished in the world to come. But the justice of the Everliving God pronounceth most clearly and with a high voice, 
The longer that a wicked man doth live  
Without repentance, so much the more pain  
He shall endure (where God will none forgive)  
In hell, which God for such did first ordain.   
For God doth not punish all wicked offenders, in the earth; to the end that all might understand that there is a future judgement, in the which, all the impious actions, and mischievous intents of wicked men shall receive vengeance. As also he rewardeth not all good men, with temporal blessings, here in this lower World; to the end that all should know that there is another place where God will reward the patience of the virtuous with a Crown of glory.  
Again: God doth not inflict his punishments on all the wicked; neither yet bestoweth he blessings, or benefits outwardly on all the good: for fear lest it might be imagined that the virtuous followed and embraced virtue through hope of receiving a reward and for the sake of an earthly blessing▪ and that they eschewed vice, for fear only of the world's punishment. For by this means, virtue should be no longer virtue, forasmuch as there is no action that can truly challenge this glorious appellation, if the agents intention regard the hope of an earthly recompense, and doth not achieve the same for the love of virtue only, that thereby he may be rendered agreeable unto God, who alone is able to crown his deeds with everlasting blessedness.  
Accursed then is the condition of all wicked men, their lives are lamentable, & their deaths miserable; sithence vice deprives them of that most excellent good, which virtue bestoweth on such only, as do conform themselves unto her discipline.  

〈◊〉 us discover Vices cozenage:  
●●d then its love will soon be turned to hate.  
〈◊〉 Virtue will our soul so much engage,  
●at th'other will seem harsh and out of date.   

〈◊〉 not astonished Reader, if thou tread  
●●tht full of grief and seeming misery.  
●●e ways with bitter anguishes are laid,  
●●at Virtue travels; not with voluptie.    

The third effect that Virtue produceth in Man: which is, both the theory and practice of conquering himself.  
CHAP. VI  
THE third effect, is both the theory and practice of overcoming ourselves. Which renowned and victorious Conquest, we ought to strive so much the more courageously to attain unto, by how much the more we know our nature's strong, and desperate in the eager resistance of our assaults; sithence all the rebellious passions, and lewd affections which are within us, are so many proclaimed-traiterous enemies, which by a treacherous insurrection against Reason, their dread Sovereign, will rack their abilities (at the highest) to conquer man, and so to ransack and rob the poor soul, of its tranquillity which is her chiefest & most precious treasure.  
Well then, since whatsoever inciteth us, is either passion or affection, aswell that which setteth us forwards, to the acquist of Virtue, as that which compelleth us to embrace vice, (according to the natural disposition of every one) we may conclude, that our passions and affections are the true declarances of what we are, forasmuch as there is nothing (whatsoever) in us, whereunto we are more obsequious then unto them, be it in the undertaking of actions either good or evil.  
Wherefore there is nothing that a Prudent man ought to take greater heed of, then to keep them always obedient unto reason, neither whose conquest can be more glorious than the subduing of his own affections, not more dishonourable then to yield unto them.  
To this end therefore, virtue teacheth us, not to deprive ourselves of wishes and desires; but that we should continually repress and master them for there is no man how stupidous & dull soever, that is not sometimes moved with the delights of pleasures, and touched now and then with glory and honour.  
For Nature being very precisely curious as well in being magnified by propagation, as also, in being conserved in her perfect estate, by the honourable achievements of a virtuous life, hath stamped in our souls, a desire of delight, and a ticklish rejoicing in corporal pleasures: in the fruition of which, we are sure, to give unto our selves, too too licentious a scope, if the moderation of Reason do not interrupt us.  
On the other side also, Nature hath imprinted in our hearts a great desire of praise and glory: as well because this ●ast desire, should resist the disorder of the former, through fear of blame ●nd imputation, which is never separated from a too voluptuous life, & disordered pleasures; as also that it might serve as wings unto our wills, whereby they might desire, and soar aloft unto the glorious, and celestial palace of Virtue, where Honour also is enthroned with state and majesty: and so hereby we might at last attain unto that end, for the which we were at first ordained by our Creator. Yet notwithstanding, this is the difference between our two appetites: The former being sensual, may be defaced in a virtuous man by a long and a continual exercise of commanding himself, and his tumultuous passions; rendering them observant, and dutiful homagers unto Reason, whereby they may be made convenient, and capable of all good purposes, that there shall not remain in him, the least jot of an extravagant motion. Even in such sort, that being so utterly extinguished by temperance, there shall be left no more appearance of their being there, then if they never had been there at all.  
The second cannot be so utterly extinguished but the print thereof will still remain in all men generally. For a good man desireth to be honoured for his Virtues: and although he seek not after glory through ostentation; yet doth he not despise deserved praises, or at least useth his best endeavours to be worthy of the same: and for the having hereof, his own merit doth appease his mind.  
On the other side: the wicked man deceiving himself, aswell in the knowedge of Glory, as in the disquisition of the same, may be more fitly said in respect thereof to fly from it, then to follow after it. And the fear of being blamed, and branded with base ignominy (he always justifying himself) maketh us to discern most palpably the great desire he hath to be accounted virtuous.  
Both of them tend then towards the prize of honour and reputation. But having attained unto the angle of Pythagoras, in the which both good and bad actions meet together: the one travaileth towards the right hand, and the other turneth towards the left; and so the ends of this their progress are no less divers than their ways are different wherein they walked. For desire is the counterpoise of the soul, which maketh it incline and weigh down the balance on that side, in the which the will is placed.  
But because our desires are very different, and are not equal in facility & ease, man doth oftentimes deceive himself in making choice. For voluptuousness and sensuality follow us continually, they accompany us at all times, & in all places, they offer themselves unto us, they court us lovingly, and the means to enjoy them is very easy. Again they promise us delights, pleasures, rest, content, honour and liberty. So that indeed there needs a great deal of constancy to preserve our silly souls from ruin and destruction: and which sugared persuasions to withstand, we are not only urged & pricked forward with shame & fear of reprehension, but also established & confirmed by the glorious exemplary deeds of such as are truly generous.  
Contrarily, honour is distanced a great way from us: and beside, the path that leadeth unto it, is marvelous strait, laborious & painful. Whence it comes that the way (which is only one) is hard to keep: it is as toilsome and slippery as can be possible. The path of Virtue (through which such as tend towards Honour are to pass) is full of pricking thorns, affrighting terrors, tedious irksomeness, and grievous anguish. It is subject to the opprobrious obloquys of backbiters. And last of all, the access thereof is so difficult, that it meriteth almost to be called impenetrable.  
Man therefore, when constantly resolving with himself, to proceed always in that path which leadeth him to the stately palace of true Honour, (maugre all painful and dangerous occurrences whatsoever) bequeatheth all delicious sensuality, and voluptuous pleasance, unto the delicate, neat, spruce, effeminate and sweet faced womans-man; and wholly dedicates himself and his endeavours unto the galling labours and (almost) intolerable travails of severe Virtue.  
It is more than reasonable, that he (by the generous and fearless resolution of a noble courage) being arrived unto the farthest end of so great a design, should now be recompensed with a crown of Honour: for the gaining whereof he enterprizde a journey so painful so dangerous.  
Nature then hath imprinted in the minds of all, a love of Honour and a desire of praise, and above all, a certain opinion that true glory cannot be achieved by any other means but virtuous actions. In such sort that we must take especial care not to be so unnatural, as to prize glory at a mean value; nor yet to think, that she can be acquired by the wicked actions of impiety.  
Behold therefore the necessity both of the theory and practice of Virtue: which consisteth as well in the knowing and doing of good, (which we ought always to embrace and follow) as in the avoidance of that which is evil, which we should shun as a venomous serpent. The wound which vice hath stabbed in the soul, cannot be cured by repentance alone: but the correction and amendment of our life is also required. The grief thereof aught to be expelled by Virtue, and not by a contraryvice: for the Covetous miser becoming a Prodigal, tumbleth headlong from one extreme into another.  
Virtue ought to place herself in the very centre of the souls affections: the soul ought to command the senses: and the senses ought to guide the body; in such sort as it is by their assistance that the affection becomes from being corporal to be spiritual. They are the chariot that translateth this living clot of earth, unto the Temple of Immortality.  
An admirable means, had we so great a blessing as to be able to attain unto the knowledge thereof. Yet far more admirable, if we could use it well. For even as the life of the soul is divine Grace, and the life of the senses the assistance of Reason: even so the helpful support of the body hath its whole dependence on the orderly guiding of the senses, being assisted by the first mover, whose office it is to spiritualize them, being brought unto it.  
For if the soul would be contented to live unto herself, without toiling and troubling herself for her companion, she would deprive herself of all her glory, being not able to be conjoined unto that unity, (whereunto she aspireth) by any other means but by doing well: So that than her salary wholly depends on the administration and government of the body, for therein only her action consisteth.  
For how can she employ herself otherwise? by what means can she appear unto the world, but by her faculties? Therefore it is very requisite, that she aid and secure them, guide and govern them, as long as they remain together; that thereby at length triumphing in glory for having vanquished the Devil, the World, the Flesh and its affections, she may bring them unto the fruition of eternal blessedness.  
Contrarily, if she (by yielding too obsequiously unto their lustful appetites, and wanton concupiscences, forgetting both office and place) should slave herself to the servile subjection of their desires, she should truly merit (by suffering herself to be thus transported by their lewd and carnal affections) to be deprived of all her sovereignty; forasmuch as (by giving too facile an observance to their flattering persuasions) she hath frustrated the serious intention of her Creator, which was, that she should assimilate unto herself by virtuous actions, such things as were impure and subject to the dregs and blemishes of sin, that so at her return she might bring them with her to be conjoined in him. The course than that she is to observe in such contrarieties, is, so to demean herself, that both the senses and herself be nothing but Reason, that is to say, that she be not so spiritual that she forget herself to be conjoined with a body, whereof she ought to have great care, to rule and govern it: Nor yet so corporal, that she should be unmindful of her purer essence, and that she is the second cause of both their felicities. So then, Virtue producing these effects in a prudent man, impresseth in the soul of him, not only a knowledge of that which is just, honest, and profitable, that he may thereby love and embrace it; but also of that which is unjust, dishonest & unprofitable, that he may thereby shun and hate the same, holding his affections under the rule and moderation of her laws, to the end that he may not be made a bondslave to his enemy, being fallen under the power of Vice.  
And what is more miserable in the world than servitude? And what servitude greater, then to be in a slavish subjection to a man's own disordered affections? On the other side, what greater happiness in the world than liberty? And what greater liberty then to be master and commander of a man's self?  
If the victory that is achieved, aught to be valued according to the dignity and worth of him that is conquered, it is most certain, that the Conqueror shall be as great as was his glory whom he conquered. In such sort, the renowned victory which Achilles won when he conquered Hector, was so much the more noble, by how much Hector was more mighty & valiant. Furthermore, there is nothing in the World so great as man, nor any thing in man so excellent as his soul and courage, which is the greatest and most puissant thing within the compass of the Universe. For questionless that is chiefest, that is noblest, which approacheth nearest unto the first beginning. But the soul of man doth most resemble God, because of his understanding, use of reason, and freeness of will, which she hath far above all the parts of man's body, and all other terrestrial creatures whatsoever. Whence it necessarily followeth, that the reasonable soul is the most worthy, most noble, of all the universal World.  
If man, then, gain the conquest over his own soul, he ought to be esteemed more victorious than he that hath subdued and conquered the whole world.  
Wherefore it is, that man's chiefest content (during his continuance in this life) is the souls quiet and peaceful tranquillity: which cannot be gotten by things directly contrary, such as are restless desires, and greedy covetousness, wherewith the soul is miserably tormented.  
Nor yet doth the peace and tranquillity of the spirit, properly consist in the exemption of grief and sorrow; but also, in the freeing of it, from such violent passions, as plunge the vicious in a sea of sadness.  
So that then he only is to be accounted free, which domineereth over his own affections, and withstandeth the violence of such ill-seasoned desires, as without resistance would destroy him. If we esteem that man to be attended on by an unhappy chance and a miserable fortune, which having been once a Lord and Commander, is now tumbled headlong down by some disastrous accident or other, into the subjection of his own vassal; what then shall we say of him that is voluntarily become a servile bondslave not only unto his passions, but also unto such things as are senseless & dead? (such as are gold and silver, and the like worldly vanities) and so at length a servant to sin and (which is worst of all) unto the Devil himself.  
Is not this a great punishment of God, that man out of his own free will, (for want of knowing and understanding himself) should make himself a servant and a slave unto those things, whereof he (if he would eschew Vice, and embrace Virtue, so to use his goods and fortunes with moderation) might have the mastery and full command?  
Therefore if there be any sparkle of judgement remaining in us, whereby we may discern the treacherous conspiracies and domestical treasons which our own passions, contrive against us, shall we not blush to suffer ourselves to be so shamefully surprised, by those toyish fopperies, which the least foresight in the world would utterly have quelled? Have our painful endeavours in the school of Virtue gained no greater profit, than that frail riches, and worldly vanities, should have greater power and pre-eminence over us then Reason? Are we willing ourselves to deface that relic of God's image and resemblance in us, that we may become wholly brutish? Do we love & long for that, which we ought to hate? to embrace that which burneth us? and to kiss that which consumeth us? O, where then is virtues love, and the affection due to her? O, where is the laudable desire of Glory and Honour? whereunto all truly generous and noble spirits do aspire by civil demeanours, and commendable actions.  
Well then, let us contemn all Ambition, for Ambition's sake, save only that, which by arming our minds with true humility maketh us so valiant against ourselves, as to overcome our selves; in such sort, that flaying off our old skin with all his stains, blemishes, spots, and imperfections, we may put on a clean, a fair and a beautiful skin, not only laudable for its meekness, mildness, patience, liberality, humanity, modesty, and fidelity towards all men; but also for its fortitude, constancy, and justice towards ourselves, whereby we may be able to daunt, yea to subdue our greatest enemy, who hath by smooth insinuation, fortified himself even in the Citadel of our own understanding with a resistless and immutable resolution of forcing from us that little little residue, that small sparkle of brightness, which surviveth in us: to the end that being altogether in darkness we might with greater facility, slide into the soul wracking Charybdis of voluptuous sensuality; from which, it is almost impossible to be redeemed. And last of all, if generous and magnanimous spirits, present themselves within the lists, ready to undertake just and lawful combats; What nobler victory shall we obtain then, by conquering the passions and affections of our own selves? that reason hereby may gain the pre-eminence over our unruly wills, which have inclined our credulous souls to embrace all mischievous and wicked actions. And then may we justly triumph in so great a victory, when we ourselves have conquered ourselves, in so lawful and just a combat, being ready now to enter (which is the guerdon of our Conquest) into the possession of the souls sovereign good, which consisteth in the tranquillity of the mind, and peace of Conscience. And therefore we will conclude this Chapter with these verses; 
Our own selves Conquest is great victory.  
For in ourselves, ambush our greatest foes.  
And the sole means, ourselves to glorify,  
Is by our Reason's force to vanquish those.    

The fourth effect that Virtue produceth in Man: which teacheth him to perform his duty towards all men, demeaning himself worthily in his Vocation.  
CHAP. VII.  
THe fourth effect is to teach man his duty towards other men, that he may thereby discharge the same worthily, according to his place and calling, be it either publicly or privately. For we are instructed by nature and confirmed by experience, that men cannot live one without another: in such sort, that from our beginning, our Country, our Parents, our friends, our neighbours, will, yea ought to be profited by our endeavours. So that we are not to ascertain ourselves of the security of any other fortress in this life, but of doing, counseling, and saying, all such things as are truly accounted honest and virtuous: all this being but the discharge of that duty and service which nature obligeth every one to do.  
So that then if we will be guided by the direction of Nature, we ought to labour for a public good, & to employ for the conservation of human society our goods, our travails, our industry, yea whatsoever is within the lists of our ability. For no man lives a more shameful life, than he that always lives unto himself, & thinks on nothing but his private gain. And he lives most worthily which lives unto himself as little as is possible. Neither indeed can any man live in greater honour & reputation than he, that thinks his employments never bestowed better, then for the general commodity of the weal public.  
In such sort that a virtuous man feeleth himself so lively touched in soul, with an earnest desire of profiting those, with whom he liveth; that he endeavoureth himself to assist and secure them, and not to be daunted by the greatness of pain or the fear of peril.  
He esteemeth his country as his own proper mansion; wherein every one ought to labour for the common good. He foreseeth that no man is able to protect his private house from being rifled, when the enemies have the whole City. And therefore every one ought to carry his hogsheads and ladders to the breach, that they may by their diligent endeavours makeup the reparation & withstand the assault. But if every one should retire himself, & cowardly fly unto his house, hiding and locking up all his money, plate, jewels, and other necessaries; the city being surprised, he doth not only lose his gold, but with his gold, his glory. Wherefore to secure thy particular, thou must bestow thy labours and travails in the defence and safety of the general: which cannot be (when the City is besieged) except they show themselves one to another like faithful friends and loving Citizens.  
We are therefore obliged in duty each towards other, in this World: to the end that we labour not only for ourselves, but for all those also, which stand in need of our assistance, having always recorded in our memories, that golden sentence; Do unto others what thou wouldst have others do to thee. For there is nothing more repugnant both to the law of nature, and of men, them to make that the increase, thy profit, which cannot be had, but by the prejudice of another. For Nature will not, nay cannot tolerate, that what increaseth our golden heap should be the cause of another's heaviness. In such sort that whosoever would follow nature, cannot be mischievous or noisome some to his like, but would choose rather to endure the crosses of the world, and the fretting afflictions of contemptible poverty, then to augment his fortunes and exalt himself, by the wrongful deeds of bloody tyranny: forasmuch as the evil of the soul (which is impiety) is a thousand times worse than the evil of the body.  
Therefore every one ought to have an especial regard, that the actions which he practiseth be honest & just; and that the end whereunto they are referred, be also profitable unto the common use & society of those, with whom (whiles we breathe) we are always conversant.  
For the great, rich, and potent men, can very hardly, (or scarce at all) live without the succour and help of the meaner sort: for these are they which turmoil and tumble up and down, to dress their grounds, and husband their possessions. In like manner, the mighty statesman, & so all descending to the Mechanics, can not live the one without the mutual help & succour of the other; God being pleased to show herein, the great care and providence which he had of binding them together with the indissoluble knot of mutual necessity.  
It is also requisite that every one's pains & industry, be accompanied with trustiness, and loyalty: to the end that the fruit and profit that the one may produce by the furtherance of the other, be just & honest, to the continual maintenance of human society; which being taken away, all things would be destroyed by confusion: so that bounty, justice, truth, & honesty, would violently be carried down the stream, when as private gain should be preferred before the performance of civil duty; or when it is deliberated, whether that which is full of profit and commodity may be achieved, not sinning against honesty and Virtue. Which proposition is quickly affirmed by such greedy minds as are easily drawn into such inconveniences.  
A happy life, which consisteth in the perfect use of virtue, cannot be accomplished, if it want the assistance of corporal & external goods, which serve as aids & instruments to the better & more happy execution of honest desires: & therefore it happeneth oftentimes that the fear which men have of falling into poverty (esteeming it the greatest evil in the world) leadeth them to desire the goods and riches of the world; & to this effect persuadeth them that it is their duty to labour for them & to possess them (as being one of the 3. main & principal points, to the obtaining whereof, all the actions and industries of men are finally reduced) thinking by the gaining of them, to commit themselves to a retired settlement and restful quietness, not considering the sentence of that wise Philosopher; that he that would truly and perfectly become rich, should endeavour not to increase and augment his riches, but to diminish his greedy desire of having: because such as leave their desires without bounding limits do daily increase their poverty and want.  
As on the other side, the most excellent Virtue and nearest approaching unto God himself, is that which causeth man to want as few things as is possible. For to wish or covet nothing, is to be in some sort like unto God, teaching us to content our minds with that little, which we have, and not to account any poverty either ashame or a reproach unto us, save only that, which proceedeth from slothfulness and ignorance, or rather from riotous expense, and luxurious superfluity. For when poverty is found in a man of an honest and civil conversation, one that is laborious, painful, stout, and wise, it serveth as an infallible cognizance of his magnanimity & lofty courage; such a one as employeth his mind in the achievement of greater matters without encumbering it in the search & pursuit of respectless vanities: such as are the riches of the world. And therefore we may say; 
external goods which worldly men adore,  
Are not called goods if we them truly name.  
Subject they are to change, for evermore:  
But virtue only, still persists the same.   
Wherefore it is, that the liberty and freedom of the wise man's soul (that knoweth the natures and qualities of external goods) is never troubled with their pensive perplexity; being certainly assured that his felicity is not a jot the greater, nor his content any thing increased, by being environed on every hand, with an infinite mass of riches and treasures, if he have not the fruition of that true joy and comfort, which only proceedeth from the soul's tranquillity.  
But because we ought not to live in the world, like idle drones we are bound by duty to employ the talon which God hath bestowed on us, to the commodity of divers others besides ourselves, endeavouring to augment the same by all just and honest means, without the damage & prejudice of any; that we may hereby be true imitators of the painful Bee, converting all things into sweet and gentle meekness, contenting ourselves with that which is necessary, and spending the residue to help and secure those that want it.  
For the life of Man, with his industrious pains, is not praised because he is rich, and mighty; but because he is just and friendly, and hath the true use of the riches which he hath gotten: forasmuch as liberality is the excellent use of that means, which God hath placed in our hands, to be a help and secure unto many. So that natural duty (which we call the source of all laudable actions, and foundation of honesty) obligeth us, to do nothing against the commodity of the common good, nor to seek after any thing by the detriment of another; but to render unto every one with a good will and a cheerful countenance, such things as rightly appertain unto him.  
For even as our duty is the end and scope whereunto Virtue tendeth, to wit that we should duly respect honesty and a seemly carriage in all our actions: Even so it is necessary and requisite, that the commodity which accrueth unto us by the mediation of our industrious and painful endeavours, be honest and profitable both together: because there is nothing profitable that is separated from honesty; this disjunction being the fountain of all wicked vices.  
So that whensoever we see profit presented unto us, if we perceive that there are ingrediences of vice mixed with it, we ought to eschew the one, for the others sake: thinking it to be as full of annoyance unto the peace of the soul, as a sweet potion mixed with poison, to the safety of the body.  
For equity and reason would have some distinction between duty, and that which is called commonly profit, there being as great a difference and separation between them, as there is between honesty and this profit. For this kind of profit maketh man not to fear to violate his promise, and to profane that which hath been both ordained by the law of God, and confirmed also by the laws of men; always provided that it bring him gain. And the other on the contrary side, maketh him (with a liberal and free mind) to employ his goods, travails and industry, yea whatsoever lieth within the compass of his ability, to make them profitable and available unto every one; not incited thereunto through a certain hope of a gainful recompense: although indeed such as receive any thing, are bound also by duty to be grateful to their benefactors, and to render such things unto them for their good deeds, as the proportion of the benefit requireth, and their abilities can afford.  
Yet howsoever, Virtue obligeth those that are well stored, to do pleasures unto others more freely then to receive, because it is far more honourable to oblige then to be obliged, to give then to take, forasmuch as he that conferreth rewards on others, exerciseth a very good and an honest action: but he that receiveth, doth only exercise an action of profit. And profitable is much less gracious than honest. For that which is honest is stable and permanent, furnishing him that giveth, with a constant gratification: whereas that which is profitable, slideth quickly away and is soon lost; neither is the remembrance thereof so agreeable and pleasant to the mind. And again, those things are esteemed the more precious by how much the dearer they are. Therefore it is better to give then to receive, because giving costeth more than receiving.  
Wherefore whosoever hath been obliged by receiving, aught to redeem his liberty if he can possible. For it argueth not a virtuous and a valiant spirit, to remain long in the arrereages of courtesy. But if we have been beneficial unto any, by the friendly performance of a civil courtesy, we● should desire to have that obligation stand uncancelled rather than to have it required by a mutual recompense, sithence the mind is well contented with the honour of friendly performances: which commonly coveteth rather to deserve something and not to receive, then to receive and not to merit: forasmuch as to merit is honourable; but to have the enjoyance of its desert, is deemed nothing else but profitable.  
Yet there is always a regard to be had (in actions of honesty) unto the sort and quality of the obligation: For a general good, aught to be preferred before a particular, & a man of merit before such a one as merits nothing. Wherefore, it is, that this desire is unjust and dishonest, which endeavoureth nothing else but to extract profit and commodity from every one, without doing good unto any one; and to receive any kindness whatsoever, without showing so much as a willingness to reward, valuing true honour and glory (achieved only by virtuous actions) at a mean reckoning; nay, scarce accounting either of them of any esteem at all. For indeed it is almost impossible for such, as use all the means they can for the reaping of profit, to do that unto Honour which is her due: Forasmuch as dishonest gain is a careless regard, nay an absolute despisall of true glory; the shining splendour whereof every virtuous heart ought to be jealous to preserve, not suffering it to be eclipsed by the obscure clouds of base actions; but most especially the nobler sort, & such as have been exalted to the highest dignities, whether by letter, or Arms. For Honour exacts the performance of duty so much the more severely in those, by how much their worths and dignities have more distinguished them from the vulgar.  
Therefore it is that the golden Merchant is not so much honoured as the simple Soldier. For the one heapeth up a mountain of treasure, respecting only his own enriching: the other practiseth but few means, and those also as instruments of Honour: and the only end of all his parsimony, is wholly referred unto the acquist of Glory.  
And then if natural Duty have obliged all sorts of men, to do their best endeavours (in their several vocations) to accomplish something, that may be profitable to the public good; it stands with greater reason, that she should oblige those, which are the bright lamps, and glorious stars of honour, (either by place or parentage) to the end that they might enlighten the meaner actions of other men, by the shining lustre of their examples. Which they can never do, but by clearing first their own hearts from filthy covetousness; forasmuch as that is the principal cause, which maketh men forgetful of those things which appertain to the purchase of Honour: wholly addicting their minds to riches, and suffering them to think on nothing, save that alone, which serves for increase of their revenues: whereon being wholly bend, they oft times practise base, and ignoble actions (which in fine, procure their miserable ruin) against those that are of their own profession. Wherefore it is very expedient for him that desireth earnestly to embrace virtue, to propose her always before his eyes, as the only object whereat he aimeth, and not to esteem of any profit, save only that which is attained unto by her accord.  
For howsoever the imposturous hypocrite, and dissembling wretch, seem more fair in his affairs, according to the censure of the World, than the plain honest and open hearted man; yet certainly it is better to be unrespected with the last, then with the first to be in great esteem. For the ends of such are always miserable. And therefore they that seek after nothing but their own private gain, are miserably deluded: because whatsoever their greedy minds induced them to follow, was false riches & sergeant treasures. For true riches are not gained, but by the performance of our duties, grounded on Virtue: which is nought else but the practice of doing well to all, not in regard of gain, or hope of recompense, but only in respect of Virtue itself: which is, & aught to be, the sole profit of an honest man. She it is that maketh all things profitable. And he that taketh care to perform his duty, is never guerdor less. For the observance thereof being well employed, procureth us esteem & credit amongst men: credit prefers us to the dignity of some high place, wherein are gained orderly and quiet riches: which are to be accounted of, far more than great abundance mischievously gotten. It is a worthy cement that firmly uniteth honest and profitable. For if they be disjoined, Utility is nothing but deluding cozenage: and overreaching, an irreligious policy: which severely bindeth the trembling-guilty conscience to answer for the same It behoveth therefore every particular man, to be (as well in art, as industry) constantly resolved, and resolutely confirmed, in three especial points, before the achievement, or execution of any action. The first is, that his enterprise be just. The second is, that the means which he practiseth by (for the attainment thereof) be lawful. The last is, that he surpass not the bounds of his own vocation, be it either public or particular; but always contain himself within its limits, and do his best for the common good. For, than this, there is nothing more agreeable unto God, nor more beseeming an honest man.  
Let us then learn our devoir towards men, to the end that we may render thanks unto God for all. First, for the good which he hath given us: next, for the good which we have had, to make it truly profitable, & for the prosperous success thereof: and lastly, for the reward which we are sure to obtain: I mean the beatitude & felicity, which is the true ground of perfect goodness.  
We have formerly declared, what are Virtues effects in man, (making him to love and follow her) besides the recompense which she hath in herself & of her own nature. And because recompense hath a very great power over us, and is able to cause us to affect things a great deal the more, Virtue will never be without the same.  
Now, by how much the more her excellency surmounteth the worths of other things; so much the richer, and more precious are the salaries which she presenteth to virtuous men. These are Honour & Pleasure; a double good, without which, she never marcheth: whereof (now following) we make description.   

The Description of true Honour: and how it ought to be acquired.  
CHAP. VIII.  
ALl our actions whatsoever do usually tend towards Perfection. We desire her for her own sake; being not able to be contented without her. Imperfection is the mother of displeasure, and nurse of discontent.  
For which cause, as many as have treated of beatitude, affirm that we ought (if we wish for true content, true felicity) to desire perfection. For, none can be said to be truly happy, but such as have attained unto the perfect accomplishment of the same. Her supportance hath no reference to the goods honours and pleasures of the Body: because perfection is not found in them, being frail, inconstant, momentary, and liable to decay, through times tyranny. We ought therefore to seek after Wisdom, and embrace the virtues of the soul: whose condition being permanent, and estate eternal, they scorn the violence of alteration; whose constancy also is never moved with the battering storms of angry fortune.  
So than if all things labour for perfection, and desire that which is good & agreeable unto them, it stands with greater reason that the soul of man should covet that which is not only appertinent, but wondrous necessary. The soul then being an immortal essence, it is clear that it ought not to appropriate such things unto itself, as are frail and full of change: but ought rather to be richly adorned and glorified, by such as are permanent and proper only to its own nature.  
Amongst all the goods and treasures of the soul, the acquisition of the Honour which proceeds from virtuous actions, whether civil or military, challengeth the highest place; forasmuch as the pleasure & glory which accompany the same, are fully accomplished with absolute perfection.  
But because the way of Virtue (through the which such as would attain unto perfection, are to pass) is near adjoining unto that of vice into the which, poor mortal wights (being miserably deceived & gulled) do easily slide, sithence in very many things there is a great resemblance twixt virtue & vice (so that were not we directed by the infallible guidance & safe-conduct of Reason, & lively roused out of dull neglect, by the help & assistance of virtue herself) we should too too often take false counterfeited honour in fled of that which is true and perfect indeed.  
We ought therefore to take an especial care, that our slight regard in the election, cause us not to err in the choice thereof. For true Honour is never achieved but by Virtue and performance of duty, which are as it were its legitimate and natural parents: without the which, Honour can no more be, than heat without fire or the shadow without the body. For otherwise it would be nothing else, but as a fantasy of Honour, or a bubble of vain glory: which is oftentimes engendered in the vain and deluded imagination of the distempered brain of him which liveth for the world only; without having any respect at all, unto the principal end of his being here, and which never attained unto so much knowledge, as to be able to discern what true Honour is, much less to know how it may and aught to be achieved.  
Let us define it, to be the shining brightness of a virtuous & worthy action, which is reflected from our own Conscience, unto the sight and view of those with whom we live.  
It may be also called a graceful respect, or a renowned reputation which every one ought to have, in recompense of his merit and worthiness, declared unto the world by many great and glorious deeds, approved so to be by the general acknowledgement of all good men.  
It is not then an imaginary fantasy, but rather a splendent brightness, or a twinkling light, which maketh him that is the subject hereof, and with whom she is enamoured, to shine as the sparkling rays of a precious diamond. It is a divine good, a celestial treasure, to whose pure nature it is absolutely contrary, to permit any wicked or vicious person to enjoy the high-prized title, and appellation of Honourable.  
And therefore it is not won but by striving (first of all) against our own affections, and by conquering them: turning fruitless and toyish vanities, overweening and arrogant presumptions, towering & to bless ambition, into a remote and an eternal banishment: yea, exiling also with them the quenchless desire of our own private gain, that we may sincerely tender all our actions, all our industries, unto the public good of other men; but most especially to our country's good.  
For those that are born to be magnified by the enjoyance of honourable & glorious appellations, do never desire any thing more ordinarily, more earnestly, then to perform as many profitable and worthy actions, unto others, as are within the reach of their abilities; and to sacrifice their tender hearts last drop of blood to redeem their Country from an imminent danger: so that their glory being thus moistened by the honourable effusion of their own blood, it shall flourish and wax green in the eternal Spring-time.  
So then the esteem and reputation which men should desire, consisteth principally in two points. The first is, that we be always found sincere and upright as well towards ourselves as to all other men; to the end that the testimony which cometh from our own consciences unto the sight and view of those with whom we live, may serve us in stead of a warrant and an approbation against false report: forasmuch as Verity is the shield of honour.  
The second is, to glorify ourselves rather by surpassing others in every good duty, and office towards them, then by respecting of any other advantages whatsoever for ourselves; be it either worldly reputation or particular profit.  
For it is in this duty (which is truly virtuous, truly charitable) that generous and well tempered spirits will employ themselves (always confined within the limits of their own vocation) to acquire and possess that great & unvaluable treasure of Honour, that crown of glory, whereof (having once merited it by virtuous deeds) they never are deprived again.  
For can any one rebuke those that daily accumulate desert upon desert, & never desist from enriching the former good deeds, by seconding them with the like? showing themselves to be truly seasoned with a generous disposition, wishing always to encounter any new occasions that shall be sortable to their desires: greedy of no other glory, beside the testimony of their own souls: disesteeming utterly the favourable judgement of other men. For every action is so much the more laudable in itself, by how much the farther off it is from ostentation, or desire of applause.  
And although it be not every one's fortune, to be able to attain unto the height and top of Honour, or to establish it unto eternity: yet they must not therefore be discouraged and exanimated from the pursuit thereof; but think that there is no one how mean soever, but aught to make more account of that little which he can attain unto, in his own vocation, then of all the rest of his whole wealth and riches; because (in such a case) Honour cannot be made altogether immortal, by reason of the incapacity of the subject: yet howsoever; it is the greatest, the most illustrious, most commendable, and most durable of all the goods which man enjoyeth: forasmuch as by it, he leaveth unto the world a good testimony of his life, and to his own posterity a good example.  
But forasmuch as the Qualities, Conditions, and Resolutions of such generous & noble spirits, which make Arms their profession, are different from other estates, which never travail but for their own particular and private utilities; whereas these here propose especially before their eyes, the public good of the common wealth, assuring them a quiet peace, purchased by their travels, their dangers, their wounds, their woes, their grievous sufferances, and conserving the general good by their industry, valiance and perseverance: Honour therefore is most deservedly called the lawful guerdon, and true recompense of virtuous actions. For, sithence Virtue participateth of a divine nature, it necessarily follows, that she cannot be recognised or sufficiently rewarded with gold or silver; but rather with those things, which draw near unto divinity: such as are Honour and reputation, rightly appropriate unto him unto whom it justly appertains.  
But it appertaineth unto none more justly then unto the gentle, generous, and valiant Captain: neither shineth it so magnificently, so gloriously, in any affairs, as in the courageous attēpt●● of martial enterprises. We behold continually such as are the legitimate sons of dantless Mars, to be full of courage and stomach even in their swaddling clothes and afterwards in process of time to be wise in counsel, sober in necessity, patiented in adversity, just in the midst of power, cautelous in execution, diligent to follow wheresoever fortune leadeth them, despising ease and not respecting life when it stands upon the point of Honour, not setting their valiance at a price, nor his virtuous deeds for a mercenary stipend; eschewing always evil, to embrace what is good, not through fear or force, but through a voluntary and free respect of Virtue only: which (in stead of recompense) doth crown them with glory, which maketh them so remarkable above other men, as much as the Diamonds value is esteemed above other precious stones: yea as much as the sun surpasseth in glory, the starry tapers of the firmament: yea so much I say doth Honour outstrip in true esteem, all other earthly treasures whatsoever: whose frail injoyance the world permitteth us to have no longer, then for the continuance of a fleeting breath. But Honour maketh those that are absent present; yea the dead alive, through the fresh remembrance of their noble deeds, translated carefully from age to age, carrying with it still in triumphant state their truly virtuous and admired actions, borne on the golden wings of purest eloquence, that never move, but in the services of honourable Personages.  
This Crown, therefore, is lawfully due unto those, that spend their lives in the service of their Prince & country; who voluntarily exposing themselves unto apparent dangers, to shield the same from foreign invasions, bring back with them many glorious scars, the noble emblems of an undaunted courage; together, with a minde-appeasing testimony in their consciences, of performing faithful services unto their Prince, and of doing their best endeavours, for the preservation of their country: without the which, it could not choose but endure a miserable languishment. For how could life have been any way grateful unto us; having lost our Religion, our Laws, our Liberty, and our purity of life, which are, next to God, the necessary maintenances of our being? So that then these things, being forcibly ravished from us, we cannot wish to live any longer in this world.  
This duty, this service (which they perform towards their country) being of so great importance, conferreth on them a deserved Title of Nobilities; which crowneth them with such shining light, as shall reflect a splendent brightness to posterity. For since neither the country, nor the liberty thereof, can be secured, but under the protection of defensive arms; it consequently follows, that such as make profession thereof, and have assigned themselves thereunto, for the common good and safety of their country; should not only be respected and honoured, but also recompensed with an eternal guerdon: in such sort, that the virtue and prowess of an honourable man, hath always been accounted the subject of his Nobility; being approved (in all ages) by the common suffrage of every one. So that then Honour was given unto men for a salary, a recognisance of some virtuous deeds, being a glory unto him whiles he lived, and afterward a grace translated by descent to his posterity.  
It is great honour from illustrious line  
To be descended, by our Predecessors:  
But greater far by our own light to shine,  
(Then by their lustre) unto our successors.  
It behoveth every one therefore to have a great regard, that we obscure not the sparkling lustre of that glorious sun, by degenerating from the virtue of our ancestors, whose descending Honour hath enlightened us.  
Into which loathsome dungeon of base ignominy, such ordinarily precipitate themselves, as being respectless of their devoir, prefer their own quiet peace, before their prince's service: and their private gain before their Country's Honour; never considering that Virtue crowns only those which persevere unto the end. And that man cannot immortalize his name on earth, that giveth way to drowsy laziness: it being utterly anent reason & honesty, that he which changeth virtue into vice, should in any sort be honoured & respected: forasmuch as nobility by birth, can stand in no other stead unto such as show themselves vicious by their ignoble deeds, but to condemn their folly and increase their shame.  
For vice is so much the more deformed and ugly, in those of noble races, by how much the patterns of their father's actions are more eminent. In such sort, that the dead bones and ashes of their predecessors which bought at so dear a price that splendent light, whereby they shine so gloriously in the world, will rise and menace cruel torments against them, if they conjoin themselves with vice, and her associates, to bandy against virtue and her adherents: seeking vengeance of the wrongs which they receive by the participation of dishonour imposed on them and on their family, in recompense of that honour whereby they left their progeny illustrious.  
Therefore have arms been permitted unto noble personages, that they might bear them always, as the recognisance of honour, under the confident hope, that those (having been suckled in their Cradles with the milk of Honour, and afterwards grown up in virtue, by the mediation both of Art, traditions, and examples of their ancestors) would not make a league with any that should be virtues enemies; preferring private profit, before the service of the Prince; and private gain before their Country's good.  
For the order of Knighthood was instituted in ancient time, to fight in defence of Religion, to defend their country, to serve their Prince faithfully in the wars; being sent by him unto the same, to maintain the wronged causes of Widows, Orphans, and others that are injuriously oppressed. For to fight for Religion's cause, is a spiritual act, which God will guerdon in the life to come. To defend and protect the country wherein we live, is to regard the conservation of mankind. To do service unto the Prince, is to cancel the bonds of our natural allegiance. To redeem the oppressed from afflictions and miseries, is a noble deed, and truly virtuous; it being the fruitful effect of godly charity. For he that delivereth not the wronged from oppression, nor opposeth himself against tyranny for their deliverances sake (having means, power, limbs, and all opportunity whatsoever) doth infringe the knot of human society, which ought to be preserved inviolable amongst true Christians: and for neglect hereof, he ought to be liable unto as reproachful an infamy, as severe a punishment, as he that hath betrayed his parents and friends unto a cruel death.  
Wherefore Nobility ought to be in continual exercise, as well in the midst of dangerous hazards, in time of war; as in civil and honest affairs in time of peace, but principally in charitable deeds. For tilting, hunting, running at ring, and the like, are not sufficient exercises, to make your virtue appear unto the world: she passeth by such without respect, requiring attempts of greater adventure.  
Great Personages have oftentimes desired occasions full of danger to present themselves unto them; that they might by such undertakings give a lustre unto the greatness of their undaunted courages, whose light may be compared unto the sun itself. Moreover, it is not unto childish apprentices, or simple ignorants, that the conduct and guidance of difficult exploits are committed; but unto those rather, which by long experience, have been made fit and capable of the same. For Virtue never adorneth any one with wisdom and modesty, but she also accomplisheth him, with valiance, and magnanimity. She taketh from him the fear of danger, of grief, of sorrow and of death, making him to triumph boldly, treading on the head of danger, with the foot of constancy, and so to direct all his actions unto Honours glorious title, as the archer his arrow to the white.  
Wherefore if we be men & not monsters in nature, why do not we tend towards this perfection? trampling under our feet with courageous hearts, all the dangerous difficulties which strive to divert us from virtues path; sithence it is by her that we are truly virtuous, truly blessed.  
This worthy resolution is far more excellent than the possession of all the treasures and honours of the world: which noble and heroic minds continually despise, as things frail, transitory, and vain; and therefore seek after felicity & beatitude in things more durable & permanent. For these two, are in the soul of man through a necessary consequence, of one and the same Verity, to wit to be happy and to be virtuous: the last is as necessary unto man, as the first is naturally desired of him. But as the desire of being happy is very great, so is it also very vain, without this verity; which teacheth us that the chiefest science in the world is to be an honest man, and the greatest Honour to be happy.  
For Honour, not conformable to virtue, to our duty, & to conscience, cannot enjoy the sweet society of perfect glory, & permanent felicity. And therefore it is nothing else, but a windy vapour, proceeding from swelling pride, & vain presumption; whose recompense at last is shame, hatred, & the derision of the whole world, and unspeakable punishment in the world to come.  
But that which proceeds from virtue, inciteth every one that is endued with a generous disposition, to erect unto himself an eternal monument, by glorious achievements, & heroic deeds; arming him with an invincible & courageous constancy, to march boldly in the very face of danger itself; sustaining infinite labours & travels, tearing through the briars and thorns of a thousand inconveniencies, advising him not to court Honour, either through ostentation or ambition: for were it possible for him to attain unto the end whereat he aimeth, without endurance, he would not by his good will, cast himself into an Ocean of perplexities; in such sort then that he thrusts himself forwards, only, because he being dull and gross, cannot be purified of these great encumbrances, but by the fire of afflictions.  
But having opportunity now to look back on the manifold difficulties which he hath surmounted through the performance of his devoir, guided by the aidance of a just conscience he arrives unto the field of Honour: where his Temples are crowned with a Chaplet of liberty; as truly exempted from the malice both of death and oblivion, as his intention was remote from gain or profit, only aiming at the good of his country & the service of his Prince: in such sort, that he hath purchased unto himself a renounced memory throughout all ages.  
So that then the soul finding itself adorned and beautified with such rich & in estimable treasures, reapeth great joy from this great felicity: which being rooted in the very bottom of his heart that possesseth her (and not in external and frail riches) accompanieth the soul and the honour thereof, unto the highest heavens, where both shall be immortalizde togethers. Therefore say we; 
The wings of Fame  
mount Honour to the sky;  
Where Virtue crowns it  
with Eternity:  
Whereas the Virtuous,  
'mongst a shower of darts  
Sought it, thrust-foorth  
by brave and noble hearts.  
Back therefore, Epicure,  
in sugared pleasure  
Bathing thy soul:  
Thou shalt be crowned by leisure;  
Sith she preserves her laurels  
for such spirits,  
As duly challenged them  
by Virtuous merits.  
Back, Wanton womans-man,  
which without pain  
Wouldst purchase Honour: Back.  
Thy hope is vain.  
Favours avail not: labours  
have the price;  
And those which for her sake  
would sacrifice  
Their blood, their limbs, their lives,  
that are so dear,  
Their souls; nay, more, had they  
what were more near.    

The description of false Honour; the true subject and ground of Quarrels and Contentions.  
CHAP. IX.  
ALthough virtue be contrary unto both the extremes of vice; in the midst of which she hath her seat: yet nevertheless, she is more directly opposed unto one of them them then to the other, and beareth greater conformity with the one then with the other. For, Fortitude inclineth more to audacity, then to timidity: and the liberal man resembleth more the prodigal, than the covetous wretch.  
By reason whereof, such as cannot discern the true from the counterfeit, by the aidefull ministry of reason, are easily transported into one of the extremes, according to the inclination of their affections: in such sort, that vice being full of deceitful mischief, and gaining the assistance of our affections; besiegeth the understanding, conquereth our reason, and then carrieth the wavering soul, destitute of a Pilot, according to the inconstant wind of every fantastical occasion: which being seduced by the external senses, gives way unto the flattering charms of a deadly foe: 
Which as a Tyrant,  
proud in victory,  
Gives power to the senses  
o'er each action:  
Whose chiefest comfort  
and triumphant glory,  
Is to see reason made a slave  
to passion.   
As oftentimes it falleth out in a point of Honour: whereof the greatest part of men make a vaunting bravado, rather through a vain ambition of seeming greater than other men, then for the true & zealous affection which they bear toward virtue, which they untruly challenge to themselves.  
For if Honour be nothing else but the resplendent glory of a virtuous action, and a celestial good that cannot, nor will not permit, that any evil deed should be adorned with honour's title; how is it possible that a man may be called virtuous and valiant, which is not stomachful in anything save mischief, that is never armed but to oppress the innocent, never doth his uttermost but against the just, nor enterprizeth any thing save only that which is quite contrary to the general design of those that desire peace in stead of war, repose in stead of sedition, and loving amity in stead of enmity? Without all question such valiance and adulterate fortitude, whose object is nothing but blood and death, is to be accounted no otherwise then a savage brutishness; nay, far more beastly than that of the unreasonable creatures; which are never offensive unto any, save those twixt whom and them nature proclaims a perpetual Antipathy: but such as are of the same species, do never offend their own companions.  
But amongst other shames, or rather most ignoble and base infamies, this is not the least, that a Gentleman should stain his Rapier in the blood of his neighbour; nay, oftentimes of his own father, and for a trifle, or smaller matter: of such a one (I say) with whom before, he made but one bed, used but one table, but one purse. Tell me, I pray, whence proceeds this false and base imagination in thee, that thou thinkest true Honour to consist in surpassing others by strength of body, and in making the weak to tremble at thy feet? Or that he is not to be esteemed valiant, that insulteth not imperiously over another, or assaulteth not another's life, or sheds his blood? False and counterfeit Honour, is the father of those adulterate brats. For ambition also; being one of false honours sons, is never quarrellesse; each one would have the place, and every one contests with his companion for the chiefetainity; striving with every Oar one to debase another; in such sort that the most desperate sticksneaging Cavalier, is held with them to be the stoutest gallant. And at this very day, virtue is transformed into vice, and true valiance into rashness; not without the approbation of all; or (at least) the most part, apologizing only in this manner: It is my duty to defend mine honour. Advise your incensed gallant, to any other course besides fight, he swears, 'tis simple, base, cowardly, & the infallible mark of a Capon-harted dastard. He swears, he will be revenged: & the furious flames of his distempered mind, must be extinguished with his friend's heart blood: take this, and take all; his Honour is more precious than his life: he had rather translate his name unto posterity unblemished, then live to suck a hundred years light air. He must sacrifice himself unto his own passion, & serve as an oblation, to be offered up (in a bloody duellum) unto the devil himself, to the eternal damnation of his soul.  
This mischief proceeds either from ignorance, or from the contempt of the knowledge of true Honour, & perfect use of virtue; which teacheth men a means, to temper the violent heat of ●heir unbridled furies, & adviseth them ●ather to be silent, than not to speak ●el, rather to receive injury, then to of●er it, to bestow on others, rather than to ●●ke from others, to travel in the rough ●ay of virtue, not to wander up & down 〈◊〉 the fruitless pursuit of false Honour, and last of all, rather to pardon all disgraceful wrongs, then to be revenged on any one. For the greatest revenge, the honourablest victory that we can gain over our enemies, is, to surpass them in diligence, in bounty, in magnanimity, in good & courteous deeds; wherewith they will sooner know and acknowledge themselves conquered, and constrained to shut their mouths, and to bridle their contumelious tongues, then by any other forcible courses whatsoever.  
Wherefore, a virtuous man is not to consider any other thing in all his intendments, but whether they be just, or unjust, good, or evil; to the end that by reason's judgement, he may be able to discern the truth from falsehood, and to declare, that he proposeth unto himself, no other end, but justice and equity.  
And therefore, such as subject themselves, to the endurance of labours and travels, for injust causes; or fight desperately for peculiar profit, under what pretence soever, being not forwarded through the sincere love of virtue alone; cannot bravado it, or swagger it out (but falsely) that they are endued with such worthy qualities, as are truly requisite to a generous mind. For such a victory, as is bought with the blood of those, which have very slenderly, or happily scarce offended us at all, is an exquisite defeature of true renown: but the other is far more noble, and far (beyond comparison) more commendable, in that he knoweth to overcome himself, in giving pardon to his enemies. For the number is but small of those which are found to be so just, that they can easily forget, and slightly overpass great injuries received; that being a peculiar property unto the magnanimous, and truly noble courage: which shows himself angry with him alone, which seeketh to stain the glory of his Honour, by the injurious and devilish imputations of ignoble deeds. In such sort, that to pardon these insolences, and to forget such apparent wrongs, acted by those, on whom he may with facility revenge himself, is a deed that merits noble praise, and is only proper to a virtuous and heroic spirit; who is both able and willing to repress the fury of his passions, crying for revenge, and not to recompense ill deeds for ill. Not that it should not be lawful for a Gentleman or a Soldier, to demand a reason of the wrong which is offered unto him, and most especially in an action of honour, which was gained by military prowess: but yet too, he ought to proceed in the managing hereof in such sort, as his own conscience may always serve as a sufficient testimony of the truth and equity of his quarrel: which ought always to be grounded on a just cause; and so to clear the blemishes of his reputation by lawful means, and honourable satisfactions. For whosoever groundeth his quarrel on no reason, or requireth greater satisfaction than he ought, dishonoureth himself; for as much as Honour consisteth in the entire discharge of duty: which obligeth us not to do any thing, contrary either to equity or our own consciences, under what colour or pretext soever; neither thorough fear of torments, or death itself; but to continue firm and constant, in the laudable action and perfect use of virtue, addicting ourselves wholly to such things as are just, honest, and seemly for their own sake, and being not provoked by any other means.  
For Honour cannot subsist where virtue is defective: neither can virtue justify this title, except the ground thereof be verity; because the Court of verity is honours throne. In such sort, that a man's honourable reputation is much blotted, if when he receives the Lie, he free not himself of that ignoble imputation: because virtue being founded on verity, it follows that as soon as verity is deficient, virtue also faileth; and so by consequence our honour is lost. Therefore a man without verity, is unfurnished of Honour; but having it, can never be dishonoured, by what wrong soever.  
Wherefore a prudent man, will never give the Lie, without mature deliberation; knowing full well, that he should prejudice his own reputation, if he should slanderously do it, without a necessary and just occasion. He is not ignorant that the sequel of such a word untimely spoken, will be fight and swaggering, or rendering some other sufficient satisfaction unto the party (in such sort) abused: so that he will temper the heat of his choler with sober meekness; doing nothing in momentary passion, which afterwards should cause him to repent.  
And as it is far from his intent and will, to be offensive unto any, either in word or deed; so also he takes especial regard, that all his purposes be so surely founded on reason and verity, that his distasteful words do not minister just occasion of exception, unto any of those, with whom he usually is conversant.  
For although such a one, to whom the lie is given injustly, and without any reason, cannot absolutely lose his Honour and reputation; yet notwithstanding it prevaileth oftentimes so far with many, that it maketh an impression in their fantasy; inducing them to think, that he which hath in such a manner received it, is a man destitute of virtue, being taxed to be a man without verity: so that the vulgar (which usually are more inclinable to evil, then unto good) cannot be persuaded, to imagine any other thought of him but evil, as long as these his wrongs remain unsatisfied.  
In respect whereof, the Lie unjustly given, is a great offence, both to the heart and honour, of him that received it.  
For to speak properly, and within the terms of Reason; No one can work another man's dishonour, except he first despoil him of his virtue which accompanieth him, and with whom Honour dwells continually. A man may take a weapon from a man, how stout and valiant soever he be, and so disarm him: he may receive a box on the ear, a bastonado, or a cracked crown; because these are chances, which oftentimes manhood cannot withstand: it being most true which is used proverbially, Qui contemptor est vitae sua Dominus est alienae: That he that regardeth not his own life, becomes by his desperateness the Master of another man's. But a wise & prudent man cannot be overcome, arming himself with virtues shield; which can never be taken from him that doth possess her. And therefore indeed there is no one that can deprive a man of his honour; save he himself, by sequestering himself from virtue, and verity, to addict himself wholly to vice and falsehood.  
Be thou then virtuous, & thou shalt be honoured; neither shalt thou need to fear of being dishonoured by yniust disgraces. For it is a treasure that cannot be taken away from the virtuous; who affect not praise for ostentations sake, but love. Honour only is the guerdon of their merit; which ought always to be judged and approved by the grave and virtuous, and not by the vulgar ignorants; much less by the vicious and quarreling Hackster's: because the opinions of such are still suspected; as well because they want judgement, to discern virtue from vice, as also because the affections of the vulgar are so full of corruption, that ordinarily they love, they desire evil more than good.  
Wherein all the ambtious pursuers of false Honour, do most apparently bewray these follies. For we should account him a senseless Idiot, that should question a blind man concerning the colour of his Cloak; and yet we do not consider, that when we depend upon the rash approbation, and brainless censure of the wavering and inconstant multitude, we refer the judgement of our Honours and Lives, unto such ignorant Simplicians, as have no insight at all in things, that are worthy either of praise, or dispraise.  
Therefore ought we only to undergo the censures of the virtuous and graver sort of men; who consider the honour of another, as if it were their own, and never consent that any shall be honoured, but those, whose virtue duly challenged it. For indeed we err as often as we weigh the virtuous actions, and honourable deeds of others, in the unjust balance of our own passions: and therefore wise and honest men ought to be observant of the merit, and not either to praise or dispraise the same, for the Actor's sake; because our passions overthrow our judgement, and cause our censures to be justly deemed unjust.  
He is judged unworthy of Honour, that proffers wrongs and injuries unto others: nay, he is the Author of his own dishonour; declaring by his actions unto the world, that his breast enfoldeth within it a malignant, and a wicked spirit, to do such deeds as want the supportance and patronage of Reason.  
For all circumstances being well considered, there can be no sufficient reason found, why men should wrong and injure one another: sithence God hath endued man with judgement, accompanied with reason; by whose helpful assistance he ought to decide all differences whatsoever, and not to conclude them with revengeful cruelty: because injury and revenge is properly an unjust action, or a deed without reason; which cannot proceed from a generous mind: to whom it is more agreeable, to receive wrong itself, then to proffer injury and disgrace to others.  
So that the first cause, which instigateth the heart of any to be injurious, can be nothing else, but iniquity and base villainy; which is the true source of unjust and dishonest actions. Therefore he is to be reputed dishonest and most unworthy of honour & esteem, that is the willing Author of another's unjust disgrace: & such a one ought to be disesteemed, nay, despised of all men; unless he give just and convenient satisfaction unto the party injured, without constraining him to right himself by combat in the field. Which if he refuse to do, it is most certain that the injury and disgrace, returneth unto him that either did it, or spoke it; even as the dust flieth up into the eyes of him that bloweth on the same.  
Yet howsoever, as every one ought to have an especial regard, not to urge any with injurious wrongs, & then to raise an unjust quarrel on such unlawful grounds: so also having proceeded so far, that he hath undertaken it, he must be careful on what conditions he desist therefrom. For both the one and the other, is prejudicial to his honour; which ought always to be conformed unto the conscience, which is the infallible touchstone of truth: in such sort, that we must not be wilfully obstinate in the eager pursuit of an unjust quarrel, being accused by our own consciences. For sithence verity is such, that no man can live unfaulty in this world, he is to be accounted worthy of greatest praise, that most carefully observeth it; and having declined, redeems his error, by rendering due and rightful satisfaction for the same. Wherefore he is so far from meriting any blame, that oftentimes he augmenteth his honour and reputation, because like a man he governs himself by the laws of reason & modesty; there being nothing more unjust, more dishonest, then scornfully to reject or disesteem the same; for that a man is only a man, as long as the actions of his life are guided by the address of Reason. For that which is achieved by her helpful directions, is seemly, and good, & always praised of all: but that which is attempted without her consent, is unseemly and nought, and always blamed of all. Therefore let us say: 
True Honour, that on virtue  
grounded is,  
Guerdoneth man  
with true felicity:  
But what on vice and falsehood  
founded is,  
Doth wrap him in  
distress and misery.    

The pretended ground of Quarrels is, false Honour: which causeth a man to be the Author of his own destruction.  
CHAP. X.  
A Quarrel is the complaint of an offence, which we pretend to have been done against our Honour. Honour is assaulted either by word or deed. The deed lieth in the violence of the hand of him, that is offensive either to body or goods.  
Yet notwithstanding a noble mind, groundeth not his quarrel, on any detriment, procured either through the ransacking of goods, or grievance of a blow received; but on the offence, which may divers ways redound thence, unto his Honour.  
For such as have the enjoyance of more eminent places than others, advanced thereunto, either by lineal descent, or their proper merits, make small or no account at all of wealth, but as it is the instrument of glory only: and therefore do not think either loss of goods, or other afflictions, to be injurious disgraces, as long as their Honour is not interressed. For if injury be properly defined an unjust action; and in that unjust action be also ransacking of goods; they never account any thing unjustly done against them, when they are spoiled of nothing, which they rightly term their own goods; which is the precious treasure of their Honour. As for example: a man of arms, addressing himself unto the wars, encountereth his enemy face to face, is vanquished, is exceedingly abused in his person, loseth his goods, receiveth wounds, and pays a ransom: yet for all this, he shall not make a particular complaint hereof, because he hath not lost any thing of his own; that is to say, which hath been prejudicial to his Honour: and therefore having lost nothing of his own proper and principal good, it consequently followeth that it cannot properly be said to be an action of injury.  
But if his Honour be reproached, and his reputation defamed, he is much injured; & in righting himself for such a disgrace, he seeketh satisfaction, so much the more discreetly, the more worthily, by how much his courses are more conformable to the laws: which never constrain any one to endure that, which is a blemish unto his name, and a spot unto his renown.  
Yet because there are divers quarrels, which arise daily amongst young braving gallants; whose ground is only the damage, either of goods or body (when the prejudice of virtue and honour only aught to be the final end of our noble resolution) the first causes of such rash and foolish quarrels should quickly be extinguished (as a fire wanting fuel) if they had not strength of body to swagger it, & great means to contribute unto the charge thereof. For riches and treasures are honourable, being employed in virtuous actions, which is Honour's mother: in such sort that the greater the treasures are, which heaven hath profused on great men; the greater is the glory wherewith it crowneth them. For fullness and perfection of strength is generally reverenced by the Law of Nations: which commandeth us to honour those, which can do much; forasmuch as their designs are so much the more excellent, by how much they are more able to effect what they would do.  
Behold then why virtue (which is not a feigned or an imaginary point) is touched to the quick, when as any one endammageth the means of her performances, which have dependence on the body and goods: so that good men do exercise their virtues when as they use their means with a prudent hand, and conform the actions of their bodies unto Temperance, Modesty, Magnanimity, and other honourable and worthy employments; making both the one and the other to appertain to the conservation of their honour.  
But when the injury by deed proceedeth from swaggering, bravadoing, and audacious temerity; such a fantastical and capricious humour is so irregular, so immoderate, that the repression thereof deserves no mean reward: and then specially, when the rebuker shall not have any peculiar interest therein. But when the disgrace or injury is directed unto him, he is so much the more earnestly provoked, by how much the more his courage & manhood is called into question by the overweening faucines of the offender. For whether this audacious swaggerer, desire to make proof thereof, and so he be incited through the disparagement of this affront: or, whether he proceeded so rashly, that he imagineth the party that encountereth him, to be of too base a mind, to dare to make show of revenge; Both the one and the other intention offendeth, and giveth sufficient cause of complaint, because the honour thereby is much impeached.  
This aught to be understood to be amongst men of equal strength, or between such as are of small disparity. For if the greater outbrave the lesser, the infamy redounds unto the assaulter; because the inequality of strength debars him, from the means of working his revenge. And no action that is constrained, can beget dishonour; no more than an action can be honourable that is not free.  
Touching the injury by word; it is either reproachful detraction, or gibing foppery: for both the one and the other, hath a bitter relish in the ingenuous apprehension of a generous spirit.  
The first, which is detraction, plants the massacring petard of a slanderous obloquy, against the gates of virtue; to batter down the Palace of Honour: he says that honour is under vice, and so confoundeth the glory thereof; it being only maintained by the supportance of virtue. And although this aspersion be full of untruths, yet notwithstanding it shakes the whole Fabric; in such sort, that it is always ready to tumble down, and cannot easily be reduced unto its former estate again. For Honour ought to be still preserved so pure, so spotless, that it should be free from the least blot or blemish whatsoever. For this reason calumnious imputations were utterly condemned, by all laws, both divine and human. And because malicious detraction hath help, of spewing forth its venomous poison, as well by writing as wording; all defamatory and reproachful Libels have always been severely censured.  
The second, which is gibing mockery, are words which very much offend, especially being spoken by a scornful spirit, which is the source and fountain of disdain, affording argument of vice and mischief, and consequently much abating the value of true Honour: whether because a person that is well borne conceives thereby a sudden shame (which kindleth his passions with an angry choler, being as yet but green in years) or a greater indignation; having through the maturity of his age, attained unto discretion to judge of an offence: which is then indeed when wisdom and experience should furnish him with so much understanding, that he should not give occasion to be flouted at. Whosoever, then, is provoked in this sort, cannot choose but conceive a great deal of discontent. For indeed if it be a difficult thing to a man of worth, to see himself not prized according to his merit; what spite and vexation would it be unto him, to see whatsoever he either said or did, to be contemptuously derided at. Yet notwithstanding, those of the wiser sort, do not think it fit to take every word in dudgeon, that is spoken pleasantly, because it is not the word that should offend, but the intention of him that thrusteth it out, as the gunpowder the bullet. Wherefore we ought to observe that, more than the word, although it seem at first to be outrageous. For even as praises and commendations brought out in a scuru●e fleering manner, from a depraved intention, and a malignant spirit, do great injury, and give sufficient occasion of quarrel: Even so a bitter and a tart jest which issueth not from a rancorous disposition, should not provoke a man to take an offence too suddenly.  
The uprightness & equity of a quarrel grounded on words solely dependeth on the intention of the speaker; because it is it that determineth all our actions, all our speakings, either to be good or evil. For even as the will giveth motion unto the members, whereby they stir and do any thing: even so the intention is the first beginner, of either the good, or the evil, which they do.  
Moreover, beside the intention, this equity may be restrained unto certain circumstances; which a man of worth, and great esteem (which should not avoid combat only, but debate also and contention) ought to consider before he embark himself, into any rash and unadvised quarrel; yea, although the wickedness of the intention were apparently discerned. For he that speaketh, doth oftentimes use such general terms: so that if any one interpret them particularly to concern his own person, he is unjust in his quarrel, and offereth injury unto himself. For applying them to his own life, and seeming to be much nettled thereby, he doth nothing else but proclaim himself culpable by his own detection; and induceth others to believe, that the sting of his own conscience urgeth him within, and so enforceth him to search outwardly for an excuse, before he be accused. Therefore it is neither lawful nor honourable, to except against any words, which may by any means bear an interpretation of pleasant mirth.  
But above all words of base disparagement, that is reputed to be most offensive, which accuseth a man for breaking his word; because it is most unlawful for us (although it be with great prejudice) to violate our faith, or to fail in performance: for (our private intercourse amongst men, wholly depending thereon) he that falsifieth his faith, or credit, doth deal treacherously with a public society, and dissolveth all the bands of commerce and amity. Again, he that passeth his word and credit, and yet observeth them not, maketh himself a liar; and so consequently depriveth himself of that honour, which no man but himself, could rob him of: and by the same means draws unto himself a note of cowardice, and perfidious treachery. Therefore if a false and forged imputation be a sufficient and lawful cause of quarreling, the promise-breaker than gives just occasion of the like revenge. For, this is to tax him with an argument of disestimation, whereof it concerneth him to clear himself. And therefore a man being accused of perfidiousness, aught to do the uttermost that he can possible to make the contrary appear unto the world through just & lawful means: to the end that he may redeem his doubtful reputation from so foul a blemish.  
There are other kinds of quarrels which are grounded only on jealous surmises, which oftentimes are found amongst your unjuster sort. For the first motion hereof proceeds from envy, which never harbours in a noble breast, and such a one as is generously borne: whom it behoveth to excel all others in all kinds of worthy qualities, and to love virtue with such a sincere affection, that all such as are endued therewith, should be dear and precious in his sight; and therefore far from contemptible hatred. He should be sorry to see the ignorance, brutishness, and miseries of another, and not grieve to behold the excellency, wisdom, and felicity of his companion. Whosoever quarreleth with any through envy, is a testimony to prove (against his own intention) the honesty of him with whom he contendeth; and giveth thereby a sufficient show unto the world of the wrong, which he offereth him, forasmuch as no one can justly complain against a virtuous man. Behold therefore what the foundation whereon the greatest part of quarrels are wholly grounded. I have not undertaken here to declare unto you the order & manner of proceeding in them, nor yet the reason for the determination of them being entered into; but the remedies alone of avoiding & flying from them aswell in not departing from virtue, by doing such things as are contrary to duty and honesty, as also in not either working or wording that, which may enforce us to an unlawful combat; in the which a man hazardeth his Honour, his life, his soul, in sacrificing himself unto his blinded passion. For there is no greater ignorance, or folly in the heart of man, then to be willing to make God the judge and Umpire of his Duel (which is so odious and abominable in his eyes) under a false, and devilish kind of hope, that his just judgement will judge unjustly, to favour us.  
But to eschew the detestable combats (which shipwreck our souls) we must take heed of the tempestuous gusts (that drive us so vehemently against these rocks) which are the raging storms of our own choler: whereof I presently intent to speak.   

The Description of Choler; of the evils which proceed from it, of the causes which produce it, of the means of correcting it; and consequently of avoiding contentions and debates.  
CHAP. XI.  
CHoler is a hood that blindeth the eyes of reason, and hindereth them from beholding the resplendent lustre of true Honour: it inueagleth man in so strange a manner, that he embraceth counterfeit and false honour, and inseparably deprives himself of the reward of virtue.  
It is a passion, that disturbeth not only those that are vassals to her commanding sway, with infinite encumbrances; but all such also, as converse with them. So that there is no place or region within the bounds & limits of her jurisdiction, where love and amity may live together, secure and free from the brutish noise, and hellish molestation of contentious brawls. It is a raging tempest, that breaketh down the masts and rudders of our lives; tumbling and tossing our frail barks, in the soule-swallowing surges of our frantic furies; renting the cards of our convoye, and taking from our sight the star of our direction, and leaveth with us neither help nor hope.  
It is a wild fire, that burns whatsoever it come near unto: whose all-devouring flames cannot be extinguished, but with wondrous difficulty, if it be permitted never so little time to diffuse itself. In such sort that a choleric and angry man, may be said, to differ nothing from a mad man: save only in regard of time; because it is perpetual in the one, and but temporary in the other.  
Which ought to be an incitation unto all those that do desire a peaceful rest in their own souls (and not to be a raging firebrand, and a torturing grievance unto others) to be marvelous careful to shun this monstrous passion; sithence it is the root, and source, of the greatest part of contentions, causeless brawls, and bloody combats, which set the world in a confused uproar.  
To avoid the danger of this hideous monster, we are first to consider the manifold inconveniences and mischievous evils, which it doth beget: then afterwards the chiefest causes: and last of all the means and remedies, of conquering it.  
As for the evils which it doth beget, the first and greatest is: that at her first entrance she quite extinguisheth the light of reason; through whose deprivation, our affairs are destitute of all help and counsel. She dealeth like a bloodthirsty Tyrant, which spoils the State, and taketh away all counsel from the kingdom which he possesseth, suffering no one to remain alive, which may contradict, or oppose himself to his designs; to the end that all things may be done according to the desires of his depraved wil For having after this manner forcibly taken, from us, our reason, our counsel, and our judgement, she unjustly usurpeth over our persons; and maketh us to proceed unadvisedly in all our actions, by the violent instigation of our rash, disordered and overbearing fury.  
Whence it may be inferred, that sithence angry and impetuous choler bereaveth us of the perfect use of Reason, it is the subversion of other virtues. She inverteth piety through her mischievous and blasphemous perjuries: charity, through brutish & inhuman cruelty: justice, through violence: and sober modesty, through raging fury.  
She hindereth man, from thinking on that which he ought to do; and will not permit him, either to follow or believe good counsel: for she possesseth him, with such an overweening presumption, that he accounteth no man's counsel to be compared unto his own advise. Moreover, she steeps his tongue, in gall and vinegar: so that it can produce nothing but that, which may be bitter and sharp to others; and so hereby maketh him liable to much calamity. For from words they proceed to blows, from blows to combats, from combats to lamentable deaths: which are detested, both of God and men. The causes which ●eget choler, are pride, presumption, impatience and temerity.  
Pride depriveth us of the knowledge of ourselves: and not only that, but bereaveth us also of humility, which is necessarily requisite unto a virtuous man; serving him in stead of a kerbing bridle, to moderate the violence and fury of his Passion; disposing it orderly unto the course of reason.  
Presumption obscureth the lustre of Prudence, which should enlighten man in the prosecuting and achieving of all his purposes. Impatience destroyeth Temperance: whose helpful assistance man's necessity doth very earnestly require, to preserve his inclinations, and desires, in a golden mean, and to be the moderatrix of all his actions.  
temerity is the accursed inverter of equity and justice in man, constraining him both to do and say all things without reason, all things without counsel. Whosoever is subject unto this vice is most unworthy of any great command.  
Light belief is also an especial cause of choler. For it often falls out, that he that hath tender cares, hath bloody hands: because detraction and obloquy, engender much discontent in the minds of those, that desire to hear them. Wherefore to enjoy a peaceful quietness, we must not nourish a calumnious flatterer, by giving opportunity to his knavish prattle. For whosoever is facilely inclined to listen unto them, is not far from choler, from blood, from murder.  
The means of remedying this passion, is to anticipate our choler, and to range it according to the direction of reason; and not to attend it till the rage be kindled: but at the self same point of time assoon as we have any sensible perceivance of any alteration in our spirits, or that the pulses of our hearts have somewhat a nimbler and a stronger motion than appertains to a good and perfect temperature, we ought to do unto it as to a fire, which we quench with all diligence, assoon as it is kindled; not looking on it, till it hath seized on the ioysts and rafters of the house: because, when all things should be embraced by the fearful and merciless flames, it is in vain to seek for help. In like manner we ought not to defer the application of our remedy, till such time as we be scorched, and burnt, with the furious flames of our incensed choler: but, even when we perceive passion within us, and occasions without us, egging and spurring us forwards to this fiery rage, we must at the very instant employ all the faculties of our souls, to maintain our safety, and to resist the violence which assaulteth us. For there is a mean to preserve ourselves therefrom (as from a Tyrant) by not yielding obedience at first, nor suffering it to have any power or authority over us. But if we give it time and leisure to extend and fortify itself, it will get the start of us, by little and little, and at last become to be invincible.  
And because the tongue is a very dangerous instrument of choler, it importeth us also to be marvelous vigilant, and careful to observe, what & how great faults this passion makes us guilty of by talking, when our tongue is at liberty, to the end that we may restrain it, with prudent circumspection, within the rails that are ordained by nature, as its prison.  
But if every one would remember his condition & quality in this world, bidding his last adieu to pride and presumption, through humility: or had we reaped so much profit in virtues school, as to have brought all our affections subject unto reason: had we learned there, to bear with just indifferency both pains and pleasures, labours and rest, penury and plenty, grief and gladness, and to have framed all our conversation with Temperance; without all contradiction, we should not have been so propense, so prone, to be enraged with choler as we are.  
And who can imagine us able to undergo any great employments, or to sustain such violent passions (as oftentimes assaults a virtuous man) when as we are so easily surmounted and overcome by choler? and that pleasant conceited syllable, or a little word slipping out unawares, should so wasp us, and so far transport us beyond ourselves, that we should seem not to have as much as one scruple of either constancy or reason?  
Let us therefore learn to barracado the doors of our hearts, against the forcible assaults of choler; fortifiing them so securely on every quarter, that it may have no encouragement to attempt to enter. For there is no heart more valorous, or courage stouter, then that, which can repress the fury of his passion: nor worthier trophies them those, which may be procured from ourselves: nor triumphs more glorious or magnificent, then when our reason can lead our conquered affections as slavish servants and servile captives. Which if they could prevail, and get the victory, they would insult like bloody minded Tyrants over us; taking away by cruel violence, the peaceful tranquillity and pleasures of the soul, which virtue gives to Honour, as solacing associates; being the chiefest, the comfortablest companions, that man's heart can wish for. And of these I mean to treat in this chapter following.   

The description of true rest, and perfect pleasure, wherewith Virtue accompanieth Honour; accomplishing man, with all felicity.  
CHAP. XII.  
ALL men naturally desire pleasure and ease; and labour in the world to no other end, but to settle themselves in such an estate, as may crown their affections with content. All their practices and endeavours, all their plots and counsels, all their restless purposes, and painful enterprises, aim at no other mark but this. But who is it that findeth what he searcheth for? Every one complains on the misery of his own condition, and bewails the perversity of his froward fortunes, informing the world by these his doleful moans, that he continues still unsatisfied.  
The reason hereof is, because he seeketh in this life, that which is not here; and therefore it is impossible to be found. They search with watchful eyes, and restless hearts, that celestial pearl, in the dunghill of the world, which is reserved in heaven, for those that will exclaim against the vanities of the world, and the frail incertainty of all things therein: for those (I say) that bend all their studies, to extirpate the love and liking, which they bear towards the world, out of their hearts and minds, presenting them by the assistance of virtuous contemplations, unto the GOD of heaven; In whom they obtain (as in a haven of security) that sweet repose, and quiet comfort, which they sought in this life, with an earnest & vehement, but a fruitless pursuit. For we learn by infallible demonstrations, deduced from the knowledge of our own selves, that this life on earth, is but as it were a pilgrimage, a short (yet tedious) journey, whereby we travel, or tend towards another place, which is celestial: wherefore we ought to demean both ourselves, and substances, with such a golden moderation (whether it be in giving satisfactions to our urgent necessities, or else in our pleasances & delightful recreations) that all conspire for the advancement of us, unto that other place which is the celestial treasury of our sovereign good.  
It is a thing marvelous full of difficulty to be attained unto: but being gained, it is as full of profit, ease, and pleasure; yea such a thing, as in the acquisition whereof, no pains or perils should seem hard, or fearful.  
For, this is a prize so precious, that the least and meanest particle thereof, is throughlie sufficient (of itself) to recompense a world of pains.  
And because the remonstrances and characters which may be composed, setting forth virtues beauty and excellency, gently inviting us to embrace her; and the manifold discourses of vice showing unto the world her ugly, monstrous, and deformed shape, enforcing us to detest and hate her; are not sufficient remedies to cure our depraved passions, and to appease the perturbations of our spirits; pleasures and pains are proposed unto us in the school of virtue, to be the Directrices of all our actions; the one serving as a reward and salary to encourage us to virtue, the other as a torture to deter us from vice: for there are no intendments, or actions either plotted or performed, but it is through the consideration and respect either of the one or other.  
It remaineth therefore, in the conclusion and upshot of this little tract, to represent unto you, what and how wondrous great the delectation and pleasure is, which a virtuous man reapeth in the injoyance of this rich and great treasure of honour and happiness, which virtue endoweth him with very profusely here in this life, but most abundantly in the life to come. Let us therefore know, what pleasure and delectation is.  
We define it to be a contentment, full of pleasure and delight, proceeding from a perfect action, accompanied with the knowledge and understanding thereof.  
Sensible creatures are capable of action: but because it is without the understanding of such things as they do, they cannot have any delectation thence.  
Yet notwithstanding every action, done with knowledge, doth not beget pleasure and delectation. It must be perfect also, if you will have it pleasant. For imperfection, and defect, breed always more displeasure, then content.  
Two things are necessary to the perfect accomplishment of an action; and so by consequence to the fruition of pleasure.  
A good constitution, in the faculty that worketh, and in the object also whereon it worketh.  
There is small comfort in looking on any thing, when the eye is bad, and the object worse. And poor content (God knows) shall a man enjoy in hearing, when as the ear is (almost) deaf, and the music dull: But if the prospective which we behold, be full of glory, and the eye good, the music curious, and the ear acute, then shall our eye content us with beholding: and our ear with hearing. The like may be said of the other senses. Furthermore all delectation is not individual: for there are divers (yea as many) sorts of them, as there are perfect actions done with understanding.  
Every action that is joined with knowledge, issueth from the senses, and is perfected by them. Thence it is, that there being in man two sorts of senses, senses of the body, and senses of the soul: there are also found in him, two sorts of actions, one of the body, the other of the soul: and two kinds likewise of delectations; the one corporeal, the other spiritual.  
The delectation of the body, is external, and proceedeth from the perfect actions of the external senses, which are five in number (every one of them having a delectation proper unto itself, and which it most affecteth) to weet, seeing, hearing smelling, tasting, and touching: so that there is nothing more admirable amongst the works of nature, than the senses natural combination, and their subjection to the body.  
The spiritual delectation is internal, and issueth from the perfect action of the faculties of the soul: so that, the more perfect the action is, the more pleasant is its delectation: And by how much also the faculty is more excellent, and the object more perfect, so much the perfecter shall the action be; and so by consequence somuch the greater shall its pleasure be.  
Wherefore it followeth, that the delectation which proceedeth from the perfect actions of the soul, doth far surpass the other, issuing from the actions of the body: because the powers and faculties of the soul are far more efficacious and excellent than those of the body, according to the proportion of the soul above the body, & as much as the object of the soul (which properly is virtue and verity) doth surmount in excellency all the objects of the corporeal senses: so that the true joy, true peace, and true rest of the soul (wherein only consisteth true and perfect pleasure) bear great correspondency with truth & virtue.  
There is no delectation then, which is truly worthy to be desired by man, but that which proceedeth from the actions of the soul; that only being peculiar unto him, sithence beasts participate of all other as well as he.  
And albeit the body have its distinct pleasures apart from the soul, yet they cannot be either truly pleasant or laudable in man, if they be not contained within the precincts of moderation and virtue.  
I will grant a man to have as acute an eye as the sharp-sighted Lynx, and that he stand contemplating on the fairest, the most admired object of the world, he may certainly conceive some pleasure from such an action: but if it be wanton, lewd, erroneous, too much, or to a wicked end, that action neither is, nor aught to be imagined laudable. For their is no true and laudable pleasure without perfection, nor any perfection but within the lists of virtue.  
Furthermore, amongst corporal pleasures some are natural, others vicious and superfluous.  
The natural pleasures are indifferent, and are either good or bad, according to their use and end unto the which they are referred. For being used with mediocrity, and applied only unto their own proper end (which is preservation of health, and continuance of the bodies perfect disposition) they are then (without question) worthy to be praised; much less then, to be either rejected or despised.  
Such as show themselves to be of too austere and rugged a disposition, in the injoyance and use of natural pleasure, are too too extreme. For God did not make the creatures of the world only to serve us, and our necessities; but that they should also afford us pleasure and delight. Which may easily be proved by the variety of the manifold and curious colours, the diversity of harmonious sounds, the differences of pleasant tastes, and multiplicity of fragrant smells, which he particularly hath appropriated unto every kind of creature; showing thereby to have had more regard to give content & pleasure to our senses, than food and sustenance unto our bodies.  
Whence it may be inferred, that superfluity (which is both vain and vicious in all things being eschewed, we ought not to refuse or show ourselves disdainful, to accept the honest pleasures and moderate delights, which God doth offer to us in his Creatures; and therefore are not either to be rejected or despised.  
The severe Stoics (which would have the desires of men even in these moderate injoyances of delectation, to be stupid and senseless) are as sharply censured, as the dissolute and lose Epicures, which take from their strong-headed affections, Reason's bridle; being always too tractable to the vain inducements of sensual appetite.  
For such as would deprive man of his natural affections, because they dispose and allure him unto certain vices, may be fitly likened unto those, that obstinately maintain, that none ought to drink wine, because oftentimes it makes some men drunk; or that a man should not ride a gallop, for that divers men have been destroyed thereby.  
But what should become of us, if we were entirely despoiled of our natural affections? We should have no more power to turn either to the one hand, or the other, then if a dead palsy had benumbed our senses.  
The affections are the nerves, and sinews of the spirit: which serve to contract, to slacken, to lift up, to lay down, to stir and settle her, wheresoever she will; even as the body is moved and removed, by its ligaments. Wherhfore they ought to be preserved and moderated; not taken away and utterly destroyed. We are to imitate in this a well experienced horseman; who for to tame and manage well his horse, will not take from him agility, and courage; but endeavours especially to bring him to run, to turn, to rise, to curuct, to stand, how and when it pleaseth him, and not according to the horses will: Even so when as we perceive our affections inclining to stubborn disobedience, we must correct and reform them with judgement & reason, and not attempt indiscreetly wholly to mortify and extinguish them.  
We must not then disallow, and reprove natural pleasures, in the like sort as we do such as are vicious and superfluous, nor yet condemn the desire of them or their fruition. For both in the one and the other, that mean may be observed, which is commended in all things.  
Yet howsoever, we must not take so much pleasure and delight, that it prejudice the health and safety of our souls; nor yet so little, that our bodies grow feeble and sickly, through defect thereof. In so doing, whosoever recreateth himself with the moderate delectation of an honest pleasure, shall be much better reputed, than he that voluntarily refuseth so great a good, which freely prostitutes itself to his acceptance. For he neglecteth it, either through despisall, superstition, or arrogance: thinking to seem more wise in refusing, than his Creator was in offering it.  
As for vicious and dishonest pleasures, they are to be detested, of necessity: sithence such as are engendered by gormandizing and ebriety, do not only make men like to beasts, but a great deal worse.  
For they never eat and drink with such a greedy insatietie, but that they have always remembrance and power to retire themselves into their own nests and dens; whereas man tons such disproportionate measure of wine into his belly, that reason and judgement (for all their shifts) are drowned in the deluge: through loss of whom, he that (ere whiles) was rational (but now insensible) unknowes his friends, his familiar acquaintance, his servants, nay himself. Moreover; his capacity of wine destroys the capacity of his wit, & makes him absolutely unfit for any performances; beside the wrong it doth unto his reputation, to the health of his body, and (which is worst of all) to the safety of his soul.  
Voluptuous sensuality, and worldly delight, are always inseparable from a gluttonous belly; which have the power to transform men into hogs, utterly depriving them of the love and knowledge of virtue & honesty. Such as hunt after them, are induced thereunto by an apparent resemblance of true felicity promised by voluptie: but they find themselves (incontinently) strangely benumbed both bodies and souls; in such sort, that the one can deliberate and determine nothing but that which is dishonest: & the other is as impotent in the execution of good: and so at last it is the utter overthrow both of their sense and reason.  
Volupty is not a jot more gracious unto wealth & riches, than it is unto the soul & body: for there is no patrimony or inheritance, so infinite in the world, which it will not devour in a little time. The greatest treasury that ever was seen or heard of, was that of the Romans. For beside the pillage of gold & silver which they ravaged from all the richest cities & kingdoms of the earth, the revenues also of the Provinces were yearly brought in to maintain expenses & supply their wants: And yet notwithstanding, the voluptuous prodigality of one Heliogabalus, of one Commodus, of one Caligula, or of one Nero hath clean exhausted it within 2. years.  
It is not only through want of bread and wine that Venus waxeth cold, but also through the penury of gold & silver. For besides the heavy expenses which are required for the maintenance of volupty; what & how many disbursements must there be, not only for the preparation of curious feasts and banquets, but also for investing our proud selves in rich & gay apparel, hoping to seem thereby magnificent? Is it possible (unless men were bereaved of the use of reason, nay of common sense) that they should buy at so dear a rate, not repentance only, but poverty, shame, derision and disdain? what do I say? nay: the indignation of Heaven and the flames of hell.  
It seemeth (all things considered) not repugnant to reason, to attribute unto such, the titles of forlorn and hopeless castaways. For how can they be reputed less, which with so scornful a he'll kick at prudence and reason, contemn virtue and honesty, neglect their souls, destroy their bodies, profuse their gold, their silver, their substances, their revenues, and whatsoever else is theirs, with so prodigal, so vain, and so needless a lavishment? And last of all, utterly to abandon the country, which first nourished them?  
Those that seek their beatitude in vicious, wanton, and worldly pleasures, thinking that they obtain the same when they enjoy them; are they not exceeding wide from what they aimed at? yea certainly, so much the wider, for that their minds being prepossessed by the cunning seizure of false persuasions, debar them from hearkening unto that, which would willingly and freely acquaint them with their transgressions, redeem them from that misery, and evidently declare unto them wherein true and perfect beatitude consisteth. For indeed we cannot be crossed with greater infelicity, then by establishing our happiness in that, in which alone consists our misery; and in that also we being miserable, cannot imagine ourselves to be so, nor credit those that do persuade the same.  
Prosperity and welfare is untimely wished for by any, save only those that are capable thereof, and with an earnest zeal desire the same. Which the vicious and wicked cannot do; because the way which they persevere in, and which seemeth unto them fair, pleasant, and spacious, doth lead them to perdition.  
Wherefore he that wanteth that which he loveth, cannot be called happy: Neither can he which hath that which he loveth, if that which he hath be any way offensive: Neither may he be accounted happy, which hath that which is singularly good and profitable, if he love not that, which he hath: because those which covet that, whereunto they cannot attain, do always rest exceedingly tormented. Such as have that, which they ought not to desire, are not only beguiled, but much abused too: and such as desire not that, which is requisite to the accomplishment of their felicity, are crazy, wey-ward, and disdainful: which cannot be by any means, except he to whom it happeneth always remain a miserable wretch.  
Therefore we say, that all true pleasure and delectation proceedeth from an action that is perfect. And the spiritual actions of the soul, being much more able to attain unto a high perfection than the others of the body, which only crawl along upon the ground; It behoveth man to settle his pleasure and content in them. But these also cannot be said to be truly perfect (and so by consequence not delectable) except they bear a consenting uniformity with Reason.  
Wherefore it followeth of necessity, that the highest and heartiest pleasure is found in the injoyance of virtue; because she persuadeth us to love and embrace that which is truly good.  
But there is no good, so good as God. He is the beginning, source, and fountain of all goods, that are within the reach of our desires.  
Wherefore it importeth us (if we wish for true content and blessed happiness) to extend our desires even unto God himself. He is the sole and perfect object, which our souls ought to propose unto themselves. He is the end of ends, and the last mark which virtue aimeth at. He is the delight of all delights: He giveth delectatation, without tedious satiety, without end.  
He is a paradise of  pleasures.  
He is a sun, whose glory still doth shine.  
HE is water, sprinkling our hearts-sprouting treasures.  
HE is such, whose essence no one can define.  
What is it then, that hindereth us from being inflamed with the love of Virtue? sithence by her sweet conduct, we gain the possession of so great a treasure. She hideth not herself from our behold; but always objecteth unto our eye, the radiant lustre of her beauteous face, hoping to entice our dull and senseless hearts, to be enamoured with the accomplished perfection which is reflected on us, from the golden rays of her resplendent glory.  
There is no remedy: we must needs take heart, and courageously surpass those encountering difficulties, which stand in the very entrance of her Temple. Nothing that is rare and excellent, can be achieved without pains and industry. For, nature hath annexed difficulty unto greatness, to crown the achievement with the greater honour.  
Since then there is nothing more excellent than virtue, in whose right hand is held the palm of Glory, and in whose left a crown of Honour; Let all our designs stand on tiptoe to reach unto her: Let us spare no labours nor pains, no toils nor travails, to gain the society of so gracious a Guide; sithence by her, only we mount to heaven. We behold her always there permanent, although very few present themselves unto her, or desire injoyance of her dearest self. The greatest part of men have a far better liking of the fair & spacious ways of vice; preferring her silken carpet strewed with the choicest and most fragrant sorts of flowers, before the rocks and thorns of virtues path: whereby we show, that we are either ignorant in choosing; or that we choose perversely what we ought not to choose.  
Know, man, whatsoever thou art, that virtue can only ennoblish thee with honour & glory, to accomplish thee with true goodness & perfect pleasures, to exalt thee unto the heavens, & to counite thee & thy soul with God. Herein consisteth all man's felicity: and unto this is referred whatsoever is contained in the Golden Cabinet of true Treasure.   
FINIS LIBRI.  
Officium benevoli animi, finem non habet.