A fruitful/ and pleasant work of the best state of a public weal, and of the new isle called Utopia: written in Latin by Sir Thomas More knight, and translated into english by Ralph Robynson Citizein and Goldsmythe of London, at the procurement, and earnest request of George Tadlowe Citizen & Haberdassher of the same City.  
¶ Imprinted at London by Abraham Vele, dwelling in Paul's churchyard at the sign of the Lamb. Anno. 1551.   

To the right honourable, and his very singular good master, master William Cecylle esquiere, one of the two principal secretaries to the king his mo●●e excellent majesty, Ralph Robynso● wisheth continuance of health, with daily increase of virtue, and honour.  
Upon a time, when tidings came too the city of Corinthe that king Philippe father to Alexander surnamed the Great, was coming thitherward with an army royal to lay siege to the city. The Corinthians being forth with stricken with great fear, began busily, and earnestly to look about them, and to fall to work of all hands. Some to ●●owre & trymm● up harness, some to carry stones, some to amend and build higher the walls, some to rampiere and fortify the bulwarks, and fortresses, some one thing, and some an other for the defending, and strengthening of the city. The which busy labour, and toil of theirs when Diogenes the philosopher saw, having no profitable business whereupon to set himself on work (neither any man required his labour, and help as expedient for the comen wealth in that necessity) immediately girded about him his philosophical cloak, & began to roll, and tumble up and down hither & thither upon the hill side, that lieth adjoining to the city, his great barrel or tun, wherein he dwelled: for other dwelling place would he have no●e. This seeing one of his friends, and not a little musing thereat, came to him: And I pray the Diogenes (quoth he) why dost thou thus, or what meanest thou hereby? Forsooth I am tumbling my tub to (quoth he) because it were no reason that I only should be idle, where so many be working. In semblable manner, right honourable sir, though I be, as I am in deed, of much less ability than Diogenes was to do any thing, that shall or may be for the advancement & commodity of the public wealth of my native country: yet I seeing every sort, and kind of people in their vocation, & degree busily occupied about the common wealths affairs: & especially learned men daily putting forth in writing new inventions, & devices to the furtherance of thesame: thought it my bound duty to God, & to my country so to tumble my tub, I mean so to occupy, & exercise me self in bestowing such spare hours, as I being at the beck, & commandment of others, cold conveniently win to me ●elf: that though no commodity of that my labour, & travail to the public weal should arise, yet it might by this appear, that my●e endevoire, & good will hereunto was not lacking. To the accomplishment therefore, & fulfilling of this my mind, & purpose: I took upon me to turn, and translate out of Latin into our English tongue the fruitful, & profitable book, which sir Thomas more knight compiled, & made of the new isle Utopia, containing & setting forth the best 〈◊〉, and form of a public weal: ● work (as it appeareth) written almost forty years ago by the said sir Thomas More the author thereof▪ The which man, forasmuch as he was a man of 〈◊〉 time, yea almost of these our days: & for the excellent qualities, where 〈◊〉 the great goodness of God had plentifully endowed him, & for the high place, & ●owme, whereunto his prince had mo●● graciously called him, notably well known, not only among us his countrymen▪ but also in foreign countries & nation's▪ therefore I have not much to speak of him. This only I saye● that it is much to be lamented of all, & not only of us English men, that a man of so incomparable wit, of so profound knowledge, of so absolute learning, & of so fine eloquence was yet nevertheless so much blinded, rather to obstinacy, then with ignorance that he could not or rather would not see the shining light of gods holy truth in certain principal points of Christian religion: but did rather che●se to persever, & continue in his wilful & stubborn obstinacy even to the very death▪ this I say is a thing much to be lamented. But letting this matter pass, I return again to utopia. Which (as I said before) is a work not only for the matter that it containeth fruitful & profitable, but also for the writers eloquent latin stiele pleasant & delectable. Which he that readeth in latin, as the author himself wrote it, perfectly understanding the same: doubtless he shall take great pleasure, & delight both in the sweet eloquence of the writer, & also in the witty invention, & fine conveyance, or disposition of the matter: but most of all in the good, & wholesome lessons, which be there in great plenty, & abundance. But now I fear greatly that in this my simple translation through my rudeness & ignorance in our english tongue all the grace & pleasure of the eloquence, wherewith the matter in latin is finely set forth may seem to be utterly excluded, & lost: & therefore the fruitfulness of the matter itself much peradventure diminished, & app●yred. For who knoweth not which knoweth a●y thing, that an eloqent styele setteth forth & highly commendeth a mean, ●●●ter? Where as on the other side rude, & unlearned speech defaceth and disgraceth a very good matter. According as I hard ones a wise man say: A good tale evil told were better untold▪ & an evil tale well told needeth none other solicitor. This thing I well pondering & weighing with me self, & also knowing, & knowledging the barbarous rudeness of my translation was fully determined never to have put it forth in print, had it not been for certain friends of mine, & especially one, whom above all other I regarded, a man of sage▪ & discreet wit, & in worldly matters by long use well experienced, whose name is George Tadlowe: an honest citi●ein of London, & in thesame city well accepted, & of good reputation: at whose request, & instance I first took upon my weak, & feeble shoulders the heavy, and weighty bourdein of this great enterprise. This man with divers other, but this man chiefly (for he was able to do more with me, than many other) after that I had once rudely brought the work to an end, ceased not by all means possible continually to assault me, until he had at the ●aste, what by the force of his pitthie arguments & strong reasons, & what by his authority so persuaded me, that he caused me to agree & consent to the imprynting hereof. He therefore, as the chief persuadour, must take upon him the danger, which upon this bold, and rash enterprise shall ensue. I, as I suppose, am herein clearly acquytte, and discharged of all blame. Yet, honourable Sir for the better avoiding of envious and malicious tongues, I (knowing you to be a man, not only profoundly learned, and well affected towards all such, as either can, or will take pains in the well bestowing of that poor talent, which GOD hath endued them with: but also for your godly dysposytyon, and virtuous qualities not unworthily now placed in authority, and called to honour) am the bolder humbly to offer and dedicate unto your good mayst●rshyppe this my simple work. Partly that under the sauffe conduct of your protection it may the better be defended from the obloquy of them, which can say well by nothing, that pleaseth not their fond, a●d corrupt judgements, though it be else both fruitful and godly: & partly that by the means of this homely pre●e●t I may the better renew, and revive (which of late, as you know, I have already begun to do) the old acquaintance, that was between you and me in the time of our childhood, being then ●colefellowes togethers▪ Notdoubting that you for your native goodness, and gentleness will accept in good part this poor gift, as an argument, or token, that mine old good will, and hearty affection towards you is not by reason of long tract of time, and separrtion of our bodies any thing at all quailed and diminished, but rather ● I assuer yo●) much augmented, and increased. This verily is the chief cause, that hath encouraged me to be so bold with your mastership. Else truly this my poor present is of such simple and mean sort, that it is neither able to recompense the least portion of your great gentleness to me, of my part vn●eserued, both in the time of our old acquaintance, and also now lately again bountifully showed: neither yet fit, & meet for the very baseness of it to be offered to one so worthy, as you be. But all mighty god (who therefore ever be thanked) hath advanced you to such fortune, & dignity, that yo● be of ability to accept thankfully aswell a man's goodwill as his gift. The same god grant you and all yours long, and joyfully▪ to continue in all godliness and prosperity.   

¶ Thomas More to Peter Giles sendeth greeting.  
I Am almost ashamed, right well-beloved Peter Giles, to send unto you this book of the utopian comen wealth, well-nigh after a years space, which I am sure you looked forwithin a month & a half. And no marvel. For you knew welenough, that I was already disbourdened of all the labour & study belonging to the invention in this work, and that I had no need at all to trouble my brains about the disposition, or conveyance of the matter: & therefore had her in nothing else to do, but only to rehearse those things, which you a●d I togethers hard master raphael tell and declare. Wherefore there was no cause why I should study to setforth the matter with eloquence: for asmuch as his talk could not be fine & eloquent, being first not studied for, but sudden and unpremeditate, and then, as you know, of a m●̄ better seen in the greek language, then in the latin tongue. And my writing, the nigher it should approach to his homely plain, and simple speech, somuch the ●igher should it go to the truth: which is the only mark, whereunto I do and aught to direct all my travail and study herein. I grant and confess, friend Peter, meself discharged of somuch labour having all these things, ready done to my hand, that almost there was nothing left for me to do. else other the invention, or the disposition of this matter might have required of a wit neither base, neither at all unlearned both some time & leisure, and also some study. But if it were requisite, and necessary, that the matter should also have been written eloquentelye, and not alone truly: of a surety that thing could I have performed by no time nor study. But now saying all these cares, stays, and lets were taken away, wherein else so much labour and study should have been employed, and that there remained no other thing for me to do, but only to write plainly the matter as I hard it spoken: that in deed was a thing light and easy to be done. howbeit to the dyspatching of this so little business my other cares and troubles did leave almost less, than no leisure.  
Whiles I do daily bestow my time about law matters: some to plead, some to hear, some as an arbytratour with mine award to determine▪ some as an umpire or a judge with my sentence finally to discuss. Whiles I go one way to see and visit my friend: an other way about mine own private affairs. Whiles I spend almost all the day abroad amongs other, and the residue at home among mine own: I leave to myself, I mean to my book no time. For when I am come home, I must comen with my wife, chat with my children, and talk with my servants. All the which things I reke● and account among business, forasmuch as they must of necessity be done: and done must they needs be, whiles a man will be a stranger in his own house. And in any wise a man must so fashion and order his condytyons, and so appoint and dispose himself, that he be merry, jocund, and pleasant among them, whom either nature hath provided, or chance hath made, or he himself hath chosen to be the fellows, and companions of his life: so▪ that with to much gentle be havyoure and famylyaryte he do not mar them, and by toomuch sufferance of his servants make them his masters. among these things now rehearsed stealethe away the day, the month, the year. Whe● do I write then? And all this while have I spoken no word of sleep, neither yet of meat, which among a great number doth waste no less time, then doth sleep, wherein almost half the life time of ma● crepethe away. I therefore do win and get only that time, which I steal from sleep and meat. Which time because it is very little, and yet somewhat it is, therefore have I once at the last, though it be long first, finished Utopia, and have sent it to you friend Peter to read and peruse: to the intent that if any thing have escaped me, you might put me in remembrance of it. For though in this behalf I do not greatly mistrust meself (which would God I were somewhat in wit and learning, as I am not all of the wor●●e and dullest memory) yet have I not so great trust and confidence in it, that I think nothing could fall out of my mind. For john Clement my boy, who as you know was there present with us, whom I suffer to be away from no talk, wherein may be any profit or goodness (for out of this young bladed & new shot up corn, which hath already begun to spring up both in Latin & Greek learning, I look for plentiful increase at length of goodly ripe grain) he I say hath brought me into a great doubt. For whereas Hythlodaye (whiles my memory fail me) said that the bridge of Amaurote, which goeth over the river of Anyder is five hu●dreth paseiss, that is to say, half a ●●yle in length: my John sayeth that ●●. hundred of those paseiss must be plucked away▪ for that the river containeth there not above three hundredth paseiss in breadth. I p●●ye you heartily call the matter to your remembrance. For if you agree with him, I also will say as you say, and confess myself deceived. But if you cannot remember the thing, then surely I will write as I have done, and as mine own remembrance serveth me. For as I will take good heed that there be in my book nothing fal●e, so if there ●e any thing in doubt▪ I will rather tell a lie then make a lie: because I had be good than wise rather. Howbeit this matter may easily be remedied, if you will take the pains▪ to ask the question of raphael himself by word of mouth, if he be now with you, or else 〈◊〉 your letters. Which you must needs▪ do for an other doubt also, which hath chanced, through whose fault I cannot tell▪ whether through● ●yne or yours or Raphael's. For neither we remembered to inquire of him, nor he to tell us in what part of that ●●we world Utopia is situate. The which thing, I had rather have spent no small somme of money, then that it should thus have escaped us: aswell for that I am ashamed to be ignorant in what sea that Island standeth, whereof I writ so long a treatise, as also because there be with us certain men, a●d especially one devout and godly man▪ a●d a professor of divinity, who is exceeding desirous to go unto Utopia: not for a vain and curious desiere to see news, but to the intent he may● further and increase our religion which is there already luckily bego●●e. And that he may the better accomplish and perform this his good intent, he is minded to procure that he may be sent thither of the bishop, yea and that he himself may be ma●e bishop of Utopia: being nothing scrupulous: herein, that he must obtain this bishopric with suete. For he counteth that a godly 〈◊〉, which proceedeth not of the desiere of honour or lucre, but only of a godly zeal. Wherefore I most earnestly desyere you, friend Peter, to talk with Hythlodaye, if you can, face to face, or else to write your letters to him, and so to work in this matter, that in this my book there may neither any thing be found which is untrue, neither any thing be lacking, which is true. And I think verily it shallbe well done that you show unto him the book itself. For if I have missed or failed in any point, or if any fault have escaped me, no man can so well correct and amend it, as he can: and yet that can he not do, whiles he peruse and read over my book written. Moreover by this means shall you perceive, whether he be well willing and content that I should undertake to put this work in writing. For if he be minded to publish and putforth his own labours and travails himself, perchance he would be loath, and so would I also, that i● publishing the Vtopiane weal public, I should prevent, and take from him the flower and grace of the novelty of this his history. Howbeit, to say the very truth, I am not yet fully determined with myself, whether I will put forth my book or no. For the natures of men be so divers, the fantasies of some so wayewarde, their minds so unkind, their judgements so corrupt, that they which lead a merry and a iocounde life, following their own sensual pleasures and carnal lusts, may se●●e to be in a much better state or case, than they that vex and unquiet themselves with cares and study for the putty●ge forth and publishing of some thing, that may be either profit or pleasure to other: which nevertheless will disdainfully, scornfully, & unkindly accept thesame. The most part of all be unlearned. And a great numbered hath learning in contempt. The rude & barbarous alloweth nothing but that which is very barbarous in deed. If it be one that hath a little smack of learning, he rejecteth as homely and comen ware whatsoever is not 〈◊〉 full of old ●●oughteate● words, and that be worn out of use. Some there be that have pleasure only in old rusty antiquities. And some only in their own doings▪ One is so sour, so crabbed, and so unpleasant, that he can away with no mirth nor sport. An other is so narrow in the shoulders, that he can bear no jests nor ●awntes. Some 〈◊〉 poor souls be so afeard that at every snappish word their nose shallbe bitten of, that they stand in no less dread of every quick and sharp word, than he that is bitten of a mad dog feareth water. Some be so mutable and wavering, that every hour they be in a new mind, saying one thing sitting, and an other thing standing. another sort sitteth upon their allebencheiss, & there among their cups they give judgement of the wits of writers, & with great authority they condemn eue● as pleaseth the●● every writer according to his writing: in most spiteful manner mocking, lowting, and ●l●wtynge them: being themselves in the 〈◊〉 ●eason ●a●ffe, and as saith the proverb, out of all danger of go●neshotte. For why they be so 〈◊〉 & smoethe, that they have not somuch as ●ne hear of an honest man, whereby one may take hold of them. There be moreover some so unkind and vngen●ell, that though they take great pleasure and delectation in the work, yet for all that they can not find in their hearts to lo●e the author thereof, nor to afford him a good word: being much like uncosrteis, unthankful, and chourlishe guests. Which when they have with good and deyutie meres well filled their bellies, depart home giving no thanks to the feast maker. Go your ways now & make a costly feast at your own charge is for guests so deputy mouthed, so dy●ers in taste, and bisydes that of so unkind and unthankful natures. But nevertheless friend Peter do I pray you with Hythlodaye as I willed you before. And as for this matter, I shallbe at my liberty afterwards to take new advisement. Howbeit, saying I have taken great pay●es and labour in writing the matter, if it may stand with his mind & pleasure, I will as touching the edition or publishing of the book, follow the counsel and advise of my friends, and specially yours. Thus far you well right heartily beloved friend Peter, with your gentle wife: and love me as you have ever done, for I love you better than ever I did.   

¶ The first book of the communication of raphael hythlodaye concerning the best state of a comen wealth.  
THe most victorious and triumphant King of England Henry the eight of that name in all royal virtues Prince most peerless, had of late in controversy with the right high a●d mighty king of Castle weighty matters a●d of great importance, for the debatement & final determination whereof the kings Mayest. sent me Ambassador into flanders joined in commission with cuthebert Tunstall a man doubtless out of comparison, and whom the kings majesty of late to the great rejoicing of all men did prefer to the office of master of the Rolls: but of this man's praises I will say nothing, not because I do fear that small credence shallbe given to the testymo●y that cometh out of a friends mouth: but because his virtue and learning be greater and of more excellency, than that I am able to praise them: and also in all places so famous, and so perfectly well known, that they need not nor ought not of me to be praised, unless I would seem to show and set forth the brightness of the son with a candle, as the Proverb saith. There met us at Bruges (for thus it was before agreed) they whom their prince had for that matter appointed commissioners, excellent men all. The chief and the head of them was the Marcgrave (as they call him) of Bruges, a right honourable man: but the wisest and the best spoken of them was George Temsice pro●oste of Casselles, a man not only by learning but also by nature of singular eloquence, and in the laws profoundelye leaned: but in reasoning, and debating of matters what by his natural wit, & what by daily exercise, surely he had few fellows. After that we had once o● twice met, and upon certain points or articles could not fully and throughly agree: they for a certain space took their leave of us, & departed to Bruxelle there to know their prince's pleasure. I in the mean time (for so my business lay) went straight thence to Antwerp. Whiles I was there abiding often times among other, but which to me was more welcome than any other▪ did visit me o●e Peter Gyles a Citisien of Antwerp, a man there in his country of ho●est reputatyon, and also preferred to high promotyons, worthy truly of the highest. For it is hard to say whether the young man be in lerny●ge or in honesty more excellent. For he is both of wonderful virtuous condytyons, and also singularly well●lerned, and towards all sorts of people exceeding gentle. But towards his friends so kind hearted so loving, so faithful/ so trusty, and of so earnest affection, that it were very hard in any place to find a man, that with him in all points of friendship may be compared. No man can be more lowly or courteys. Noman usithe less symulatyon or dyssymulatyon, in no man is more prudent symplycytye. Besides this he is in his talk and commu●ycatyon so merry and pleasant, Yea and that without harm that through his gentle entertainment and his sweet and delectable communication in me was greatly abated and dymynyshed the fervent desire that I had to see my native country, my wife and my children, whom then I did much long and cowett to see, because that at that time I had been more than four monythes from them. Upon a certain day as I was hearing the divine service in our lady's church, which is the fairest the most gorgeous and curious church of building in all the city and also most frequented of people, and when the divine was done, was ready to go home to my lodging, I chanced to espy this foresaid Peter talking with a certain stranger a man well stricken in age with a black son burned face, a long beard and a cloak cast homely about his shoulders, whom by his favour & apparel forthwythe I judged to be a mariner. But when this Peter saw me, he cummythe to me and saluteth me. And as I was about to answer him: see you this man sayeth he (and therewith he pointed to the man that I saw him talking with before) I was minded quoth he to bring him straight home to you. He should have be●e very welcome to me said I for your sake. Nay (quoth he) for his own sake if you knew him, for there is no man this day living that can tell you of so many strange and unknown peoples and co●treis as this man can. And I know well that you be very desirous to hear of such news. Than I conjectured not far a miss (quoth I) for even at the first sight I judged him to be a mariner. Nay (quoth he) there ye were greatly deceived: he hayth sailed indeed not as the maryner Palynure but as the expert and prudent prince Ulysses: Yea rather as the ancient and sage Philosopher Plato. For this same raphael Hythlodaye (for this is his name) is very will learned in the Latin tongue: but profound and excellent in the greek tongue: Wherein he ever bestowed more study than in the lattyne, because he had given himself holy to the study of Phylosphy. Whereof he know that there is nothing extant in the lattyne tongue that is to an●y purpose, saving a few of Senecaes' & Cicero's doings. His patrimony that he was borne unto he left to his brethren (for he is a Portugal borne) and for the desire that he had to see and know the far countries of the world he joined himself 〈◊〉 company with Amerike vespuce, and in the three last voyages of thoes iiij. that be now in print and abroad in every man's hands he continued still in his company, saving that in te last voyage he came not home again with him. For he made such means and shift what by entreatance and what by importune suit, that he got licence of master Amerycke (though it were sore against his will) to be one of the xxiiij which in the end of the last voyage were let in the country of Gulike. He was therefore left behind for his minds sake, as one that took more thought and care for travailing, then dying: having customably in his mouth these saying. He that hath no grave is covered with the sky, and The way to heaven out of all places is of like length and distance. Which fantasy of his (if God had not been his betterfrende) he had surely bought full dear. But after the departing of Master ●espuce, when he had travailed through and about many countries with v. of his companions Gulykyans, at the last by marvelous chance he arrived in Taprobane, from whence he went to Calyquit, where he chanced to find certain of his country ships, wherein he returned again into his country, nothing less than looked for. All this when Peter had told me: I thanked him for his gentle kindness that he had vouchesaufed to bring me to the speech of that man, whose communication he thought should be to me pleasant and acceptable. And there with I turned me to raphael and when we had haylsede th'one tother and had spoken these comen words, that be customably spoken at the first meeting and acquentaunce of strangers we went thence to my house and there in my garden upon a bench covered with green tor●es we sat down talking togethers. There he told us how that after the departing of vespuce, he and his fellows that tarried behind in Gulyke began by little and little through he fair and gentle speech to win the love and favour of the people of that country in so much that within short space, they did dwell amongs them not only harmelese, but also occupied with them very familiarly. He told us also that they were in high reputatyon and favour with a certain great man (whose name and country is now quite out of my remembrance) which of his mere liberality did bear the costs and charges of him and his five companions. And besides that gave them a trusty g●yde to conduct them in their journey (which by water was in boats and by land in wagains) and to bring them to other princes witheverye frindlye commendatyons. Thus after many days journeys, he said they found towns and cities, and weal publyques full of people governed by good and wholesome laws. For under the line equynoctyall and of both sides of the same as far as the son doth extend his course, lieth (quoth he) great and wide deserts and wildernesses parched burned and dried up with continual & intolerable heat. All things be hideous terrible loathsome and unpleasant to be hold: all things owte of fashion and comylynes inhabited with wild beasts and serpents, or at the least wise with people that be no less savage wild and noisome, than the very beasts themselves be. But a little farther beyond that all things begin by little and little to wax pleasant. The air soft temperate and gentle. The ground covered with green grass. Less wildness 〈◊〉 the beasts. At the last shall ye come again to people cities, & towns wherein is continual intercourse and occupying of merchandise and chaffer not only among themselves and with their borderers, ●ut also with merchants of far countries both by land and water. There I had occasion (said he) to go to man yecontreys of every side. For there was no ship ready to any voyage or journey, but I and my fellows were into it very gladly receavyde. The ships that they found first were made plain flat and broad in the bottom troughewyse. The sails were made of great rushes or of wyckers, and in some places of leather. afterward they found ships with rydged kyeles: and sails of canvas, yea and shortly after having all things like owers. The shipmen also very expert and cunning both in the sea and in the wether. But he said that he found great favour and fryndeshyppe among them for teaching them the feat and use of the load stone. Which to them before that time was unknown. And therefore they were wont to be very timorous and fearful upon the sea. Nor to venture upon it, but only in the summer time. But now they have such a confidence in that stone, that they fear not stormy winter, in so doing ferther from care then jeopardy. I● so much that it is greatly to be doubtyd, lest that thing through their own foolish hardiness shall turn them to evil and harm, which at the first was supposyde should be to them good and commodious. But what he told us that he saw, in every country where he came, it were very long to declare. Nother it is my purpose at this time to make rehearsal thereof. But peradventure in an other place, I will speak of it, chiefly such things as shallbe profitable to be known, as in special be thoese decrees and ordinances that he marked to be well and wisely pro●yded and e●acted among such peoples as do live to gethere in a civil policy and good order. For of such things did we busily inquire, and demand of him, and he like wise very willingly told us of the same, But as for monsters, because they be no news, of them we were nothing inquysitine. For nothing is more easy to be found, then bebarking Scylla's, ravening Celenes, & Lestrygo●es devowerers of people, and such like great and uncredible monsters, but to find cytyzyns ruled by good and wholesome laws, that is an exceeding rare and hard thing. But as he marked many fond and foolish laws in those new found lands, so he rehersyde many acts and constytutyons whereby these our cities, nations, countries and Kingdoms may take ensample to amend their faults enormities and errors, whereof in another place as I said I will entreat. Now at this time I am determined to rehearse only that he told us of the manners customs, laws, and ordinances of the utopians. But first I will repeat our former communication by th'occasion, and as I might say the drift whereof he was brought into the mention of that weal public. For when raphael had very prudently touched divers things that be amiss sum here and sum there, yea very many of both parts, and again had spoken of such wise and prudent laws and decrees as be established and used both here among us and also there among them, as a man so cunning and expert in the laws and customs of every several country, as though into what place so ever he came geaste wise, there he had lead all his life: then Peter much meruelling at the man: Surely master raphael (quoth he) I wondere greatly why you get you not into some kings court, for I am sewer there is no prince living that would not be very glad of you: as a man not only able grossly to delight him with your profound learning, and this your knowledge of countries and people's, but also are meat to instruct him with examples and help him with counsel. And thus doing you shall bring your self in a very good case, and also be in habylytye to help all your friends and kyn●folke. As concerning my friends and kyn●folke (quoth he) I pass not greatly for them. For I think I have sufficiently done my part towards them all ready. For these things that other men do not departed from until they be old and sick, yea which they be the● very loath to leave when they can no longer keep, those very same things did I being not o●lye lusty, & in good health, but also in the flower of my youth, divide among my friends and kyn●folkes which I think with this my liberalytye ought to hold them contented and not to require nor to look that be●ydes this I should for their fakes give myself in bondage to kings. Nay god forbedde (quod peter) it is not my mind that you should be in bondage to kings, but as a retaynoure to them at your pleasure which sewrelye I think is the nygheste way that you can devise how to bestow your time fruitfully, not only for the private commodity of your friends and for the general profit of all sorts of people, but also for the avauncement of yourself to a much wealthier state and condition than you be now in, To a welthyer condition (quod Raphael) by that means that my my●de standeth clean against? Now I ●y●e at liberty after mine own mind a●d pleasure, which I think very few of thes great states and peers of realms cansaye. Yea and there be enough of them that sick for great men's frindeshippes▪ and therefore think it no great hurt, if they have not me nor two or three such other as I am. Well I perceive plainly friend raphael (quoth I) that you be desirous neither of riches, nor of power. And truly I have in no less reverence and estimatyon a man that is of your mind, then an●y of them all that be so high in po●r and authority. But you shall do as it becommith you, yea and according to this wisdom and this high and free co●raghe of yours, if you can find in your heart so to appoint & dispose yourself that you may apply your wit and diligence to the profit of the weal public, though it be ●ume what to your own pain and hindrance. And this shall you ●euer so well do, nor with so great profit perform, as if you be of sum great princes council, and put in his head (as I doubt not but you will) honest opinions, and virtuous persuasions. For from the prince, as from a perpetual well spring cummythe among the people the flood of all that is good or evil. But in you is so perfect learning that without any experience and again so great experience that without any learning you may well be any kings councillor. You be twice deceived master More (quoth he) first in me, and again in the thing itself. For neither is in me that ability that you force upon me, and if it were never so much, yet in dysquieting mine own quietness I should nothing further the weal public, for first of all the most part of all princes have more delight in warlike matters and feats of che●alrie (the knowledge whereof I neither have nor desire) than in the good feats of peace, and employ much more study how by right or by wrong to enlarge their dominions, than how well and peaceably to rule and govern that they have all ready. More over they that be counsellors to kings, every one of them either is of himself so wise in deed that he need not orels he thinketh himself so wise, that he will not allow an other man's council: saving that they do shamefully and flatteringly give assent to the fond and f●lishe sayings of certain great men. Whose favours, because they be in high authority with their prince, by assentation and flattering they labour to obtain, And verily it is naturally given to all men to esteem their own inventyons' best. So both the raven and the apethincke their own yongo●es fairest. Than if a man in such a company, where some disdain and have despite at other men's in●entions, and some cownte their own best, if among such men I say a man should bring forth any thing: that he hayth red done in times passed, or that he hath seen done in other places, there the hearers far as though the hole existimation of their wisdom were in jeopardy to be overthrown, and that ever after they should be counted for very diserdes, unless they cold in other men's inventions pick out matter to reprehend and find ●●wt at. If all other poor helps fail: then this is their extreme refuge. these things (say they) pleased our forefathers and ancestors: would god we could be so wise as they were: and as though they had wittily concluded the matter, and with this answer stopped every man's mouth, they sit down again. As who should say it were a very dangerous matter, if a man in any point should be found wiser than his forefathers were. And yet be we content to suffer the best and wittiest of their decrees to lie unexecuted: but it in any thing a better ordre might have been taken, than by them was, there we take fast hold and find many faults. Many times have I chanced upon such proud lewd overthwart and wayward judgements, yea and o●es in England. I pray you Sire (quoth I) have you been in our country? yea forsooth (quoth he) and their I tarried for the space of four or .v. monythes together, not long after the insurrection, that the western English men made against their king, which by their own miserable and pitiful slaughter was suppressed and ended. In the mean season I was much bound and beholden to the right reverend father John Morton archbishop and cardinal of Canterbury and at that time also Lord chancellor of England a man master Peter (for master More knoweth all ready that I will say) not more honourable for his authority, than for his prudence & virtue. He was of a mean stature & streken in age though, yet bore he his body upright. In his face did shine such an amiable reverence as was pleasant to behold. Gentle in communycatyon yet earnest and sage. He had great delight many times with rough speech to his suitors to prove, but without harm, what prompt wit, and what bold spirit were in every man. In the which as in a virtue much agreeing with his nature, so that therewith were not joined impudence, he took great delectatyon. And the same person as apt and meet to have an admin●stratyon in the weal public he did lovingly embrace. In his speech he was ●yne eloquent and pithy. In the law he had profound knowledge, in wit he was incomparable, and in memory wonderful excellent. these qualytyes which in him were by nature singular, he by learning and use had made perfect. The ●ynge put much trust in his council the weal public also in a manner leaved unto him when I was there. For e●en in the chief of his youth he was taken from school into the Court, and there passed all his time in much trouble and business, & was continually troubled and tossed with divers misfortunes and adversities. And so by many and great dangers he learned thee xperience of the world, which so being learned can not easily be forgotten. It chanced on a certain day when I sat at his table, there was also a certain lay man cunning in the laws of your Realm. Which, I can not tell whereof taking occasion, began diligently and busily to praise that straight and rigorous justice, which at that time was there executed upon fellows, who as he said were for the most part twenty hanged together upon one gallows. And seeing so few escaped punishment he said he could not chewse but greatly wonder and marvel, how and by what evil ●n●ke it should so come to pass that thieves nevertheless were in every place so ryffe and rank. Nay Sir quoth I (for I durst boldly speak my mind before the cardinal) marvel nothing herat, for this punishment of thieves passeth of the limits justice, and is also very hurtful to the weal public. For it is to extreme and cruel a punishment for theft, a●d yet not sufficient to refrain men from theft. For simple theft is not so great an offence, that it ought to be punished w●th death. Nother there is any punishment so horrible that it can keep them from stealing which have no other craft whereby to get their living. Therefore in this point, not you only, but also the most part of the world be like evil schoolmasters which be ready are to beat then to teach their scholars. For great and horrible punishments be appointed for thieves, whereas much rather provision should have been made, that there were some means whereby they might get their living, so that no man should be driven to this extreme necessity, first to steal, & then to die. Yes (quoth he) this matter is well enough provided for all ready. There be handy crafts there is husbandry to get their living by if they would not willingly be nowgh●. Nay (quoth I) you shall not scape so, for first of all I will speak nothing of them that come home out of war may meed and lame, as not long ago out of black heath filled, and a little before that out of the wars in France: such (I say) as put their lives in jeopardy for the weal publiques or the kings sake, and by the reason of weakness and lameness be not able to occupy their old crafts, and be to aged to learn new: of them I will speak nothing, because war like the tide ebbeth and floweth. But let us consider those things that chance daily before our eyes. first there is a great numbered of gentlemen, which can not be content to live idle themselves like dorres of that which other have laboryd for: their tenants I mean, whom they poll and shave to the quick by raising their rents (for this only point of frugality do they use, men else through their lavasse and prodigal spending able to bring themselves to very beggary) these gentlemen (I say) do not only live in idleness themselves, but also carry about with them at their tails a great flock or train of idle and loitering serving men, which never learned any craft whereby to get their livings. these men as soon as their master is dead, or be sick themselves, be incontinent thrust out of doors. For gentlemen had rather keep ydil people than sick men, and many times the dead man's heir is not able to maintain so great a house, and keep so many serving men as his father did. Then in the m●ane season they that be thus destitute of service, other starve for hunger, or manfully play the thieves. For what would you have them to do? When they have wandered abroad so lo●ge until they have worn thread bore their apparel and also appayred their health, than gentlemen because of their pale and sick faces and patched co●es will not take them into service. And husbandmen dare not set them a work: Knowing well enough that he is nothing meet to do true and faithful service to a poor man with a spade and a mattoke for small wages and hard fare, which being dey●●ely and tenderly pampered up in idleness and pleasure, was wont with a sword and a buckler by his side to jest through the street with a bragging look and to think himself to good to be any man's mate. Nay by saint Marie se● (quoth the lawyer) not so, for this kind of men must we make most of. For in them as men of stowter stomachs, bolder spirits, and manlyer currages then handy crafts men and plough men be, doth consist the hole power strength and puissance of our host when we must fight in battle. Forsooth sir aswell you might say (quoth I) that for wars sake you must cherish thieves. For surely you shall never lack thieves whiles you have them. No nor thieves be not the most false and faint hearted soldiers, nor soldiers be not the cowardl●ste thieves: so well these two crafts agree together. But this fault, though it be much used among you, yet is it not peculiar to you only, but comen also almost to all nations. Yet France besides this is troubled and infected with a much sorer plague. The hole realm is filled and besieged with hierede soldiers in peace time, if that be peace, which be brought in under the same colour and pretence, that haveth persuaded you to kype these idle serving men. For these wisefooles and very archedoltes thought the wealth of the hole country herein to consist, if there were ever in a readiness a strong and a sewer garrison, specially of old practised soldiers, for they put no trust at all in men unexercised. And therefore they must be fain to seek for war to th'end they may ever have practised soldiers and cunning manslayers: least that (as it is prettily said of Sal●ste) their ha●des and their minds through idleness or lack of exercise should wax dull▪ But how pernicious and pestilent a thing it is to maintain such beasts, the French men by there own harms have learned, and the examples of the Romans, Carthaginie●s, Siriens and of many other countries do manifestly declare. For not only the empire, but also the fieldies a●d cities of all these, by di●ers occasions have been overrunned and destroyed of their own armies before hand had in a readiness. Now how unnecessary a thing this is hereby it may appear: that the French soldiers which from their youth have by●e practised a●d urede in feats of arms do not crack nor advance themselves to have very often got the upperhand and mastery of your new made and unpractysed soldiers. But in this point I will not use many words least perchance I may seem to flatter you. No nor those same handy craft men of yours in cities, nor yet the rude & uplandish ploughemen of the country, are not supposed to be greatly afraid of your gentlemen's ydill serving men, unless it be such as be not of body or stature correspondent to their strength and courage, or else whose bold stomachs be dyscourraged through poverty. Thus you may see, that it is not to be feared least they should be effe●y●atede they if were brought up in good crafts a●d laboursome work, whereby to get their living, whose stout and sturdy bodies (for gentlemen vouchesauffe to corrupt and spill none but picked and chosen men) now other by reason of r●st and ydil●es be brought to weakness, or else by to easy and womanly exercises be made feeble and unable to endure hardness. Truly how soever the case standeth, this me thinketh is nothing a veyleable to the weal public, for war sack, which you never have, but when you will yourselves, to keep and maintain an unnumerable flock of that sort of men, that be so troublesome and noyous in peace, whereof you ought to have a thousand times more regard than of war▪ But yet this is not only the necessary cause of stealing. There is an other which as I suppose is proper and peculiar to you English men alone. What is that, quoth the Cardinal▪ forsooth (quoth I) your sheep that were wont to be so myke and tame, and so small eaters, now, as I hear say, be become so great devowerers and so wild, that they eat up and swallow downthe very men themselves. They consume destroy and devour hole fields houses and cities. For look in what parts of the realm doth grow the fynyst, and therefore dearist will, there noble men, and gentlemen: yea and certain abbots, holy men god wot, not contenting themselves with the yearly revenues and profits that were wont to grow to their forefather's and predecessors of their lands, ●or being content that they live in rest and pleasure nothing profiting ye much noyinge the weal public: leave no ground ●or ryllage: they enclose all in pastures: they throw down houses: they pluck down towns, and lea●e nothing standing but only the church to make of it a shepehowse. And as though you lost no small quantity of ground by forests chases lands and parks, those good holy men turn all dwellings places and all glebelande into desolation and wilderness. Therefore that one covetous and unsatiable ●ormaraunte and very plague of his native country may compass about and enclose many thousand acres of ground together within one pale orhedge, the husbandmen be thrust out of their own, or else other by co●eyne or fraud, or by violent oppression they be put besides it, or by wrongs and injuries they be so wearied that they be compelled to sell all: by one means therefore or by other, other by howke or crook they must needs depart away, poor, sylie, wretched souls men, women, husbands, wives fatherless children, widows, woeful mothers with their young babes, and their hole household small in substance, and much in number, as husbandry requireth many hands. Away they trudge I say out of their known and accustomed houses, finding no places to rest in. All their household stuff, which is very little worth, though it might well abide the sale: yet being sodeynelye thrust out, they be constrained to sell it for a thing of nought. And when they have wandering about so●e spent that, what can they else do but steal, and then justly God wo●e behanged, or else go about a begging? And yet then also they be cast in prison as vagabonds, because they go about and work not: whom no man will set a work, though they never so willingly offer themselves thereto. For one shepherd or heard man is enough to eat up that ground with cattle, to the occupying whereof about husbandry many hands were requisite. And this is also the cause that victuals be now in many places dearer. Yea besides this the price of wool is so risen that poor folks, which were wont to work it and make cloth of it, be now able to buy none at all. And by this means very many be fain to forsake work, & to give themselves to idleness. For after that so much ground was enclosed for pasture, an infinite multitude of sheep died of the rot, such vengeance God took of their inordinate and unsatiable covetousness, sending among the sheep that pestiferous morreyn, which much more justly should ha●efallen on the shepemasters own heads. And though the numbered of sheep increase never so fast, yet the price falleth not one mite, because there be so few sellers. For they be almost all comen into a few rich men's hands, whom no need driveth to sell before they lust, and they lust not before they may sell as dear as they lust. Now the same cause bringeth in lick dearth of the other kinds of cattle, yea and that so much the more, because that after farms plucked down, and husbandry decayed, there is no man that passeth for the breading of young store. For these rich men bring not up the young ones of great cattle as they do lā●es. But first they buy them abroad very cheap, and afterward when they be fatted in their pastures they sell them again exceeding dear. And therefore (as I suppose) the hole incommodity hereof is not yet felt. For yet they make dearth only in those places where they sell. But when they shall fetch them away from thence where they be bred faster than they can be brought up: then shall there also be felt great dearth when store beginneth to fail their, where the ware is bought. Thus the unreasonable covetousness of a few hath turned the thing to the utter undoing of your Island in the which thing the chief felicity of your realm did consist. For this great dearth of victuals causeth every man to keep as little houses and as small hospitality as he possible may. And to put away their servants: whether I pray you but a begging: or else which these gentle blood is and stout stomachs, will sooner set their minds unto a stealing? Now to amend the matters to this wretched beggary, and miserable poverty is joined great wantonness, importunate superfluity, and excessive riot. For not only gently men's servants, but also handy craft men: yea and almost the ploughemen of the country, with all other sorts of people, use much strange and proud new fangleness in their apparel, and to much prodigal riot and sumptuous fare at their table. Now bawds, qweynes, hoores, harlots, strumpettes, brothelhouses, stews, and yet an other stews, wine taverns, ale houses, and ●ipling houses, with so many naughty lewd and unlawful games, as dice, cards, tables, tennyes, bowls, coites, do not all this send the haunters of the● straight a stealing when their money is gone. Cast out these per●ycious abominations, make a law that they which plucked down fermes and towns of husbandry, shall build them up again, or else yield and uprender the possession of them to such as will go to the cost of building them anew. Suffer not these rich men to buy up all, to engross and forstalle, and with their monopoly to keep the market alone as please them. Let not so many be brought up in idleness, let husbandry and tillage be restored again, let cloth working be renewed, that there may be honest labours for this idle sort to pass their time in profytablye, which hitherto other poverty hath caused to be thieves, or else now be other vagabonds, or idle serving men, and shortly willbe thieves. Dowteles whiles you find a remedy for these enormities, you shallbe in vain advance yourselves of executing justice upon felloves. For this justice is more beautiful than just or profitable. For by suffering your youth wantonly a●d viciously to be brought up, and to be infected even from their tender age by little and little with vice: than a god's name to be punished, when they commit the same faults after they be comen to man's state, which from their youth they were ever like to do: In this point I pray you what other thing do you, then make thieves, and then punish them? Now as I was thus speaking, the lawyer began to make himself ready to answer, and was determined with himself to use the common fashion and trade of disputers, which be more diligent in rehearsing, then answering, as thinking the memory worthy of the chief praise. I● deed sir (quoth he) you have said well being but a stranger, a●d one that might rather here some thing of these matters, then have any exact or perfect knowledge of thesame, as I will incontinent by open proof make manifest and plain. For first I will rehearse in ordre all that you have said: then I will declare in what thing you be deceived, through lack of knowledge, in all our fashions, manners and customs: and last of all I will answer to your arguments, and confute them every one. first therefore I will begin where I promised. Four things you seemed to me: hold your peace (quoth the cardinal) for by like you will make no short answer, which make such a beginning, wherefore at this time you shall not take the pains to make your answer, but keep it to your next meating, which I would be right glad that it might be even to morrow next (unless other you or master raphael have any earnest let). But now master raphael, I would very gladly hear of you, why you think theft not worthy to be punished with death: or what other punishment you can devise more expedient to the weal public. For I am sewer you are not of that mind, that you would have theft escape unpunished. For if now the extreme punishment of death cannot cause them to leave stealing, then if ruffians & rubbers should be sewer of their lives, what violence, what fear were able to hold their hands from robbing, which would take the mitigation of the punishment, as a very pervocation to the mischief? surely my lord (quoth I) I think it no right nor justice that the loss of money should cause the loss of man's life. For mine opinion is that all the goods in the world are not able to countervail man's life. But if they would thus say: that the breaking of justice, & the transgression of the laws is recompensed with this punishment, and not the loss of the money, then why may not this extreme justice well be called extreme injury? For neither ●o cruel governance, so strait rules, and unmerciful laws be allowable, that if a small offence be committed, by and by the sword should be drawn: Nor so stoical ordinances are to be borne withal, as to count all offences of such equality, that the killing of a man, or the taking of his money from him were both a matter, a●d the one no more heinous offence than the other: between the which two, if we have any respect to equity, no similitude or equality consisteth. God commandeth us that we shall not kill. And be we then so hasty to kill a man for taking a little money? And if any man would understand killing by this commandment of GOD to be forbidden after no larger wise than man's constitutions defineth killing to be lawful, then why may it not likewise by man's constitutions be determined after what sort whoredom, fornication, and perjury may be lawful? For where as by the permission of GOD no man hath power to kill neither himself, nor yet any other man: then if a law made by the consent of men concerning slaughter of men: ought to be of such strength force and virtue, that they which contrary to the commandment of GOD have killed those, whom this constitution of man commanded to be killed, be clean quite and ●xempte out of the bonds and danger of God's commandment: shall it not then by this reason follow that the power of God's commandment shall extend no further, then man's law doth define, and permit? And so shall it come to pass, that in like manner man's constitutions in all things shall determine how far the observation of all Gods commandments shall extend. To be short Moses' law, though it were ungentle and sharp, as a law that was given to bondmen, yea and them very obstinate, stubborn, and stiff necked: yet it punnyshed theft b● the purse, and not with death. And let us not think that GOD in the new law of clemency and mercy, under the which he ruleth us with fatherly gentleness, as his dear children hath given us greater scope & licence to execute cruelty, one upon an other. Now ye have hard the reasons whereby, I am persuaded that this punishment is unlawful. Furthermore I think there is no body that knoweth not, how unreasonable, yea how pernicious a thing it is to the weal public, that a thief & a homicide or murderer, should suffer equal and like punishment. For the thief seeing that man, that is condemned for theft in no less jeopardy, nor judged to no less punishment, then him that is convict of manslaughter: through this cogitation only he is strongly and forcybly provoked, and in a manner constrained to kill him, whom else he would have but rob. For the murder once done he is in less care, and in more hope that the deed shall not be bewrayed or known, saying the party is now dead and rid out of the way, which only might have uttered & disclosed it. But if he chance to be taken & discrived: yet he is in no more danger and jeopardy then if he had committed but single fello●ye. Therefore whiles we go about with such cruelty to make thieves afeard, we provoke them to kill good men. Now as touching this question, what punishment were more commodious and better: that truly in my judgement is easier to be found, then what punishment were worse. For why should we doubt that to be a good and a profitable way for the punysshement of offenders, which we know did in times passed so long please the Romans, men in thadministration of a weal public moste expert politic and cunning? Such as among them wear convict of great and heinous trespasses, them they condemned into stone quarris, and in to myenes to dig mettalle, there to be kept in chains all the days of their life. But as concerning this matter, I allow the ordinance of no nation so well as that I saw (whiles I travailed a broad about the world) used in Persia among the people that commonly be called the polylerytes. Whose la●de is bo●he large and ample, and also well and wyttelye governed: and the people in all conditions free and ruled by their own laws, saving that they pay a verily tribute to the great king of Persia But because they be far from the sea, compassed & closed in almost round about with high mountains, and do content themselves with the fruits of their own land, which is of it self very fertile and fruitful: for this ●ause ●other they go to other cow●ireys, nor other come to them And according to the old custom of the land, they desire not to enlarge the bounds of their dominions: and those that they have by reaso● of the high hills be easily defended: and the tribute which they pay to the mighty King setteth them quiet and free from warfare. Thus their life is commodious rather then gallawnte, and may better be called happ●e: or lucky●, then notable or famous. For they be not known asmuch, as by name, I suppose, saving only to their next neighbours and borderours. They that in this land be attay●tede and convict of felony make restitutyon of that they stool to the right owner: and not (as they do in other lands) to the King: whom they think to have no more right to the thief stolen thing than the thieffe himself hath. But if the thing be lost or made away, than the value of it is paid of the goods of such offenders, which else remaineth all hole to their wifes and children. And they them self's be condemned to be common labourers: and unless the theft be very heinous, they be neither locked in prison, nor fettered in gives, but be untied and go at large, labouring in the common works. They that refuse labour, or go slowly & s●acly to th●re work, be not only tied in chains, but also pricked forward with stripes. They that be diligent about their woork● live without check or rebuke. Every night they be called in by name: and be locked in their chambers. Beside their daily labour their life is nothing hard or incommodyous. Their fare is indifferent good, borne at the charges of the weal public, because they be comen servants to the comen wealth. But their charges in all places of the land is not borne a like. For in some parts that is bestowed upon them is gathered of alms. And though that way be uncertain, yet the people be so full of mercy and pity, that none is found more profitable or plentiful. In some places certey● landis be appointed here unto: of the revenues whereof they befownde. And in some places every man giveth a certain tribute for the same use and purpose. Again in some parts of the land these serving men (for so be these damned p●rsons called) do no common work, but as every private man needeth laborours', so he cometh into the market place, and there hiereth some of them for meat and drink, and a certain limityd wayges by the day, sumwhaat cheaper than he should hire a free man. It is also lawful for them to chastise the sloth of these serving men with stryppes. By this means they never lack work, and besides their meat and drink every one of them bringeth daily sum thing into the common treasoury. All and every one of them be apparrayled in one colour. Their heads be not polled or shaven, but rownded a little above the ee●es. And the tip of the one ear is cut of. Every one of them may take meat and drink of their friends, & also a cote of their own colour: but to receive money is death, as well to the giver, as to the receiver. And no less jeopardy it is for a free man to receive money of a serving man for any manner of cause: and likewise for serving men to touch weapons. The serving men of every several shyere be dystyncte and known from other by their several and distinct badges: which to cast away is death: as it is also to be seen out of the precy●cte of their own shire, or to talk with a serving man of another shyere. An● it is no less danger to them for to in te●de to run away, then to do it in deed. Yea and to conceal such an enterpryes in a serving man it is death, in a free man servitude. Of the contrary part, to him that openeth & ushereth such cownselles be decreyde large gifts▪ to a free man a great sum of money, to a serving man freedom: and to them both forgevynes and pardon of that they were of council in that pretence. So that it can never be so good for them to go forward in their evil purpose, as by repentance to turn back. This is the l●we a●d ordre in this behalf, as I have showed you. Wherein what humanity is used, how far it is from cruelty, and how commodious it is, you do plainly perceive: For asmuch as the end of their wrath and punishment intendeth nothing else, but the distruc●yon of vices, and saving of men: with so using and ordering them, that they can not choose but be good, and what harm so ever they did before, in the ●eresydewe of their life to make amends for the same. Moreover ●t is so little feared, that they should torn again to their vicious condy●yons, that wayefaring men will for their safeguard choose them to their guides before any other, in every shepre changing and taking new. For if they would commit robbery, they have nothing about them meat for that purpose. They may towch● no weapons: money found about them should betray the robbery. They should be no sooner taken with the manner, but forthwith they should be punished. Nother they can have any hoop at all to scape away by flying. For how should a man, that in no part of his apparel is like other men, fly preuely● and unknown, whiles he would run away naked? How be it so also flying he should be described by his rounding and his ●are ma●ke: But it is a thing to be doubted, that they will lay their heads together, and conspire against the weal public. No no I warrant you. For the serving men of one shear alone could never hoop to bring to pass such an enterprise, without sollycyting, enticing, and alluring the serving men of many other shyeres to take their parts. Which thing is to them so impossible, that they may not asmuch as speak or talk togethers, or salute one an other. No it is not to be thought that they would make their own country men and companions of their counsel in such a matter, which they know well should be jeopardy to the concelour thereof, and great commodity and goodness to the openner of the same: where as on the other part, there is none of them all hoopeles or in despair to recover again his freedom, by humble obedience, by patient suffering, and by geaving good tokens and likelihood of himself, that he will ever after that, live like a true and an honest man. For every year divers be restored again to their freedom: through the commendatyon of their patience. When I had thus spoken, saying moreover that I could see no cause why this ordre might not be had in England with much more profit, than the justice which the lawyer so highly praised: Nay (quod the lawyer) this could never be so established in England, but that it must needs bring the weal public into great jeopardy and hazard. And as he was thus saying he shaked his head, & made a wry mouth, & so hel● his peace. And all that were there present, with one assent agreid to his saying. Well (quoth the Cardinallpunc; yet it were hard to judge without a proof whether this order would do well here or no▪ But when the sentence of death is given, if than the king should command execution to be differry● and spared, & would prove this order and fashion: taking away the privileges of all saintuaries: if then the proof would declare the thing to be good & profitable, than it were well done that it were stablished: Else the condemned & reprieved parsons may aswell & as justly be put to death after this proof, as when they were first cast. Nother any jeopardy can in the mean space grow hereof. Yea & me thinketh that these vagabonds may very well be ordered after the same fashion, against whom we have hitherto made so many laws, & so little prevailed. When the Cardinal had thus said, than every man gave great praise to my sayings, which a little before they had disallowed. But most of all was esteemed that which was spoken of vagabonds, because it was the cardinals own addition. I can not tell whether it were best to rehearse the communication that followed, for it was not very sad. But yet you shall hear it: for there was no evil in it, & partly it parteined to the matter before said. There chanced to stand by a certain jesting parasite, or scoffer, which would seem to resemble & cownterfeit y ● ●oole. But he did in such wise counterfeit, that he was almost the very same in de●d that he laboured to represent: he so studied with words & sayings brought forth so out of time & place to make sport and move laughter, that he himself was oftener laughed at them his jests were. Yet the foolish fellow brought out now and then such indifferent and reasonable stuff, that he made the proverb true, which sayeth he that shooteth oft at the last shall it the mark. So that when one of the company said that through my communication a good ordr● was found for thieves, & that the Cardinal also had well provided for vagabonds, so that only remained some good provision to be made for them that through sickness & age were fallen into poverty, & were become so impotent and v●weldye, that they were not able to work for their living: Tush (quoth he) let me alone with them: you shall see me do well enough with them. For I had rather than any good that this kind of people were driven sum●hether out of my sight, they have so sore troubled me many times & oft, when they have with their lamentable ●eares begged money of me: and yet they could never to mimind so tune their song, that thereby they ever got of me me one farthing. For ever more the one of these two chanced: either that I would not, or else that I could not, because I had it not. Therefore now they be waxed wise: when they see me go buy, because they will not lose their labour they let me go and say not one word to me. So they look for nothing of me, no in good sooth no more than if I were a priest▪ But I will make a law, that all these beggars shallbe distribute, and bestowed into house's of religion. The men shallbe made lay brethren, as they call them, and the women nuns. Here at the Cardinal smiled, & allowed it 〈◊〉, yea and all the residue in good earnest. But a certain treare graduate in divinity to●e such pleasure and delight in this jest of priests and monks, that he also, being else a man of grisly and starve gravity, began merrily and wantonly to jest and taunt. Nay (quoth he) you shall not so be rid & dispatched of beggars, whiles you make some provision also for us friars. Why (quoth the jester) that is done already: for mi lord himself set a very go●d ordre for you, when he decreed the vagaboundes should be kept straight, and set to work▪ for you be the greatest and veriest vagaboundes that be. This jest also when they saw the Cardinal not disprove it, every man took it gladly, saving only the Frear. For he (and that no marvel) when he was thus touched one the quick, & it on the gawl so fret so fumed & chafi● at it, and was in such a rage, that he could not refrain himself from chiding skolding, railing & reviling. He called the fellow ribbald, villay●, jonell, backbiter, s●laūderer, & the sō●e of perdition: citing therewith terrible threatening out of holy scripture. Then the ie●ting skoffer begun to play y●, scoffer indeed, & verily he was good at y●, for he could play apart in the play no man better. Patient iour self good master Freare (quoth he) & be not angry, for scripture saith: in your patience you shall save your souls. Then the Freare (for I will rehearse his own very words) No gailous, wretch▪ I a● not angry (quoth he) or at the least wise, I do not sin: for the psalmist saith-be yo● angry and sin not. Then the Cardinal spoke gently to the Freare, and desired him to quiet himself. No my lord (quoth he) I speak not but of a good zeal as I ought: for holly men had a good zeal. Wherefore it is said: the zeal of thy house hath eaten me. A●d it is song in the church. The skorners of Helizeus, whiles he went up into the house of god felt the zeal of the bald, as peraduentur this scorning villain ribald shall feel. You do it (quod the cardinal) perchance of a good mind & affection: but me thinketh you should do, I can not tell whether more holily, certes more wisely, if you would not set your wit to a fools wit, and with a fool take in hand a foolish contention. No forsooth my lord (quoth he) I should not do more wisely. For Solomon the wise sayeth: Answer a fool according to his foolishness, like as I do now, & do show him the pit that he shall fall into, if he take not heed. For if many skorners of Helizeus, which was but one bald man, felt the zeal of the bald, how much more shall one scorner of many friars feel, among whom be many bald men? And we have also the pope's bulls, whereby all that mock & scorn us be excommunicate, suspended a●d accursed, The cardinal seeing that none end would be made sent away the jester by a privy beck, & turned the communication to an other matter. Shortly after when he was risen from the table, he went to hear his sueters, and so dismissed us. Look master More with how long & tedious a tale I have kept you, which surely I would have been ashamed to have done, but that you so earnestly desired me, & did after such a sort give ear unto it, as though you would not that any parcel of that communication should be left out. Which though I have done somewhat briefly, yet could I not choose but rehearse it, for the judgement of them, which when they had improved and disallowed my sayings, yet incontinent hearing the Cardinal allow them, did themselves also approve the same: so impudently flattering him, that they were nothing ashamed to admit, yea almost in good earnest, his jesters foolish inventions: because that he himself by smiling at them did seem not to disprove them. So that hereby you may right well perceive how little the courtiers would regard & esteem me & my sayings. I ensure you master Raphael (quoth I) I took great delectation in hearing you: all things that you said were spoken so wittily and so pleasantly. And me thought myself to be in the mean time not only at home in my country, but also through the pleasant remembrance of the Cardinal in whose house I was brought up of a child, to wax a child again. And friend raphael, though I did bear very great love towards you before, yet saying you do so earnestly favour this man, you will not believe how much my love towards you is now increased. But yet, all this notwithstanding, I can by no means change my mind, but that I must needies believe that you, if you be disposed, and can find in your heart to follow some princes court, shall with your good cownselles greatly help & further the comen wealth. Wherefore there is nothing more appertaining to your duty, that is to say to the duty of a good man. For where as your Plato judgethe that weal publyques shall by this meres attain perfect felicity, other if philosophers be kings, or else if kings give them self's to the study of Philosophy, how far I pray you, shall comen wealths then be from this felicity, if philosophers will vouchsafe to instruct kings with their good counsel? They be not so unkind (quoth he) but they would gladly do it, yea many have done it all ready in books that they have putfurth, i● kings and princes would be willing & ready to follow good counsel. But Plato doubtless did well foresee, whiles kings themselves would apply their minds to the study of philosophy, that else they would never thoroughly allow the counsel of philosophers, being themselves before even from their tender age infected, and corrupt with perverse, and evil opinions. Which thing Plato himself proved true in king Dionise. If I should propose to any king wholesome decrees, doing my endeavour to pluck out of his mind the pernicious original causes of vice and noughtenes, think you not that I should forth with other be driven away, or else made a la●ghy●ge stock? Go to suppose that I were with the French king, and there sitting in his counsel whiles that in that most secret consultation, the king himself there being present in his own p●●son● they beat their brains, and search the very bottoms of their wits to discuss by what craft and means the king may still keep milan, and draw to him again ●ugatyue Naples. And then how to conquer the Venetians, and how to bring under his jurisdiction all italy, then how to win the dominion of Fla●̄ dear, Brabant, and of all Burgundy: with divers other lands, whole kingdoms he hath long a go in mind and purpose invaded. Here whiles o●e counseleth to conclude a league of peace with the Venetians, which seal so long endure, as shallbe thought 〈◊〉 and expedient for their purpose, and to make them also of their counsel, yea and besides that to give them part of the pray, which afterward, when they have brought they● purpose about after their own minds they may require and claim again. An other thinketh best to hyere the Germaneynes. An other would have the favour of the Swychers won with money. another advise is to appease the puissant power of the emperors majesty with gold, as with a most pleasant, and acceptable sacrifice. Whiles an other giveth counsel to make peace with the king of Arragone, and to restore unto him his own kingdom of Navarra as a full assurance of peace. An other cometh in with his .v. eggs, and adviseth to howke in the king of Castle with some hope of affynytie or alliance, and to bring to their part certain peers of his court for great pensions. Whiles they all stay at the chyefeste doubt of all, what to do, in the mean time with England: and yet agree all in this to make peace with the englishmen, & with most sure and strong bonds to bind that weak and feeble friendship, so that they must be called friends, and had in suspicion as enemies: And that therefore the skottes must be had in a readiness, as it were in a standing, ready at all occasions, in aunters the english men should stir never so little, incontinent to set upon them. And moreover preui●ie and secretly, for openly it may not be done by the truce that is taken, pr●●elye therefore I say to make much of some peer of England, that is banished his country, which must cleyme title to the crown of the realm, and affirm himself just inheritor thereof, that by this subtle means they may hold to them the king, in whom else they have but small trust and affiance. Here I say, where so great and high matters be in consultation, where so many noble and wise men counsel their king only to war, here if I silly man should rise up and will them to t●rne over the leaf, and learn a new lesson, saying that my counsel is not to meddle with Italy, but to tarry still at home, and that the kingdom of france alone is all most greater, then that it may well● be governed of one man: so that the king should not ●ede to study how to get more: And then should propose unto them the decrees of the people that be called the Achoriens, which be situate over against the Island of Utopia on the sowthealte side. these Achorien● once made war in their kings qua●●el for to get him an other kingdom, which he laid clayne unto, & advanced himself right inheritor to th● crown thereof, by the title of an old alliance. At the last when they had gotten it, an saw that they had even as much vexation and trouble in keeping it, as they had in getting it, and that other there new conquered subjects by sundry occasions were making daily insurrections to rebel against them, or else that other countries were continually with divers inroads and forraginges invading them: so that they were ever fighting other for than, or against them, and never could break up▪ their camps: saying themselves in the mean season pilled and impoverished: their money carried out of the Realm; their own me● killed to maintain the glory of an other nation▪ when they had no war, peace nothing better than war, by reason that their people in war had ●●●red themselves to corrupt and wicked manners: that they had taken a delycte & pleasure in robby●ge and stealing that through manslaughter they had gathered boldness to mischief: that their laws were had in contemp●e, and nothing set by or regarded: that their king being troubled with the charged and governance of two kingdoms, could not nor was not able perfectly to discharge his office towards them both: saying again that all these evelles and troubles were endless: at the last laid there heads together, and like faithful and loving subjects gave to their king free choice and liberty to keep still the ●ne of this two kingdoms, whether he would: alleging that he was not able to keep both, & that they were more the● might well be governed of half a king: for asmuch as no man would be content to take him for his mulettour that keepeth an other man's moils besides his. So this good prince was co●streyned to be content with his old kingdom, & to give over the new to o●● of his friends. Which shortly after was violently driven out. Furthermore if I should declare unto them, that all this busy preparance to war, whereby so many nations for his sake should be brought into a troublesome hurleyburley when all his coffers were emptied, his treasures wasted and his people destroyed, should at the length through some mischance be in vai●e & to none effect: & that therefore it were best for him to content himself with his own kingdom of france, as his forefathers & predecessors did before him: to make much of it, to enrich it, & to make it as flourisshing as he could, to endeavour himself to love his subjects, & again to be beloved of them, willingly to live with them peaceably to govern them, and with other kingdoms not to meddle, seeing that which he hath all ready is 〈◊〉 ●nough for him, yea and more than he can well turn him to: this my●●e advise master More how thy●ke you it would be hard and taken▪ So God help me not very thankfully (quoth I). Well let us proceed then (quoth he). Suppose that some king and his counsel were together whettinge their wit●es a●d devising what subtle craft they might invent to enrich the king with great treasures of money. First one counseleth to raise and enhance the va●●acion of money when the ●ing must pay any: and again to call down the value of coy●e, to less than it is worth, when he must receive or gather any. For th●s great sums shallbe paid with a ly●yll money, and where little is due much shallbe received. An other counseleth to fay●e war, that when under this colour & pretence the king hath gathered great abundance of money, he may when it shall please him make peace with great solemnity and holy ceremonies to blind the eyes of the poor commonalty, as taking pity and compassion God wot upon man's blood like a loving and a merciful prince. An other putteth the king in remembrance of certain old and moughteeaten laws, that of long time have not been put in execution, which because no man can remember that they were made, every man hath transgressed. The fines of these laws he counseleth the king to require: for there is no way so profitable, nor more honourable, as the which hath a show and colour of justice. An other adviseth him to forbid many things under great penalties and fines, specially such things as is for the people's profit not be used, and afterward to dispense for money with them, which by this prohibition sustain loss and damage. For by this means the favour of the people is won, and profit riseth two ways. First by taking forfeits of them whom covetousness of gains hath brought in danger of this statute, and also by selling privileges and licences, which the better that the prince is forsooth, the dearer he selleth them: as one that is loath to grant to any private person any thing that is against the profit of his people. And therefore may sell none but at an exceeding dear price. An other giveth the king counsel to endanger unto his grace the judges of the Reyalme, that he may have them ever on his side, which must in every matter dispute and reason for the kings right. And they must be called into the kings palace, & be desired to argue & discuss his matters in his own presence. So there shallbe no matter of his so openly wrong and unjust, wherein one or other of them, other because he will have something to allege & object, or that he is ashamed to say that which is said already, or else to pike a thank with his prince, will not find some hole open to set a s●are in, wherewith to take the contrary part in a trip. Thus whiles the judges cannot agree amongs themselves, reasoning & arguing of the which is plain enough, & bringing the manifest truth in doubt: in the mean season the king may take a fit occasion to understand the law as shall most make for his advantage, where unto all other for shame or for fear will agree. Then the judges may be bold to pronounce of the kings side. For he that giveth sentence for the king cannot be without a good excuse. For it shallbe sufficient for him to have equity of his part, or the bar● words of the law, or a writhen and wr●sted understanding of the same, or else which with good and just judges is of greater force than all laws be, the kings indisputable prerogative. To conclude, all the counsellors agree and consent together with the rich Crassus, that no abundance of gold can be sufficient for a prince, which must keep and maintain an army: furthermore that a king, though he would, can do nothing unjustly. For all that all men have, yea also the men themselves be all his. And that every man hath somuch of his own as the kings gentleness hath not taken from him.  
And that it shallbe moste for the kings advantage that his subjects have very little or nothing in their possession, as whose safeguard doth herein consist, that his people do not wax wanton and wealthy through riches and liberty, because where these things be, there me● be not wont patiently to obey hard unjust and unlawful commandments. Where as on the other part need & poverty doth hold down and keep under stout courages, and maketh them patiented perforce, taking from them bold and rebelling stomachs. Here again if I should rise up, and boldly affirm that all these counsels be to the king dishonour and reproach, whose honour and ●auitie is more and rather supported and upholden by the wealth and riches of his people, then by his own treasures, and if I should declare that the commonalty chueseth their king for their own sake & not for his sake: for this intent that through his labour and study they might all li●e wealthily sauffe from wrongs and injuries: and that therefore the king ought to take more care for the wealth of his people, then for his own wealth, even as the office and duty of a shepherd is, in that he is a shepherd, to feed his sheep rather than himself. For as touching this, that they think the defence and maintenance of peace to consist in the poverty of the people, the thing itself showeth that they be far out of the way. For where shall a man find more wrangling quarreling brawling and chiding, then among beggars? Who be more disierous of new mutations and alterations, than they that be not content with the present state of their life? Or finally who be bolder stomached to bring all in hurly burly (thereby trusting to get sum wyndfall) than they that have now nothing to lose? And if so be that there were any king, that were so smallly regarded, or so behated of his subjects, that other ways he could not keep than in awe, but only by open wrongs, by polling and shaving, and by brynging● them to beggary, surely it were better for him to forsake his kingdom, then to hold it by this means: whereby though the name of a king be kept, yet the majesty is lost. For it is against the dignity of a king to have rule over beggars, but rather over rich and wealthy men. Of this mind was the hardy & couragius Fabrice, when he said that he had rather be a ruler of rich men than be rich himself. And verily one man to live in pleasure and wealth, whiles all other weep and smart for it, that is the part not of a king but of a jailer. To be short as he is a foolish physician that cannot cure his patientes disease unless he cast him in an other sickness, so he that cannot amend the lives of his subjects, but be taking from them the wealth and commodity of life, he must needs grant that he knoweth not the feat how to govern f●e men. But let him rather a mend his own life, renounce unhonest pleasures, and forsake pride. For these be the chief vices that cause him to run in the contempt or hatred of his people. Let him live of his own, hurting no man. Let him do cost not above his power. Let him restrain wickedness. Let him prevent vices, and take a way the occasions of offences be well ordering his subjects, and not by suffering wickedness to increase afterward to be punished. Let him not be to hasty in calling again laws, which a custom hath abrogated: specially such as have been long forgotten and never lacked nor needed. And let him never under the cloak and pretence of transgression take such fines and forfeits, as no judge will suffer a private person to take, as unjust & full of guile. Here if I should bring forth before them the law of the Macariens, which be not far distant from Utopia: whose king the day of his coronation is bound by a solemn Oath, that he shall never at any time have in his treasure above a thousand pound of gold or silver. They say a very good king, which took more care for the wealth & commodity of his country, then for thenriching of himself, made this law to be a stop and a bar to kings for heaping and hording up so much money as might impoveryshe their people. For he foresaw that this some of treasure would suffice to support the king in battle against his own people, if they should chance to rebel: and also to maintain his wars against the invasions of his foreign enemies. Again he perceived thesame stock of money to be to little and unsufficient to encourage and able him wrong fully to take a way other men's goods, which was the chief cause why the law was made. another cause was this. He thought that by this provision his people should not lack money, wherewith to maintain their daily occupying and chaffayre. And saying the king could not chewse but lay out & bestow all that came in above the prescript some of his stock, he thought he would seek no occasions to do his subjects injury. Such a king shallbe feared of evil men, and loved of good men. these and such other informatyo●s if I should use among men holy enclived and given to the contrary part, how deaf hearers think you should I have? Deaf hearers doubtless (quoth I) And in good faith no marvel. And to speak as I think, truly I can not a low that such communicatyon shall be used, or such counsel given, as you be sure shall never be regarded nor received. For how can so strange informations be profitable, or how can they be beaten into their heads, whose minds be all ready prevented with clean contrary persuasions? This school philosophy is not unpleasant among friends in familiar communication, but in the counsels of kings, where great matters be debated and reasoned with great authority, these things have no place. That is it which I mente (q●●d he) when I said philosophy had no place among kings. In deed (quoth I) this school philosophy hath not: which thinketh all things meet for every place. But there is an other philosophy more civil, which knoweth as ye would say her twne stage, and thereafter ordering and behaving herself in the play● that she hath in hand, playethe her part accordingly with co●lynes, uttering nothing out of dew order and fashion. And this is the philosophy that you must use. O●els whiles a commodye of Plau●us is playing, and the vile bondmen skoffing and tryffeling among themselves, if you should suddenly come upon the stage in a philosopher's apparel, and rehearse out of Octavia the place wherein Seneca disputeth with Nero: had it not been better for you to have played the dumb person, then by rehearsing that, which served neither for the time nor place to have made such a tragical comedy or gallym alfreye? For by bringing in other stuff that nothing appertaineth to the present matter, you must needs mar and pervert the play that is in hand, though the stuff that you bring be much better. What part soever you have taken upon you play that aswell as yow● can and make the best of it: And do not therefore disturb and bring out of ordre the hole matter, because that an other which is meryere and bette●e cometh to your remembrance. So the case standeth in a common wealth, and so it is in the consultatyons of Kings and princes. It evil opinions and naughty persuasions can not be utterly and quite plucked out of their hearts, if you can not even as you would remedy vices, which use and custom hath confirmed: yet for this cause you must not leave and forsake the common wealth: you must not forsake the ship in a tempest, because you can not rule and keep down the winds. No nor you must not labour to drive into their heads new and strange in formatyons, which you know well shallbe nothing regarded with them that be of clean contrary minds. But you must with a crafty wile & a subtle train study and endeavour yourself asmuch as in you lieth to handle the matter wyttelye and handsomely for the purpose and that which you can not turn to good, so to ordre it that it be not very bad. For it is not possible for all things to be well, unless all men were good. Which I think will not be yet this good many years. By this means (quoth he) nothing else will be brought to pass, but whiles that I go about to remedy the madness of others, I should be even as mad as they. For if I would speak things that be true, I must ●eades speak such things: but as for to speak false things, whether that be a philosopher's part or no I can not tell, truly it is not my part. Howbeit this communicatyon of mine, though peradventure it may seem unplesaunte to them, yet can I not see why it should seem strange, or foolisshelye new-fangled. If so be that I should speak those things that Plato feigneth in his weal public: or that the utopians do in theirs, these things though they were (as they be in deed) better, yet they might seem spoken out of place. For asmuch as here amongs us, every man hath his possessions several to himself, & there all things be common. But what was in my communication contained, that might not, and ought not in any place to be spoken? Saving that to them which have throughly decreed and determined with themselves to rome headlongs the contrary way it can not be acceptable and pleasant, because it calleth them back, and showeth them the jeopardies. verily if all things that evil & vicious manners have caused to seem inconueniente and nought should be refused, as things unmeet & reproachful, them we must among Christian people wink at the most part of all those things which Christ taught us, and so streytlye forbade them to be wyncked at, that those things also which he whispered in the ●ares of his disciples he commanded to be proclaimed in open houses. And yet the most part of them is more di●●ident from the manners of the world now a days then my communicatyon was. But preachers sly & wily men following your counsel (as I suppose) because they saw men evil willing to frame their manners to Christ's rule, they have wrested and wriede his doctrine, and like a rule of lead have applied it to men's manners: that by some means at the least way, they might agree together. Whereby I can not see what good they have done: but that men may more sickerlye be evil. And I truly should prevail even asmuch in kings counsels. For other I must say other ways than they say, and then I were as good to say nothing, or else I must say thesame that they say, and (as Mitio saith in Terence) help to further their madness. For that crafty wile and subtle train of yours, I can not perceive to what purpose it serveth, wherewith you would have me to study & endeavour myself, if all things can not be made good, yet to handle them wittily and handsomely for the purpose, y● as far forth as is possible they may not be very evil. For there is no place to dissemble in, nor to wink in▪ naughty cownselles must be openly allowed, and very pestilent decrees must be approved. He shallbe cowntede worse than a spy, yea almost as ●uell as a trayt●ure, that with a faint heart doth praise evil and noyesome decrees. Moreover ● man can have no occasion too do● good chancing into the company of them, which will sonere make nought a good man, they be made good themselves: through whose evil company he shallbe marred, or else if he remain good and innocent, yet the wickedness and folysshene● of others shallbe imputed to him, and laid in his neck. So that it is impossible with that crafty wyele, and subtle train to turn awny thing to better. Wherefore Plato by a goodly simplitude declareth, why wise men refreyn to meddle in the common wealth. For when they see the people swarm in to the streets and daily wet to the skin with ray●e, and yet can not persuade them to go out of the rain, and to take their houses: knowing well that if they should go out to them, they should nothing prevail, nor win aught by it, but be wet also in the rain, they do keep themselves within their houses, being content that they be safe themselves, saying they can not remedy the folly of the people. How be it dowteles master Moor (to speak truly as my mind giveth me) where soever possessions be private, where ●oneye beareth all the stroke, it is hard and almost impossible that there the weal public may justly be governed and prosperously flourish: Unless you think thus: that justice is there executed where all things come into the hands of evil men, or that prosperity their flourisheth where all is divided among a few: which few nevertheless do not lead their lives very wealthily, and the residue live miserably wretchedly and beggarly. Wherefore when I consider with myself and weigh in my mind the wise and godly ordinances of the Vtopyans, among whom with very few laws all things be so well and wealthelye ordered; that virtue ie had in price and estimatyon, and yet all things being there common▪ every man ha●h abundance of every thing▪ Agaynt on the other part, when I compare with them so many nations ever making new laws, yet none of them all well and sufficiently furnished with laws: where every man calleth that he hath gotten his own proper and private goods▪ where so many new laws daily made be not sufficient for every man to enjoy defend and know from an other man's that which he calleth his own: which thing the infinite controversies in the law, that daily rise never to be ended, plainly declare to be true: these things (I say) when I consider with myself, I hold well with Plato, and 〈◊〉 no thing marueyll that he would make no laws for them that refused those laws, whereby all men should have and enjoy equal portions of well ●hes and commodities. For the wi●e man did easily foresee, that this is the one and only way to the wealth of among us have been found by chance which no wit cold ever have devised. As touching the auncyetnes (quoth he) of common wealths, than you might better judge, if you had read the histories and chronicles of the land, which if were may believe, cities were there, before there were men here. Now what thing soever hitherto by wit hath been devised, or found by chance: y● might be aswell there as here. But I think verily, though it were so that w● did pass them in wit: yet in study & laboursome endeavour they far pass us. For (as there Chronicles testify) before our arrival there they never hard any thing of us, whom they call the vltraequinoctial●es: saving that o●es about. M. C. C. years ago, a certain ship was lost by the isle of Utopia which was driven thither by tempest. certain romans and Egyptyans were cast on land. Which after that never went thence. Mark now what profit they took of this one occasion through diligence and earnest travail. There was no craft nor scy●●ce within the empery of Rome, whereof any profit co●ld rise, but they other learned it of these strangers, or else of them taking occa●ion to search for it▪ found it out. So great profit was it to them that ever any went thither from hence. But if any like chance before this hath brought any man from thence hither, that is as quite out of remembrance, as this also perchance in time to come shallbe forgotten that ever I was there. And like as they quickelye, almost at the first meeting, made their own, what so ever is among us wealthily devised: so I suppose it would belong before we would receive any thing that among them is better instituted then among us. And this I suppose is the chief cause why their common wealths be wysel●ere governed and do flourish in more wealth than ours, though we ●other in wit nor in riches be their inferiors. Therefore gentle master raphael (quoth I (I pray you and beseech you describe unto us the Island. And study ●ot to be short: but declare largely in order their grounds, there rivers, their cities, their people, their manners, their ordinances, their laws and to be short all things that you shall think us desirous to know. And you shall think us desirous to know. And you shall think us defierous to know whatsoever we know not yet. There is nothing (quoth he (that I will do gladlier. For all these things I have fresh in mind. But the matter requireth leisure. Let us go in therefore (quoth I) to dinner: afterward we will bestow the time at our pleasure. Content (quoth he) be it. So we went in and dined. When dinner was done we came into that same place again, & sat us down upon the same bench, commanding our servants that no man should trouble us. Than I and master Peter Giles desired master raphael to perform his promise. He therefore seeing us desirous & willingeto hearken to him, when he had sit still and paused a little while, musing and bethinking himself, thus he began to speak.  
The end of the first book.   

The second Book of the communication of Raphael Hythlodaye, concerning the best state of a common wealth: containing the description of Utopia, with a large declaration of the Godly government, and of all the good laws and orders of the same Island.  
THe Island of Utopia, containeth in breadth in the middle part of it (for there it is brodest) CC. miles. Which breadth continueth through the most part of the land. Saving that by little and little it cometh in, and waxeth narrower towards both the ends. Which fetching about a circuit or compass of v c. miles, do fashion the hole Island like to the new moan. Between this two corners the sea runneth in, divyding them a sunder by the distance of xi miles or there abouts, and there surmou●teth into a large & wide sea, which by reason that the land of every fyde compasseth it about, and shiltreth it from the winds, is not rough, nor mountith not with great waves, but almost ●loweth quiclye not much unlike a great standing paul: and maketh almost all the space within the belly of the land in manner of a haven: and to the great commodity of the Inhabitants receiveth in ships towards every part of the ●ande. The forefrontes or frontiers of the two corners, what with fordies & shelves, & what with rocks be ●ery jeopardous & dangerous. In the middle distance between them both standeth up above the water a great rock, which therefore is nothing perilous because it is in ●ight. Upon the top of this rock is affair & a strong tower builded, which they hold with a garrison of men. Other roches there be, that ly● hid under the water, and therefore be dangerous. The channels be known one●y to themselves. And therefore it seldom chanceth that any stranger onele● he be guided by a Utopian can come i● to this haven. In so much that they themselves could s●aselie entre without jeopardy, but that their way i● directed & ruled by certain land marke● standing on the shore. By tur●ing translating & removing this marks into other places they may destroy thei● enemies navies be they neu●r so many. The out side of the land is also full of havens, but the landing is so surely defenced, what by nature and what by workmanship of man's hand, that a few defenders may drive back many armies Howbeit as they say, and as the fashion of the place itself doth partly show, it was not ever compassed about with the sea. But king Vtopus whose name as conqueror the Island beereth. (For before that time it was called Abra●a) which also brought the rude & wild people to that excellent perfection, in all good fashions, humanity, & civil gentleness, wherein they now go beyond all the people of the world: even at his first arriving and entering upon the land, forth with obtaining the victory, caused xu miles space of uplandish ground, where the sea had ●o passage, to be cut and digged up. And so brought the sea round about the land. He set to this work not only the inhabitants of the Island (because they should not think it done in cont●melye and despite) but also all his own soldiers. Thus the work being divided into so great a numbered of workmen was with exceeding marvelous speed dispatched. In so much that the borderers, which at the first began to mock and to gieste at this vain enterprise, than turned their laughter to marvel at the success, & to fear. There be in the Island liiij large and fair cities or shire towns, agreeing all together in one tongue, in like manners, institutions, and laws. They be all set and situate a like, and in all points fashioned a like, as farfurth as the place or plot suffereth.  
Of these cities they that be nighest together be xxiiij miles a sunder. Again there is none of them distant from the next above one days journey a foot.  
There cum yearly to Amaurote out of every city three old men wise and well experienced, there to entreat and debate, of the common matters of the land. For this city (because it standeth just in the mids of the Island, and is therefore most meet for the ambassadors of all parts of the realm) is taken for the chief and head city. The precincts and bounds of the shires be so commodiously appointed out, & set forth for the cities, that never a one of them all hath of any side less than xx. miles of ground, and of some side also much more, as of that part where the cities be of farther distance a son●er. None of the cities desire to enlarge the bounds & limits of thei● shires. For they count themselves rather the good husbands, than the owners of their lands. They have in the country in all parts of the shire houses or fermes builded, well appointed and furnished with all sorts of instruments and tools belonging to husbandry. these houses be inhabited of the citizens, which come thither to dwell by course. No household or ●erme i● the country hath fewer than xl people men and women, besides two bō●en men, which be all under the rule and order of the good man, and the good wife of the house, being both very sage and discrete persons. And every xxx fermes or famelies have one head ruler, which is called a Phy●arche, being as it were a head bailiff. Out of every one of these famelies or fermes cometh every year into the city twenty persons which have conty●ewed two years before in the country. In their place so many fresh be sent thither o●t of the city, which of them that have been there a year all ready, a●d be therefore expert and cunning in husbandry, shallbe instructed & taught. And they the next year shall teach other. This order is used for fear that other skarsenes of victuals or some other like incommodity should chance, through lack of knowledge: if they should be all together new and fresh & unexpert in husbandry. This manner and fashion of yearly changing and ●enewinge the occupiers of husbandry, though it be solemn & customably used, to thin●ent that no man shall be constrained against his will to continue long in that hard and sharp kind of life▪ yet many of them have such a pleasure and delete in husbandry, that they obtain a longer sp●ce of years. these husbandmen plow● and till the ground, and bride up cat●tell, and make ready wood, which they carry to the city other by land, or by water, as they may most co●●e●yently. They bring up a great multitude of pulleyne, and that by a marvelous policy. For the hens do not sit upon the eggs: but by keeping them in a certain equal heat, they bring life into them, and hatch them. The chickens, assoon as they be come out of the shell, follow men and women in stead of the hens. They bring up very few horses: nor none, but very fierce ones: & for none other use or purpose, but only to exercise their youth in riding, and fea●es of arms. For oxen be put to all the labour of ploughing and drawing. Which they grant to be not so good as horses as sudden brunt, and (as we say) a● a dead lift, but yet they hold opinion, that oxen will abide and suffer much more labour and pain, than horses will. And they think that they be not in danger and subject unto so many diseases, and that they be kept and maintained with much less cost and charge: and finally that they be good for meat when they be passed labour. They sow corn only for bread▪ For their drink is other wine made of grapes, or else of apples, or pears: or else it is clean water. And many times methe made of honey or liqueresse sod in water, for thereof they have great store. And though they know certainly (for they know it perfectly in deed) how much victayles the city with the hole country or shire round a ●oute it doth spend▪ yet they sow much more corn, and bryed up much more cattle, then serveth for their own use, And the over plus they part among their borderers. What soever necessary things be lacking in the country, all such stuff they fetch out of the city: where without any exchange they easily obtain it of the magistrates of the city. For every month many of them go into the city on the holly day.  
When their harvest day draweth near, and is at hand, than the Philarches, which be the head officers and bailiffs of husbandry send word to the magistrates of the city what numbered of harvest men is needful to be sent to them out of the city. The which company of harvest men being there ready at the day appointed, almost in one fair day dispatcheth all the harvest work.  

Of the cities and namely of Amauro●te.  
AS for their Cities, he that knoweth one of them knoweth them all: they be all so like one to an other, as ferfurth as the nature of the place permitteth. I will describe therefore to you one or other of them, for it skilleth not greatly which, but which rather then Amaurote? Of them all this is the worthiest and of most dignity. For the resydwe knowledge it for the head City, because there is the council house. Nor to me any of them all is better beloved, as wherein I lived five hole years together. The city of Amaurote standeth upon the side of a low hill in fashion almost four square. For the breedeth of it beginneth a little beneath the top of the hill, and still contyneweth by the space of two miles until it come to the river of A●yder. The length of it which lieth by the rivers side is somewhat more. The ●yuere of A●yder riseth xxiiij miles above Amanrote out of a little spring. But being increased by other small ●●oodes and brooks that run into it, and among other two somewhat big on's, before the city it is half a mile broad, and farther brother. And lx miles beyond the city it falleth into the Ocean sea. By all that space that lieth between the sea and the city, and a good sort of miles also above the city the water ebbethe and flowethe vi hours together with a swift tide. When the sea flowethe in for the length of thirty. miles it filleth all the A●yder with salt water, and driveth back the fresh water of the river. And somewhat further it chaungethe the sweetness of the fresh water with saltness. But a letell beyond that the river waxeth sweat, and runneth forby the city fresh and pleisaunt. And when the sea ebbeth, and goeth back again the fresh water followeth it almost even to the very fall in to the sea. There goeth a bridge over the river made not of piles or of timber, but of stonewarke with gorgeous and substantial archaeus at that part of the city that is farthest from the sea● to the intent that ships may go along forbie all the side of the city without let. They have also an other river which in deed is not very great. But it runneth gently and pleasantly. For it riseth even out of the same hill that the city standeth upon, and runneth down a slope through the mids of the city into A●yder. And because it riseth a little without the city, the Ama●rotians have enclosed the head spring of it with strong fences and bulwarks, and so have joined it to the city. This is done to the intent that the water should not be stopped, nor turned a way, or poisoned, if their enemies should chance to come upon them. From thence the water is derived and brought down in cannelliss of brick divers ways into the lower parts of the city. Where that cannot be done by reason that the place will not suffer it, there they gather the rain water in great cisterns, which doth them as good service. The city is compassed about with a high and thick wall full of turrettes and bulwarks. A die dyche▪ but deep and broad and overgrown with bushes briars and thorns, goeth about three sides or quarters of the city. To the fourth side the ●yue● itself serveth for a ditch. The streets be appointed and set forth very commodious and handsome both for carriage and also against the winds. The houses be of fair and gorgeous building, and in the street side they stand joined together in a long row through the h●●e street without any partition or separation. The streets be twent● fo●e broad. On the back side of the houses through the hole length of the street lie large ga●deynes which be●closed in ●ound● about with▪ the back part of the streets. ●uery house hath two doors, one into the street and a posternne door on the backside into the garden. these doors, be made with two leaves never locked nor bolted so easy to be opened that they will follow the least drawing of a finger and shut again by themselves. Every man that will may go yn, for there is nothing within the houses that is private, or any man's own. And every ten year they change their houses by lot. They set great store be their gardens. In them they have vineyards, all manner of fruit, herbs and flowers, so pleisaunte, so well furnished, and so finely kept, that I never saw thing more fruitful, nor better trimmed in any place. Their study and diligence herein ●ummeth not only of pleasure, but also of a certain strife and conte●tyon that is between street and street concerning the try●●mynge husbanding and furnishing if their gardens: every man for his omne part. And verily you shall not lightly find in all the city any thing, that is more commodious, other for the profit of the citizens, or for pleasure. And therefore it may seem that the first fownder of the c●●y minded nothing so much, as h● did these gardens. For they say that king Vtopus himself even at the first begenning appointed, and drew forth the plat form of the city into this fashion & figure that it hath now, but the gallant garnishing, & the beautiful setting f●rth of it, whereunto he saw that one man's age would not suffice: that he left to his posterity. For their Chronicles, which they keep written with all deligent circumspection, containing the history of M. vijC.lx. years, even from the first conquest of the Island, record and witness that the houses in the beginning were very low, and like homely cottages or poor shepherd houses, made at all adventures of every rude piece of wood that came first to hands, with mud walls and rydged roofs thatched over with straw. But now the houses be curiously builded after a gorgeous and gallant sort, with three storries one over another. The out sides of the walls be made other of hard Flit or of plauster orels of trick, and the inner sides be well strengthened with timber work▪ The roofs be plain and flat, covered with a certain kind of plaster that is of no cost, and yet so tempered that no fire can hurt or perythe it, and withstandeth the violence of the weether better than any lead▪ They keep the wind out of their windows with glass, for it is there much used, and somewhere also with fine linen cloth dipped in oil or ambre, and that for two commodities. For by this means more light cometh in, and the wind is better kept out.   

Of the Magistrates.  
every thirty families or fermes chewse them year lie an office, which in their old language is called the Syphogra●●te, & by a newer name the Phylarche. Every ten Syphoagrauntes, with all their 300 families be under an office which was once called the Tra●●●ore, now the chief Phylarche. Moreover as concerning the election of the Prince, all the Syphoagrauntes which be i● number .200. first be sworue to chewse him whom they think most meet and expedient. Then by a secret election they name prince one of those four whom the people before named unto them. For out of the four quarters of the city there be iiij. chosen, out of every quarter one, to stand for the election: Which be put up to the counsel. The prince's office continueth all his life time, ●nles he be deposed or put dow●e for suspicion of tyranny. They chewse the tranibores yearly, but lightly they change them not. All the other offices be but for one year. The Tranibores every third day, and sometimes, if need be, oftener come into the council house with the prince. Their council is concerning the common wealth. 〈◊〉 there be any controversies among the commoners, which be very few, they dispatch and end them by and by. They take ever two Siphogrant●●● to them in council, and every day a new coupel. And it is provydede that no thing touching the common wealth shallbe confirmed and ratified, on les it have been reasoned of and debated three days in the council, before it be decreed. It is death to have any consultaryon for the common wealth out of the counsel, or the place of the common election. This statute, they say, was made to th'intent, that the prince and Tra●ibores might ●ot easily conspire together to oppress the people by tyranny, and to change the state of the weal public. Therefore matters of great weight and importance be brought to the electyou house of the syphograuntes, which open the matter to their families. And afterward, when they have consulted among themselves, they show their devise to the council. sometime the matter is brought before the council of the hole Island. Furthermore this custom also the council useth, to dispute or reason of no matter the same day that it is first proposed or put forth, but to differ it to the next sitting of the counsel. Because that no man when he hath resshelye there spoken that cometh first to his tongues end, shalt then afterward rather study for reasons wherewith to defend and confirm his first foolish sentence, than for the commodity of the common: wealth as one rather willing the harm or hindrance of the weal public than any loss or dymyn●tyon of his own existymatyon. And as one that would not for shame (which is a very foolish shame) be cowntede any thing overseen in the matter at the first, Who at the first ought to have spoken rather wisely then hastily or rashly.   

Of sciences Crafts and Occupatyons.  
HVsbandrye is a scye●●● common to them all in general, both men and women, wherein they be all expert and cunning▪ In this they be all instruct even from their youth: partly in schools with traditions and precepts, and partly in the country nigh the city, brought up as it were in playing, not on lie beholding the use of it, but by occasion of exercising their bodies practising it also. Besides husbandry, which (as I said) is common to them all, e●ery one of them learneth one or other several and particular science, as his own proper craft. That is most commonly other clotheworkinge in wo●●● or s●are, or masonry, or the smiths craft, or the carpentes scye●ce. For there is none other occupation that any numbered to speak of doth use there. For their garments, which through 〈…〉 one fashion, (●a●ynge that there is a difference between the man's garment and the woman's between the married and the unmarried) and this one continueth for ever more unchanged, seemly and comely to the eye, no let to the moving and weloing of the body, also fit both for winter and summer, as for these garments (I say) every family maketh their own. But of the other foreseyde crafts every man learneth one. And not only the men but also the women. But the women as the weaker sort be put to the easere crafts: they work wool and flax. The other more laboursome sciences be committed to the men. For the most part every man is brought up in his father's craft. For most commonly they be naturally thereto bent and inclined. But if a man's mind stand to any other, he is by adoption put into a family of that occupation which he doth most fantasy. Whom not only his father, but also the magistrates do diligently look to, that he be put to a discrete and an honest householder. Yea and if anny person, when he hath learned one craft, be desirous to learn also another, he is likewise suffered and permitted.  
When he hath learned both, he occupyethe whether he will: unless the city have more need of the one then of the other. The chief and almost the only office of the Syphograuntes is to see and take heed that no man sit idle. But that every one a pplye his own craft with earnest diligence. And yet for all that not to be wearied from early in the morning to late in the enenning with continual work, like labouring and topling beasts. For this is worse than the miserable and wretced condition of bondmen. Which nevertheless is almost every where the life of workmen and artificers, saning in utopia. For they dyvydinge the day and the night into xxiiij just hours, appoint and assign only vi of those hours to work three before none, upon the which they go straight to dinner: and after dinner, when they have rested, ij. hours, than they work iij: and upon that they go to supper. About eight of the clock in the evening (cownting one of the clock at the first hour after none) they go to bed eight hours they give to sleep. All the void time, that is between the huores of work sleep and meat, that they be suffered to bestow, every man as he liketh best him self. Not to th'intent they should mispend this time in riot, or sloughfullenes. But being then licenced from the labour of their ow●e occupations, to bestow the time well and thriftily upon some other good science, as shall please them. For it is a solemn custom there, to have lectures daily early in the morning, where to be present they only be constrained that be namely chosen and appointed to learning. How be it a great multitude of every sort of people, both men and women go to hear lectures, some one and some an other, as every man's nature is inclined. Yet, this notwithstonding, if any man had rather bestow this time upon his own occupatyon, (as it chanceth in many, whose minds rise not in the contemplatyon of any science liberal) he is not letted, nor prohibited, but is also praised and commended as profitable to the common wealth: After supper they bestow one hour in play: in summer in their gardens: in winter in their comen halls, where they dine and sup. There they exercise themselves in music, or else in honest and wholesome communicai●on. Diceplaye and such other foolish and pernicious games they know not, but they use two games not much unlike the chess. The one is the battle of numbers. Wherein one numbered stealethe away another. The other is wherein vices fight with virtues, as it were in battle array, or a set filled. In the which game is very properly showed both the strife and discord that vices have among themselves, and again their unity and concord against virtues: And also what vices be repugnant to what virtues: with what power and strength they assail them openly: by what wieles and subtlety they assault them secretly: with what help and aid the virtues resist, and overcome the puissance of the vices: by what craft they frustate their purposes: and finally by what sleight or means the one getteth the victory. But here lease you be deceived, one thing you must look more narrowly upon. For seeing they bestow but vi hours in work, perchance you may think that the lack of some necessary things hereof may ensue. But this is nothing so. For that small time is notonly enough, but also to much for the store and abundance of all things that be requisite, other for the necessity, or commodity of life. The which thing you also shall perceive, if you weigh and consider with yourselves how great a part of the people in other countries liveth idle. First almost all women, which be the half of the hole numbered: or else if the women be any where occupied, their most commonly in their stead the men be idle. Besides this how great, and how idle a company is their of priests, and religious men, as they call them? put there to all rich men, specially all landed men, which commonly be called gentlemen, and noble men. Take into this numbered also their servants. I mean all that flock of stout bragging rush bucklers. join to them also sturdy and valiant beggars, clokinge their idle leffe under the colour of some disease or sickness. And truly you shall find them much fewer than you thought, by whose labour all these things be gotten, that men use & live buy. Now consider with yourself, of these few that do work, how few be occupied in necessary works. For where money beareth all the swing, there many vain and superfluous occupations must needs be used, to serve only for riotous superfluity, and unhonest pleasure. For the same multitude that now is occupied in work, if they were divided into so few occupations, as the necessary use of nature requireth: in so great plenty of things as then of necessity would ensue, doubtless the prices would be to little for the artificers to maintain their livings. But if all these, that be now bisiede about unprofitable occupations, with all the hole flock of them that lyveydellye and slouthfullye, which consume and waste every one of them more of these things that come by other men's labour, than two of the work men themselves do: if all these (I say) were set to profitable occupatyons, you easily perceive how little time would be enough, yea and to much to store us with all things that may be requisite other fo● necessity, or for commodity, yea or for pleasure, so that thesame pleasure be true and natural. And this in Utopia the thing it self maketh manifest and plain. For there in all the city, with the hole country, or shyere adjoining to it, ●caselye .500. persons of all the hole numbered of men and women, that be neither to old, nor to weal to work, be licenced from labour. Among them be the Siphograuntes (which though they be by the laws exemple and privileged from labour) yet they exemple not themselves: to the intent they may the rather by their example provoke other to work. The same vacation from labour do they also enjoy, to whom the people persuaded by the commendation of the priests and secret election of the Siphograntes have given a perpetual licence from labour to learning. But if anny one of them prove not according to the expectation and hoop of him conceived, he is forth with plucked back to the company of artificers. And contrary wise, often it chanceth that a handicrafts man doth so earnestly bestow his vacant and spare hours in learning, and through diligence so profit therein, that he is taken from his handy occupation, and promoted to the company of the learned. Out of this order of the learned be chosen ambassadors, priests, Tranibores, and finally the prince himself. Whom they in their old tongue call Barzanes, and by a newer name, Adanus. The residue of the people being neither idle, neither occupied about unprofitable exercises, it may be easily judged in how few hours how much good work by them may be done, towards those things that I have spoken of. This commodity they have also above other, that in the most part of necessary occupations they need not so much work, as other nations do. For first of all the building or repairing of houses asketh every where so many men's continual labour, because that the unthyfty heir suffereth the houses that his father builded in contynewa●nce of time to fall in decay. So that which he might have upholden with little cost, his successor is constreynede to build it again a new, to his great charged. Yea many times also the house that stood one man in much money, another is of so nice and so delicate a mind that he setteth nothing by it. And it being neglected, and therefore shortly falling into ruin, he buyldethe up another in an other place with no less cost and charged. But among the Vtopyans where all things be set in a good order, and the common wealth in a good stay, it very seldom chanceth, that they choose a new plot to build an house upon. And they do not only find speedy and quick remedies for present faults: but also prevent them that be like to fall. And by this means their houses continue and last very long with little labour and small reparations in so much that the kind of workmen sometimes have almost nothing to do. But that they be commanded to hew timbre at home, and to square and trim up stones, to the intent that if any work chance, it may the spedelier rise. Now Sire in their apparel mark I pray you how few workmen they need. first of all whiles they be at work they be covered homely with leather or skins that will last vij years. When they go forth a broad they cast upon them a cloak, which hideth the other homely apparel. these clookes through out the hole Island be all of one colour, and that is the natural colour of the wool. They therefore do not only spend much less woollen cloth then is spent in other countries, but also the same standeth them in much less cost. But linen cloth is made with less labour, and is therefore had more in use. But in linen cloth only whytenese, in woollen oulye clenlynes is regarded. As for the smalnese or finesse of the thread, that is no thing passed for. And this is the cause wherefore in other places four or v cloth gowns of divers colours, and as many silk coats be not enough for one man. Yea and if he be of the delicate and nice sort ten be to few: where as there one garment will serve a man most commonly two years. For why should he desire moo? seeing if he had them, he should not be the better happed or covered from cold, neither in his apparel any whit the cumlyer. Wherefore, saying they be all exercised in profitable occupatyons, and that few artificers in thesame crafts be sufficient, this is the cause that plenty of all things being among them, they do sometimes bring forth an innumerable company of people to amend the high ways if any be broken. Many times also when they have no such work to be occupied about, an open proclamation is made that they shall bestow fewer hours in work. For the magistrates do not exercise their citizens against their wills in unneadfull labours. For why in the institution of that weal public this end is only and chiefly pretended and minded, that what time may possibly be spared from the necessary occupations and affairs of the comen wealth, all that the citizens should withdraw from the bodily service to the free liberty of the mind & garnisshing of the same. Forherin they suppose the felicity of this life to consist   

Of their living and mutual conversation together  
But now will I declare how the citizens use themselves one towards another: what familiar occupying & entertainment there is among the people, and what fashion they use in distributing every thing. First the city consists of families, the families most commonly be made of kindreds. For the women when they be married at a lawful age, they go into their husbands houses. But the male children, with all the hole male of spring continue still in their own family, & be governed of the eldest and ancientest father, unless he dote for age: for then the next to him in age, is put in his room. But to thi●tent the prescript numbered of the citizens should neither decrease, nor above measure increase, it is ordained that no family which in every city be vi thousand in the hole, besides them of the country, shall at ones have fewer children of the age of xiiij years or there about then ten or more than xvi for of children under this age no numbered can be appointed. This measure or numbered is easily observed & kept, by putting them that in fuller families be above the numbered into families of smaller increase. But if chance be that in the hole city the store increase above the just numbered, therewith they fill up the lack of other cities. But if so be that the multitude throughout the hole Island pass and exceed the due numbered, than they chewse out of every city certain citizens, & build up a town under their own laws in the next land where the inhabitants have much waste & unoccupied ground, receiving also of the inhabitants to them if they will join a●d dwell with them. They thus joining and dwelling together, do easily agree in one fashion of living, and that to the great wealth of both the peoples. For they so bring the matter about by their laws, that the ground which before was nether good ●or profitable for the one nor for the other is now sufficient and fruitful enough for them both. But if the inhabitants of that land will not dwell with them to be ordered by their laws, than they drive them out of those hounds which they have limited and appointed out for themselves. And if they resist and rebel, than they make war against them. For they count this the most just cause of war, when any people holdeth a piece of ground void and valiant to no good nor profitable use, keeping other from the use and possession of it, which notwithstanding by the law of nature ought thereof to be nowryshed & relieved. If any chance do so much dimynishe the numbered of any of their cities that it cannot be filled up again without the diminishing of the just numbered of the other cities (which they say chanced but twice sins the beginning of the land through a great pestilent plague) than they make up the numbered with citizens fetched out of their own foreign towns, for they had rather suffer their foreign towns to decay and perish, than any city of their own Island to be dimynyshed. But now again to the conversation of the citizens among themselves. The eldest (as I said) rueleth the family. The wy●es be ministers to their husbands, the children to their parents, and to be short the younger to their elders. Every City is divided into four equal parts. In the mids of every quarter there is a market place of all manner of things. Thither the works of every family be brought in to certain houses. And every kind of thing is laid up several in barns or store houses. From hence the father of every family or every householder fetcheth whatsoever he and his have need of, & carrieth it away with him without money, without exchange, without any gage or pledge. For why should any thing be denied unto him: seeing there is abundance of all things, and th●● it is not to be feared lest any man will ask more than he needeth? For why should it be thought that that man would ask more then enough, which is sewer never to lack? Certainly in all kinds of ly●ynge creatures other fere of lack doth cause covetousness and ravin, or in man only pride, which counteth it a glorious thing to pass and excel other in the superfluous and vain ostentation of things. The which kind of vice among the Vtopians can have no place. Next to the market places that I spoke of, stand meat markets: whether be brought not only all sorts of herbs, and the fruits of trees with bread, but also fish, and all manner of four footed beasts, and wild foul that be man's meat. But first the filthiness and ordure thereof i● clean washed away in the running river without the city in places appointed meet for the same purpose. From thence the beasts brought in killed, and clean washed by the hands of their bondmen. For they permyite not their fry citizens to accustom there selfes to the kill of beasts through the use whereof they think that clemency the genteleste affection of our nature doth by little and little decay and perish. Nother they suffer any thing that is filthy loathsome or uncleanly, to be brought into the city, lest the air by the stench thereof infected and corrupt, should cause pestilent diseases. Moreover every street hath certain great large halls set in equal distance one from an other, every one known by a sentrall name. In these halls dwell the Syphograuntes. And to every one of the same halls be appointed xxx families, of either side xu The stewards of every hall at a certain hour come in to the meat markets, where they receive meat according to the numbered of their halls. But first and chiefly of all respect is had to the sick, that be cured in the hospitals. For in the circuit of the city a little without the walls they have four hospitals, so big so wide so ample & so large that they may seem four little towns which were devised of the bygnes partly to th'intent the sick, be they never so many in numbered, should not lie to throng or straight, and therefore uneasily & incomodiously, and partly that they which were taken & bolden with contagious diseases, such as be wont by infection to creep from one to an other, might be laid a part far from the company of the residue. these holpitalles be so well appointed, & with all things necessary to health so furnished, & more over so diligent attendance through the continual presence of cunuing physicians is give▪ that though no man be sent thither against his will, yet notwithstanding there is no sick person in all the city, that had not rather lie there than at home in his own house. When the steward of the sick hath received such meats as the physicians have prescribed, than the best is equally deuide● among the halls, according to the company of every one, saving that there is had a respect to the prince, the bishop, the tranibours and to ambassadors, & all strangers, if there be any, which be very few and seldom. But they also when they be there, have certain houses appointed and prepared for them. To these halls at the set hours of dinner & supper cummith all the hole Siphograuntie or ward warned by the noise of a brazen trumpet: except such 〈◊〉 be sick in the hospitals or else in their own houses. How be it no man is prohibited or forbid, after the halls be served, to fetch home meat out of the market to his own house. For they know that no man will do it without a cause reasonable. For though no man be prohibited to dine at home, yet no man doth it willingly: because it is counted a point of small honesty. And also it were a folly to take the pain to dress a bad dy●er at home when they may be welcome to good & fine far so ●yghe hand at the hall. In this hall all vile service all slavery and drudgery, with all laboursome toil and business is done by bondmen. But the women of every family by course have the office and charge of cokerye for sethinge and dressing the meat, and ordering all things thereto belonging. They sit at three tables or moo, according to the numbered of their company. The men sit upon the bench next the wall, and the women against them on the other side of the table, that if any sudden evil should chance to them, as many times happeneth to women with child, they may rise without trouble or disturbance of any body, and go thence into the nursery: The ●ourceis sit several alo●e with their young suckeling●s in a certain pa●loure appointed & deputed to the same purpose, never without fire & clean water, nor yet without cradles, that when they will they may lay down the young infants, and at their pleasure take them out of their swathing clothes and hold them to the fire, and refresh them with play. every mother is nurse to her own child, unless other death or sycke●es be the let. When that chanceth, the wives of the Siphograuntes quickly provide a nurse. And that is not hard to be done. For they that can do it do proffer themselves to no service so gladly as to that. Because that there this kind of pity is much praised: and the child that is nourished ever after taketh his nurse for his own natural mother. Also among the nourceis, sit all the children that be under the age of v. years. All the other children of both kinds, aswell ●opes as girls that be vuder the age of marriage do other serve at the tables, o●●ls if they be to young thereto, yet they stand by with marvelous silence. That which is given to them from the table they eat, and other several dinner ●yme they have none. The Siphograunt & his wife sitteth in the mids of the high table, forasmuch as that is counted the honerablest place, and because from thence all the hole company is in their sight. For that table standeth over wharte the over end of the hall. To them be joined ii of the anctientest and eldest. For at every table they sit four at a miesse. But if there be a church standing in that Siphograuntie or ward, than the priest and his wife sitteth with the Siphograunte, as chief in the company. On both sides of them sit young men, and next unto them again old men. And thus through out all the house equal of age be set together and yet be mixed with unequal ages. This they say was ordained to the intent that the sage gravity and reverence of the elders should keep the youngers from wanton licence of words and behaviour. For as much as nothing can be so secretly spoken or done at the table, but either they that sit on the one side or on the other must needs perceive it. The dishes be not set down in ordre from the first place, but all the old men (whose places be marked with some special token to be known) be first served of there meat, & then the residue equally. The old men divide their dainties as they think best to the younger that sit of both sides them. Thus the elders be not defrauded of their dew honour, and nevertheless equal commodity cometh to every one. They begin every dinner & supper of reading sumthing that pertaineth to good manners & virtue. But it is short, because no man shallbe grieved therewith. Here of th'elders take occasion of honest communication, but neither sad nor unpleasant. Howbeit they do not spend all the hole dy●er time themselves 〈◊〉 long & tedious talks: but they gladly here also the young men, yea & do purposely provoke them to talk, to th'intent that they may have a proof of every man's wit & towardness or disposition to virtue, which commonly in the liberty of feasting doth show & ●tter itself. Their gardeners be very short: but there suppers be somewhat longer, because that after dinner followeth labour, after supper sleep and natural rest, which they think to be of no more strength and efficacy to wholesome and healthful digestion. No supper is passed without music. Nor their banquets lack no conceits nor iouckettes. They burn sweet gums and speces for perfumes and pleasant sinelles, and sprinkle about sweet ointments and waters, yea they leave nothing undone that maketh for the chering of the company. For they be much enclyved to this opinion: to think no kind of pleasure forbidden, whereof cometh no harm. Thus therefore and after this sort they live togethers in the city, but in the country they that dwell alone far from any neighbours, do dine and sup at home in their own houses. For no family ther● lacketh any kind of victuals, as from whom cometh all that the citizens eat and live buy.   

¶ Of their iourneyenge or travailing a broad, with divers other matters cunningly reasoned & wittily discussed.  
But if any be desirous to visit other their friends that dwell in an other City, or to se● the place itself: they easily obtain licence of their Siphograuntes and Tranibores, whiles there be some profitable let. No mau goeth out alone but a company is sent forth together with their prince's letters, which do testify that they have licence to g● that journey, and prescribeth also the day of their return. They have a wageyn given them, with a common bondman which driveth the oxen & taketh charge of them. But unless they have wome● in their company they send home the wageyn again, as an impediment and a let. And though they carry nothing forth wit them, yet in all their journey they lack nothing. For wheresoever they come they be at home. If they tarry in a place longer than one day, than there every one of them falleth to his own occupation, & be very gently entertained of the workmen & companies of thesame crafts. If any man of his own head & without leave, walk out of his precinct & bounds, taken without the prince's letters, he is brought again for a fugitive or a runaway with great shame & rebuke, & is shapely punished. If he be taken in that fault again he is punished with bondage. If any be desirous to walk a broad into the fields, or into the country that belongeth to the same city that he dwelleth in, obtaining the good will of his father, & the consent of his wife, he is not prohibited▪ But into what part of the country soever he cometh, he hath no meat given him until he have wrought out his fore●o●es task, or else dispatched so much work as ●here is wont to be wrought before supper. Observing this law and condition, he may go whether he well within the bounds of his own city. For he shallbe no les profitable to the city, them if he were within it. Now you see how little liberty they have to loiter, how they can have no cloak or pretence to idleness. There be nether win taverns nor ale houses, nor stews, nor any occasion of vice or wickedness, no lurking corners, no places of wicked councils or unlawful assembles. But they be in the present sight, & under the iyes of every man. So that of necessity they must other apply their accustomed labours, or else recreate themselves with hovest & laudable pastimes. This fashion being used among the people, they must of necessity have store & plenty of all things. And seeing they be all thereof partners equally, therefore can no man there be poor or needy. In the council of Amanrot (whether, as I said, every city sendeth three men a piece yearly) assoon as it is perfectly known of what things there is in every place plenty, and again what things be s●a●t in any place: incontinent the lack of the one is performed and filled up with the abundance of the other. And this they do freely without any benefit, taking nothing again of them to whom the things is given, but those cities that have given of their store to any other city that lacketh, reguyring nothing again of thesame city, do take such things as they lack of an other city, to whom they gave nothing. So the hole Island is as it were one family, or household. But when they have made sufficient provision of store for themselves (which they think not done until they have provided for two yeared following, because of the uncortentie of the next years proof) then of those things whereof they have abundance they carry forth into other contr●is great plenty as grain, honey, wulle, flax, wood, madder, purple-die fells, wax, tallow, leather, and living beasts. And the seventh part of all these things they give frankly and freely to the poor of that country. The residue they fell at a reasonable and mean price. By this trade of traffic or merchandise, they bring into their own country, not only great plenty of gold and silver, but also all such things as they lack at home, which is almost nothing but Iron. And by reason they have long used this trade now they have more abundance of these things then any man will believe. Now therefore they care not whether they sell for ready money: or else upon trust to be paid at a day and to have the most part in debts. But in so doing they never follow the credence of private men: but the assur●aunce or warrauntrse of the hole city, by instruments and writings made in that behalf accordingly. When the day of payment is come and expired, the city gathereth up the debt of the private debtors, and putteth it into the common box, and so long hath the use and profit of it, until the utopians their creditors demand it. The most part of it they never ask. For that thing which is to them no profit to take it from other to whom it is profitable: they think it no right nor conscience. But if the case so stand that they must lend part of that money to an other people, than they requy●● their debt: or when they have war. For the which purpose only they keap at home all the treasure, whi●h they have, to be helped and so coured by it other in extreme jeopardies, or in sudden dangers. But especially and chiefly to heir therewith and that for unreasonable great wayges strange foldyours. For they had rather put strangers in jeopardy than theyr● own country men: knowing that for money enough their enemies themselves many times may be bowghte and sold, or else through treason be set togethers by the ears among themselves. For this cause they kype an inestimable treasure. But yet not as a treasure: but so they have it, & use it, as in good faith I am ashamede to show: fearing that my words shall not be believed. And this I have more cause to fear, for that I know how ●yff●cultlye and hardly I myself would have believed an other man telling the same, if I had not presently seen it with my●e own iyes. For it must needs be, that how far a thing is dissonaunt and disagreinge from the guise and trade of the hearers, so far shall it be out of their belief. How be it a wise and in dyfferente estymer of things will not greatly marvel perchance, seeing all their other laws and customs do so much differ from ours, if the use also of gold and silver among them be applied, rather to their own fashions then to owers. I mean in that they occupy not money themselves, but keep it for that chance, which as it may happen, so it may be that it shall never come to pass. In the mean time gold and silver, whereof money is made they do so use, as none of them doth more esteem it, than the very nature of the thing deserveth. And than who doth not plainly see how far it is under Iron: as without the which men can no better live them without fire and water. Whereas to gold and silver nature hath given no use, that ws may not well lack: if that the folly of men had not set it in higher estimation for the rareness sake. But of the contrary part, nature as a most tender and loving mother, hath placed the best and most 〈◊〉 cessarye things open a broad: as the air, the water, and the earth itself. And hath removed and hid farthest from us vain and unprofitable things. Therefore if these metals among them should be fast locked up in some tower, it might be suspected that the privy and the cow●cell, as the people is ever foolyshelye ymagininge) intended by some subtlety to deceive the commons, and to take some proffette of 〈◊〉 to themselves. Furthermore if they should make thereof plat & such other finely & cunningly wrought stuff: if at any time they should have occasion to break it, and melt it again, and therewith to pay their soldiers wages they see and perceive very well that men would be loath to part from those things that they o●s begome to have pleasure and delytein. To remedy all this they have found out a means, which as it is agreeable to all their other laws and customs, so it is from ours where gold is so much set by, and so diligently kept, very far discrepant and repugnant: and therefore uncredible, but only to them that be wise. For where as they eat and drink in earthen and glass vessels, which in deed be curiously and properly made, and yet be of very small value: of gold and silver they make commonly chamber pots and other like vessels, that serve for most vile uses, not only in their common halls, but in every man's private house. Furthermore of thesame metals they make great chains with fetters and gives wherein they tie their bondmen. Finally who so ever for any offence be infamed, by their ears hang rings of gold: upon their fingers they were rings of gold, and about their necks chains of gold: and in conclusion their heads be tiede about with gold. Thus by all means that may be they procure to have gold and silver among them in reproach and infamy. And therefore these ●●etalles, which other nations do as grievously and sorroufully forego, as in a manner from their own lives: if they should all togethers at ones be taken from the utopians, no man there would think that he had lost the worth of one farthing. They gather also peerless by the sea side, & Diamonds and Carbuncles upon certain rocks, and yet they seek not for them: but by chance finding them they cut and polish them. And therewith they deck their young infanntes. Which like as in the first years of their childhod they make much and be fond and proud of such orname●tes, so when they be a little more grown in years and discretion, perceiving that none but children do were such toys and trifeles: they lay them away even of their own shame fastness without any bidding of there parents: even as our children when they wax big do cast away nuts, brouches, and puppets. Therefore these laws and customs which be so far dyfferente from all other nations, how divers fanseys also and minds they do cause, did I never so plainly perceive, as in the Ambassadors of the Anemolians. these Ambassadors came to Amaurote whiles I was there. And because they came to entreat of great & weighty matters, those three citizens a piece out of every city were comen thither before them. But all the Ambassadors of the next countries, which had been there be●ore, and knew the fashions & manners of the Vtopians, among whom they perceived no honour given to sumptuous and costly apparel, silks to be contemned, gold also to be enfamed and reproachful, were wont to come thither in very homely and simple a 〈◊〉 apparel. But the Anemolianes because they dwell far thence, and had very little acquaintance with them: hearing that they were all appareled a like, and that very rudely and homely: thinking them not to have the things which they did not wear: being therefore more proud than wise: determined in the gorgeousness of their apparel to represent very gods, and with the bright shining and glistering of their gay clothing to dazzle the eyes of the silly poor utopains. So there came in three ambassadors with. C. servants all appareled in changeable colours: the most of them in silks: the Ambassadors themselves (for at home in their own country they were noble men) in cloth of gold w̄● great cheives of gold▪ w̄● gold hanging at their ears with gold, rings upon their fingers in brouches & aglettes of gold upon their caps, which glistered full of peerless & precious stones: to be short tr●med, & advorned with all those things, which among the utopians were other the punishment of bond men, or the reproach of in famed persons, or else trifles for young children to play with all. Therefore it would have done a man good at his heart to have seen how proudly they displeyed their peacocks feathers how much they made of their painted sheaths, and how loftly they set forth and advanced themselves, when they compared their galant apparel with the poor raiment of the utopians. For all the people were swarmed forth into the streets. And on the other side it was no less pleasure to consider how much they were deceived, and how far they miss of their purpose: being contrary ways taken than they thought they should have been, for to the iyes of all the utopians, except very few, which had been in other countries for some reasonable cause, all that gorgeousness of apparel seemed shameful and reproachful. In so much that they most reverently saluted the vilest▪ and most abject of them for lords: passing over the Ambassadors themselves without any honour: judging them be their wearing of golden chains to be bondeme. ●Yea you should have seen children also that had cast away their peerless and precious stones, when they saw the like sticking upon the ambassadors caps: dig and push their mothers under the sides saying thus to them. Look mother how great a lubbor doth yet were peerless and precious stones, as ●hough he were a little child still. But the mother, yea and that also in good earnest: peace soon saith she: I think he be some of the Ambassadors fools. Some found fault at their golden chains as to no use nor purpose: being to small and weak, that a bondman might easily break them, and again so wide and large that when it pleased him he might cast them of, and run away at liberty whether he would. But when the Ambassadors had been there a day or two and saw so great abundance of gold so lightly esteemed, yea in no less reproach than it was with them in honour: and besides that, more gold in the chains and gives of one fugitive bondman, than all the costly ornaments of them three was worth: they began to abate their courage, and for very shame laid away all that grievous array whereof they were so proud. And specially when they had talked famylyerlye with the Vtopyans, and had learned all their fashions and opynyo●s. For they marvel that any men be so foolish as to have delight and pleasure in the glistering of a little trifling stone, which may behold any of the stars, or else the soon it self. Or that any man is so mad as to cou●te himself the nobler for the smaller or finer thread of wool, which self samewoll (be it now i● never so fine a spun thread) died once a ●hepe wear: a●d yet was she all that time no other thing then a sheep. They marvel also that gold; which of the own nature is a thing so unprofitable, is now among all people in so high estymatyon, that man himself, by whom, yea and for the use of whom it is so much set by; is in much less estymatyon than the gold it self. In so much that a lumpyshe blockehedded churl▪ and which hath no more wit than an ass, yea and as full of noughtenes and foolishness, shall have nevertheless many wise and good men in subjection and bondage, only for this, because he hath a great heap of gold. Which if it should be taken from him by any fortune▪ or by some subtle wile of the law▪ (which no less than fortune doth raise up the low, and pluck down the high) and be given to the most vile slave and abject drevell of all his household, then shortly after he shall go into the service of his servant, as an augmentation or an overplus beside his money. But they much more marvel at and detest the madeves of them, which to those rich men, in whose debt and danger they be not, do give almost divine honowres, ●or ●on other consideration, but because they be rich: and yet knowing them to be such nigeshepenuy fathers, that they be sure as long as they live, not the worth of one farthing of that heap of gold shall come to them. these and such like opinions have they conceived, partly by education, being brought up in that common wealth, whose laws and customs be far different from these kinds of folly, and partly by good literature and learning. For though there be not many in every city, which be exempt and discharged of all other labours and appointed only to learning, that is to say: such in whom even from their very childhood they have perceived a singular to wardness, a ●yne wit, and a mind apt to good learning: yet all in their childhood be instruct in learning. And the better part of the people both men and women through out all their hole life do bestow in learning those spare hours, which we said they have vacant from bodily labours. They be taught learning in their own native tongue. For it is both copious in words, and also pleasant to the ear: and for the utterance of a man's mind very perfect and sure. The most part of all that side of the world useth the same language, saving that among the Vtopians it is finest and puryste, and according to the diversity of the countries it is diversly altered. Of all these Philosophers, whose names be here famous in this part of the world to us known, before hour coming thither not as much as the fame of any of them was comen among them, and yet in music, Logycke, Arythmetyke, and 〈…〉 they have found out in a manner all that our ancient Philosophers have ●awghte. But as they in all things be almost equal to our old ancient clerks, so our new Logiciens in subtle inuen●yons have far passed and gone beyond them. For they have not devised one of all those rules of restryctyons, amplyfy catyons and supposytyons, very wittily invented in the small Logycalles, which hear our children in every place do learn. Furthermore they were never yet able to find out the second in●entyons: in so much that none of them all could ever see man himself in comen, as they call him, though he be (as you know) bigger then ever was any gyaunte, yea a●d pointed to of us even with our finger. But they be in the course of the stars, and the movings of the heavenly spheres very expert and cunning. They have also wyttelye excogytated and devised instruments of ●iuers fashions: wherein is exactly comprehended and contained the movings and sytuatyons of the son, the moon, & of all the other stars which appear in their horizon. But as for the amityes and dissentyons of the planets, and all that deceitful divynatyon by the stars, they never asmuch as dreamt thereof. reins, winds, & other courses of tempests they know before by certain tokens which they have learned by long use and observation. But of the causes of all these things, & of the ebbing, flowing, and ●altenes of the sea, and finally of the original beginning and nature of heaven and of the world, they hold partly the same opinions that our old philosophers hold, and partly as our philosopher's vary among themselves, so they also whiles they bring new reasons of things do disagree from all them, and yet among themselves in all points they do not accord. In that part of philosophy which entreateth of manners and virtue their reasons and opyvyons agree with ours. They dispute of the good qualities of the ●ye, shall have no reward after hy● death? But now sir they think not felicity to rest in all pleasure, but o●lye in that pleasure that is good & honest, and that hereto as to perfect blessedness our nature is alured and drawn even of virtue, whereto only they that be of the contrary opinion do attribute felicity. For they define virtue to be a life ordered according to nature, and that we ●e hereunto ordained of god. And that he doth follow the course of nature, which in desiring and refusing things is ruled by reason. Furthermore that reason doth chiefly and principally kindle in men the love and veneration of the divine majesty. Of whose goodness it is that we be, and that we be inpossibilitie to attain felicity. And that secondarily it moveth and provoketh us to lead our life out of care in joy and mirth, and to help all other in respect of the sosiete or nature to obtain thesame. For there was never man so earnest and painful a follower of virtue, and hate● of pleasure, that would so enjoin you labours watchings & fastings, but he would also exhort you to ease & lighten to your power, the lack & misery of others praising the same as a deed of humanity and pity. Then if it be a point of humanity for man to bring health and comfort to man and specially (which is a virtue most peculiarly belonging to man) tomitigate and assuage the grief of others, and by taking from them the sorrow and heaviness of life, to restore them to joy, that is to say to pleasure: why may it not then be said that nature doth provoke every man to do thesame to himself? For a joyful life, that is to say, a pleasant life is other evil: and if it be so, than thou shouldest not only help no man thereto, but rather as much as in the lieth help all men from it as noisome and hurtful, or else if thou not only mayst, but also of duty art bound to procure it to others, why not chiefly to themself? To whom thou art bound to show asmuch favour as to other. For when natu● biddeth the to be good & gentle to other, ●he commandeth the not to be cruel and ungentle to the self. Therefore even very nature (say they) prescribith to us a joyful life, that is to say, pleasure as the end of all our operations. And they define virtue to be life ordered according to the prescrypt of nature. But in that that nature doth allure and provoke 〈◊〉 one to help another to live merrily (which surely ●he doth not without a good cause: for no man is so far above the lot of man's state or condition that nature doth cark and care for him only which equally favoureth all that be comprehended under the communion of one shape form and fashion) verily she commandeth the to use diligent circumspection that thou do not so seek for thine own commodities, that thou procure others incommodities. Wherefore their opinion is that not only covenants and bargains made among private men ought to be well and faithfully fulfilled observed and kept, but also comen laws, which other a good prince hath justly published, or else the people neither oppressed with 〈◊〉, neither deceived by fraud and gyell, hath by their common consent constitute and ratified, concerning the partition of the commodities of life, that is to say the matter of pleasure. these laws not offended, it is wisdom that thou look to thine own wealth. And to do thesame for the common wealth is no less than thy duty, if thou bearest any reverent love or any natural zeal and affection to thy native country. But to go about to let an other man of his pleasure whiles thou procurest thine own, that is open wrong. Contrary wise to withdraw something from they self to give to other that is a point of humanity and ge●tyl●es: which never taketh a way so much commodity, as it bringeth again. For it is recompensed with the return of benefits, and the conscience of the good deed with the remembrance of the thankful love and benevolence of them to whom thou hast done it, doth bring more pleasure to thy mind, then that which thou hast withholden from thyself could have brought to the body. finally (which to a godly disposed & a religious mind is easy to be persuaded) God recompenseth the gift of a short & small pleasure with great and everlasting joy. Therefore the matter diligently weighed and considered, thus they think, that all our actions and in them the virtues themselves be referred at the last to pleasure▪ as their end & felicity. Pleasure they call every motion and state of the body or mind, wherein man hath naturally delectation. Appetite they join to nature. And that not without a good cause. For like as not only the ●enses▪ but also right reason coveteth whatsoever is naturally pleasant, so that it may be gotten without wrong or injury, not letting or debarring a greater pleasure, nor causing painful labour, even so those things that men by vai●e imagination do feign against nature to be pleasant (as though it lay in their power to change the things as they do the names of things) all such pleasures they believe to be o● so small help & furtherance to felicity, that they count them great let and hindrance. Because that in whom they have once taken place, all his mind they possess with a false opinion of pleasure. So that there is no place left for true and natural delectations. For there be many things, which of their own nature contain no plesauntnes: yea the most part of them much grief and sorrow. And yet through the perverse and malicious flickering inticementes, of lewd and vnho●este desires, be takeen not only for special & sovereign pleasures, but also be counted among the chief causes of life. In this counterfeat kind of pleasure they put them that I speak of before. Which the better gown they have on the better men they think themselves. In the which thing they do twice err. For they be no less deceived in that they think their gown the better, than they be in that they think themselves the better. For if you consider the profitable use of the garment, why should wulle of a finer stonne thread, be though better, than the w●l of a course spun thread? Yet they as though the one did pass the other by nature, and not by their mistaking, advance themselves and think the price of their own persons thereby greatly increased. And therefore the honour which in a course gown they durst not have looked for, they require as it were of duty for their fyler gowns sake. And if they be passed by without reverence, they take it angerly and disdainfully. And again is it not a like mad●es to take a pride in vain and unprofitable honours? For what natural of true pleasure dost thou take of an other man's bare heed of bowed knees? Will this ease the pain of thy knees, or remedy the frenzy of the head? In this image of counterfeit pleasure, they be of a marvelous madness, which for the opinion of nobility rejoice much in their own co●●eite. Because it was their fortune to come of such ancestors, whose stock of long time hath been counted rich (for now nobility is nothing else) specially rich in lands. And though their ancestors left them not one foot of land, or else they themselves have pissed it against the walls, yet they think themselves not the less noble therefore of one hear. In this numbered also they count them that take pleasure & delight (as I said) in gems and precious stones, and think themselves almost gods, if they chance to get and excellent one, specially of that kind which in that time of their own country me● 〈◊〉 had in highest estimation. For one kind of stone keepeth not his pryce●tyll in all countries▪ and at all times. Nor they buy them not but taken out of the gold and bare. No nor so neither before they have made the selle●●o swear that he will warrant and assure it to be a true stone and not counterfeit gem. Such ●are they take lest ● counterfeit stone should deceive their eyes in the stead of a right stone. But why shouldest tho● not take ●uen asmuch pleasure in beholding a counterfeit stone which thine eye cannot discern from a right stone? They should both be of like value to thee, even as to a blind man. What shall I say of them that keep superfluous riches, to take delectation only in the beholding, and not in the use or occupying thereof? Do they take true pleasure, or else be they deceived with false pleasure? Or of them that be in a contrary vice, hiding the gold which they shall never occupy nor peradventure never see more? And whiles they take care least they shall le●se it, do lose it in deed. For what is it else, when they hide it in the ground, taking it both from their own use, and perchance from all other men's also? And yet thou when thou haste hid thy treasure as one out of all care hoppest for joy. The which treasure if it should chance to be stoolen, & thou ignorant of the theft shouldest ●ye ten years after: all that ten years space that thou ly●edest after thy money was stolen▪ what matter was it to the whether it had been taken a way or else sauffe as thou leftest it? truly both ways like profit came to thee: To these so foolish pleasures they ioyn●dycers, whose madness they know by hear say a●d not by use. Hunter's also, and hawkers: For what pleasure is there (say● they) i● casting the dice upon a table. Which y● hast done so often, that i● their were any pleasure in it, yet the oft use might make the weary thereof? Or what delight can there be, and not rather displeasure in hea●ynge the barking and howling of dogs? Or what greater pleasure is there to be felt, when a dogg● followeth an hare, then when a dog followeth a dog: for one thing is done in both, that is to say, running▪ if thou haste pleasure therein, But i● the hope slaughter▪ and the expectation of tearing 〈◊〉 pieces the beast doth please thee: thou shouldest rather be moved with pity to see a silly innocent hare murdered of ●●dogge: the weak of the stronger, the fearful of the fea●●●, the innocent of y● 〈◊〉 and unmerciful. Therefore all this exercise of huntynge, as a thing v●worthye to be used of free m●n, the Vtopians have rejected to their bochers, to the which craft (as we said before) they appoint their bondmen. For they count hunting the lowest vyleste and most abject part of bocherye, and the other parts of it more profitable and more honest, as which do bring much more commodity, and do kill beasts only for necessity. Where as the hunter seeketh nothing but pleasure of the silly and woeful beasts slaughter and murder. The which pleasure in beholding death they think doth rise in the very beasts, other of cruel affection of mind; or else to be changed in continuance of time into cruelty, by long use of so cruel a pleasure. these therefore & all such like, which be innumerable, though the common sort of people doth take them for pleasures, yet they, seeing there is no natural pleasantness in them, to plainly determine them to have no affinity with true and right pleasure. For as touching that they do commonly mo●e the sense with delectation (which seemeth to be a work of pleasure) this doth nothing diminish their opinion. For not the nature of the thing, but there perverse and lewd custom is the cause hereof. Which causeth them to accept bitter or so w●e things for sweet things. Even as women with child in their viciate & corrupt taste think pitch and ●allowe sweeter than any honey. Howbeit no man's judgement depraved and corrupt, other by sickness, or by custom can change the ●●ture of pleasure, more than it can do the nature of other things. They make di●ers ky●des of true pleasures. For some they attribute to the soul, & some to the body. To the soul they give intelligence, a●d that delectation that cometh of the contemplation of truth. Here unto is joined the pleasant remembrance of the good life past. The pleasure of the body they de●ide 〈◊〉 ●. parts. The first is when delectation i● sensibly felt & perceived. Which many times chanceth by the renewing and re●●esshyng of thoes parts which hour natural heat drieth up. This cumm●th by meat and drink. And sometimes whiles those things be voided, whereof is in y ● ●ody over great abundance. This pleasure is felt when we do our natural easement, or when we be doing the act of generation, or when the itching of any 〈◊〉 is eased with rubbing or stratchinge. sometimes pleasure riseth exhibitinge to any member nothing that it desires, nor taking from it any pain that it feeleth, which for all that tikleth and mo●eth our senses with a certain secret● efficacy, but with a manifest motion, and turneth them to it. As is that which cometh of music. The second part of bodily pleasure they say is that which consisteth and resteth in the quiet and upright state of the body. And that truly is every man's own proper health entermyngled and disturbed with ●o grief. For this, if it be not letted nor assaulted with no greiffe i● 〈◊〉 of it self, though it be moved with no external or outward pleasure. For though it be not so plain and manifest to the sense, as the greedy lust of eating and dryncky●ge, yet nevertheless many take it for the chyefeste pleasure. All the Vtopyans grant it to be a right great pleasure, and as you would say the foundation and ground of all pleasures, as which even alo●e is able to make the state and condition of life delectable and pleasant. And it being once taken away, there is no place left for any pleasure. For to be without greyffe not having health, that they call unsensybylyte and not pleasure. The Vtopians have long ago rejected and condemned the opinion of them, which said that stead fast and quiet health (for this question also hath been dylygentelye debated among them) ought not therefore to be counted a pleasure, because they say it can not be presently and sensyblye perceived and felt by some outward motion. But of the contrary part now they agree almost all in this, that health is a most sovereign pleasure. For seeing that in sickness (say they) is grie●●●, which is a mortal enemy to pleasure, even as sickles is to health, why should not then pleasure be in the quietness of health? For they say it maketh nothing to this matter, whether you say that sickness is a grief, or that in sickness is grief, for all cometh to one purpose. For whether health be a pleasure itself, or a necessary cause of pleasure, as tire is of heat: truly both ways it followeth, that they cannot be without pleasure that be in perfit health. Furthermore whiles we eat (say they) than health which began to be appaired fighteth by the help of food against hunger. In the which fight whiles health by little and little getteth the upper hand, that same proceeding, and (as ye would say) that onwardnes to the wont strength ministereth that pleasure, whereby we be so refreshed. Health therefore, which in the conflict is joyful, shall it not be merry when it hath gotten the victory? But as soon as it hath recovered thee pristynat● strength, which thing 〈◊〉 in all the fight it coveted, shall it incontinent be astonished? Nor shall it not know nor embrace the own wealth and goodness? For that it is said health can not be felt, this, they think, is nothing true. For what man waking say they, f●leth not himself in health: but he that is not? Is there any man so possessed with stonyshe insensibility, or with the steping sickness, that he will not grant health to be acceptable to him a●d delectable? But what other thing is delectation, than that which by an other name is called pleasure? They embrace chiefly the pleasures of the mind. For them they cownte the chiefist 〈◊〉 most principal of all. The ch●yfe part of them they think doth come of the exercise of virtue and conscience of good life. Of these pleasures that the boddye ministereth they give the pr●●mynence to health. For the delight of eating and drinking, and whatsoever hath 〈◊〉 like pleasantness they determine to be pleasures much to be desired, but no other ways than for healths sake. For such things of their 〈◊〉 nature be not pleasant, but in that they resist sickness pre●elye stealing one, Therefore like as it is a wise man's part rather to a●oyde sycke●es, then to wish for 〈◊〉, and rather to drive away and put to flight careful greyffes, then to call for comfort: so it is much better not to need this kind of pleasure, then in feeling the contrary greyffe to be eased of the same. The which kind of pleasure if any ●an take for his felicity, that man must needs grant that then he shall be in most felicity, if he live that life which is led in continual hunger, thirst, itching, eating, drinking, scratching, and rubbing. The which life how not only foul it is, but also miserable, and wretched, who perceavethe not? these dowteles be the basest pleasures of all, as unpure & unperfect. For they never come but accompanied with their contrary greiffes. As with the pleasure of eating is joined hunger, & that after no very equal sort. For of these 〈◊〉 the gryeffe is both the more vehement and also of longer continuance. For it riseth before the pleasure, a●d endeth not until the pleasure die with it. Wherefore such pleasures they think not greatly to be set by, but in that they be necessary. Howbeit they have delight also in these, & thankfully knouledge the tender love of mother nature, which with most pleasant delectation allureth her children to y●, which of necessity they be driven often use. For how wretched & miserable should our life be, if these daily greiffes of hunger & thrust could not be driven away, b●t with bitter potions, & sour medicines, as the other diseases be, where with we be seldomer troubled? But beauty, strength, nemblenes, these as peculiar and pleasant gifts of nature they make much of. But those pleasures which be received by the ears, the iyes, and the nose, which nature willeth to be proper and peculiar to man (for no other kind of living beasts doth behold the fairness and the beauty of the world, or is 〈◊〉 with awny respect of savours, bu● o●ly for the diversity of meats▪ ●other perceiveth the concordaunt and discor●ante distances of ●oundes, and tu●es) these pleasures (I say) they accept and allow as certain pleasant rejoicings of life. But in all things this ca●tell they use, that a less pleasure hi●der not a bigger, & that the pleasure be no cause of displeasure/ which they think to follow of necessity if the pleasure be unhoveste. But yet to despise the comeliness of beauty, to waste the bodily strength, to turn nimbleness into s●o●ghishnes, to consume and make feeble the boddye with fasting, to do iviury to health, and to reject the other pleasant motyous of nature (unless a man neglect these his commodities, whiles he doth with a fervent zeal procure the wealth of others, or the comen profit, for the which pleasure forborn he is in hope of a greater pleasure of GOD) else for a vain shadow of virtue, for the wealth and proffette of no man to punish himself, or to the intent he may be able ●●●●ragiouslye to suffer adversities which perchance shall never come to him: this to do they think it ● point of extreme mad●es, and a to●en of a man cruelly minded to warde● himself, and unkind toward nature, as one so disdaining to be in her danger, that he 〈◊〉 and refuseth all her benefits. This is their sentence and opinion of virtue and pleasure. And they believe that by man's reason 〈◊〉 ca● be found truer than this, unless any godlyer be inspired into man from heaven. Wherein whethe● they believe well or no, neither the time ●othe suffer us to discuss, neither it is ●owe necessary. For we have taken upon us to show and declare theyrlore● and or de●aunces, and not to defend them. But this thing I believe verily: how soever these decrees be, that their is in no place of the world, no●ther a more excellent people, nother's more flourishing comen wealth. They be light and quick of body full of activity and nimbleness, and of more strength than a manwold judge them by their stature, which 〈◊〉 ●ll that is not to low. And though theyrt soil be not very fruitful, nor their air very wholesome, yet against the air they so defend them with temperate diet, and so order and husband their ground with diligent travail, that in no country is greater increase, and plenty of 〈◊〉 and cattle, nor men's bodies of longer life, and subject or apt to fewet defeases. There therefore a man may see well and diligently exploited and furnished, not only those things which husbandmen do 〈◊〉 in other countries: as by craft and c●●ming to remedy the harrennes of the ground: but also a hole wood by the hands of the people plucked up by the roots in one place and set agay●t in an other place. Wherein was had regard and consideration not of plenty but of commodious carriage, that wood and timber might be nigher to the ●ea, or the rivers, or the cities. For it is less● labour and business to carry grayve far by land then wood. The people be gentle, merry, quick, and sign witted, delighting in quyet●es, and when need requireth, able to abide and suffer much bodily labour. else they be not greatly desirous and fond of it: but in the exercise and studdye of the mind they be ●euer weary. When they had hard me speak of the Greek lytterarature or learning (for in Latyve their was nothing that I thougthe they would grea●elye allow, besides hystorpeus and poets) they made wonderful earnest and importunate suit unto me, that I would teach and instruct them in that tongue and learning. I began therefore to read: unto them, at the first iruelye more because I would not seem to refuse the labour, then that I hooped that they would any thing profit therein. But when I had gone forward a little and perceived incontyvente by their diligence that my labour should not be bestowed in vain, for they begaune so easily to fassyo● their letters, so plainly to pronounce the words, so quickly to learn by heart, and so surely to rehearse the same, that I marveled at it, saving that the most part of them were fine, and chosen wits, and of ripe age, piked out of the company of the learned men, which not only of their own face and voluntary will but also by the commandment of the council, undertook to learn this language. Therefore in less than three years space their was nothing in the Greek tongue that they lacked. They were able to read good author's 〈◊〉 any stays, if the book were not false. This kind of learning, as I suppose they took so much the sou●●er, because, it is sum what allyaunte to them. For I think that this nation took their beginning of the Greeks, because their speech which in all other points is not much unlike the persian tongue, keepeth dyue●s sig●es and too●●ens of the greek language in the names of their cities and of their magistrates. They have of me (for when I was determined to enter into my four voyage I cast into the ship in the stead of merchandise a pretty farthel of books: because I inteuded to come again rather never than shortly) the most part of Plato's works, more of Aristotle's, also Theophrastus of plants, but in divers places (which I am sorry for) unperfect. For whiles we were sailing, a mormo●e●● chanced upon the book, as it was neglygentlye laid by, which wa● tonlye playing therewith, plucked out certain leaves, and toord them in pieces. Of them that have written the grammar they have only Lascaris. For Theodorus I carried not with me, nor never a dyctyonarye but Hesichius and Dioscorides. They set great store by plutarchs books. And they be delighted with Lucianes' merry conceits and jests. Of the Poettes they have Aristophanes Homer, Euripides, and Sophocles in Aldus small print. Of the Historyans they have Thucydides, Herodotus, and Herodian. Also my companion Tricius Apinatus carried with him physic books, certain small works of Hippo crates, and galen's Microtechue. The which book they have in great esty●atyon. For though there he almost no nation under heaven that hath less need of Physic than they, yet this notwithstanding Physic is nowhere in greater honour. Because they count the knowledge of it among the goodliest, and most profitable parts of Philosophy. For whiles they by the help of this Philosophy search out the secret mysteries of nature, they think that they not only receive there by wonderful great pleasure, but also obtain great thanks and favour of the author and maker thereof. Whom they think according to the fashion of other artificers to have set forth the marvelous and gorgeous frame of the world for man to behold. Whom only he hath made of wit and capacytye to consider and understand the excellency of so great a work. And therefore say they doth he bear more good will and love to the curious and diligent beholder and vewere of his work & maruelour at the same, than he doth to him, which like a very beast without wit and reason, or as one without sense or moving, hath no regard to so great and so wonderful a spectacle. The wits therefore of the Vtopians inurede and exercised in learning, he marueious quick in the invention of feats, helping any thing to the advantage and wealth of life. Howebeyt two feats they may thank us for. That is the science of imprinting and the craft of making paper. And yet not only us but chiefly and principally themselves. For when we shewede to them Aldus his pryute in books of paper, and told them of the stuff whereof paper is made, and of the feat of graving letters, speaking somewhat more than we cold plainly declare (for there was none of us that knew perfectly other the one or the other) they forthwith very wyttelye conjectured the thing. And where as before they wrote o●ely in skins, in barks of tries, & in rides, now they have attempted to make paper & to imprint letters. And though at the first it prou●● not all of the best, yet by often assayinge the same they shortly got the feat of both. And have so brought the matter about, that if they had copies of Greek authores, they could lack no books. But now they have no more, than I rehearsed before, saving that by printing of books they have multiplied and increased the same into many thousand of copies: Who soever cometh thither to see the land, being excellent in any gift of wit, or through much and song iournyenge well experiensed and seen in the knowledge of many countries (for the which cause we were very welcome to them) him they receive and entertain wonders gently, and lovingly. For they have delight to hear what is done in every land, howebeyt very few merchant men come thythere. For what should they bring thither? unless it were Iron, or else gold and silver, which they had rather carry home again. Also such things as are to be carried out of their land, they think it more wisdom to carry that gee● forth themselves, then that other should come thither to fetch it, to th'intent they may the better know the owte lands of every side them, and keep in ure the feat and knowledge of sailing.   

Of bondmen, sick persons, wedlock, and divers other matters.  
THey neither make bondmen of prisoners taken in battle, whiles it be in battle that the fowghte themselves, nor bondemen children, nor to be short any man whom they can get out of an other country, though he were their a bondman. But other such as among themselves for heinous offences be punished with bondage, or else such as in the cities of other lands for great trespasses be condemned to death. And of this sort of hondemen they have most store. Formanye of them they bring home sometimes paying very little for them, yea most commonly getting them for gramercy. these sorts of bondmen they keep not only in continual work and labour, but also in bands. But their own men they handle hardest, whom they judge more desperate and to have deseruede greater punishment, because they being so godly brought up to virtue in so excellent a common wealth, cold not for all that be refrained from misdoing. another kind of bondmen they have, when a vile drudge being a poor labourer in an other cowntreye doth chewse of his own free will to be a bondman among them. these they handle and order honestelye, and entertain almost as gently, as their owns free cytyzeyns, saving that they put them to a little more labour, as thereto accustomede. If any such be disposed to depart thence (which seldom is seen) they neither hold him against his will, neither send him away with empty hands. The sp●ke (as I said) they see to with great affection, and let nothing at all pass concerning other physic or good diet, whereby they may be restored again to their health. Them that be sick of iucurable diseases they comfort with sitting by them, with talking with them and to be sh●●te with all manner of helps that may be. But if the disease be not only uncurable, but also full of continual pain and angnyshe: then the priess●s and the magistrates exhort the man, seeing he is not able to do any duty of life, and by overlyving his own death is noisome and irk some to other, and grievous to himself: that he will determine with himself no longer to cherish that pestilent and painful disease. And saying his life is to him but a torment, that he will not be unwilling too die, but rather take a good hope to him, and other dispatch himself out of that painful life, as out of a prison, or a rack of torment, o●●lles suffer himself willingly to be rid out of it by other. And in so d●ynge they tell him he shall do wisely, saying by his death he shall lice no commodity, but ends his pain. And bycaufe with at act he shall follow the counsel of the pryestes, that is to say of the interpreters of gods will and pleasure, they show him that he shall do ●yke a godly and a virtuous man: They that be thus persuaded finish their lives wylly●glye other with hunger, or else die in their steape without any fealnige of death. Bu● they cause none such to die agaynte his will, nor they use no less diligence and attendance about him: believing this to be an honourable death. else he that killeth himself before that the prpestes and the counsel have allowed the cause of his death, him as unworthy both of the earth and of fire, they cast unburied into some stinking marish. The woman is not married before the be xviij. years old. The man is four years elder before he marry. If other the man or the woman be proved to have bodily offended before their marriage, with an other, he or she whether it be is sharply punished. And both the offenders be forbidden ever after in all their life to marry: whiles the fault be forgiven by the princes pardon. But both the good man and the good wife of the house where that offence was done, as being slack and negligent in looking to there charged, be in danger of great reproach and infamy. That offence is so sharply punished, because they perceive, that unless they he diligently kept from the liberty of this vice, few will join together in the love of marriage, wherein all the life must be led with one, & also all the griefs & displeasures that come therewith must patiently be taken & borne. Furthermore in cheusing wives and husbands they observe earnestly and ●●raytelye a custom which seemed to us very fond and foolish. For a sad & ●n honest matron showeth the wom●● be she maid or widow 〈◊〉 to the wooer. And likewise a sage and discrete man exhibyteth the wowere naked to the woman. At this custom we laughed a●d disallowed 〈◊〉 foolish. But they on the other part do greatly wo●der at the folly of all other nations, which in buying a colt▪ where as a little money is in hazard, be so chary and circumspect, that though he ●e almost all bare, yet they will not buy him, whiles▪ the saddle and all the harness be taken of, least v●der those coverings be hid some galle●● sore. And yet in chewsing a wife, which shallbe other pleasure, or displeasure to them all their life after, they be so reckless, that all the residue of the woomans' body, being co●ered with cloothes, they esteem here scaselye be one handebredeth (for they can see no more but her face) and so do join her to them not without great jeopardy of evil agrei●g together, if any thing in her body afterward do offend a●d mislike them. For all men be not so wise as to have respect to the virtuous conditions of the party. And the endowmentes of the body cause the virtues of the mind more to be esteemed and regarded: ●ea even in the marriages of w●se men. We rely so fowl deformity may be hid under thoes coverings, that it may quite alienate & take away the ●●ans mind from his wife, when it shall not be lawful for their bodies to be sep●rate again. If such deformity happen by any chance after the marriage is consummate and finished: well, there is no remedy but patience. Every man must take his fortune well a worth. But it were well done that a law were made whereby all such deceits might be eschewed, & avoided before hand. And this were they conster y●ed more earnestly to look upon, because they only of the the nations in that part of the world be content every man with one wife a piece. And matrymoney is there never broken, but by death, except adultery break the bond, or else the intolerable wayward manners of either party. For if either of them find themself for any such cause grieved: they may by the licence of the council change and take an other. But the other party liveth ever after in infamy and out of wedlock. But for the husband to put away his wife for no fault, but for that some mishap is falle● to her body, this by no meres they will suffer. For they judge it a great point of cruelty that any▪ body in their most need of help and comfort, should be cast of and forsaken, and that old age which both bringeth sy●knes with it, and is a sickness itself, should unkindly & unfaithfully be dealt withal. But now and then it chanceth, where as the man and the woman cannot well agree between themselves, both of them fyndy●ge other with whom they hope to live more quietly and merrily, that they by the full consent of them both be divorced a sunder and new majied to other. But that not without the authority of the council. Which agreeth to no divorces, before they and their wife's have diligently tried and examined the matter. Yea and then also they be loath to consent to it, because they know this to be the next way to break love between man and wife, to be in easy hope of a new marriage. Breakers of wedlock be punished with most greuo●s bondage. And if both the offenders were married, the● the parties which in that behalf have suffered wrong be divorced from the adulterers if they will, and be married together, or else to whom they lust. But if either of them both do still continue in love toward so unkind a bedfellow, the use of wedlock is not to them forbidden, if the party be disposed to follow in toiling and drudgery the person, which for that offence is condemned to bondage. And very oft it chanceth that the repentance of the one and the earnest diligence of the other, doth so move the prince with pity and compassion, that he restoreth the bo●de person from servitude to liberty and freedom again. But if the same party be taken eftsoons in the fault, there is no otherway but death. To other trespasses there is no prescript punishment appointed by any law. But according to the hey●ouse●es of the offence, or contrary, so the punishment is moderated by the discretion of the council. The husbands chastise their wife's: and the parents their children, whiles they have done any so horrible an offence, that the open punishment thereof maketh much for the advancement of honest ma●ers. But most commonly the most heinous faults be punished with the in commodity of bondage. For that they suppose to be to the offenders no less grief, and to the common wealth more profitable, then if they should hastily put them to death, and make them out of the way. For there cometh more profit of their labour, then of their death, and by their example they fear other the longer from like offences. But if they being thus used do rebel and kick again, then forsooth they be stain as desperace and wild beasts, whom ●o their prison nor chay●e could restrain and keep under. But they which take their bondage patiently be not left all hopeless. For after they have been broken and tamed with long miseries, if then they show such repentance, whereby it may be perceived that they be sorrier for their offence then for their punishment: sometimes by the Princes' prerogative, and sometimes by the voice and consent of the people, their bondage other is mitigated, or else clean remitted and forgiven. He that moveth to aduo●trye is in no less danger and jeopardy, then if he had committed adultery in deed. For in all offences they count the intent and pretenced purpose as evil as the act or deed itself. For they think that no let owghte to excuse him, that did his best too have no let. They set great store by fools. And as it is great reproach to do to any of them hurt or injury, so they prohibit not to take pleasure of foolishness. For that they thy●ke doth much good to the fools. And if any man be so sad and stern, that he cannot laugh neither at their words nor at their deeds, none of them be committed to his tuition: for fear lest he would not ordre them gently and favourably enough: to whom they should bring no delectation (for other goodies in them is none) much less any profit should they yield him. To mock a man for his deformity, or for that he lacketh any part or limb of his body, is counted great dishonesty and reproach not to him that is mocked, but to him that mocketh. Which unwisely doth imbrayde any ma● of that as a vice, which was not in his pour to eschew. Also as they count and reckon very little wit to be in him that regardeth not natural beauty and comeliness, so to help the same with pay●tinges is taken for a vay●e and a wanton pride, not without great infamy. For they know even by very experience, that no comeliness of beauty doth so highly commend and advance the wives in the conceit of there husbands, as honest conditions and lowliness. For as love is oftentimes won with beauty, so it is not kept preserved and continued, but by virtue and obedience. They do not only fear their people from doing evil by punishments, but also allure them to virtue with rewards of honour. Therefore they set up in the market place the images of notable men, and of such as have been great & bountiful benefactors to the commo● wealth, for the perpetual memory of their good acts: and also that the glory & renown of the ancestors may stir & provoke their posterity to virtue. He that inordina●lie & ambitiously desireth p●omotions is left all hopeless for ever attaining any promotion as long as he liveth. They live together lovingly. For no magistrate is ●ther haw●e or ●erefull. Fathers they be called, and like fathers they use themselves. The citizens (as it is their duty) do willingly exhibit unto them dew honour without any compulsion. Nor the prince himself is not known from the other by his apparel nor by a crown or diade me or cap of maintenau●ce, but by a little sheaf of corn carried before him. And so a taper of wax is borne before the bishop, whereby only he is known. They have but few laws. For to people so instruct a●d institute very few do suffice. Yea this thing they chiefly reprove among other nations, that innumerable books of laws and expositions upon thesame be not sufficient. But they think it against all right and ●ustice that men should be bound to thoes laws, which other be in numbered ●o then be able to be read or else blinder and darher, then that any man can well understand them. Furthermore they utterly exclude and banish all proctors & sergeants at the law: which craftily handle matters, & subtly dispute of the laws. For they think it most meet, that every mā●huld plead his own matter, & tell thesame tale before the judge, that he would tell to his man of law. So shall there be less circumstance of words, & the truth shall sooner come to light, whiles the judge with a discrete judgement doth way the words of him whom no lawyer hath instruct with deciet, & whiles he helpeth and beareth out simple wits against the false & malicious circū●ertions of crafty children. This is hard to be observed in other countries in so infinity a numbered of blind and intricate laws. But in Utopia every man is a cunning lawyer. For as I said they have very few laws: and the playnner and grosser that any interpretation is: that they allow as most just. For all laws (say they) be made and published only to thenthente, that by them every man should be put in remembrance of his duty. But the crafty and subtle interpretation of them can put very few in that remembrance (for they be but few that do perceive them) where as the simple the plain & gross meaning of the laws is open to every man. Else as touching the vulgar sort of the people, which be both most in ●umbre, & have most need to know their duties, were it not as good for them that no law were made at all, as when it is made, to bring so blind an interpretation upon it, that without great wit and long arguing no man can discuss it? To the finding out whereof neither the gross judgement of the people can attain, not her the hole life of them that be occupied in working for their livings can suffice thereto. these virtues of the Vtopians have caused their next neighbours and borderers, which live fire and under no subjection (for the Vtopians long ago have delyue●ed many of them from tyranny) to take magistrates of them some for a year, and some for five years space. Which when the time of their office is expired, they br●●ge home again with honour and praise, and take new onhis again with them into their country. these nations have undoubtedly very well and holsomlye provided for their common wealths. For saying that both the ma●yng and the marring of the weal public doth depend and hang of the manners of the rulers a●d magistrates, what officers could they more wisely have chosen, than thoes which cannot be led from honesty by bribes (for to them that shortly after shall depart the●s into their own country money should be unprofitable) nor yet be moved other with favour, or malice towards any man, as being strangers and unacquainted with the people. The which two vices of affection and auryce where they take place in judgements, incontinent they break justice, the strongest and suereste bond of a common wealth. these peoples which fetch their officers and rulers from them the Vtopians call their fellows. And other to whom they have been beneficial, they call their friends. As touching leagues, which in other places between country and country be so oft concluded, broken, and made again, they never make none with any nation. For to what purpose serve leagues say they? As though nature had not set sufficient lo●e between man and man. And who so regardeth not nature think you that he will pass for words? They be brought into this opinion chiefly because that in thoes parties of the world leagues between princes be wont to be kept and observed very slenderly. For here in Europ●, and especially in these parts where the faith and religion of Christ reigneth, the majesty of leagues is every where esteemed holly and inviolable: partly through the justice and goodness of princes, and partly through the reverence of great bishops. Which like as they make no promise themselves but they do very religiously perform thesame so they exhort all princes in any wise to abide by their promises, and them that refuse or deny so to do, by their pontifical power and authority they compel thereto. And surely they think well that it might seem a very reproachful thing, if in the ●eagues of them which by a pecu●iare name ●e called faithful faith should have no place. But in that newefo●nde part of the world which is scaselye so far from us beyond the ly●e equinoctial, as hour life and manners be disside●te from theirs, no trust nor confidence is in leagues. But the more and holier ceremonies the league is knyt●e up with, the so●er it is broken: by some cavillation found in the words, which many times of purpose be so craftily put in, and placed, that the bands can never be so sure nor so strong, but they will find some hole open to creep out at, and to break both league and truth. The which crafty dealing, yea the which fraud and deceit, if they should know it to be practised among private men in their bargains and contracts, they would incontinent cry out at it with a sour countenance, as an offence most detestable, and worthy to be punished with a shameful death: yea even very they that advance themselves authors of like council given to princes. Wherefore it may well be thought other that all justice is but a base and a low virtue, and which avaleth itself far under the high dignity of kings. Or at the least wise, that there be two justices, the one meet for the inferior sort of the people, going a foot and cr●pynge by ●owe on the ground, and bound down on every side with many bands, because it shall not run at rovers. The other a princely virtue, which like as it is of much higher majesty than the other poor justice, so also it is of much more liberty, as to the which nothing is unlawful that it lusteth after. these manners of princes (as I said) which be there so evil keepers of leagues cause the Vtopians, as I suppose, to make no leagues at all, which perchance would change their mind i● they lived here. Howbeit they think that though leagues be never so faithfully observed and kept, yet the custom of making leagues was very evil be gone. For this causeth men (as though nation's which be separate a sondre by the space of a little hill or a river, were compled together by ●o society or bond of nature) to think themselves borne adversaries and enemies one to an other, and that it is lawful for the one to seek the death and destruction of the other, it leagues were not: yea and that after the leagues be accorded, f●yndeshyppe doth not grow and increase: But the licence of robbing and stealing doth still remain, as far●urthe as for lack of foresight and advisement in writing the words of the league any sentence or clause to the contrary is not therein sufficiently comprehended. But they be of a contrary opinion. That is that no man ought to be counted an enemy, which hath done no injury. And that the fellowship of nature is a strong league: and that men be better and more surely knit togethers by love & benevolence, them by covenants of leagues, by hearty affection of mind then by words.   

Of warfare▪  
War or battle a● a thing very ●rast●lye, and yet to no kind of beasts in so much use as it is to man, they do detest and abhor. And contrary to the custom almost of all other nations, they cowrte nothing somuch against glory, as glory gotten in war. And therefore though they do daily practise and exercise themselves in the discipline of war, and that not only the men but also the women upon certain appointed days, lest they should ●e to seek in the feat of arms if nead should require, yet they never to go to battle, but other in the defence of their own cowntreye or to dry●e ow●e of their friends land the enemies that be comen in, or by their power to deliver from the yoke and bondage of tyranny so●●e people that be oppressed with tyranny. Which thing they do of mere pity and compassion. Howbeit they send help to their friends not ever in their defence. But sometimes also to requite and revenge injuries before to them done. But this they do no●●●les their counsel and advise in the matter be asked whiles it is yet new and fresh. For if they find the cause probable, and if the contrary part will not restore again such things as be of them justly demanded, than they be the chyeffe auctores and makers of the war. Which they do not only as oft as ●y inroads and invasions of soldiers prays and booties be driven away, but then also much more mortally, when their friends merchants in any land other under the pretence of unjust laws, or else by the wresting & wrong understanding of good laws do sustain an unjust accusation under the colour of justice. Nother the battle which the utopians fowghte for the Nephelogetes against the Alaopolitanes a little before our time was made for any other cause, but that the Nephelogete merchant men as the utopians thought suffered wrong of the Alaopolita●es▪ under the pretence of right. But whether it were right or wrong, it was with so cruel and mortal war revenged, the countries round about joining their help and power to the puissance and malice of both parties, that most flourishing and wealthy people's being some of them shrewedely shaken, and some of them sharply beaten, the mischiefs were not finished nor ended, until the Alaopolitanes at the last were yielded up as bondmen into the jurisdiction of the Nephelogetes. For the utopians fought not this war for themselves. And yet the Nephelogetes before the war, when the Alaopolitanes flourished in wealth were nothing to be compared with them. So eagerly the Vtopians prosecute the injuries done to their friends yea in money matters, and not their own likewise. For if they by co●eyne or guile be wiped beside their goods, so that no violence be done to their bodies, they wreak their anger by abstaining from occupying with that nation until they have made satisfaction. Not for because they set less store by their own cytyzeyns, then by their friends: but that they take the loss of their friends money more heavily than the loss of their own. Because that their friends merchant men, forasmuch as that they leise is their own private goo●des, sustain great damage by the loss. But their own citizeyns leise nothing but of the comen goods, a●d of the which was at home plentiful and almost superfluous, else had it not been sent forth. Therefore no man feeleth the loss. And for this cause they think it to cruel an act to revenge that loss with the death of many, the incommodity of the which loss no man feeleth neither in his li●fe, neither in his living. But if it chance that any of their men in any other country be maimed or killed, whether it be done by a comen or a private council, knowing and trying out the truth of the matter by their ambassadors, ogles the offenders be rendered unto them in recompense of the injury, they will not be appeased: but incontinent they proclaim war against them The offenders yielded they punish other with death or with bondage. They be not only sorry, but also ashamed to achieve the victory with much blood shed, courting it great folly to buy pretyo●s wares to dear. They rejoice and avaunt themselves if they vaynquyshe and oppress their enemies by craft and deceit. And for that act they make a general triumph, and as if the matter were manfully handled they s●tt up a pillar of stone in the place where they so vanquished their enemies in token of the victory. For than they glory than they booste and crack that they have played the men in deed, when they have so over comen, as no other living creature but only ma● could: that is to say by the might and pusyaunce of wit. For with boddelye strength (say they) bears, lions, ●oores, wulffes, dogs and other wild beasts do fight. And as the most part of them do pass us in strength and fierce courage, so in wit and reason we be much stronger than they all. their chief and principal purpose in war is to obtain that thing, which if they had before obtained they would not have moved battle. But if that be not possible, they take so cruel vengeance of them which be in the fault, that ever after they be afeard to do the like. This y● their cheyffe and principal intent, which they immediately and first of all prosecute, and set forward▪ But yet in, that they be more circumspect in avoiding and eschewing▪ jeopardies, than they be desy●rous of praise and renown. Therefore immediately after that war is one's solemnly denounced, they procure many proclamations signed with their own comen seal to be set up privily at one time in their enemies land, in places most frequented. In these proclamatyons they promise great rewards to him that w●ll kill their enemy's prince and somewhat less gifts, but them very great also for every head of them▪ whose names be in the said proclamations contained. They be those whom they count their chief adversaries, next unto the prince. What soever is prescribed unto him that killeth any of the proclaimed persons, that is d●bled to him that bringeth any of the same to them alive, yea and to the proclaimed persons themselves, if they will change their minds and come into them taking their parts, they proffer the same great rewards with pardon, and surety of their liaves. Therefore it quickly comes to pass that they have all other men in suspicion, and be unfaithful and mistrusting among themselves one to another, liu●●g in great fear and in no lose jeopardy. For it is well known that divers times the most part of them, a●d specially the prince him self hath been betrayed of them in whom they put their most hoop and trust. So that there is no ma●●r of act nor deed that gifts & rewards do not enforce men unto. And in rewards they keep no measure. But remembering and considering into how great hazard and jeopardy they call them, endeavour themselves to recompen●e the greatness of the danger with like great benefits. And therefore they promiss not only wonderful great abundance of gold, but also lands of great revenues dying in most sauffe places among their friends. And their promises they perform faithfully without any 〈◊〉 or covin. This custom of buying and selling adversaries among other people is dysallowed, as acruell act of a base a●d a cowardys●e mind. But they in this behalf think themselves much praise worthy, as who like wise men by this means dispatch great wars without any battle or skyruyshe. Yea they cownte it also a deed of pity and mercy, because that by the death of a few offenders the lives of a great ●●mber of ynuocentes aswell of their own men as also of their enemies be ransomed & saved, which i● fight should have been sleane. For they do no less pity the base and comen sor●e of their enemies people, than they do their own: knowing that they be driven to war against their wills by the furious madness of their princes a●d heads. If by none of these means the matter go forward, as they would have it, than they procure occasions of debate, and dyssentyon to be spread among their enemies. As by bringing the princes brother, or some of the noble men in hoop to obtain the kingdom. If this way prevail not, than they raise up the people that be next neygheboures and borderers to their enemies, and them they set in their necks▪ under the colour of some old title of right, such as kings do never lack. To them they promise their help a●d aid in their war. And as for money they give them abundance. But of their own cytyzeyns they send to them few or none. Whom they make so much of, a●d love so intyerlye, that they wol●e not be willing to change avy of them for their adversaries prince. But their gold and silver, because they keep it all for this only purpose, they lay it out frankly and freely: as who should live even as wealthily, if they had bestowed it every penny. Yea and besides their riches, which they keep at home, they have also a● in fy●yte treasure abroad, by reason that (as I said before) many nations be in their debt. Therefore they hyere soldiers out of all countries and send them to battle, but cheiflye of the Zapo●etes. This people is .500. miles from Utopia eastewarde. They be hideous savage and fierce, dwelling in wild woods and high mountains, where they were bred & brought up. They be of an hard nature, able to abide and sustain heat, cold, & labour, abhorring from all delicate deyntyes, occupying no husbandry nor ty●lage of the ground, homely a●d rude both in the building of their houses & in their apparel, given unto no goodness, but only to the breed and bringing up of cattle. The most part of their living is by huntynge and stealing. They be borne only to war, which they diligently and earnestly seek for. And when they have gotten it, they be wonders glad thereof. They go forth of their country in great companies together, and who soever lacketh soldiers, there they proffer their service for small wages. This is only the craft that they have to get their living by. They maintain their life, by seeking their death. For them whomewyth they be in wayges they fight hardly fyerslye, a●d faythefullye. But they bind themselves for no certain tyme. But vpo● this condition they enter into bonds, that the next day they will take part with the other side for greater wayges, and the next day after that they will be ready to come back again for a little more money. There be few wars there away, wherein is not a great numbered of them in both parties. Therefore it daily chanceth that nigh kinsfolk which were hired togetheron one part, and there very fryndelye and familiarly used themselves one with an other, shortly after being separate into contrary parts, run one against an other enuyouslye and fyercelye: and forgetting both kindred and petition, thrust their sword one in another. And that for none other cause, but that they be hired of contrary princes for a little money. Which they do so hyghelye regard and esteem, that they will easily be provoked to change parts for a halfpenye more wayges by the day. So quickly they have taken a smack in covetesenes. Which for all that is to them no profit. For that they get by syghting, ymmmedyatelye they spend unthryftelye and wretchedly in ryott. This people fight for the Vtopyans against all natyo●s, because they give them greater wayges, than any other nation will. For the Vtopians like as they seek good men to use well, so they seek these evil and vicious men to abuse. Whom when need requireth with promises of great rewards they put forth into great jeopardies. From whence the most part of them never cometh again to ask their rewards. But to them that remain on li●e they pay the which they promised faithfully, that they may be the more willing to put themselves in like dangers another time. Nor the Vtopians pass not how many of them they bring to destruction. For they believe that they should do a very good dead for all mankind, if they could rid out of the world all that fowl stinking den of that most wicked and cursed people. Next unto these they use the soldiers of them whom they fight for. And then the help of their other friends. And last of all they join to their own citizens. Among whom they give to one of tried virtue and prows the rule goovernaunce and conductyon of the holy army. Under him they appoint ij. other, which whiles he is sauffe be both private and out of office. But if he be taken or slain, the one of the other two succeedeth him, as it were by in heritance. And if the second miscarry then the third taketh his room, least that (as the chance of battle is uncertain and doubtful) the yeopardye or death of the capitain should bring the hole army in hazard. They choose soldiers out of every city those which put forth themselves willingly. For they thrust no man forth into war against his will. Because they believe, if any man be fearful and faint hearted of nature, he will not only do no manful and hardy act himself, but also by occasion of cowardness to his fellows. But if any battle be made against their own country, than they put these cowards so that they be strong bodied in ships among other bold hearted men. Or else they dispose them upon the walls, from whence they may not fly. Thus what for shame that their enemies be at hand, and what for because they be without hope of running away, they forget all fear. And many times extreme necessity turneth cowardness into prows and manliness. But as none of them is thrust forth of his country into war against his will, so women that be willing to accompany their h●sbandes in times of war be not prohibited or stopped. Yea they provoke and exhort them to it with praises. A●d in set field the wives do stand every one by here own husbands side. Also every man is compassed next about with his own children, kins folks and alliance. That they, whom nature chiefly moveth to mutual succour, thus standing together, may help one an other. It is a great reproach and dishonesty for the husband to come home without his wife, or the wife without her husband, or the son without his father. And therefore if the other part stick so hard by it, that the bartell come to their hands, it is fought with great slaughter & bloodshed, even to the utter destruction of both parts. For as they make all the means and shyf●es that may be to keep themselves from the necessity of fighting, so that they may dispatch the battle by their hired soldiers: so when there is no remedy but that they must needs fight themselves then they do as corragiouslye fall to it, as before, whiles they might, they did wisely avoid i●. Nor they be not most fierce at the first brunt. But in continuance by little and little their fierce courage increaseth, with so stubborn and obstinate minds, that they will rather die then give back an inch. For that surety of living, which every man hath at home being joined with no careful anxiety or remembrance how their posterity shall live after them (for this pensiveness oftentimes breaketh a●d abateth courageous stomachs) maketh them stout and hardy, and dysdaynful to be conquered. Moreover their knowledge in chivalry and feats of arms putteth them in a good hope. Finally the wholesome and virtuous opinions, wherein they were brought up even from their childhood, partly through learning, and partly through the good ordinances and laws of their weal public augment and increase their manful courage. By reason whereof they neither set so little store by their lives that they will rashly & unadvisedly cast them away: nor they be not so far in lewd & fond love therewith, that they will shamefully covet to keep them, when honesty biddeth leave them. When the battle is hottest & in all places most fierce & fervent, a bend of chosen a●d picked young men, which besworne to live & die togethers, take upon them to destroy their adversaries captain, him they invade now with privy wyeles, now by open strength. At him they strike both near & far of. He is assailed with a long & a continewal assault, fresh men still coming in the waried men's places. And seldom it chanceth (unless he save himself by flying) that he is not other slain, or ●ls taken prisoner, & yielded to his enemies alive. If they win the field, they persecute not their enemies with the violent rage of slaughter. For they had rather take them alive then kill them. Nother they do so follow the chase & pursuit of their enemies, but they leave behind them one part of their host in battle array under their s●andardys. In so much that if all their hole army be discumfetyd and overcum saving the rearward, & that they therewith achieve the victory, the● they had rather let all their enemies scape, then to follow them out of array. For they remember it hath chanced v●to themselves more than o●es: the hole power & strength of their host being vanquished & put to flight, whiles their enemies rejoicing in the victory have persecuted them flying some one way and some an other, few of their men lying in an ambusshe, there ready at all occasions, have suddenly risen upon them thus dispersed & scattered out of array, and through presumption of safety unadvisedly pursuing the chase: and have incontinent changed the fortune of the hole battle: and spite of there tethes wresting out of their hands the sure & v●dowted victory, being a little before conquered have for their part conquered the conquerors. It is hard to say whether they be craftier in laying an ambusshe, or wittier in ●duoydynge thesame. Yowe would think they intend to f●ye▪ whem they ●eane nothing less. And contrary wise when they go about that purpose▪ you would believe it were the least part of their thought. For it they perceive themselves other overmatched in numbered, or closed in to narrow a place, than they remove their camp other in the ●yght season with silence, or by some policy they deceive their enemies, or in the day time they retiere back so softly, that it is no less jeopardy to meddle with them when they give back then when they preese on. They fence and fortify their camp sewerlye with a deep and a broad trench. The earth thereof is cast inward. Nor they do not set drudgeiss and slaves a work about it. It is done by the ha●des of the soldiers themselves. All the hole army worketh upon it: except them that watch in harness before the trench for sudden adventures. Therefore by the labour of so many a large trench closing in a great compass of ground is made in less time than any man would believe. Their armour or harness which they wear is sure and strong to receive strokes, and handsome for all movings and gestures of the body, in so much that it is not unwieldy to swim in. For in the discipline of their warfare among other feats they learn to swim in harness. Their weapons be arrows afar of: which they shoot both strongly and surely, not only footmen but also horsemen. At hand strokes they use not sword but pole-axes which be mortal, aswell in sharpness as in weight, both for foins and down strokes. Engines for war they devise and invent wonders wittily. Which when they be made they keep very secret, least if they should be known before need require, they should be but laughed at, and serve to no purpose. But in making them hereunto they have chief respect, that they be both easy to be carried and handsome to be moved and turned about. Truce taken with their enemies for a short time they do so fermelye and faithfully keep, that they will not break it: no not though they be their unto provoked. They do not waste nor destroy there enemies la●de with forraginges, nor they burn not up their corn. Yea they save it as much as may be from being onerrune and trodden down other with men or horses, thinking that it groweth for their own use and profit. They hurt no man that is unarmed unless he be an espial. All cities that be yielded unto them, they defend. And such as they win by force of assault they no there despoil nor sack, but them that withstood and dyswaded the yielding up of thesame they put to death, the other soldiers they punnyshe with bondage. All the weak multitude they leave untouched. If they know that a●ye cytezeins counseled to yield and rendre up the city, to them they give part of the condemned men's goods. The residue they distribute and give freely among them, whose help they had in thesame war. For none of themselves taketh any portion of the pray. But when the battle is finished and ended, they put their friends to never a penny cost of all the charges that they were at, but lay it upon their necks that be conquered. Them they burde●ne with the hole charged of their expenceis, which they demand of them partly in money to be kept for like use of battle, and partly in sands of great revenues to be paid unto them yearly for ever. Such revenues they have now in ma●ye countries. Which by little and little rising of divers and sundry causes be increased above vij hundredth thousand ducats by the year. Thither they send forth some of their citezei●s as Lieuete●auntes, to live their sumptuously like men of honour and renown. And yet this notwithstanding much money is saved, which cometh to the comen treasury: unless it so chance, that they had rather trust the country with the money. Which many times they do so long until they have need to occupy it. And it seldom happeneth, that they demand all▪ Of these lands they assign part unto them, which at their request & exhortation put themselves in such jeopardies as I spoke of before. If any prince stir up war against them, intending to invade their land, they meet him incontinent out of their own borders with great power and strength. For they never lightly make war in their own countries. Nor they be never brought into so extreme necessity as to take help out of foreign lands into thire own Island.   

Of the religyons in Utopia.  
THere be divers kinds of religion not only in sundry parts of the Island, but also in divers places of every city. Some worship for God the sun: some the moan, some some other of the planets. There be that give worship to a man that was o●es of excellent virtue or of famous glory, not only as God, but also as the chiefest & highest God. But the most and the wisest part (rejecting all these) believe that there is a certain Godly power unknown, everlasting, incomprehensible, inexplicable, far above the capacity and reach of manswitte, dispersed through out all the world, not in byg●es, but in virtue a●d power. Him they call the father of all. To him alone they attribute the beginnings, the encreasynges, the proceedings, the changes, and the ends of all things. Nother they give divine honours to any other then to him. Yea all the other also, though they be in divers opinions, yet in this point they agree all togethers with the wisest sort in believing that there is one chief and principal God the maker and ruler of the hole world: whom they all commonly in their country language call Mythra. But in this they disagree that among some he is counted one, and among some an other. For every one of them, whatsoever that is which he taketh for the chief God, thinketh it to be the very same nature, to whose only divine might and majesty the some and sovereignty of all things by the consent of all people is attributed and given. How be it they all begin by little and little to forsake & fall from this variety of superstitions, and to agree togethers in that religion which seemeth by reason to pass and excel the residue. And it is not to be doubted but all the other would long ago have been abolished, but that whatsoever unprosperous thing happened to any of them as he was minded to change his religion, the fearfulness of people did take it not as a thing coming by chance, but as sent from God out of heaven. As though the God whose honour he was forsaking, would revenge that wicked purpose against him. But after they hard us speak of the name of Christ, of his doctrine, laws, miracles, and of the no less wonderful constancy of so many martyrs, whose blood willingly shed brought ● great numbered of nations through out all parts of the world into their sect: you will not believe with how glad minds, they agreed unto the same: whether it were by the secret inspiration of God, or else for that they thought it next unto that opinion which among them is counted the chiefest. How be it I think this was no small help and furtherance in the matter that they hard us say that Christ instituted among his all things comen: and that thesame community doth yet remain amongst the rightest Christian companies. Verily how soever it came to pass, many of them consented togethers in our religion, and were washed in the holly water of baptism. But because among us four (for no moo of us was left alive two of our company being dead) there was no priest, which I am right sorry for, they being entered and instructed in all other points of our religion, lack only those Sacraments, which here none but priests do minister. How be it they understand and perceive them, and be very desirous of thesame. Yea they reason and dispute the matter earnestly among themfelfes, whether without the s●ndyng of a christian bishop one chosen out of their own people may receive the order of priesthood. And truly they were minded to choose one. But at my departure from them they had chosen none. They also which do not agree to Christ's religion fear no man from it, nor speak against any man that hath received it. Saving that one of our company in my presence was sharply punished. He as soon as he was baptized began against our wills with more earnest affection then wisdom to reason of Christ's religion▪ and began to wax so hot in his matter that he did not only prefer our religion before all other, but also did utterly despise an condemn all other, calling them profane, and the followers of them wicked and devilish, and the children of everlasting damnation. When he had thus long reasoned the matter they laid hold on him, accused him, and condemned him into exile, not as a despiser of religion, but as a seditious person, and a raiser up of dissension among the people. For this is one of the ancientest laws among them: that no man shallbe blamed for reasoning in the maintenance of his own religion. For king Vtopus even at the first beginning, hearing that the inhabitants of the land were before his coming thither at con●ynuall dissension and strife among themselves for their religions: perceiving also that this commondissention whiles every several sect took several parties in fighting for their country, was the only occasion of his conquest over them all, assove as he had gotten the victory: First of all he made a decry, that it should be lawful for every man to favour and follow what religion he would, and that he might do the best he cold to bring other to his opinion, so that he did it peaceably, gently, quietly, and soberly, without hasty and contentious rebuking & invehing against other. If he could not by fair & gentle speech induce them unto his opinion, yet he should use no kind of violence, and refrain from displeasant & seditious words. To him that would vehemently and fervently in this cause strive & contend was decreid banish meant or bondage. This law did king Vtopus make not only for the maintenance of peace which he saw through continual contention & mortal hatred utterly extinguished: but also because he thought this decry should make for the furtherance of religion. Whereof he durst define and determine nothing unadvisedly, as doubting whether god desiring manifold and divers sorts of honour, would inspire sundry men with sundry kinds of religion. And this surely he thought a very unmeet and foolish thing, and a point of arrogant presumption to compel all other by violence and threatenings to agree to thesame that thou believest to be ●rewe. furthermore though there be one religion which alone is true, & all other vain & superstitious, yet did he well foresee (so that the matter were handled with reason, and sober modesty) that the truth of the own power would at the last issue out and come to light. But if contention and debate in that behalf should continually be used, as the worst men be most obstinate and stubborn, and in their evil opinion most constant: he perceived that then the best and holiest religion would be trodden under foot and destroyed by most vain superstitions, even as good corn is by thorns and weydes overgrown and choked. Therefore all this matter he left undiscussed, & gave to every man free liberty and choice to believe what he would. saving that he earnestly and straightly charged them, that no man should conceive so vile and base an opinion of the dignity of man's nature as to think that the souls do die and perish with the body: or that the world runneth at all adventures governed by no divine pro●idence. And therefore they believe that after this life vices be extremely punished & virtues bountyfully rewarded. Him that is of a contrary opinion they count not in the numbered of men, as one that hath availed the high nature of his soul to the vielnes of brute beasts bodies: much less in the numbered of their citizens, whose laws & ordinances if it were not for fear he would nothing at all esteem. For you may be sure that he will study other with craft privily to mock, or else violently to break the comen laws of his country, in whom remaineth no further fear than of the laws, nor no further hope than of the body. Wherefore he that is thus minded is deprived of all honours, excluded from all offices and reject from all common administrations in the weal public. And thus he is of all sort despised as of an unprofitable and of a base & vile nature. How be it they put him to no punishment, because they be persuaded that it is in no man's power to believe what he list. No nor they constrain him not with threatenings to dissemble his mind and show countenance contrary to his thought. For deceit and falsehood and all manner of lies, as next unto fra●de, they do marvelously detest and abhor. But they suffer him not to dispute in his opinion and that o●lyeemong the comen people. For elle● a part among the the pryestes and men of gravity they do not only suffer but also exhort him to dispute and argue: hooping that at the last that madness will give place to reason. There be also other, and of them no small numbered, which be not forbidden to speak their minds, as grounding their opinion upon some reason, being in their gli●ine neither evil nor vicious. Their heresy is much contrary to the other. For they believe that the souls of brute beasts be immortal and everlasting. But nothing to be compared with owers in dignity, neither ordained and predestinate to like felicity. For all they believe certainly and surely that man's bliss shall be so great, that they do morn and lament every man's sickness but no man's death, whiles it be one whom they see departed from his life carfully, and against his will. For this they take for a very evil token as though the soul being in despair and vexed in conscience, through some privy & secret forefeiling of the punishment now at hand were af●rde to▪ depart. And they think he shall not be welcome to God which when he is called runneth not to him gladly, but is drawn by force and sore against his will. They therefore that see this kind of death do adhorre it, and them that so die they buy with sorrow and silence. And when they have prayed God to be merciful to the soul, and mercifully to pardon the infirmity thereof they cover the dead course with earth. Contrary wise all that depart merely and full of good hoop, for them no man mo●rnethe, but followeth the heerse with joyful singing, commending the souls to god with great affection. And at the last not with mourning sorrow but with a great ●●uerence they bourn the bodies. And in the same place they set up a pillar of stone, with the dead man's titles therein graved. When they be come home they rehearse his virtuous ma●ers & his good deeds. But no part of his life is soooft or gladly talked of as his merry death. They think that this remembrance of their virtue & goodness doth vehementely provoke and enforce the quick to virtue. And that nothing can be more pleasant & acceptable to the dead. Whom they suppose to be present among them when they talk of them, though to the dull and feeble eyesight of mortal men they be invisibly. For it were an unconvenient thing that the blessed should not be at liberty to go whether they would. And it were a point of great unkindness in them to have utterly cast away the desire of vysyting and saying their friends, to whom they were in their life time joined by mutual love and charity. Which in goodmen after their death they cownte to be rat●● encreasede then dymynyshede. They believe therefore that the dead be presently conversant among the quick, as beholders and witnesses of all their words and deeds. Therefore they go more courageously to their business as ha●ing a trust and affiance in such overseers. And this same belief of the present conversation of their forefathers and ancestors among them feareth them from all secret dishonesty. They utterly despise and mock sooth sayings and divinations of things to come by the flight or voices of birds, and all other divinations of vain superstition, which in other countries be in great observation. But they highly esteem and worship miracles that come by no help of nature, as works and witnesses of the present powr● of God. And such they say do chance there very often. And sometimes in great and doubtful matters by comen intercession and prayers they procure and obtain them with a sure hoop & confidence and a steadfast belief. They think that the contemplation of nature and the praise thereof coming, is to God a very acceptable honour. Yet there be many so earnestly bend and affectioned to religion, that they pass no thing for learning nor give their minds to no knowledge of things. But idleness they utterly forsake & eschew, thinking felicity after this life to be gotten and obtained by busy labours and good exercises. Some therefore of them attend upon the sick, some amend high ways, cleanse ditches, repair bridges, dig turfs, gravel and stones, fell and cleave wood, bring wood cor●e and other things into the cities in carts, and serve not only in comen works, but also in private labours as servants, yea more than bondmen. For what so ever unpleasant, hard, and vile work is any where, from the which labour, lothsū●es, and desperation doth fray other, all that they take upon them willingly and gladly, procuring quiet and rest to other remaining in continual work and labour themfelfes, not embrayding others there with. They neither reprove other men's lives nor glory in their own. these men the more serviceable they behave themselves the more they be honoured of all men. Yet they be divided into two sects. The one is of them that live single and chaste abstaining not only from the company of women, but also from the eating of flesh, and some of them from all manner of beasts. Which utterly rejecting the pleasures of this present life as hurtful, be all holly set upon the dessire of the life to come by watching and sweating hoping shortly to obtain it, being in the mean season meerye and lusty. The other sect is no less desirous of labour, but they embrace matrimony, not despising the solace thereof, thinking that they can not be discharged of their bon●den duties towards nature without labour and tiole, nor towards their native country without procreation of children. They abstain from no pleasure that doth nothing hinder them from labour. They love the flesh of fourefoted beasts, because they believe that by that meat they be made hardy and stronger to work. The Vtopians count this sect the wiser, but that other the holier. Which in that they prefer single life before matrimony, and that sharp life before an easier life, if herein they grounded upon reason they would mock them. But now forasmuch as they say they be led to it by religion, they honour and worship them. And these be they whom in their language by a peculyare name they call Buthresca●, the which word by interpretation signifieth to us men of religion or religious men. They have pryestes of exceeding hollines, and therefore very few. For there be but xiij in every city according to the number of their churches, saving when they go forth to battle. For than vij of them go forth with the army: in whose steads so many new be made at home. But the other at their return home again re-enter every one into his own place, they that be above the numbered v●tyll such time as they succeed into the places of the other at their dying be in the mean season continually in company with the bishop. For he is the chyeffe head of them all. They be chosen of the people as the other magistrates be, by secret voices for y● avoid they be consecrate of their own company. They be overseers of all divine matters, orderers of religious, and as it were jugers and masters of manners. And it is a great dishonesty and shame to be rebuked or spoken to by any of them for dissolute and incontinent living. But as it is their office to give good exhortations and cow●sell, so it is the de●ty of the prince and that other magistrates to correct and punnyshe offenders, saving that the priests whom they find exceeding vicious livers, them they excommunicate from having any interest in divine matters. And there is almost no punishment among them more feared. For they run in very great infamy, and he inwardly tormented with a secret fear of religion, and shall dot long scape free with their bodies. For unless they, by quick repentance approve the amendment of their lyffes to the priests, they be taken and punished of the counsel as wicked & irreligious. Both childhood and youth is instructed, and taught of them. Nor they be not more deligente to instruct them in learning then in virtue & good manners. For they use with very great endeavour and diligence to put into the heads of their children whiles they be yet tender and pliaunt good opinions and profitable for the conservation of their weal public. Which when they be once rooted in children do remain with them all th●ir life after: & be wonders profitable for the defence & maintenance of the state of the comen weal the. Which never decayeth but through vitis rising of evil opinions. The pryestes unless they be women (for that kind i● not excluded from priesthood, howbeit few be chosen, and none but widows and old women) the men priests I say take to their wives the chiefest women in all their country. For to no office among the utopians is more honour and pre-eminence given. In so much that if they commit any offence, they be under no comen judgement, but be left only to god & themselves. For they think it not lawful to touch him with man's hand, be he never so vityous, which after so singular a sort was dedicated and consecrate to god as a holly offering. This manner may they easily observe, because they have so few priests & do choose them with such circumspection. For it scarcely ever chanceth that the most virtuous among virtuous which in respect only of his virtue is advanced to so high a dignity, can fall to vice and wickedness. And if it should chance in deed (as man's nature is mutable and frail) yet by reason they be so few and promoted to no might nor power, but only honour, it were not to be feared that any great damage by them should happen and e●sue to the comen wealth. They have so rare and few priests lest if the honour were communicate to many the dignity of the ordre which among them now is so highly esteemed should run in contempt. Specially because they think it hard to find many so good, as to be meet for that dignity, to the execution and discharge where of it is not sufficient to be endued with mean virtues. Further more these priests be not more esteemed of their own country men, than they be of foreign & strange countries. Which thing may hereby plainly appear. And I think also that this is the cause of it. For whiles the arms be fight together in open field, they a little beside not far of kneel upon their knees in their hallowed vestiments, holding up their hands to heaven, praying first of all for peace, next for victory of their own part, but to neither part a bloody victory. If their host get the upper hand they run in to the main battle, and restrain their own men from slaying and cruelly pursuing their vanquished enemies. Which enemies if they do but see them and speak to them, it is enough for the safeguard of their lives. And the touching of their clothes defendeth & saveth all their goods from rapyne & spoil. This thing hath advanced them to so great worship & true majesty among all natonis, that many times they have aswell preserved their own citizens from the cruel force of their enemies, as they have their enemies from the● furious rage of their own men. For it is well known that when their own army hath recoiled, and in despair turned back, and run away, their enemies fyerslye pursuing with slaughter and spoil, than the priests coming between have stayed the murder, and parted both the hosts. So that peace hath be●e made and concluded between both parts upon equal and indifferent conditions. For there was never any nation, so fires, so cruel and rude, but they had them in such reverence, that they cownted their bodies hallowed and sanctified and therefore not to be violently and unreverently touched. They keep holly day the first and the last day of every month and year, dividing the year into months, which they measure by the course of the moon, as they do the year by the course of the son. The first days they call in their language Cynemer●es, and the last Trape●●ernes, the which words may be interpreted primifeste and finifest or else in our speech first feast and last feast. Their churches be very gorgeous, and not only of fine and curious workmanship, but also (which in the fewenes of them was necessary) very wide and large, and able to receive a great company of people. But they be all somewhat dark. Howbeit that was not done through ignorance in building, but as they say by the counsel of the priests. Because they thought that over much light doth disperse men's cogitations, where as in dim & doubtful light they be gathered together, & more earnestly fixed upon religion & devotion, which because it is not there of one sort among all men, and yet all the kinds a●d fashions of it, though they be sundry and manifold, agree together in the honour of the divine nature, as going divers ways to one end, there fore nothing is seen nor hard, in the churches, which seemeth, not to agree indifferently with them all. If there be a distinct kind of sacrifice peculiar to any several sect, that they execute at home in their own houses. The common sacrifices be so ordered that they be no derogatyon nor prejudice to a●●ye of the private sacrifices and religions. Therefore no image of any god is se●ne in the church, to the intent it may be free for every man to conceive god by their religion after what likeness and similitude they will. They call upon no peculiar name of god but only Mithra. In the which word they all agree together in one nature of y● divine majesty whatsoever it be. No prayers be used but such as every man may boldly pronounce without the offending of any sect. They come therefore to the church, the last day of every month and year in the evening yet fasting, there to give thanks to GOD for that they have prosperously passed over the year or month, whereof that holly day is the last day. The next day they come to the church early in the morning, to pray to GOD that they may have good fortune and success all the new year or month, which they do begin of that same holly day. But in the holly days that be the la●●e days of the months and years, before they come to the church the wiffes fall down prostrate before their husbands feet at home, & the children before the feet of their parents confessing & acknowledging that they have offended other by some actual deed, or by omission of their duty, & desire pardon for their offence. Thus if any cloud of privy displeasure was risen at home, by this satisfaction it is over blown, that they may be present at the sacrifices with pure and charitable minds. For they be afeard to come there with troubled consciences. There fore if they know themselves to bear any hatred or grudge towards any man, they presume not to come to the sacrifices before they have reconciled themselves and purged their consciences, for fear of great vengeance & punishment for their offence. When they come thither the men go into the right side of the churthe and the the women into the left side. There they place themselves in such order that all they which be of the male kind in every household sit before the goodman of the house, and they of the female kind before the goodwife. Thus it is foreseen that all their gestures and behaviours be marked and observed abroad of them, by whose authority & discipline they be governed at home. This also they diligently see unto, that the younger evermore be coupled with his ●lder, lest it children be joined together they ●hold pass over that time in childish wantonness, wherein they ought principally to conceive a religious and deuou● fear towards god: which is the chief and almost that only incitation to virtue. They kill no living beast in sacrifice, nor they think not that the merciful clemency of god hath delight in blood and slaughter, which hath given life to beasts to the intent they should live. They burn frankincense and other sweet savours, and light also a great numbered of wax candles and caper's, not supposing this gear to be any thing available to the divine nature as neither the prayers of men. But this unhurtful and harmless kind of worship pleaseth them. And by these sweet savours and lights, & other such ceremonies men feel themselves secretly lifted up, & encouraged to devotion with more willing and fervent hearts. The people weareth in the church white apparel. The priest is clothed in changeable colours. Which in workmanship be excellent, but in stuff not very precious. For their vestments be neither embroidered with gold, nor set with precious stones. But they be wrought so finely and cunningly with divers feathers of fowls, that the estimation of no costly stuff is able to countervail the price of the work. Furthermore in these birds feathers, and in the dew order of them, which is observed in their setting, they say is contained certain divine mysteries. The interpretation whereof known, which is diligently tawght by the priests, they be put in remembrance of the bountiful benefits of God toward them: and of the love and honour which of their behalf is dew to God: & also of their duties one toward an other. When the priest first cometh out of the vestry thus appareled, they fall down incontinent every one reverently to the ground with so still silence on every part, that the very fashion of the thing striketh into them a certain fear of God, as though he were there personally present. When they have am a little space on the ground, the priest giveth them a sign for to rise. Then they sing praises unto God, which they inter●nix● with instruments of music, for the most part of other fashions than these that we use in this part of the world. And like as some of owrs be much sweeter than theirs, so some of theirs do far pass owrs. But in one thing dowteles they go exceeding far beyond us. For all their music, both that they play upon instruments, and that they si●ge with man's voice doth so resemble and express natural affections, the sound & tune is so applied and made agreeable to the thing, that whether it be a prayer, or else a ditty of gladness, of patience, of trouble, of mourning, or of anger: the fashion of the melody doth so represent the meaning of the thing, that it doth wonderfully move, stir, pierce, and inflame the hearer's myddes. At the last the people and the priest together rehearse solemn prayers in words, expressly pronounced, so made that every man may privately apply to himself that which is commonly spoken of all. In these prayers every man recogniseth and knowledgeth God to be his maker, his governor, and the principal can see of all other goodness, thanking him for so many benfites received at his hand. But namely that through the favour of God he hath chanced into that public weal, which is most happy and welt buy, and hath chosen that religion which he hopeth to be most true. In the which thing if he do any thing err, or if there be any other better than either of them is, being more acceptable to GOD, he desireth him that he will of his goodness let him have knowledge thereof, as one that is ready too follow what way soever he will lead him. But if this form and fashion of a comen wealth be best, and his own religion most true and perfect, than he desireth God to give him a constant steadfastness in the same, and to bring all other people to the same ordre of living, and to the same opinion of God: unless there be any thing that in this diversity of religions doth delight his unsearchable pleasure. To be short he prayeth him that after his death he may come to him. But how soon or late that he dare not assign or determine. Howbeit, if it might stand with his majesties pleasure, he would be much gladder to die a painful death and so to go to God, them by long living in worldly prosperity to be away from him. When this prayer is said they fall down to the ground again, and a little after they rise up and go to dinner. And the residue of the day they pass over in plays, and exercise of chivalry. Now I have declared and descrybyd unto you, as truly as I could the form and order of that comen wealth, which verily in my judgement is not only the best, but also that which alone of good right may claim and take vp●̄ it the name of a comen wealth or public weal. For in other place● they speak still of the comme● wealth. But every man procureth his own private wealth. Here where nothing is private, the comen affairs be earnestly ●oked upon. And truly on both parts they have good cause so to do as they do. For in other countries who knoweth not that he shall starve for hunger, unless he make some several provision for himself, though the comen wealth flourish never so much in riches? And therefore he is compelled even of very necessity to have regard to himself rather then to the people, that is to say to other. contrariwise there where all things be comen to every man, it is not to be doubted that any man shall lack any thing necessary for his private uses: so that the comen store houses and barues be sufficiently stored. For there nothing is distributed after 〈◊〉 nyggyshe sort, neither there is any poor man or beggar. And though no man have any thing, yet every man is rich. For what can be more ●ychethen to live joyfully and merrily without all grief and pensiveness? Not caring for his own living, nor vexed or troubled with his wife's importunate complaints, not dryding poverty to his son, nor sorrowing for his daughters dowrey. Yea they take no care at all for the living and wealth of themselves and all theirs, of their wife's, their children, their nephews, their children's children, and all the succession that e●er shall follow in their posterity. And yet besides this there is no less provision for them that were one's labourers, and be now weak and impotent, then for them that do now labour and take pain. H●ere now would I see if any man dare be so bold as to compare with this equity, the justice of other nations. Among whom, I forsake God, if I can find any sign or token of equity and justice. For what justice is this, that a rich goldsmythe or an usurer, or to be short any of them, which other do nothing at all, or else that which they do is such, that it is not very necessary to the common wealth, should have a pleasant and a wealthy ryving, other by Idilnes, or by unnecessary business? When in the mean time poor labourers, carters, pro●smythes, carpenters, and plowmen, by so great and continual toil as drawing & bearing beasts be scant able to sustain, and again so necessary toil that with out it no comen wealth were able to continue and endure one year, do yet get so hard and poor a living & live so wretched and miserable a life, that the state and condition of the labouring beasts may seem much better and wealthier. For they be not put to so continual labour, nor their living is not much worse, yea to them much pleasant, taking no thowghte in the mean season for the time to come. But these seilie poor wretches be presently tormented with barren & unfruitful labour. And the remembrance of their poor indigent and begerlye old age killeth them up. For their daily wages is so little that it will not suffice for the same day, much less it yieldeth any overplus, that may daily be laid up for the relief of old age. Is not this an unjust and an unkind public weal, which giveth great fees and rewards to gentlemen as they call them, and to goldsmiths, & to such other, which be other idle persons or else only flatterers, and devisers of vain pleasures? And of the contrary part maketh no gentle provision for poor plowmen, coliars, labourers, carters, yronsmythes, and carpenters: without whom no comen wealth can continue? But when it hath abused the labours of their lusty and flowringe age at the last when they be oppressed with old age and sickness: being needy poor and indigent of all things, then forgetting their so many painful watchings, not remembering their so many and so great benefits, recompenseth and acquyteth them most unkindly with miserable And yet besides this the rich men not only by private fraud, but also by comen laws do every day pluck & snatch away from the poor some part of their daily living. So where as it seemed before unjust to recompense with unkindness their pains that have been beneficial to the public weal, now they have to this their wrong & unjust dealing (which is yet a much worse point) given the name of justice, yea & that by force of a law. Therefore when I consider and way in my mind all these comen wealths which now a days any where do flourish, so god helpeme, I can perceive nothing but a certain conspiracy of rich men procuring their own commodities under the name and title of the comen wealth. They invent and devise all means and crafts first how to kipe safely without fear of losing that they have unjustly gathered together, and next how to hire and abuse the work and labour of the poor for as little money as may be. these devices when the rich men have decreed to be kept & observed for the comen wealths sake, that is to say for the wealth also of the poor people than they be made laws. But these most wicked & vicious men, when they have by their unsatiable covetousness divided among themselves all those things which would have sufficed all men, yet how far be they from the wealth and felicity of the utopian comen wealth? Out of the which in that all the desire of money with the use thereof is utterly secluded & banished, how great a heap of cares is cut away? How great an occasion of wickedness and mischief is plucked up by the ●otes? For who knoweth not that fraud, theft, ravin, brawling, quarreling, brabbling, strisse, chiding, contention, murder, treason, poisoning, which by daily punishments are rather revenged then refrained, do die when money dirth? And also that fear, grief, care, labours, and watchings do perish even the very same moment that money perisheth? Yea poverty itself which only seemed to lack money, if money were gone, it also would decrease & vanish away. And that you may perceive this more plainly, consider withyour selves some barren and unfruitful year, wherein many thousands of people ha●e starved for hunger. I dare be bold to say, that in the end of that pen●ry so much corn or grain might have been found in the rich me●s barns if they had been searched as being divided among them, whom famine and pestilence hath killed, no man at all should have felt that plague and pe●●ry. So easily might magett their living, if that same worthy princess lady money did not alone stop up the way between us and our living, which a god's name was very excellently devised & invented, that by her the way thereto should be opened. I am sewer the rich men perceive this, nor they be not ignorant how much better it were to lack ●oo necessary thing then to abunde with overmuch superfluy●e, to be rid out of in numerable cares and troubles, then to be besieged with great riches. And I doubt not that other the respect of every man's private commodity, or else the authority of our saviour Christ (which for his great wisdom could not but know what were best, & for his inestimable goodness could not but counsel to that which he knew to be best) would have brought all the world long ago into the laws oft his weal public, if it were no y● one only beast the prince and mother of all mischief pride, doth wi●hstonde and let it. She measureth not wealth and prosperity by here own commodities, but by the miseri●es & incommodities of other. She would not by her good will be made a gods, if there were no wretches left, whom she might b● lady over to mock and scorn: over whose miseries her felicity might shine whose poverty she might vex, torment, & increase by gorgeously setting forth her riches. This hell hound ●●epeth in to men's hearts: and plucketh them back from entering the right path of life, & is so deeply rooted in men's breasts that she can not be plucked out. This form and fashion of a weal public, which I would gladly wish unto all nations: I am glad yet that it hath chanced to the Vtopians, which have followed those institutions of life, whereby they have laid such fondations of their common wealth, as shall continue & last not only wealthily, but also as far as man's wit may judge and conjecture shall endure for ever. For seeing the chief causes of ambition & sedition with other vices be plucked up by the roots and abandoned at home there can be no jeopardy of domestical dissension, which alone hath cast under foot and brought to nought the well fortified and strongly defenced wealth and riches of many cities. But for asmuch as perfect concord remaineth, and wholesome laws be executed at home, the envy of all foreign princes be not able to shake or move the empire, though they have many times long ago gone about to do it, being evermore driven back. Thus when raphael had made an end of his tale, though many things came to my mind which in the manners and laws of that people seemed to be instituted & founded of no good reason, not only in the fashion of their chivalry & in their sacrifices and religions, and in other of their laws, but also, yea & chieffely in that which is the principal foundation of all their ordinances, that is to say in the community of their life and living, without any occupying of money, by the which thing only all nobility, magnificence worship honour and majesty, the true ornaments and honours as the common opinion is of a common wealth utterly be overthrown and destroyed: yet because I knew that he was weary of talking, and was not sure whether he could abide that any thing should be said against his mind: specially because I remembered that he had reprehended this fault in other which be, afeard lest they should seem not to be wise enough, ogles they could find some fault in other men's inventions: therefore I praising both their institutions and his communication, took him by the hand and led him into supper: saying that we would choose an other time to way and examine the same matters, and to talk with him more at large therein. Which would to God it might once come to pass. In the mean time as I can not agree and consent to all things that he said, being else without doubt a man singularly well learned, and also in all wordly matters exactly and profoundly experienced, so must I needs confess and grant that many things be in the utopian weal public, which in our cities I may rather wish for then hoop after.  
Thus endeth the afternones talk of raphael Hythlodaye concerning the laws and institutions of the Island of Utopia.    

¶ Imprinted at London by Abraham Vele, dwelling in Paul's churchyard at the sign of the Lamb. Anno. 1551.