PHYSIC against Fortune, aswell prosperous, as adverse, contained in two Books.  
Whereby men are instructed, with like in differency to remedy their affections, aswell in time of the bright shining sun of prosperity, as also of the foul lowering storms of adversity. Expedient for all men, but most necessary for such as be subject to any not able insult of either extremity. Written in Latin by Francis Petrarch, a most famous Poet, and Orator.  
And now first Englished by Thomas Twine.  
At London, printed by Richard watkyns. An. Dom. 1579.   

To the right woorshypful Master Richard Bertie Esquire. etc. quietness of Conscience, health of Body, continuance of Life, with increase of worldly Woorshyp.  
Petrarches' remedies against both Fortunes in Latin, Right worshipful, were, as it appeareth, dedicated unto Azo, an honourable Gentleman of Italy. Azo had good cause to entertain them thankfully, for that being strangely wounded with adversity, and cast down from the dignity of a Lord, to the state of a wretched forlorn man, he might receive thereby no small comfort in his sorrows. The same work now called Physic against Fortune in English, and entitled unto your Woorshypful name, who are no mean parsonage of this our Realm of England, but in this respect far exceeding the degree of Azo, in that you have gained surpassing preferments at the hands of Fortune, is semblably presented unto your favourable acceptation. Not that it is doubted, the infirmity of your mind any way to be such, that you stand in need of these, or the like Medicines, to mitigate the sugared Banquets, or sour sauces of either Fortune, that is to say, prosperity or adversity: Although, whoso list to examine your right worsbypfull estate, shall well perceive thereby, that if your mind could be carried away by any of these two affections, the same by likelihood should be it which is quite contrary to that which troubled Azo: since it hath pleased Fortune, or GOD rather, to bless you with such valour of Mind, Virtue, Godliness, Wisdom, Gravity, and Learning generally in all Faculties, Good letters, and Tongues, as few or none the like far and wide to be found in this our age. Add hereunto moreover the commendable comeliness of your person, with integrity of health, and good constitution of body: And lastly, the access of a noble Duchess to your Wife, of an honourable Countess to your Daughter, of a Lord apparent to your Son and Heir, besides large Revenues and fair Houses, and which maketh not smally to the accomplishment of worldly felicity, the favour of a most virtuous and loving QUEEN, and a most flourishing Commonwealth to live in. These, albeit I confess they be very great, yet are they not such, but that your wisdom of itself is able to bear them with sufficient moderation, and as in deed they be, so to esteem of them. But rather in respect of these your rare gifts, and the love that you bear unto learning, and the favourers thereof, I have been induced to exhibit the medicines of Petrarch against Fortune, unto you, that as many of our Countrymen as shall have occasion hereafter to read or use them, may the more friendly accept them for your Woorshypfull name sake. In consideration whereof, and likewise if it shall please you not discontentedly to accept them at my hands, I shall not only think my travel well requited, but also in regard of other benefits received, acknowledge myself much bounden unto you, and to remain your worships evermore ready at commandment:  
Thomas Twine.   


❧ The Epistolare Preface of Francis Petrarch, a most famous Poet and Orator, written unto Azo, concerning the Physic and remedies of both Fortunes, aswell adverse, as prosperous.  
WHEN I think upon the affairs, and fortunes of men, their uncertain and sudden chances and changes, truly I find nothing almost more frail, nothing more unquiet, than the life of man. For I perceive how nature hath provided well for all other living creatures, by a wonderful kind of remedy, to wit, a certain ignorance of themselves: but in us only she hath converted our memory, understanding, providence, and moreover the divine gifts of our mind, unto our own toil and destruction. For being always subject not only unto vain and superfluous, but also hurtful and pestiferous cares, we are both grieved with the present time, and also vexed with the time past, and that is to come: so that we seem to fear nothing so much, as not to seem at all times to be in misery. Our study is so great, whereby we heap together causes of miseries, and nouryshmentes of sorrows, whereby we make our life, which if it were well governed, were the most happy & pleasant thing that we possess, a wretched and woeful toil, whose entrance is blindness, going forward toil, end sorrow, and the whole course error: Which he shall find to be so, whosoever with diligent eye considereth the whole race of his own life. What day do we pass over in rest and quietness? or rather do we not find more painful and troublesome than other? What morning have we ever passed so merry and pleasant, that hath not been surprised with sorrow and heaviness before night? Of which evil, although a great cause do rest in the things themselves, nevertheless unless our self-love deceive us, a greater cause, or to confess the truth, the whole cause consisteth in ourselves: and to let pass all other things whereby we are troubled on every side, what war, and how perpetual is it which we maintain against Fortune, wherein Virtue only can make us conquerors? But willingly, & wittingly we revolt from her. We only being weaklings & unarmed, encounter a most fierce foe in unequal fight: whom she again, as lightly as things of naught, tosseth us up, and throweth us down, & turneth us round about, and playeth with us, so that it were better for us to be quite overcome, then continually to be had in scorn. And what is the cause hereof, but only our own lightness & daintiness: for we seem to be good for nothing else, but to be tossed hither & thither like a Tennis bal, being creatures of very short life, of infinite carefulness, & yet ignorant unto what shore to fall with our ship, or unto what resolution to apply our minds, whose determination is always to hung in doubt: and besides the present evil, always to have somewhat to grieve us behind our back, & before our eyes to make us afeard. Which thing happeneth unto no creature besides man, for unto all other it is most perfect security to have escaped that which is present. But we, in respect of our wit, and the understanding of our mind, are in continual wrestling & strife with an enemy, as it were a three headed Cerberus. So that it had been almost better for us to have wanted reason, since we turn the force of our heavenly nature against ourselves: for it were now an hard matter to resist & subdue this evil, being so deeply rooted through age & custom. Notwithstanding, we must endeavour to do what we may, unto which purpose besides the industry of a courageous mind, to whom nothing is hard, nothing inexpugnable, it were most convenient to adjoin the sundry speeches of wise men, although this kind be now also very rare, and especially continual and diligent reading of the works and monuments of good auctors, so that there want not in us a willing mind to consent unto their wholesome instructions, which I may boldly term in earth to be the only & lively fountain of good and fruitful advice. Wherefore, since we know that mean writers sometime are commended for their bore affection, or for that they have seemed to have broken the Ice unto those that have followed them: how greatly are we beholden unto the great and famous writers, who being conversant many hundred years before us here upon the earth, in their divine wits, and most godly ordinances, do yet live, dwell, and talk with us? And among the perpetual surges of our minds, like so many bright shining Stars fixed in the firmament of Truth, like so many sweet and pleasant gales of wind, like so many industrious and expert sailors, do both point us to the haven, and direct the flittering sails of our barks thither, and guide the stern of our flitting mind, until such time as our consultations, which have been tossed and driven to and fro by tempests, do stay their course, and qualify their motions. And this is the true Philosophy, not which is lifted up with deceitful wings, and vainly casteth about, most proudly boasting itself in unprofitable disputations, but that by assured and modest degrees leadeth the readiest way unto safety. To exhort thee unto this study perhaps it were friendly done, but truly it is not necessary: For Fortune hath made thee greedy to read much, and to know many things, who, as they say, beareth a great stroke in the world, exposing thee to be tossed in the troublesome and deep sea of cares and troubles. Howbeit, as she hath taken from thee the leisure to read, so hath she not the desire to know, but that being delighted always in the friendship and familiarity of learned men, and upon the most busiest days, as often as opportunity shall serve to steal idle hours, thou mightest have a will to be every day better instructed, and learned in most excellent matters: wherein I am a witness that thou hast often used thy memory, wherein thou art inferior to none, in steed of books. Whereunto if thou were prove enough in thine youth, thou art now to be deemed so much the more proner: as the wayfaring man that settech forth late, may seem to be fresher and readier to travail, than he that set forth in the morning, forasmuch as this is a common complaint among them, that the way waxeth longer, and the day decreaseth: the which thing happeneth unto us in this course of our life, whilst we travail towards the evening, and see that we have yet a long way to walk. I need not therefore to exhort thee to do that, which thou hast always done most greedily of thine own accord: It shall suffice me to have admonished thee, that thou bend thy mind in such sort, that no care of human and worldly affairs remove thee, which in the very finishing of great and most excellent works, have turned many away, after their worthy and commendable travels begun. Adding this moreover, that seeing it is impossible for thee to read, or here, or remember all things at once, thou repose thyself upon the most profitable, and, for that brevity is friend to Memory, the most briefest of them. Not that I persuade thee to neglect the more busy and great conclusions and resolutions of wisdom, whereby thou mayst defend thyself in the ordinary conflict with Fortune, but that thou mightest be lightly furnished in the mean while with these short and precise sentences, as it were with certain light and continual armour, against all assaults and sudden invasions happening on any side whatsoever. For we wage double war with Fortune, and in both there is in a manner equal danger: whereof there is but one part commonly known by that name, to wit, that which is called Adversity. The Philosophers although they knew both, yet they judged this to be the harder. And therefore the saying of Aristotle in his book of ethics is received as true, wherein he thus defineth, concerning this matter: saying, That it is an harder matter to endure adversity, then to abstain from pleasures. Whom Seneca following, and writing to Lucillus: It is a greater matter, saith he, to pass over difficult matters, then to moderate the prosperous. What shall I say? May I presume to gaggle among such worthy men? It is an hard matter, & breedeth no small suspicion of rashness, for a new man to meddle wi●h old matters. And therefore on the one side I am moved by authority, on the other by antiquity. But there cometh unto my mind, the authority of an other great & ancient man: For it cannot be otherwise, but that every man conceive an opinion of a thing, according as it appeareth unto him. They are the words of Marcus Brutus, writing unto Atticus, which I suppose to be so true, that nothing can be more true. For what can I judge of any thing, otherwise than I think? unless perhaps I be constrained to judge by other men's judgements, which who so doth, he judgeth not of himself, but reporteth the judgements of other. I therefore thus with reverence passing over the judgements of such notable men, being in such manner affectioned, if I would say any thing concerning mine own judgement, I know well that some have diversly disputed otherwise of the virtues, and that the pre-eminence is not always given to the most difficult, neither that it happened by chance that modesty, or whether thou had rather call it temperance, possessed the last place. But as touching our purpose whereof we entreat, I suppose it an harder matter to govern prosperity, than adversity: and I plainly profess, that in mine opinion, and also in mine experience, flattering fortune is more to be feared, and far more perilous, then threatening fortune: unto which opinion, it is not the fame of writers, nor the subtlety of words, nor the false syllogisms of sophisters, but true experience itself, and the daily examples of this life, and the scarcity, which is a great argument of the difficulty, which enforceth me. For why? I have seen many that have indifferently sustained losses, poverty, exile, imprisonment, punishment, death, and great sicknesses that are more grievous than death: but that could well bear riches, honours, and power, I never yet saw any. For oftentimes, even in my sight, those that have stood invincible against all violence of adverse fortune, prosperous fortune hath overthrown with small force, and her flatteries have overcome that valiancy of man's mind, which her threatenings could not subdue. It cometh to pass, I wots not how, that so soon as fortune waxeth more mild, the softened minds of men begin likewise to grow proud, and by enjoying prosperity, to conceive forgetfulness of their own condition. Neither is it spoken without cause, and used now among our country men as a proverb, that it is an hard matter to bear prosperity. Neither was it spoken by Horace unadvisedly, Learn to bear well good fortune: For he judged it to be an hard matter, and not known without diligent study. But Seneca very briefly discoursed of that part of fortune, which seemed unto him to be most difficult, and is doubtless at the first sight the more rough and hard of the twain. Which book is commonly abroad in men's hands, whereunto it is not my meaning to add or detract any thing at all, both for that the work, being written by so great a wit, disdaineth to come under our censure, & also being busied about mine own affairs, am not purposed to correct or carp other men's doings. But forasmuch as Virtue and Truth are public things, there is no reason that the study of antiquity should be any hindrance to the industry of posterity, for whose cause we know that it was undertaken, to the end we should thereby be stirred up and holpen. And therefore I purpose to entreat with thee somewhat concerning the same matter, that that which he did then for his friend Gallio, I may now do in like sort for my friend Azo, which I am determined so far forth to accomplish, as shall lie in this my busied and weary wit to do: and over and beside also, to touch the other part, which either of forgetfulness or purpose was by him pretermitted. I have moreover of set purpose mingled a few matters, not touching the defects of any fortune, but the excellency of virtues or vices: which although they be beside the purpose, yet are not unlike in effect, & seem to be such as are able to make men's minds glad or sorrowful. Wherein how I have behaved myself, thou shalt be judge, being mindful of my business and the shortness of the time, who with great admiration sawest the whole work begun and ended in a very few days, I only am judge of the credit. I have endeavoured not to set down whatsoever seemed best liking to myself, but that might be most profitable unto thee and others, whosoever else haply hath touched the same. To be short, the end which I always proposed to myself in this kind of study, was not so much the commendation of the writer, as the commodity of the reader, if so be there may be any hoped for or received by me, having a special respect hereunto, that it should not be needful for thee to toss and turn over thy whole armory at every alarm and doubt of the enemy: but rather to the intent thou mightest have in a readiness against ever mischief, and hurtful good, & either fortune, a short medicine, but friendly confected for a double disease: so that thou mayest always have at hand, as they say, in all places, & at all times, as it were, an effectual remedy contained in a little box. For as I have said, both Fortune's faces are to be feared, but notwithstanding both must be endured, whereof the one hath need of a bridle, the other of comfort: in the one, the pride of the mind of men is to be repressed: in the other, their weariness and grief to be succoured and relieved. Wherefore, when I thought upon this variety, and purposed with myself to write somewhat concerning this argument, not only thou camest into my mind worthy of that gift, which both of us may use indifferently, as sayeth Cicero, but alonely moovedst me to write it, not only in words, as being privy of all mine enterprises whatsoever, but also in deeds, being of sufficient ability to perform them both. For we know how that Fortune hath tormented many upon the rack, & many she hath lulled asleep in delights, and many she hath swinged up & down in her wheel: neither want we examples of such as climb, nor of some that fall, neither am I ignorant that some have been thrown down from the top of high dignity. How many Emperors of Rome, how many foreign Princes, being plucked out of their regal thrones, either by their own hands, or the hands of their enemies, have been deprived both of their lives & Empires at one instant? Shall we borrow all our examples of antiquity, since we ourselves have seen of late days some kings taken prisoners, and some slain in battle, and some beheaded at home, and (which is most extreme of all) some hanged by the neck, & some most shamefully mangled in pieces? Thou art one unto whom Nature hath given a princely heart, but Fortune hath not given a kingdom, nor yet taken it away: yet whom in other respects she hath more diversly tossed and turmoiled, I suppose there is none to be found in our age. For being sometime in excellent good health, and enjoying very great strength of body, it is strange to recount how not many years since, to the great wonder of all that know thee, being thrice given over by the Physicians, thrice thou reposedst thy life & safety in the only help of the heavenly Physician, & at the length waste by him restored to thy former health, but in such wise, that thou hast utterly lost thine accustomed strength of body, with no less wonder of thy excellent dexterity, & rare gravity: that thou who before time hadst most strong & valiant legs, & feet almost as hard as brass. art now grown so weak, that thou must be lifted up to thy horse back by thy servants, or leaning upon their shoulders, art scarcely able to tread upon the ground. Thy country almost at one time saw thee both a lord, and a banished man: but so notwithstanding, that thou seemedst to be nothing at all blemished by thy banishment. There was never any almost of our countrymen, that stood in like favour of noble men and princes, and never any that sustained like injury. And whereas not long before they strived in showing thee tokens of courtesy, afterward the same men consented in nothing so much, as in conspiring and laying their heads together how to procure thy destruction. Of whom some sought means to take away thy life, who before time had honoured thee the space of many years with gold and precious stones, and many other large gifts, during the time of thy prosperous and favourable fortune, and, which is most grievous of all, to spoil thee of thy friends and clientes, and thy whole family, by afflicting them with sundry grievous torments, and strange kinds of death. But such as were of the more courteous sort, invaded thy great patrimony, thy lands, thy people, thy houses, thy towns: insomuch as they that saw thee not long before, and perceived how suddeinely thou wast fallen from great wealth into extreme poverty, wondered as it had been at some strange miracle of fortune. Some of thy friends, as I have said, are perished, & in those that remain, their faith is decayed, & the goodwill of men, as that common manner is, flieth away with prosperity: so that thou art brought into a doubt which to bewail first, either the death of thy friends that are perished, or the loss of their assuredness that are living. Now in the midst of these troubles there happened unto thee a most desperate and dangerous sickness, wherein thou wast brought so near unto death, that when every man supposed thou couldst not escape, it was generally reported that thou wast dead. Which sickness, which poverty, which heap of troubles, in that thou wast driven out of thine own country, and far from thine own house in a strange land, and war round about thee, and thou on every side oppressed, gave occasion that in the mean while thou couldst have no intercourse, either of letters, or conference with those thy friends, which either thy virtue had purchased, or fortune had reserved. There was no extremity wanting, saving imprisonment, and death: although we cannot say neither, that thou wast quite free from imprisonment, whilst thy most faithful wife, and all thy sons, being part of thy bowels, and thy daughters also were taken prisoners by thine enemies, and there was no comfort remaining unto thee of so many children: Neither yet from death, whilst thou thyself strivedst every day with death, and at that time also one of thy sons gave up his tender and guiltless ghost in prison. To be short, we have seen that fulfilled in thee, which we read of two most excellent personages, Caius Marius, and the great Pompeius, to wit, that fortune hath severally expressed in thee, and thy children, what good and evil she is able to do, and never mingle any prosperttie with adversity: whose flatteries in times past, although theu hast not casted so plentifully as many happy men have done, notwithstanding thou hast abidden her threats and force of late days, with so courageous and invincible a mind, that in this respect thou hast given occasion unto many, who before hated thy name, to love thee, and wonder at thee. For virtue hath this property, that it stirreth up good men to love it, and astunnisheth the evil. Which property as it is common to every virtue, so is it peculiar especially to fortitude, whose tranquillity and uprightness is the more acceptable, and light more conspicable among the troublesome turmoils of fortune, and darkness of terrible things. For unto me thou hast not only heaped up much new good will, upon the ancient love which I bore towards thee, which I thought to have been impossible, but hast also converted my quill, which made haste towards another matter, to write this work in time not purposed, both that thou mightest behold the countenance of thy mind in my writings, as it were in a looking glass: and also if herein there were any thing that seemed unto thee nothing fine, but rather rude and barbarous, and which in deed did not like thee, that in this manner thou order and take it: that if it shall chance that fortune hereafter vary with thee in any strange manner or device, whereof she hath great plenty, yea innumerable in store, that thou be not troubled at all with any hope. But being provided for all chances, and ready for what soever may happen, thou mayest despise both the sweet, and the sour, crying out most confidently these verses of Virgil against them, O virgin, there is no new or sudden show of troubles can arise unto me, I have forethought upon all matters, and forecast them already in my mind. Neither am I ignorant, that as in the bodies of men, so also in their minds that are affected with sundry passions, the medicines of words will seem unto many to be without effect. Notwithstanding I know well enough, that as the diseases of the mind are invisible, so are there remedies invisible also: For they that are seduced by false opinions, must be remedied by true persuasions, that they that fell by hearing, may also rise by hearing. Moreover, who so willingly offereth unto his friend, being in need, that which he hath to relieve him withal, how small soever it be, he hath fulfilled the duty of perfect friendship. For friendship weigheth the mind, and not the thing, which though it be but small, yet may it be an argument of great good will. For my part, as I wish unto thee all honour, so have I nothing at this present more convenient to give thee: which if thou think to be of any force, the commodity of it, which maketh every thing to be regarded, shall sufficiently commend it. But if thou perceive it to be of no force, notwithstanding thy good will towards me shall excuse it. And thou shalt come to read it, as though those four most famous and coosinne passions of the mind, to wit, hope, or desire and joy, fear and sorrow, which the two sister's prosperity and adversity brought forth at equal births, lay on either side most fiercely assaulting the mind of man: howbeit reason, which governeth the chief castle, maketh answer unto them all, and being furnished with her shield and head piece, by her means and proper force, but specially being assisted with most mighty power from heaven, defendeth of the weapons of the thronging enemies. But I conceive such hope of thy wisdom, that thou canst soon judge which part will have the victory. I will now hold thee no longer, but to the end thou mightest understand my purpose, it was needful for me to write this epistle, as it were an argument to the book: which if thou 'cause to be set before the work, consider thou of these both, that an overlong preface trouble not a short book, none otherwise than an over great head burdeneth a little body: For there is nothing well favoured, without due measure and proportion of the parts.   

¶ Of flourishing years. The first Dialogue.  JOY. REASON. 
MY years are flourishing, I shall yet live a long tyme.  Reason. 
Lo, this is the first vain hope of mortal men, which hath already, and will hereafter, deceive many thousands.  joy. 
My years are flourishing.  Reason. 
A vain joy, and a short: & while we be speaking, this flower withereth.  joy. 
My age is sound.  Reason. 
Who will call that sound, which wanteth much, and when that which remaineth, is uncertain?  joy. 
But there is a certain prefixed term, and law of living.  Reason. 
Who made that law? or what is the prefixed time of life? Surely it is a very unequl law, that is not indifferent unto all men: yea rather, it is so variable, that there is nothing more uncertain in the life of man, than the term of man's life.  joy. 
Howbeit, there is some term and measure of life, which the wise men have defined.  Reason. 
To appoint the term of life, it is not in his power that receiveth it, but in his that giveth it, which is GOD. And I understand, how that hereby you mean the term of threescore & ten years, or if nature be somewhat stronger, fourscore years, and there you appoint the end: unto which who so doth attain, their life is but pain and travail: unless he advance your hope a little further, who saith, The days of a man's life are many times an hundred years, unto which age how few do attain, we see: but admit that it happened unto all, which happeneth but to few, notwithstanding I pray you how much is it:  joy. 
Very much truly: For the life of young men is more assured and farther of from old age, and so from death.  Reason. 
Thou art deceived: for although there be nothing safe to a man, notwithstanding that is the most dangerous part of his life, which to much carelessness maketh unadvised. There is nothing nearer to other, than death is to life: when they seem to be farthest a sunder, then are they nearest together, always the one passeth away, and the other draweth nigh: whither soever ye flee away, death is at hand, and hangeth over your heads.  joy and Hope. 
Well, at the leastwise, youth is now present, and old age is absent.  Reason. 
Nothing is more flytting than youth, nothing more deceivable than old age. Youth stayeth not, but in delighting she slippeth away, old age immediately following after softly in darkness and silence, striketh men at unwares: and when she is thought to be far of, then standeth she at the door.  joy. 
My age is in rising.  Reason. 
Thou trustest to a most deceitful thing. This rising, is a going down, this short life, this unstable time, stealeth away, yea without making any noise with the feet, even while we sleep, and make merry. And, O that this swiftness of time, and shortness of life were as well known in the beginning, as it is in the end? which to those that enter seemeth infinite, and nothing when they go out, and are scarce so many minutes as they appeared to be hundreds of years. So then, at length deceit is known when it can not be avoided: whereby it cometh, that many times counsel is given in vain unto those years, they are both unbelieving, and unskilful, disdainful of another's counsel, and wanting of their own. And therefore, there is nothing that discovereth the errors of youth, although they be innumerable and grievous, and yet notwithstanding hid and unknown to those that committed them, better than old age doth, and layeth them forth before their eyes, who sometime dissembled them, and winked at them. Neither do ye sooner perceive what ye aught to be, than ye be made that which ye would be, and then ye can possibly be none other than ye be. But if there were any that could understand these things in time, or by himself, or believe when he is taught, surely him would I account a worthy and happy youth among many thousands, he should not pass his life through so many difficulties, whose only course lieth safe and strait through virtue.  joy. 
Mine age is nothing spent.  Reason. 
How is that unspent, which since the time it first began is every day wasted, and while it is given, is also taken away by very small portions. For Heaven turneth about with perpetual motion, minutes consume hours, and hours the day. That day thrusteth forth another, and that, the next day following, and there is never any ceasing. So do months pass away, so years, and so doth an whole age make haste, and run, and as Cicero sayeth, fleeth away. And as Virgil saith, It never waggeth the swift wings. So likewise, they that far by Sea, they are carried away in the ship, and feel not how, and many times are at their voyage end before they be ware.  joy, and Hope. 
An age that beginneth, is far from the end.  Reason. 
Within the space of a short life, nothing is far of.  joy and Hope. 
But there is no part farther from the end, then is the beginning.  Reason. 
None in deed, but this should be truly said, if all men lived like space of time. Howbeit, even the very first age falleth sundry ways into death: whereby it chanceth many times, that he that seemed farthest of, is nearest his end.  joy and Hope. 
Truly, I am of a most flourishing age.  Reason. 
Although few do mark it, yet there is some change wrought since we began to speak, and in the drawing forth of every syllable, there is some part of life passed away, and some piece of transitory flower of youth decayed. And I pray you, what hath this dainty and gallant young man, more than that rough and riveled old man, besides this short and transitory flower which fadeth every day? wherein what should be so pleasant and delectable I do not find, since he knoweth that almost sooner than a man can speak it, he shall himself be such an one as this old man now is, or else is mad if he know it not, unless of twain which are led togeto be put to death, he is to be accounted the happier, which is commanded last to lay down his neck upon the block to be cut of, who truly seemeth unto me in a manner in the more miserable state for the deferring of the death: Howbeit the condition of these men, and of the other of whom I spoke before, is not all one, insomuch as this man may have some entreaty or means made for him in the mean while to escape his fellows execution, and to live. Only death can prevent a young man, that he shall not live unto old age. To be short, there consisteth no great felicity in a small process of time, and unto lofty minds there is nothing that is short accounted acceptable. Awake ye that sleep, it is now time, & open your dim and slumbering eyes. Accustom yourselves at length to think upon eternal things, to love them, and to desire them, and therewithal also to contemn transitory things. Learn to departed from them willingly, which can not continued with you long, and to forsake them in heart, before by them ye be forsaken.  joy, and Hope. 
My years are stable and green.  Reason. 
They lie which say that there is some age (I know not which) stable. There is nothing more swift than time, and time is the charet of all ages, to carry them away in: And dost thou then imagine that it is permanent? O vanity, there is nothing durable, for even at this present thou art violently drawn away. etc.   

Of the goodly beauty of the body. The second Dialogue.  joy. 
THE beauty of my body is goodly.  Reason. 
It is no more permanent than the time that cometh with it, with which also it flitteth away. Stay the time if thou canst, and so perhaps thou mayest stay beauty.  joy. 
The beauty of my body is singular.  Reason. 
Thou restest upon a brittle foundation. The body itself passeth away like a shadow: and dost thou think that a transitory accident of the body will continued? Accidents may perish, the subject remaining, but when the body perisheth, they must needs decay. And among all the qualities which pass away with this mortal body, there is none swifter than beauty, which so soon as ever it hath showed itself as a pleasant flower, it vanisheth even in the sight of them that wonder at it and praise it: it is quickly nipped with the lest frost, and beaten down with a small wind, and either suddenly pinched of with the nail of some enemies hand, or overthrown with the heel of some sickness passing by. To be short, vaunt and rejoice as much as thou list, behold he cometh apace that will cover thee in a thin veil. How much the beauty of a living man is to be esteemed, death declareth, and not death only, but old age also, and the space of a few years, yea one days fit of a sudden fetter. Last of all, to admit that no outward extremity do happen, by continuance it consumeth of it own accord, & turneth to naught, neither did it bring so much delight when it came, as it procureth grief when it departeth. The same, if I be not deceived, did the beautiful Roman Prince Domitian prove sometime to be true, who writing unto a certain friend of his: Understand saith he, that there is nothing more acceptable than beauty, nor more brittle. And although it were durable, and a gift of nature that continued, yet do I not see what there is in this glittering beauty, which is no sound thing, and which resteth only upon the uppermost part of a man, that should be so much desired, which covereth many filthy and horrible things, flattering the senses, and deluding them with a simple and sleight overcasting of the skin: And therefore it is better to take pleasure in true and permanent good things, then in such as are false and transitory.  joy. 
The beauty of my body is most excellent.  Reason. 
Thou hast a veil before thine eyes, a snare before thy feet, byrdlyme upon thy wings, thou canst not easesily either discern the truth, or follow virtue, or mount aloft with thy mind: Beauty hath hindered many from achieving honest exploits, and turned them to the contrary.  joy. 
The beauty of my body is wonderful.  Reason. 
You say well, to call it wonderful, for what is more wonderful than this vanity? From how many delectable things do fair young men abstain? what travails do they sustain? how much do they punish them, to the end they may (I say not be) but appear the more beautiful, & that only to set forth their beauty, not thinking upon either their good health or pleasure? How much time therewhile is there spent in eating and drinking? how many honest, profitable, and lastly, necessary businesses are there neglected? And therefore keep unto thyself this short and transitory good & vain joy, & that without envy. Thou hast thine enemy at home, and that which worse is, a delectable and pleasant one: thou hast that which will take away thy quietness, and spend thy time, and is a perpetual torment: thou hast the occasion of pain and trouble, a plentiful matter to minister dangers, a maintainer of lusts & lechery, & an entrance no less to purchase hatred, then to procure love. Perhaps thou shalt be amorous to women, but odious to men, or peradventure suspected: For jealousy in wedlock is by no means more kindled, then by bodily beauty. And nothing is more ardently coveted then beauty, nothing moveth the mind more forcibly, & therefore nothing is suspecied more vehemently.  joy. 
The beauty of my body is great.  Reason. 
The same is wont to enforce foolish young men to that which is not expedient for them, while they think that even as they lust, so also it is lawful for them to use their present commodity, not regarding what is meet and convenient: which thing many times hath been the cause of a sharp and shameful ruin to many.  joy. 
The beauty of my body is allowable.  Reason. 
It shallbe so but a very short time, seeing that this coomlynesse & colour of thy face shallbe changed. These yellow locks shall fall away, the other that remain shall wax hoary, the skalie wrinkles shall plough the loathsome furrows upon thy tender cheeks and glistering forehead, a sorrowful cloud shall cover the cheerful beams and shining stars of thine eyes, rotten raggedness shall consume and fret away the smooth and white ivory of thy teeth, not changing them only in colour, but disordering them also in place, thine upright neck & nimble shoulders shall wax crooked, thy smooth throat shall wax curled, thou shalt think that those dry hands and crooked feet were never thine own: What need many words? the day will come, in which thou wilt not know thyself in a looking glass. Of all these things which thou thinkest to be far from thee, to the end that when they come thou shalt not be astonished at such monstrous bugs, say not but that thou hast been forewarned: And now I pronounce unto thee, that if thou live, these things will come upon thee almost sooner than it can be spoken: and if thou do now believe me, thou shalt then less wonder to see how thou art transformed.  joy. 
In the mean while my beauty is noble.  Reason. 
What can I say more briefly than that saying of Apuleius Mandarensis? Stay a little while, and there shallbe no such thing.  joy. 
Hitherto the beauty of my body is excellent.  Reason. 
I had rather the beauty of thy mind were excellent. For the beauty of the mind is a thing far more precious, pleasant, and sure, then is the beauty of the body, consisting likewise of semblable laws & comeliness of order, with apt and due disposition of the parts. It is a worthy matter to wish for that beauty, and to employ a man's travail in pursuing the same, which neither length of time shall consume, nor sickness extinguyshe, nor death itself overthrow. But now you have mortal things in admiration.  joy. 
Truly at the leastwise now my beauty is rare.  Reason. 
In this, as in many other things, a mediocrity is to be wished. But if thou neither please thyself with this thy beauty, neither endeavour to please others but with that which is comely & convenient, & shalt use it chastened, soberly, and modestly, thy commendation thereby shall not be smally advanced.  joy. 
A beautiful face honesteth the mind.  Reason. 
Nay rather it proveth it, and oftentimes draweth it into danger: And why shouldest thou glory of that, since it is neither thine own, neither canst thou keep it long, which was never glorious unto any to have had it, but unto many to have cast it of? I let pass to speak of other: Spurina was renowned, not for her natural beauty's sake, but for her procured deformity.  joy. 
I do endeavour that virtue of the mind, may be joined with the beauty of my body.  Reason. 
If thou bring that to pass, then shall I say that thou art truly and in all respects fortunate: then shall thy beauty appear more excellent, and thy virtue more acceptable. And although Seneca do writ, that he seemeth unto him to be deceived, who saith,  
And virtue found in body fair, the greater grace it bears: yet me thynks he might have been more worthily reprehended if he had said that it had been in deed greater, or perfecter, or higher. But now since by saying it is more acceptable, he respected not the thing itself, but the indigent of the beholders: surely Virgil seemeth unto me to be deceived in so saying. To conclude, as the grace of beauty hath in it no soundness, & nothing to be desired? so if it be willingly added to virtue, neither the one be impaired by increase of the other, I will suffer that this be termed an ornament to the other, or a thing not unpleasant to sight, howbeit short and frail. But if it be alone without virtue, I will then call it a burden to the mind, and an unlucky sign of sorrowful deceit.   

Of bodily health. The third Dialogue.  JOY. 
MY health is prosperous.  Reason. 
Whatsoever I said er● while concerning beauty, imagine that it were now again repeated.  joy. 
My bodily health is strong.  Reason. 
Behold how old age cometh against thee, guarded with a thousand kinds of sundry diseases to invade good health, and in the mean while pleasure fighteth against thee a familiar combat.  joy. 
The health of my body is joyful.  Reason. 
An unadvised joyfulness, which useth to make the possessors thereof careless and negligent, and many times to procure those diseases, which the distrustful carelessness of the party hath feared, as ready to impair his good health.  joy. 
The health of my body is good.  Reason. 
Use it well, else it is but a small good: Yea, it is a great evil, if (as it is wont,) it minister cause of some offence. Good health hath been dangerous and hurtful to many, that might with more safety have been sick in their beds.  joy. 
I am in very good health of body.  Reason. 
A very good thing truly, and much profitable, whether a man hath aught to do with the body, or with the mind. But like as there resteth the force of poison in the roots of certain herbs, which being corrected by mingling of other things with them, there is an wholesome drink made of many things together, which before consisting but of one thing, wo●●●e have been hurtful: So likewise bodily health, to the end it be not harmful to him that hath it, aught to be tempered with none other thing, then by adjoining thereunto the good health of the mind. A sick mind dwelleth in no place worse than in an whole body.   

Of restored health. The fourth Dialogue.  JOY. 
I JOY that I am delivered of a long sickness.  Reason. 
Restored health I confess, is more pleasant then retained. Most unthankful men, ye scarce know your goods otherwise then by losing them, and therefore when they be lost they grieve you, and when ye recover them, they make you meery.  joy. 
A most sharp fever hath forsaken me.  Reason. 
Physicians call those fevers most grievous, which fry with heat within the bones and marrow: How much more grievous are they which lie hid within the mind, whereof I would wish thee specially to be delivered?  joy. 
My sickness is gone.  Reason. 
Present sickness hath oftentimes done good, while weakening the strength of the body, it hath procured health to the mind. Consequently therefore when this is wanting, it hurteth and diminisheth the light of the mind, and augmenteth the pride of the body: albeit then, sickness seem to be nought, yea, very evil, notwithstanding that evil is to be embraced which bringeth remedy to a greater evil.  joy. 
At length my long sickness hath an end.  Reason. 
O thou most foolish man, dost thou think thou hast thus escaped death, to whom thou runnest daily? Thou art now nearer unto him, than then, when thou thoughtest thou wast hard at him: your journey is unreturneable, and ye stay in no part thereof, ye have no Inn to rest in, ye cannot slow your pace, your sleep and watching, your toil and resting, your sickness and health, are steps a like unto death.  joy. 
I am rid of a perilous disease.  Reason. 
Thou hast a creditor whom thou canst not deceive, thy day of payment is deferred, but thou art not discharged of thy band: for thou must needs be sick again, and die.   

Of bodily strength. The .v. Dialogue.  JOY. 
THere hath happened unto me strength enough, yea very much.  Reason. 
Read over that which is said touching beauty and good health: Of like things, like is the doctrine.  joy. 
I have much strength.  Reason. 
Beware thou attempt nothing trusting in thine own strength, whereby thou mayest appear weak.  joy. 
I have great strength.  Reason. 
This is a glory, as if it were for a Bul.  joy. 
I have plenty of strength.  Reason. 
An Elephant hath more.  joy. 
I have much strength.  Reason. 
I believe that well: to much, turneth to stark nought, or is itself a fault.  joy. 
I have overmuch strength.  Reason. 
If this overmuch be brought to a mediocrity, it is well. But what if it turn to a want? what if this great force be converted into a notable weakness? Believe me, there was never yet any strength of body so great, but that it was broken either with immoderate labour, or sharp sickness, or with old age, that consumeth all things. The force of the mind only is unfatigable and invincible.  joy. 
The strength of my body is mighty.  Reason. 
None was more strong than Milo, but many more noble.  joy. 
My body is hugy, and of great force.  Reason. 
Virtue, which is of all things the most worthiest, hath no need of the bigness of the body, but dwelleth in the mind.  joy. 
There is nothing hard to this strength.  Reason. 
Yes, there are many things impossible for thee to do, and this one thing especially, that who so putteth his trust in his body, should be all to climb on high.  joy. 
My strength is above the strength of a man.  Reason. 
Whosoever in this behalf surpassed all other men, yet in the same he was inferior to many living creatures.  joy. 
There is nothing that with this strength I can be afraid of.  Reason. 
Yes truly very much: for against so great confidence in a man's own strength, fortune armeth herself with great force, and many times disdaining to encounter in equal fight, to the intent she may show how weak a creature man is, yea, when he thinketh himself most strong, in slender conflict she hath overthrown Giantlike personages. Hercules, whom none could overcome, the force of lurking poison subdued. Milo, who was known and renowned at all exercises of strength and valiancy, one poor tree caught fast, & held him there to be torn in pieces by wild beasts. And so that valiant strength of his without example, was found to be inferior to the force of a cloven Oak: And wilt thou trust to thy strength?  joy. 
I am of an hugy strength.  Reason. 
Every hugy thing, is troubled with his own mole & bigness.  joy. 
My strength increaseth.  Reason. 
This is for the most part the nature of all things, that when they be come to the highest, than they fall down again, & that not with like leisure as they gate up. For their rising is slow, but their falling is sudden. This strength also whereof thou vauntest, when it shall leave to increase, will not continued, but first will privily begin to decay, and afterward at length will openly fall. All mortal things do equally flit away, except the mind only, but the signs and footsteps of their departure do not appear alike, unless a man will say, that those living creatures do go less or slowest, which either go in the dark, or make no noise in their creeping, and put out the print of their going with the pressing of their tails.  joy. 
I boast in the strength of my body.  Reason. 
What wouldst thou then do in thine own? Think how great thine own strength is, for this is not thine, but the strength of thy harborough or Inn, or rather thy prison. It is a vain thing for thee, being thyself weak, to glory of thy strong dwelling, or to speak more aptly, of a strong adversary.  joy. 
I rejoice in my strength.  Reason. 
What other shall I say, than that saying of the Poet? Thou shalt not rejoice long, and in steed of mirth, complaints shall come in place. doest thou remember how he that was so strong, of whom I made mention twice erewhile, complaineth of his strength in old age?   

Of swiftness of the body. The sixth Dialogue.  JOY. 
But I am very swift.  Reason. 
Tell me whither thy running tendeth? Many have been destroyed through their own swiftness.  joy. 
My swiftness is wondered.  Reason. 
Run ye mortal men whither ye lust, the swiftness of heaven outrunneth you, and leadeth you unto old age, and death. The one of these will take away your running, the other your mooveing.  joy. 
My swiftness is very great.  Reason. 
It tendeth thither, where it shall have an end.  joy. 
My swiftness is s●e●, as ●he like hath not been heard of.  Reason. 
It tendeth thither where there shallbe great slowness.  joy. 
My swiftness is infinite.  Reason. 
Be it as great as it list, it shall have no place where to exercise itself: for the whole earth is as is were a small prick or point.  joy. 
My swiftness is inestimable.  Reason. 
This commendation is due unto wit, unto which the seas, and heaven, and eternity, & the spaces of nature, the hidden places, and secrets of all things lie open. As for this body, which is circumscribed and compassed about with a prick and small moment of space, whither will the swiftness thereof bring it, and where will it leave it? Admit this space were very wide & great, either in respect of time, or of place, notwithstanding whither soever it turneth, it maketh haste to the grave. This narrow roomth, and place of necessity, is known without Astrological conjecture, or Geometrical demonstration. So than ye run thither, where in deed there is no running at all.  joy. 
My swiftness is incredible.  Reason. 
Although thou excel all men, yet thou art not able herein to match an Hare.  joy. 
My swiftness is marvelous.  Reason. 
The same accompanying many upon hanging hills and broken mountains sides, hath disappointed them of the plain ground: and many also that would run, or as it were, fly, by vaulting, or otherwise, upon the walls and battlements of towers, upon the tacklynges of ships, upon the crags of hills, without hurting themselves, shortly after by some little tripping or sliding of the foot, have in this outrage been found dead in the high ways by falling. It is a dange● us thing, and against the course of nature, that there should be such lightness in heavy bodies, and the practice thereof will make a man not to be nimble long: For, although he escape without hurt, yet he shall soon leave it of through weariness: for the strength of a man is but short, and his swiftness shorter.  joy. 
I am now very nimble.  Reason. 
An Ass also is nimble in his youth, & a Pard waxeth slow with age. In time nimbleness will wax stiff. The first age hath spurs, the last hath bridles: whatsoever thou art thou shalt not be long, & if thou desire to be good, endeavour to be so. Only virtue is not afraid of old age.   

Of wit. The vii Dialogue.  JOY. 
MY wit is also quick.  Reason. 
I pray God it be unto virtue: Otherwise look how much the quicker, so much the nearer to destruction.  joy. 
I have a ready wit.  Reason. 
If it be also appliable unto good arts, it is a precious furniture of the mind: If otherwise, it is burdensome, perilous, and troublesome.  joy. 
My wit is very sharp.  Reason. 
It is not the sharpness, but the uprightness and staidness of the wit, that deserve the true and perpetual commendation. The sharpness of some wits is rebated with small force, and will fail at the first encounter, and the most strongest things if they be stretched forth to the uttermost, become feeble, and so likewise weakness overcometh all strength.  joy. 
I have a most sharp wit.  Reason. 
There is nothing more odious unto wisdom then to much sharpness: Nothing more grievous unto a philosopher then a sophist: & for that cause, in old time the ancient fathers feigned that Pallas could not abide spiders, whose curious work, and fine webs are brittle, & serve to no purpose. Therefore let the edge of the wit be like the edge of a weapon, that it may not only pierce, but also stay from going further.  joy. 
My wit is prompt, and ready to every thing.  Reason. 
This was sometime attributed unto Marcus Cato Censorius, that he was as ready and apt to learning, as to the wars, to matters concerning the field, as the city, and also to the exercise of husbandry: which thing in part the Grecians do ascribe to their countryman Epa●inundas, and the Persians to their Cyrus. Take herd whereunto this thy ready wit be inclined, that it be not crafty, and that it be not only not quick and pliant, but rather light and inconstant. For it is one thing to be able to stay, and another to be able to go whither soever a man lust.  joy. 
My wit is excellent.  Reason. 
It skilleth much in what kind a man do excel: For the signification of that word is uncertain: and true it is, that a man's wit is of force, if he do thoroughly bend it. And therefore give me rather a good wit, than an excellent: for the one cannot be converted to evil, the other is flexible unto many things. For Sallust writeth, that Lucius Catiline was a man of notable courage, but of a corrupt naughty wit and disposition.  joy. 
My wit is great.  Reason. 
I require a good and a modest wit, the greatness only is suspected: For a great wit hath many times been the beginning of great evils. And seldom were there any great errors, but they sprang from great wits.   

Of Memory. The viii Dialogue.  JOY. 
MY memory is very great.  Reason. 
Thou hast then a large house of loathsomeness, and a gallery full of smoky images, among which many things may displease.  joy. 
My memory containeth many things.  Reason. 
Among many things there be but few that do delight a man, the more part of them do molest him, and oftentimes the remembrance of pleasant things is grievous.  joy. 
My memory comprehendeth sundry things.  Reason. 
If they be good, it is well: If they be evil, why art thou glad thereof? Is it not grievous enough, either to have suffered or seen evils, but that they must continually come into our mind, or always lie forth before our eyes:  joy. 
My memory containeth divers things.  Reason. 
That is to say, divers both faults, & offences, & heinous trespasses, and reproaches, & shames, & repulses, & sorrows, & travails, and dangers, although (as some say) there is pleasure in the remembrance of this whereof I spoke last: wherein notwithstanding we must this understand, that not so much the remembrance of the forepast evils, as the delight of the present good state, procureth the pleasure. And therefore no man taketh delight in the remembrance of his labour and danger, unless he be at quiet and in security: no man can gladly think on poverty, but he that is ritch? on sickness, but he that is in health: on prison, but he that is at liberty: on bands, but he that is free: on banishment, but he that is returned home again: Only the remembrance of shame is grievous, yea, in the midst of honours. So that there is nothing that is holden more dear, or is more incurable, then is a man's honour and good name.  joy. 
My memory is manifold, and containeth much tyme.  Reason. 
In manifold remembrance, are manifold troubles. For some do nyp the conscience, some prick it, some wound it, some confound it, some terrify it, some overthrow it, whereby it cometh to pass, that when men call them to remembrance, read blushing and wan paleness interchangeably possess their faces in silence, which thing chanceth sometime to the vilest & wickedest persons, causing their going to be uncertain, their speech doubtful, with many other such passions more, signifying that the mind is troubled with to well remembering.  joy. 
My memory is prompt.  Reason. 
I had rather thy will were godly, thy desire chaste, thy counsels honest, thy deeds innocent, and thy life without rebuke.  joy. 
I have a very firm memory.  Reason. 
How should you men then forgeat the heavenly precepts, which are so few in number: How should you forgeat the only God? How should you then forgeat yourselves:  joy. 
My memory is passing firm.  Reason. 
I think well it be so, of earthly and unprofitable things. But whither and to what purpose tendeth this vagabond and flickering memory? Which wandering through heaven and earth, and forgetting to return to itself, calleth not to remembrance that one thing which is necessary and healthful: in which if perhaps sometime it found any small pleasure, most times it findeth plenty of grief. And therefore not without cause, when one offered to teach Themistocles the art of memory, which at that time was invented by Simonidis, answered, that he had rather learn the art of forgetfulness. And although he seemed justly to answer so, as one that above all credit excelled all other in that gift of nature, and whose memory was overwhelmed with innumerable representations of matters & words, notwithstanding it agreeth almost with all men: for so all of you learn the things that you aught to forgeat, and forgeat the things that ye aught to learn, exercising your memory in such matters as were profitable to forgeat, & therein not contented with the limitation of nature, ye set forth your madness in art.  joy. 
My memory is almighty.  Reason. 
This title is proper to God only. You would have said perhaps that it is of great power, notwithstanding if an excellent memory be of any force, which in deed is better than all othervaine curiosity, let it reject the hurtful, & embrace the profitable, & not so diligently pursue the things that delight, as the things that profit.  joy. 
My memory is the best that can be.  Reason. 
There is nothing better than the best, & therefore if thou wilt seem to say true, it behoveth thee to show thyself mindful in the best Remember thy sin, that thou mayest be sorry for it: remember death, that thou mayest leave to sin: remember the judgement of god, that thou mayest be afraid: remember his mercy, that thou do not despair.   

Of Eloquence. The ix Dialogue.  JOY. 
But mine eloquence is notable.  Reason. 
I grant it is a great instrument of glory, but doubtful, with two points. It skilleth very much how a man do use this also.  joy. 
Mine eloquence is flowing and swift.  Reason. 
Some, not amiss, do compare the eloquence of a fool or a lewd person, to a mad man's sword, both whom it is meet when they go abroad, to be unarmed.  joy. 
Mine eloquence is famous and bright.  Reason. 
A thing is said to be bright many ways, the Sun is bright, a fire is bright.  joy. 
Mine eloquence is very shining.  Reason. 
The sorrowful comets, and hurtful sword, and hateful helmets of our enemies do shine: but that the shining of eloquence may be glorious, it must be tempered with holiness and wisdom.  joy. 
The plenty of mine eloquence is very great.  Reason. 
If it be joined with modesty, I do not deny but that it is an excellent thing, and surpassing the common measure of men: otherwise it were better to be dumb.  joy. 
I have eloquence enough.  Reason. 
That there was eloquence enough and but little wisdom in that most wicked man, thou readest in Sallust, yet sought he not for any glory by his eloquence: how be it, if it be more deeply considered, it was not eloquence, but unprofitable babbling. For no man can be a true orator, that is to say, a master of eloquence, unless he be a good man And if thou, being a good and a wise man, didst suppose that this stream and readiness of words, which for the most part doth most abound in the fancy and impudent crew, was sufficient for the commendation of the Oratory, and the perfect duty of eloquence, or that this cunning in speech only was enough, thou wast deceived. The readiness of the tongue, & plenty of words, & the art and skill also to use them, may be indifferent to the wicked and the godly: but that which thou seekest appertaineth to the best sort of men, & not to all of them, but to very few: so that evil men are banished from this commendation, being a thing whereunto the good gifts of that mind, as virtue & wisdom, are required, which they do want. Which, if thou do not understand to be so, I will show thee how. And remember these two things whereof I speak, & imprint their definitions in thy mind, whereof the one is Cato's, the other Cicero's. The first saith thus: An Orator is an honest man, skilful in speaking. The other: Eloquence, saith he, is nothing else but wisdom, speaking copiously. By these words thou seest, that to the essence and substance of an Orator, and of Eloquence, is honesty and wisdom required, which notwithstanding are not sufficient, unless there be cunning, & copy. So that the two first things do make a man good and wise only, the other make him neither good nor wise, nor eloquent, but full of words. All these joined together, do make a perfect Orator, and his cunning which truly is a more rare and high thing, than they suppose that hope that it consisteth in multitude of words. And therefore if thou covet the name of an Orator, and seek for the true praise of Eloquence: first study virtue and wisdom.  joy. 
Mine eloquence is full and perfect.  Reason. 
To that which is full and perfect, nothing is wanting, but there will be much lacking if the premises be away. And therefore before thou pronounce of the whole, recount this one thing secretly with thyself.  joy. 
Mine eloquence is the chiefest.  Reason. 
There is nothing above that which is chiefest, and therefore if these cease, it cannot be chief, but a certain transitory and misshapen thing, that hath neither roof nor foundation.  joy. 
Mine eloquence is pleasant and comely.  Reason. 
This pleasantness & comeliness, I know not what flattery and craft, not profit or uprightness it resembleth. Howbeit, the pleasant & comely pleading of a deceitful man, is of no more force before upright judges, then is the painting of a harlot, or sugared poison, or the strength of a fantic person, or the gold of a covetous miser. Whatsoever it be, although it appear to be somewhat, and do delight, if it want the essential beginning, it aught to seem nothing at all, or almost nothing.  joy. 
I have great confidence in mine eloquence.  Reason. 
Great confidence hath oftentimes opened the way to great dangers. To the intent it may lift up the mind, and help it, let a man bridle his affection, & know himself, and examine himself what he hath to do: let insolency & disdain be far of. But if, going yet farther at liberty, it begin to forget it own strength, it is no longer confidence, but rashness and boldness, a thing of all other farthest of from wisdom. This, as in all affairs it seemeth more precious to sight, so in affection it is more dangerous than cowardice. For this keepeth men at home slothful and devoid of glory, and boldness pricketh them forth in heat, and whom it was thought it would prefer, it casteth down headlong, it maketh most valiant men to appear dastards, it hath caused most wary men to prove unadvised: and that I may now come nearer to thee, it hath made them that appeared most eloquent, to be found without speech.  joy. 
Mine eloquence is exceeding great.  Reason. 
If we may believe the Historician, eloquence hath dwelled among infinite vices: and hold thou fast his authority for an undoubted truth, and doubt not of that which the prince of elequence writeth in his rhetorics, That eloquence cannot be without wisdom, which as it appeareth, is plainly repugnant to that which goeth before. And in deed this eloquence, howsoever it be taken, the greater truly it is, the more noisome and hurtful it is, if it be alone.  joy. 
Mine eloquence is singular.  Reason. 
That same is the thing which led the most singular men both among the greeks & Latins into destruction: Which to be so, Demosthenes, and Cicero, and Antonius, will not deny.  joy. 
Mine eloquence is plausible.  Reason. 
If thou use it uprightly without boasting, there is no one mean whereby thou mayest sooner get the goodwill of the multitude, and purchase glory, without which it can not be gotten, but by mere exercise of virtue. But if thou abuse it arrogantly & wickedly, thou shalt soon bring thyself into danger, and heap up the hatred of many upon thy head. It is the saying of a certain wise man, that life & death are in the power of the tongue. The tongues, not of one man only, but of a certain many, have overthrown whole commonwealths, & will overthrow hereafter. The tongue, is the worst and most hurtful member of an evil person. There is nothing softer than the tongue, and nothing harder.  joy. 
Mine eloquence is rattling.  Reason. 
Thunder and lightning ratle also.  joy. 
Mine eloquence is flourishing.  Reason. 
The poisoning herb Aconitum flourisheth likewise. To be short, turn and return it which way soever thou canst, thou hast both a narrow way to glory, and a very prove path unto envy.   

Of Virtue. The ten Dialogue.  JOY. 
IS it not then lawful for me to boast of virtue?  Reason. 
Admit it be lawful, yet it is lawful to boast in him only, who alone is the author and giver of virtue, and all goodness.  joy. 
The virtue of my mind is great.  Reason. 
Take heed, jest the greater it be supposed, the less it be in deed.  joy. 
My virtue is tried in doubtful state.  Reason. 
It is the property of virtue, to weigh not what is done, but what aught to be done: not what we have, but what is wanting: whereby it cometh to pass, that we see it not vaunt of that which is already gotten, but careful for that which is to get. I would say, if I might so speak, that virtue is covetous, or truly like unto covetousness. It thirsteth continually, it burneth daily, and the more it seeketh, the poorer it seemeth to itself, and the more it coveteth. It hath no end of desiring, it hath no sufficient recompense of deserts.  joy. 
My virtue is greater, than is accustomable for men.  Reason. 
I fear me jest this boasting proceedeth rather from pride, then from virtue.  joy. 
My virtue is very much renowned.  Reason. 
Humility is the foundation of true virtue: neither is there any renown so great, which pride will not obscure. This doth he know to be true, who being created bright, shining, and renowned, and advancing himself, deserved not only to be made dark and obscure, but also the prince of darkness. Which thing if it happened unto him, what may other hope of themselves?  joy. 
My virtue is excellent.  Reason. 
It is not accustomable for virtue to boast or wonder at itself, but to imitate that which is in other. And therefore always breathing higher, & always aspiring farther, in comparison of itself, it little regardeth any other.  joy. 
My virtue is absolute.  Reason. 
Virtue never judgeth so of itself, it trusteth not in itself, it is not arrogant, it knoweth that this is a time of warfare, & not of triumph, & therefore it never sleepeth, but is always busy. It is always ready, as though it began but now, which notwithstanding thinketh not that it hath accomplished all thing, or that it is perfect & absolute. Believe me, it is not virtue, error is obuersant unto virtue, & contrary unto it: whosoever thinketh that he is come to the top, in this he is first deceived, that he is not where he thinketh himself to be. Moreover, in that by wandering that way, it forsaketh the path that leadeth thither, & while it preventeth that which it hath not, it neglecteth that which it might have had of it own accord. For why? there is nothing so contrary to profit, as the opinion of perfection. No man endeavoureth to do that which he supposeth he hath done already. This error hath often times hindered such as have attempted great matters, and that were now ready to reach to the highest.  joy. 
My virtue is absolute, as touching the capacity of man.  Reason. 
If thou lay down all thy life before thine eyes, and being an uncorrupt judge in thine own cause, thou require of thyself an account of thy words, deeds, and thoughts, through every day, then shalt thou see how much there is void in thy mind, and how great a roomth vices do possess.  joy. 
At the leastwise my wisdom is common & ordinary.  Reason. 
In the highest things a mean hath scarcely any place: but admit it have, notwithstanding that is not the matter of joy, but of travail and study: For that which tendeth to the highest, is not in quiet until it attain thereto.  joy. 
I have some virtue.  Reason. 
Leave the judgement hereof unto other. And if thou hast any virtue, the end of the joy is not there, but in him unto whom true virtue leadeth by the narrow way: For we profess that Philosophy which teacheth us not to enjoy, but to exercise virtue: And therefore now this is not the f●l time of rejoicing, being beset round about with so many dangers of death, but rather of wishing and hoping. Thou mayest hope that thou shalt rejoice, but so, that thou fear that thou mayest be sorry.  joy. 
If I have any goodness, I know from whence it cometh, and I rejoice therein: If I lack any thing, I know from whence to require it, and therein is my hope.  joy. 
This is virtue, and now thou hast found an assured path unto true joy.   

Of the opinion of Virtue. The xi Dialogue.  JOY. 
Whatsoever I am, men have a good opinion of me.  Reason. 
Opinion changeth not the thing itself.  joy. 
The common opinion is, that I am a good man.  Reason. 
What if thou be naught, is not then the opinion false? For him that knoweth a thing, & falsely rejoiceth, it is a madness.  joy. 
In the opinion of the common people, I am called good.  Reason. 
There is nothing which opinion can not imagine to itself. But whatsoever good or evil dwelleth in the mind, it is not altered by divers opinions, nor speeches. And therefore, if all the men in the world do say thou art a good man, thou art in deed made never awhyt the better.  joy. 
At the leastwise I have a good name.  Reason. 
The wise man among the Hebrews saith, that a good name is better than great riches. And again in another place, A good name, saith he, is letter then precious ointments. By these words he hath expressed the value of a good name, and the smell of good report, in comparing them to gold, & to an ointment: But how can a name or any thing else be good, if it be false? And therefore whatsoever name a wicked man hath, his wickedness notwithstanding is not the less. Then let him not glory in his vain name, but let him hear the saying of the same wise man, The name of the ungodly. saith he, shall rot away: and that saying also of another man, This is our glory, to wit, the testimony of our conscience. If that do grudge within thee, what will the whispering of flatterers avail thee? what good will that name do thee, which is gotten by feygning and flattery? there springeth no good out of an ill root: Neither mayest thou say that a good name springeth hereof, seeing in so saying thou canst not say truth.  joy. 
My citizens think well of me.  Reason. 
It skilleth not what other men think of thee, but what thou thyself thinkest.  joy. 
My citizens speak well of me.  Reason. 
Believe them not, they know not what they speak, & they lie willingly, by reason of a certain itch they have in their tongues, to speak doubly and on both sides, whose continual custom is turned into nature.  joy. 
Very many speak well of me.  Reason. 
To believe those that are ignorant, what is it other, then willingly to be deceived?  joy. 
The country round about speaketh well of me.  Reason. 
Perhaps alured by means of fair speech, or gifts on thy part, or looking for some commodity at thy hands N●uer believe him that loveth, or him that hopeth.  joy. 
My neighbour's renown my name.  Reason. 
One of them abuseth another, and all of them abuse thee.  joy. 
My citizens geuen●e a good report.  R ason. 
Within thy mind there is a more incorrupt and assured witness: Demand of thine own conscience, and believe that.  joy. 
Men have a good opinion of me.  Reason. 
Opinion is the name of a doubtful thing Virtue is a thing most assured.  joy. 
I seem unto myself to be a good man.  Reason. 
Then art thou evil: For good men do mislike and accuse themselves.  joy. 
I seem good unto myself, and to others.  Reason. 
What if thou be evil, and they fools?  joy. 
My citizens hope well of me.  Reason. 
Endeavour that their hope be not deceived. It is a shame to delude them that hope well of a man, in that which he may do of himself.  joy. 
I think I am such an one of whom many do not hope in vain.  Reason. 
It thou were so, thou wouldst not believe it. It is an evil thing for a man to deceive others, but worst of all to deceive himself.  joy. 
All men think that I am good.  Reason. 
But what if thou know the contrary?  joy. 
All men call me good.  Reason. 
And dost thou believe them all? Art thou not ashamed to be called that which thou art not? But among many other things, this is a strange quality which is engrafted within you, concerning yourselves and your affairs, yea, although they be secret, to believe every one better than yourselves. And according to Horace saying, Both to fear hang infamy, and to be delighted in false glory.  joy. 
The whole common people praise me with one voice.  Reason. 
There is no way more prove to error, and to falling down headlong, then by the common people's steps: For almost whatsoever the common people doth praise, is rather worthy of reprehension.  joy. 
I please all men.  Reason. 
God despiseth those that please men, and to please men, is to displease God: and the contraries, rejoice in their contraries.  joy. 
I have the name of a good man.  Reason. 
That m●st be preserved by constancy and honesty of life, otherwise it loyl soon vanish, for it waxeth stolen.  joy. 
The people doth much advance my praise.  Reason. 
Thou hast planted withered trees in a dry soil.  joy. 
My commendation also is great among the learned.  Reason. 
If it be true commendation, it will continued, and as Cicero saith, it will gather root, and spread forth. But if it be false, it will quickly tall as doth a flower.  joy. 
All men, as it were with one mouth, do set forth my virtue.  Reason. 
You aught not to glory in the state of men, nor in your own virtue, although it be true, but in him that is auciour of all virtues: who so doth the contrary, he shall not only not obtain by the testimony of men that which he hath not, but shall diminish or lose that which he hath.  joy. 
All the whole common people speak well of me.  Reason, 
I have already said, and now I repeat it again: Whatsoever the multitude thinketh, is vain, whatsoever they speak, is false, whatsoever they dislike, is good, whatsoever they like, is evil, whatsoever they commend, is infamous, whatsoever they do, is foolish. Then go thy ways now, and vaunt thyself of the foolish speech of mad men.   

Of wisdom. The xii Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Have obtained wisdom.  Reason. 
A great thing if it were true, and which can not be separated from virtue. And therefore if thou hadst embraced that, this were to be allowed: but both of them are more easy in opinion, then in effect.  joy. 
I am wise.  Reason. 
Believe me, if thou were so in deed, thou wouldst never say so: For a wise man knoweth how much it is that he lacketh, and therefore he boasteth not, but suspecteth.  joy. 
I profess myself to be wise.  Reason. 
It were well, if there were so many wise men, as there are professors of wisdom: But the one of these is very hard, the other very easy.  joy. 
I am wise.  Reason. 
If thou wilt be a wise man in deed, suppose not thyself to be so. It is the first step of folly, for a man to think himself wise: and the next, to profess himself to be so.  joy. 
By my study I have artained to wisdom.  Reason. 
In deed by that means men attain unto it: but whether thou hast attained unto it, recount with thyself. It is not a matter of small study, requiring a space of time as other Arts do: it requireth the whole life of a man, be it never so long. If a man, as they say, running all the day, come to the evening, it is sufficient. That most notable saying of Plato, as many other also of his is well known, wherein he pleaseth Cicero well, and me also: to wit, That he is happy, to whom it hath chanced, yea in his old age, to attain unto wisdom, and true opinions. These, whether thou hast met withal half way, or riding upon some fleeing Horse hast attained unto before thy time, it may be doubted, for that thou art so soon be come wise.  joy. 
I have received the perfection of my wisdom from heaven.  Reason. 
I confess in deed, that wisdom is an heavenly gift, but truly he was a great man, and a friend to heaven, that said these words, Not that I have now received it, or am perfect.  joy. 
I learned wisdom with a greedy mind.  Reason. 
As the desire of money and many other things is evil, so the thirst of wisdom is good: But whether thou be capable of so great a thing, consider: Surely he of whom I spoke before: As for me, ●●yth he, I do not think that I have attained it. And doubelesse he was a great man, who talking with God of himself said thus, Thy eyes have seen mine imperfection. This is the property of a wise man, to acknowledge and confess his own imperfection.  joy. 
I am called a wise man.  Reason. 
Neither thine own nor any other man's saying can ever make thee a wise man, but the thing itself.  joy. 
I am commonly called a wise man.  Reason. 
The common people hath learned, as it were by their own authority, to call mad men wise, and wise men mad, that is to say, to esteem falsehood for truth, and truth for falsehood. There is nothing so far of from virtue and truth, as is the opinion of the common people.  joy. 
All men call me wise.  Reason. 
This perhaps maketh somewhat to thy fame: but nothing to thy wisdom. But I perceive that thou cleavest to the titles of learning, than which there is nothing more liberal: Howbeit they are not sufficient to make them wise men that are not, but they make them singular, and notable, and honest, and honourable, and excellent, so that they are ashamed of the simple title of wisdom, which unto how few in deed it is due, it is strange to understand: notwithstanding custom hath so prevailed, that it is numbered up among excellent styles and titles, which they that heap them together in such wise, do know that themselves do lie: But they are willing to be counted civil, if it were but by lying. You that read them, and think them not only to be true, but somewhat inferior to the truth, are deceived by a common error. No man will inquire of his own matters: Every man believeth other men of himself. Wouldst thou know how wise thou art? cast thine eyes behind thee. Remember how often in this life thou hast stumbled, how many times thou hast erred, how often thou hast tripped and fallen, how many shameful things, how many sorrowful things, how many irksome things thou hast committed, and then call thyself a wise man if thou darest: but I suppose thou wilt not dare.  joy. 
I know myself to be wise.  Reason. 
Learned perhaps thou wouldst say: For there be some in deed that are learned, although but few: but none almost that are wise. It is one thing to speak wisely, and another thing to live wisely: one thing to be called, another thing to be wise in deed. There have been some that have said that there is no man wise: which saying, how true or false it is, I do not dispute: Truly it is to peremptory an opinion, and prove to despair, and repugnant to the study of wisdom. The hebrews do much commend of their wise Solomon: who, how wise he was in deed, his number of wives and concubines witnesseth, but most of all his worshipping of false gods. The Romans vaunt of their wise Laelius and Cato. Greece, whilst it flooryshed, is said to have had seven wise men. These seemed unworthy of that title unto those that came after. They that excuse them, say that they did not take upon them that title, but that it was attributed unto them through the error of the people. There was one only, that by his own possession, and in his own judgement, was wise, the most fool of them all, Epicurus. Which title he would perticipate with Metrodorus, neither did he refuse so honourable a gift at his friends hands, and took it in good part to be called w●se, that the same glory of his, what ever it was, might be the error of the other. Socratis only was judged wise by the Oracle of Apollo: Perhaps for this purpose, that by a false testimony, the false God might move him to m●onesse and pride, who came near in deed to a wise man. This much I have said of the ancient wise 〈◊〉. As for our age, it is more happy, wherein there are not reckoned one, or twain, or seven, but in every town are numbered multitudes of wise men, as it were flocks of sheep ●nd it is no marvel that there are so many, seeing they are so easily made. There cometh a foolish young man to the Church, his masters praise and extol him, either upon love or ignorance, he swelleth, the people are astunned, his kinsfolk and friends rejoice at him: He (being willed) getteth up into the pulpit, & overloking all from an high, confusedly murmureth I can not tell what Then the elder sort of Strines extol him with praise to heaven, as one that hath spoken like a God. In the mean while the bells jangle, the trumpets rattle, rings fly about, kisses are given, and a piece of a black round cloth is hung on his shoulders: When this is done, the wise man cometh down that went up a fool. A strange Metamorphosis, which Ovid never knew. Thus are wise men made now a days: but a wise man in deed, is made otherwise.  joy. 
I am wise.  Reason. 
They that think very magnificently of themselves, boldly do attempt things above their power, and failing in the mids of their endeavour, do learn by their own peril or shame, how partial judges they have been in their own causes. It were better, believe me, to reject false opinions, to behold a man's own insolency, & to wish that thou never have occasion to try thy wisdom, which may declare how that thou hast gloried in nothing. This is a more direct & safe means to seek wisdom.  joy. 
I think that I have attained to wisdom.  Reason. 
But if thou wilt harken unto me, thou shalt sooner attain thereunto by rising up & endeavouring, then by believing. There is nothing that riseth higher than painful humility.   

Of Religion. The xiii Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Glory in my perfect religion.  Reason. 
There is but one most excellent and perfect religion, which is established upon the name of Christ, and upon that most assured rock: all other are vain superstitions, and goings out of the right way, and errors which ●eade unto hell and death, not this which is transitory, but the everlasting. How many, and what notable men, (thinkest thou) have suffered this miserable want of true religion, who in all other things have excelled the residue? They have cause to lament eternally, and thou whe●●●● to glory and rejoice, not in thyself, but in him, who hath vouchsafed to prefer thee in so great a matter before those that were far greater than thou, than which thing there can no greater nor better be given unto thee in this life. Of which I would not stick to speak somewhat more at large, unless it were now by heavenly illumination almost known to al.  joy. 
I am entered into holy religion.  Reason. 
Holy orders and ceremonies belong only to this religion, and of all other they are madness, and sacrilegious superstitions, neither is it sufficient to be entered. Perhaps it is a greater matter than thou thinkest for, although it be a pleasant travail to a devout mind: neither is it enough to know God, which the devils do, that hate him: Love, and worshipping are required, which consist of those things, which I would were by men s● well fulfilled, as they are known.  joy. 
I please myself in my true religion.  Reason. 
To please a man's self, is to be proud: As for this true religion, which tieth thee unto God, & GOD unto thee, it engraffeth humility in godly minds, and rooteth out pride. In this manner therefore it is lawful for thee to rejoice, that by how much the more merry and religious thou art, by so much the better thou art, & more abounding in good works, giving thanks unto him, who showeth thee a direct path from this mortal life, unto the life everlasting.  joy. 
I thank God for it, I have obtained true religion.  Reason. 
Thou hast said well, god be thanked; keepe● well then from erro●●s, from negligence, from sins. And persuade thyself thus, if thou have obtained it, and exercise thyself therein, as it behoveth thee to do, then shall the controversy cease whereof we contended erewhile, forasmuch as it is written in holy scripture, Godliness is true wisdom: and by an other also, The fear of God, is the beginning of wisdom, neither is the same over past with silence by profane writers. Of which matter Lactantius maketh mention in the second book of his institutions. Hermes affirmeth, saith he, that they that know God, are not only safe from incursions of devils, but also that they are not tied by destiny. Only godliness, saith he, is their keeper and defence, For a godly man, is neither subject to the wicked devil, nor to destiny. God delivereth the godly from all evil: For godliness is the only good and felicity of man: And what godliness is, he showeth in an other place by these words: Godliness is the science and knowledge of God. He affirmeth also, that Asclepius did expound at large the same saying in a certain princely Oration. Thus thou seest, how two most obstinate Pagans do grope about your truth. Such is the force of truth, that oftentimes it draweth the tongues of the enemies unto it.   

Of Freedom. The xiiii Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Was borne in freedom.  Reason. 
He is not free that is borne, but he that dieth; fortune hath great power over him that is coming into the world, but none over him that is dead: She overthroweth strong Cities: She vanquisheth valiant armies: She subverteth mighty kingdoms. The grave is an impregnable castle: there the worms bear rule, and not fortune. Who so therefore have stepped into that liberty, of all men they are free from the insults of this life. Thou boastest thyself to be free, and knowest not whether thou shalt enter this bay a free man, I say not into thy grave, but into thy chamber. Your liberty which hangeth by a weak thread, as all your things else do wherein ye trust, is always wavering and brittle.  joy. 
I am a free man.  Reason. 
For this cause, I suppose, thou callest thyself a free man, because thou hast no master: but hear what Annaeus Seneca sayeth, Thine age is prosperous, saith he, perhaps it will so continued: knowest thou not at what age Hecuba, and Croesus, and the mother of Darius, and Plato, and Diogenes came into bondage? By these examples he admonishyth thee. There be many other examples of Seneca, either concealed or not known. doest thou not remember how Attilius Regulus (though unworthy) yet sustained this reproach? Hast thou forgotten Valerianus that was of latter years? whereof the one, of whom I spoke last, was a captain, and the other a prince of the people of Rome, and anon the one made slave to the Carthagians, the other to the Persians, and this man cruelly put to death, the other consumed with long and miserable servitude. What shall I say of the kings of Macedonia, and Numidia? Perses on the one side, and Siphan on the other: who both fell down from the top of their kingdoms into the Romans fetters. I omit the ancient fall of kings and princes. Thine age hath seen some thrust out of the court into prison, and the same man also both first a king, and last a bondslave. For every one is by so much the more miserable in bondage, by how much he was the more happy in freedom. Be not proud therefore of thy liberty, forasmuch as bond men are made so soon, not only of free men, but of kings: And marvel not at it, seeing that according to the saying of Plato, Kings are no less made of servants: human things are changed daily. There is nothing under heaven permanent: who will hope that any thing can be firm or stable, in so great an uncertainty? Neither think thyself to be a free man in this respect, because thou hast no master, because thou art borne of free parents, neither waist ever taken prisoner in war, nor sold for a slave. You have invincible masters of your minds, and there is a secret poison and infection which lurketh in the first Original of man. The generation of you in the very birth is subject to sin, a greater bondage than which cannot be imagined. You have hidden enemies, and privy wars. There be same that sell miserable souls, which (alas) for to small a price, ye make sale of. Yea, some of you are subject to outrageous mistresses, to wit, most filthy pleasures, whereunto you are tied with an undissoluble knot. Go your way now, & vaunt of your freedom: But you, being blind, see nothing but that which belongeth to the body, so that ye judge him to be bound that is subject to one mortal master: As for him that is oppressed with a thousand immortal tyrants, ye account to be free, even finely as ye do all other things. verily, it is not fortune that maketh a man free, but virtue.  joy. 
I am a free man.  Reason. 
In deed thou art so, if thou be wise, if thou be just, if thou be valiant, if thou be modest, if thou be innocent, if thou be godly: If any of these be wanting, know thou, that in that respect thou art bond.  joy. 
I was borne in a free country.  Reason. 
Thou hast also known in thine age certain free cities, which in short time have become bond. But if ancient examples be more known and renowned, the most free cities of Lacedaemon and Athens, first suffered a civil, and afterward a foreign yoke. The holy city of jerusalem, and the mother of everlasting liberty, was in temporal subjection to the Romans, and the Assyrians, and at this present is in captivity to the Egyptians. Rome itself, being not only a free city, but the Lady of nations, was first bond to her own citizens, and after to other most vile persons: so that no man can ever trust to his own freedom, or his own Empire.   

Of a glorious Country. The xv. Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Was borne in a glorious country.  Reason. 
Thou hast the more travail to come into the light: For the small stars do shine by night, and the Star Bootis, and the day star likewise, are dull, in comparison of the beams of the Sun.  joy. 
I am a citizen of a famous country.  Reason. 
It is well if thou be an harborer of virtues, and an enemy to vice: the one of these proceedeth of fortune, the other of thyself.  joy. 
My country is fortimate and noble.  Reason. 
It skilleth much by what nobility. For, a country is made noble by the number of inhabitants, by the abundance of richesse, by the fertility of the soil, and the commodity of situation, wholesome air, clear springs, the sea nigh, safe havens, convenient rivers. A noble country is commonly called such an one as is fruitful of Wine & other commodities, as corn, cattle, flocks of sheep, herds of rudder beasts, mines of gold and silver. You call that a good country wherein are bread strong Horses, fat Oxen, tender Ryddes, and pleasant fruits. But where good men are bred, ye neither inquire after, neither think it worth the enquiring, so excellent judges of matters ye be. Howbeit, only the virtue of the inhabitants is the chief commendation of a country. And therefore did Virgil very well, who in describing the Roman glory and felicity, did not so much as touch one of these things, which ye do only respect, but declared the mightiness of the City and Empire, and the valiantness of the people's minds: He called them men also happy, in respect of their children and issue. This is the true felicity and nobility of a City.  joy. 
My country is famous for good Citizens.  Reason. 
What if thou thyself be obscure? But what if thine own fame bewray thee, and bring thee out of darkness, and lead thee abroad into the light: thou shalt then be the sooner noted.  joy. 
My country is very famous.  Reason. 
Catiline had not been so infamous, unless he had been borne in so famous a country Unto Gaius and Nero, there happened another heap of infamy, to wit; an Empire: & favour advanced the world's children unto the top of fortune, that they might be the farther known.  joy. 
I live in a most noble country.  Reason. 
Either suffering the contempt, or envy of many: For without one of these a man cannot live in a great City: the first is the safer, the other the more famous evil, and the nobleness of the country, whereof thou speakest, is cause of them both: Among so many eyes there is no lurking.  joy. 
I am of a well known country.  Reason. 
I had rather that thy country were known by thee, than thou by thy country, unless thou glister of thyself: what other thing will the brightness of thy country bring unto thee but darkness. A famous City hath accounted of many as obscure persons, who if they had been in the darkness of some poor corner of the country, had been sufficiently famous and noble.  joy. 
My country is renowned.  Reason. 
It hath than it own peculiar commendation, and it taketh part also of thine: What so ever thou doest well, the chief praise thereof redowneth in a manner to thy country. There was one that went about to ascribe Themistocles glory unto the city of Athens, who answered very gravely, and as it become such a man to do: For when a certain fellow called Seriphius, an inhabior of a certain small and obscure Island, in heat of words, objected him in the teeth, that it was his countries glory, and not his own, that made him famous: verily answered he, neither should I be obscure if I were Seriphius, neither thou be renowned if thou were an Athenian. He trusted not to the glory of his country, but to the glory of his own virtue: much more manlike than Plato, although he were the greater Philosopher. Howbeit sometimes in great wits, there be great and wondered errors: He therefore among other things ascribeth the renown of his country to his felicity. And that thou mayest know the whole mind of this most excellent man in this respect, Plato said that he gave thanks for many things. Truly this was well said, if so be that he understood to whom, and for what gifts he should give thanks. He gave thanks to nature. First, for making him a man, and not a dumb beast, of the male kind, & not a woman, a Greek, & not a Barbarian, an Athenian, & not a Theban, & lastly, that he was borne in the time of Socratis, & not at any other, to the end he might be taught & instructed by him. Thus thou seest, how among his causes of gratulation and glorying, he putteth in also that he was borne in Athens. What I will say herein, perhaps thou attendest. Although our talk be begun concerning this point only, notwithstanding forasmuch as it hath chanced us to make mention of so excellent a man, I will declare what other men, and what I myself also, do think of this his whole talk. I know that there be some famous & eloquent men, which do boldly affirm, that there was never any thing spoken by any man more foolishly: unto whose opinion there lacketh little but I do agreed. For, I pray you, to what purpose is it to rejoice in these things: what if he had been borne a Barbarian, or made a woman? Have there not been many Barbarians, that have excelled many Grecians, both in virtue and wit? Are there not some women, that both in glory of many things, & invention of Arts, are more commendable than certain men? To be short, what if he had been borne an Ox or an Ass, what should that have belonged to Plato of whom we speak? who then should not have been Plato, but that thing rather which dame nature had framed him. Unless perhaps he gave credit to the madness of Pythagoras, to wit, that souls passed out of one body into another: which opinion is so fond, that truly there was never any thing spoken more foolishly or more impudently, I say not by a Philosopher, but by a man nothing more dissonant to the truth and godliness, or that religious ears do more abhor. Farther then, What, was it so noble a matter to be borne at Athens, that it could not be so good to be borne elsewhere, not not at Thebes? Were not Homer, and Pythogoras himself, and Democrates, and Anaxagoras, and Aristotle, and thousands other, borne eswhere then at Athens, and as highly esteemed, as they that were borne there? And that I may not now departed from Thebes, which the Grecians are used to despise: If ye seek for a wit, was not the Poet Pindarus borne there? who as Horace saith, Can not possibly be matched by imitation? If ye require renown of excellent deeds, Bacchus, and Hercules, were so famous, that Alexa●der king of Macedon, that contemned almost all men, proposed those twain to himself to imitate, as the highest and chiefest patterns of glory. But if ye look for both these in one, is there not fresh in memory, and as it were before your eyes, Epaminundas of Thebes, an excellent Philosopher, and a most valiant Captain, and in the upright judgement of all men, prince and chief of the Grecians in all ages? The same is he that almost utterly subverted the Lacedæmonians, and put Plato's countrymen the Athenians in such fear, that when he was dead, being delivered of a great terror, immediately they gave themselves up to licentiousness and flouth: And while he flooryshed at Thebes, how many thousands of idle persons and fools lived at Athens, who is able easily to recount in his mind? He aught therefore to have given thanks, not for that he was borne at Athens, but for that he was borne such an one, that is to say, with such a wit, and such a mind, and finally in such good liking of his parents, and in such plenty of temporal goods, that he might be set to school and instructed in all goodness: For these things, I say, it was behoveful for so learned a man, so zealously to have given thanks unto that GOD, which had bestowed them upon him: not for Socrates, nor for Athens, in whose school, and in which city how many unjust and unlearned persons there were, it is an easier matter to guess, then to know. But to speak no more of the city: In that school among many other, were Alcibiades and Critias, the one an emmie to his country, the other a most cruel tyrant: to whom how much their master Socrates availed, let Plato himself answer me, or thereby let him understand how vain a thing it is which the doctrine of an earthly schoolmaster soundeth in the ears of his scholars, unless the grace of the heavenly Master be inspired withal into them, without which, Socrates could do nothing: although, as we have said before, he was judged to be the wisest man by the oracle of a living God. But notwithstanding, let him excuse himself, or some other man for him, what ever he be, of his most foolish conversation with his two wives, most tatter and testy old women. But this and the residue, we have spoken, as it were by the way, except this one thing only, whereby thou shouldest understand, that Plato being so great a man as he was, notwithstanding was led with the vanity of his glorious country: Not to this end, that thou shouldest cover thine error, with the buckler of so great a companion, but that thou mightest more diligently eschew him, unto whose example and authority thou seest that great wits have yielded.  joy. 
I live in a large country.  Reason. 
The discommodities of a large city are many: the church is far of, the market fat of. The one of these is hurtful to the mind, the other to the body: ●he artificers, & our friends be far of. There is no harder distance than this is, whom it is painful to go visit, and discourtesy to neclect. Dost thou hear how Horace complaineth of this matter? One of my friends, saith he, lieth upon the bill Quirinus, the other at the farthermost part of Aventine, and both of them must be visited. Wither soever thou determinest to go, or to travel abroad, dispose the affairs of thy house, forasmuch as thou art uncertain whether thou shalt return or not, and the return itself is painful: Some time men wander in such wise, that they need to direct their course by the Load stone and Iron: this way is the easiest way, and that is the readiest way: this way thou mayest avoid the place of judgement, and that way the theatre, and this way the market. These and a thousand more are the rocks and dangers of Cities, through which when thou passest to thine own house, thou goest, as it were, to an other world, scarce hoping that thou shalt come thither. This discommodity also thou readest in Horace, how that Philip the Orator when he came home, complained, being in years, that the ships were too far of from the place of judgement. These troubles are wanting in a small town, or whatsoever discommodity otherwise is alleged.  joy. 
I am removed from a small Town, into a great City.  Reason. 
willingly to launch out of a quiet Haven, into a tough Sea, is rashness. But I marvel the less, for that the events were prosperous. Notwithstanding, the family of the Claud●● did the like in coming from the Sabines to Rome, Marcus Cato from Tu●culum, Marius and Cicero from Arpine, and it prospered well with them. But where shall a man find such men? It is not safe to draw into an example whatsoever hath been attempted by rare and singular wits: But when thou hast once determined, to endeavour with all diligence among great difficulties, to rise up among them that are high, governing thine enterprise with judgement, which here I name in good part, thou shalt have the more provocations to virtue. Perhaps there are some whom thou wilt follow unto glory. Thou shalt have a place where thou mayest exercise thyself, where thou mayest concend for praise with thine equals, and where thou wilt be ashamed of so many witnesses. Unto many, not seldom, that which the courage of the mind did not give, the force of shame hath supplied, and to abandon cowardice, often times a looker on hath done more good, than courage: Both these men truly of whom I spoke erewhile: And Numa Pompilius also, who was sent for from the Cures, and Seneca that came from Cordub●, and Severus that came from Leptis, and many other that came from other places, who should have been great men where ever they had been: that they were the greater at Rome, both the emulation of virtue, and the plenty of worthy examples, brought it to pass. Endeavour therefore, that that which is only good, do not perish in this thy removing, and that in thy wandering, thou seek none other thing, then that the beauty of thy new country may advance thee in the sight of many.   

Of an honourable Family. The xvi Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Come of an honourable Family.  Reason. 
Dost thou return again unto folly? What belongeth that unto thee?  joy. 
My stock is ancient, and glorious.  Reason. 
To glory in that which is another man's, is a ridiculous bragging. The worthy deeds of the Grandfathers, are blemishes to the degenerating children: And there is nothing that mere be wrayeth the stains of the posterity, than the brightness and glory of the ancestors. Many times the virtue of one man, hath been profitable to another. Unless thou win true praise of thine own, look not to have it from another.  joy. 
Mine ancestors have been of great nobility.  Reason. 
I had rather other should be known by thee, than thou by other: But do thou some notable deed, that thou mayest also be noble: For unless these men had done some thing worthy praise, they had never been noble.  joy. 
My blood is of great clearness.  Reason. 
All blood is for the most of like colour, but if there be any clearer than other, nobility hath not caused it, but health.  joy. 
My parents are of great clearness.  Reason. 
What if thine obscurity be the greater? your bodies always, and your patrimony often, ye receive of your parents: But who so hath integrity and clearness, he seldom transporteth it to his son: and he that hath it not, sometime beholdeth it in his child. How much more noble than his father was Caesar? How much more obscure than his father was the son of Africanus? Who, if clearness and nobility could have been delivered by succession, how noble he should have been, thou knowest. Howbeit, his father might love him, but make him noble he could not: For he suffered an infinite eclipse of his light in his son. So that which is most precious in the heritage, is by the testators judgement exempted, and all the solemnity of making testaments, is but for the bestowing of the vilest substance. If I had leisure, I could now recite a thousand such obscure heirs of most noble parents, and also if it were expedient. Thou knowest my meaning.  joy. 
The nobility of my stock is ●ery great.  Reason. 
This nobility will do thee none other good, then that thou canst not lie unknown, if thou wouldst: So that thereby thou art deprived of the most pleasant state of living in secret and out of knowledge. Whatsoever thou dost, the people will talk of it: How thou livest at home, and how thou facest at dinner and supper thy neighbours will covet to know, as though thy Father and thy Grandfather had sent spies unto thy house, to survey the secrets of thy family, and the order of thy daily diet. Enquirie shallbe made what thou dost with thy children, what with thy servants, and what also with thy wife, yea whatsoever thou dost, and the lest word thou speakest of the smallest matter that can be: and they will most stomach thee, that have least to do with thee. This is the fruit of thy clearness and nobility, that if thou tread thy shoe never so little awry, thou shalt be called the shame of thy stock, and a foul forsaker of that path which was trodden before thee unto honour and dignity. This I say, happeneth always unto them that come of a noble family. Other common matters almost whatsoever, do stain the glory which is already gotten, for that it is an hard thing to cover that which is clear and shining.  joy. 
I am borne most nobly.  Reason. 
Thou fool, nobility is not gotten by birth, but by living: and many times also (whereat thou mayest wonder) by dying.  joy. 
I was borne in great light.  Reason. 
Beware of shame, which by the brightness of light is more notable, and easier to be seen. Unless thou do so, it were better to have been borne in darkness. Whoremongers, and thieves, and all the crew of lewd persons, do seek darkness: only this foul and false nobility fleeth not the light, but coveteth to be known, to whom I would give this counsel as best to avoid infamy, not to be known at all.  joy. 
The nobility of my stock is ancient.  Reason. 
The virtue then belike was ancient, without which there is no true nobility.  joy. 
My nobility is very ancient.  Reason. 
Too much antiquity, taketh away brightness of things, and breedeth forgetfulness. How many noble families have there been, whereof at this day there is no memory? How many most flourishing families hast thou thyself leene, which in few years have come almost to nothing? Whereby thou mayest make a conjecture of those which now flourish, and of those which now begin to arise, and to life up the head. Time deminisheth and consumeth all thing. Families do not only wax old, but cities also: yea, the world itself, unless we be deceived, draweth to an end. Thou which vauntest of thine antiquity, beware that antiquity extinguyshe not thy glory, and that the root be not withered, with whose flowers thou wouldst be odorned. Whatsoever is made in time, decayeth in time: And your nobility began in time, and shall end in time, and that which long time brought forth, and longer did increase, the longest doth overthrow. It may be that now while thou imaginest of thy nobility, it surceasseth: and thou shouldest perhaps have been more noble, if thou hadst begun later.  joy. 
My nobility is of old tyme.  Reason. 
A vain ambition, and which resteth not on it own merits, but upon the forgetfulness of other: For all things are confounded, and the line of succession is doubtful. Among which things it happeneth unto thee, not to be the more noble, but the more known. The beginning of all men is all one. There is but one Father of mankind, all flow from one fountain, which passeth some time troubled, and some time clear unto you all: on this condition, that that which a little before was clear, anon be made obscure, and that which was obscure, be made clear. So that there is no doubt concerning the fountain, but by means of what small channel the water of this your noble blood (as ●●●crme it) flowed unto you. Hereof it cometh, that he that went to plough yesterday, goeth a warfare to day, and he that was wont proudly to ride through the mids of cities, managing his fierce courser with a golden Bridle, now driveth his flow Oxen up and down the flabbie fields with a simple Goad. And I think that saying of Plato to be true: That there is no king, but he came of a low degree, and none of low degree. but he came of kings. This change and condition of man's state, is so changeable and inconstant, that it is sundry times altered from the one to the other: so that thou canst not marvel if a Ploughman go to war, or a Soldier return to the Plough. Great is the wheel of mortal things: And because the course thereof is long, this short life perceiveth it not: Which unless it were so, both the spades of kings, and sceptres of clowns might be discerned. But now time deceiveth men's memories, while they be busied about other matters. And this is all your nobility, wherefore ye swell, and proudly advance yourselves, like a vain generation as ye be.  joy. 
The descent of mine ancestors is noble.  Reason. 
How far wilt thou wander? We speak of thyself. Thou goest about to substitute others, I can not tell whom, in thy steed: who perhaps may answer somewhat for themselves, but nothing for thee, unless thou furnyshe out the cause with thine own witnesses. But admit that these thy grandfathers, and great grandfathers were noble, to wit, when as they began by the wings of virtue to lift themselves up above the common multitude: that is the farthest root of nobility. But go then farther, seek out more narrowly, thou shalt find their Grandfathers, and great Grandfathers, obscure and unknown men: To be short, this nobility of names and images, is both short, and how much soever it is, truly it is not thine own. Leave of therefore to colour thy name with other men's virtues, jest if every one require his own, thou be laughed at, for thine own nakedness.  joy. 
I am noble.  Reason. 
How much a valiant clown is more noble than a cowardly noble man, thou shalt then know, when thou hast considered how much better it is to found, then to overthrow nobility. If thou want examples, there be plenty at home, and in the wars, and are commonly found in reading, so that thou mayest by thyself be umpire and judge of the residue: And among all, it shallbe sufficient to consider of two couple of men. Into one scale of the Balance put Marius and Tully, into the other, set the adversaries of these twain, Aulus and Clodius: which way the beam will cast, and how much Rome must give place to Arpine, who is so blind that he seeth not?  joy. 
I am noble by birth.  Reason. 
I said even now, a true noble man is not so borne, but made.  joy. 
A wonderful nobility, at leastwise of this common sort, is left unto me by my parents.  Reason. 
This nobility cometh not by birth, but by living. And hear also I see one good thing. You have store of familiar examples, and ye want not household leaders, whose steps it were a shame for you to forsake: This if thou suffer to slip, thy nobility is but a famous and difficult evil. It happeneth, I know not how, that it is a harder matter for a man to imitate his own ancestors, than strangers: perhaps because virtue should then seem! descend by inheritance. I speak it not willingly, but experience itself showeth it: Seldom is it seen, the son of an excellent man, to be excellent.   

Of a fortune beginning. The xvii Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Was borne in great fortune.  Reason. 
Thou begannest thy life with great unquietness: For Sailors not improperly call a tempest fortune. And a great fortune is a great tempest: and a great tempest, requireth both great counsel, and great strength: Thou hast therefore rather 'cause of care, then of mirth.  joy. 
I was borne in very great fortune.  Reason. 
Dost thou think it better fortune to be borne in the wide Sea, then in a small River? Although no wise man will grant the same, how much than is it more fortunate to be borne in a Palace then in a Cottage? Our mother the earth receiveth all men, wheresoever they were borne.  joy. 
I was borne in great fortune.  Reason. 
Thou hast weighed anchor contrary to good luck: and if thou have wasted the day in foul weather, provide that when night cometh thou mayest be in the haven.  joy. 
I was borne aloft.  Reason. 
Thou art subject to tempests and whyrlewyndes, and hope of lying hid is taken from thee. Pithy is the saying of the Lyrike Poet: The mighty Pine tree is often shaken with winds, and high towers fall with the greater force, and the lightning striketh the highest Mountains. As I must confess that it is noble to be borne aloft, so is it neither quiet nor safe: All human loftiness of itself is unquiet, and continually troublesome. So that I marvel why that saying of Maecenas in Seneca should so much be dislyked: For the height itself thundereth at the lofty things. Seeing other have used this word, why is he only reprehended? Moreover, there is nothing so high that is not subject both to trouble, and care, and sorrow, and envy, and grief, and in the end obnoxius to death: And truly, it is death only that beateth down all mortal pride and eminency.  joy. 
I was borne in high and great estate.  Reason. 
They that fall from high, are sore hurt, and seldom is it calm upon the wide Sea: so in the bottom thou needest not to fear falling, neither dread shipwreck upon the dry land.  joy. 
My beginning was fortunate.  Reason. 
Mark the end: As other in their kingdoms, so can fortune also do much in hers. The more fortunate the beginning is, the more uncertain is the end. Dost thou not perceive how all worldly things are tossed as it were with a whirlwind, so that like as a troublesome tempest disquieth the calm Sea, and after a fair morning followeth a cloudy evening, and as many times a plain way leadeth into a rough strait: so sudden calamity followeth the pride of prosperity, and sorrowful death stoppeth the course of a most pleasant life, and most times the end is unlike the beginning.  joy. 
I began an high.  Reason. 
Take heed where thou leavest. The life is always reported by the end, and thou shalt plainly feel the end, although thou perceyvedst not the beginning.  joy. 
I was borne in great felicity.  Reason. 
We have both seen the sons of bondmen sitting in princes' thrones, and the sons of princes fast fettered in chains.   

Of Sumptuous fare The xviii Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Am brought up in a plentiful house.  Reason. 
This seemeth unto thee to be a great matter, but in deed it is little, and anon will be nothing: Will the worms therefore spare thee more than the hard husbandman? Or will they feed upon the softer meat more greedily? I do neither jest with thee, nor terrify thee. Thou knowest, although thou do dissemble it, that thou art food prepared for that banquet, and perhaps that it is now almost supper time, or that at the lest wise it cannot be far of. For the day is short, and the guests be hungry, and death which layeth the table is ready, and therefore consider what this dainty banqueting will avail thee.  joy. 
I have been brought up most plentifully from mine infancy.  Reason. 
O evil beginning of childhood, wherein neglecting good arts, and accustoming thyself to exquisite fare, and delicate foreign drinks, even from thy tender years, thou art grown up to a worthy expectation: to know their tastes and smells, and with experience to wonder at daintily prepared banquets, and to reverence the glistering Plate, neither late, as was the manner of valiant men, to assuage the hunger and thirst with ordinary meats, but with busy loathsomeness, and painful burdened stomach, to begin again with them in the morning: When so many holy Fathers have hungered in the wilderness, and so many famous Captains have lived hardly, sparyngly, and soberly: When thou art beset about with thy jewels and dainty dishes at the Table, if at one side of thee were Curius Fabritius Corumcanius feeding in earthen vessels on Herbs gathered with his own hands, and going to plough fasting till night, and on the other side Quintinus and Seranus, or he that was after these twain Cato Censorius Consul, sailing into Spain, from whence he returned in triumph, who drank none other wine than his Sailors did: or if all these should meet thee being most known enemies unto pleasure, with Paulus also and Antonius sitting by a fountain side, and dividing the bread which was sent them from heaven: would not thy superfluous meat for shame and sorrow cleave to thy laws, and the delight of thine amazed taste abate? Thou wouldst call to mind how that by these men which were contented with so slender fare, and so base toil, both their country was defended, and most noble kings and peoples subdued, and, which is the most hardest conquest of all, their own flesh, the world, and the invisible enemies of the soul vanquished, and how thou thyself walowest in thy costly junkets, and sumptuous idleness, overcome with filthy voluptuousness,  joy. 
My fare is most delicate.  Reason. 
I perceive well this, that all thine endeavour is, that thy loathsome curiosity may come to the bottom of misery. There is nothing brought to: pass by▪ the excellency of meat and drink, unless there be also plenty, yea rather to much, and quatting. Dost thou not call to mind, how that Augustus Caesar, who perhaps if he had list could have fared more delicately than thou, was, as it is written of him, a small meat man, and that almost also of a common diet? I say nothing of the meats whereon he used to feed, to the intent thou shouldest not disdain him as some old rustic father of the country, and among thy Feasauntes, and Partridges, and Peacocks, laugh at the course bread, and simple cheese, and small fishes which that prince was wont to eat. But how much better had it been if so he these your Feasances, and this great furniture of your tables, & the great felicity of your throats had lain still unknown at Colanos & the river Phasis, rather than to have flown hither to corrupt our age, & to provoke lasciviousness. How much more honest was that world whereof Ovid saith: Among those people the fishes yet did swim without taking by deceit, and the Oysters lay safe in their shells: neither did! talie know the commodity which wel● thy jovia yieldeth, nor the foul which delighteth to kill the Pigmees.  joy. 
I enjoy most choice wine.  Reason. 
Euylly, but properly thou hast said, I enjoy, that is your end, and to that were ye borne? How much better would small wine, or wine delayed with water, or a draft of the pure running stream assuage your thirst? Truly the Prince of whom I spoke erewhile, used also very seldom, for so it is written of him, to drink wine, never drinking above thrice at a supper, while he was in the camp. As for you, ye quaff ten times before meat, and at meat an hundred times, and the quantity of your carousses cannot be measured, and your tents be more full of wine than your cities. There is no enterprise, nor skyrmyshe made, but by such as are drunk. He abstained from wine in the day time, and you cease not to drink both day and night: He when he was a thirst, in steed of drink, did eat bread dipped in cold water, or received the top of a Lettuce, or a hyt of a moist Apple, or a slice of a Cucumber: but you, provoking thirst by all means, do quench the same with hot burning wines, which do provoke another thirst by drinking of them, or rather, to say the truth, ye inflame it the more, neither do ye remember in the mean while, that ye drink the blood of the earth, and the poison of Hemlock, while in such sort ye drink wine, as Androcides wrote to king Alexander of Macedon. Whose counsel if he had followed, truly he should not have slain his friends in his drunkenness, as Plinius saith: neither should he himself in his drunkenness at length have perished. The same use of indifferent meats, and abstinency in drinking, hath always for the most part been found in all the worthy and famous captains and princes, and in julius Caesar it was singular: which how much it is to be preferred before your riotousness, your sleep, being compared with their diligence and glory of adventures achieved, may be judge.  joy. 
I enjoy most bountiful fare.  Reason. 
If men be forbyddento enjoy honest things, how much more dishonest and filthy things? Art thou not ashamed in that thou appliest the fruit of thine immortal soul, to the service and slavery of the transitory body? This is an Epicureal persuasion, but heretofore infamous and abandoned. To be short, among all the pleasures which creep from the body to the soul, they are concluded to be most vile, which are accomplished by feeling and tasting, for as much as these senses are common unto us with beasts, and crook down the reasonable creature unto beastly conditions, a more contemptible and abject thing then which, the state of mankind cannot incur.  joy. 
I am delighted in dainty, & sundry kinds of meats.  Reason. 
Be delighted in them, and enjoy them, if thou know nothing better: but if thou know nothing worse, then be ashamed to rejoice in meat, as cattle do in their provender, and to make thy belly a place to set up dishes of meat in, and to take that office from the Been. Finally, understand this much, that thou canst not long endure this life which thou so likest: loathsomeness is next neighbour to fullness, and fasting consumeth meat. Hunger tasteth nothing, but it is sweet and savoury. There is nothing so dainty, which fullness maketh not unpleasant and loathsome. And even those men which give themselves to this delight, confess that it is increased by appetite and seldom using, and, as all other pleasures are, is rebated with plenty and often frequenting, and many times converted to nothing, and into the contrary: Yea, Epicurus himself commended and observed a thine diet, as the only stay of his profession. And that which honest men do ascribe to sobriety & modesty, that did he ascribe unto pleasure. Whatsoever kind of living thou choose, thou must know that one path agreeth with divers ends, there is one kind of diet continually to be used, and that thine and moderate: unless sometime perhaps seldom liberty upon honest respect do give a man licence without breach of sobriety. This kind of diet whereof I speak, maketh men dry, and strong, and pleasant to behold, and in smell of body neither grievous to themselves nor to others. Compare with these those which are moist, puffing and blowing, shaking, stinking, and to use Tully's words, compare with these, those sweaters, and belchers, and then thou shalt perceive what difference there is between sparing and surfeiting, and if the virtue do not tell thee, yet the very looking and countenance of the men will show which way the choice will lie: so that there is 〈◊〉 man so much a bondslave to his belly, but if he weigh diligently the matter with himself, will prefer sobriety far before excess. If thou contemn these things as light, dost thou also contemn the diseases which spring hereof, and death also? Which although of itself it be to be contemned of noble and valiant courages, happening naturally & honestly, or at lest wise not shamefully: so is there nothing more dishonourable or more to be eschewed, than death to happen upon a dishonest cause. doest thou not hear what counsel Ecclesiasticus giveth? Be not greedy saith he, of every kind of dish, neither give up thyself unto all manner of fare. For in abundance of meat consisteth sickness, and greediness provoketh subversion to the stomach: Many have perished by surfeiting, but who so useth abstinence, prolongeth his own life.  joy. 
I feed on dainty and sundry kinds of meats.  Reason. 
If thou overload thy Horse, thou shalt overthrow him, and if thou feed him to proud, he will kick thee: The belly likewise is not to be trusted concerning that wherewith it is charged. It were not unprofitable counsalye in checking all enticements and pleasures, but especially of the belly, to consider their ends.   

Of Feasts. The xix Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Vaunt in feasts.  Reason. 
Good fare appertaineth to pleasure, but feasts to madness. For what is it other than pompous frenzy, to call together a great many rich folks into one place, from their honest business, and to entertain them with honourable weariness, and to glut a number of bellies with delicate and hurtful meats, for whom it had been better to have been empty, or to have been filled at their own discretion? wherein as perhaps thou shalt please one man's mouth, so shalt thou displease the appetite of many. For it is seldom seen that guests agreed in diet, and that is found to be true which the Poet saith: I have three guests which seem unto me almost to disagree, requiring divers meat, with a greatly differing appetite, what I give, what I give not, what givest thou, Flaccus, or what doest thou? Unless a man would give them nothing at all, and leave this care to them who have no greater care. Let them do what they list, which can do nothing else. Now if three do disagree, what will an hundred, or a thousand do? They will scarce departed, at lest wise, without secret murmuring. This had an ill taste. That had an ill smell. The other should have been set down first. This came cold to the board. That came out of season. The other dish was set down with a sorrowful countenance. This with an angry look. That meat was raw. The other torn. One waiter was to slow. This to hasty. That fellow could not hear. The other was stubborn. One was to loud: Another to silent. This servant brought warm water to the table with unwashed hands: Another filled small wine to the board. With these and such like complaints, not only the halls, but the ways do resound, and the streets also, and not without cause. For to what purpose is it, so gently to solicit men with entreaty to dine at thy house? to what end serveth that unprofitable cost, and superftuous labour, and to bring so great a troop into one court, but only to boast thyself among thy neighbours, and as it were thyself being on foot, to make a voluptuous triumph of thy banquets? The trumpets also and shaknes sound forth together, so that it appeareth that all things are prepared for pomp, and nothing for thriftiness. Imagine, that the next day after, one of the guests stood in need of so much as the dish of meat was worth which he ate: he shall never be able to obtain it of the master of the feast. For the feast was not made for the guest, but for himself: Which although undoubtedly it be so, notwithstanding when drunken men sit at the Table swearing and affirming any thing upon their oath, they strike the meat, saying these words: I swear, say they, by this our good love and charity which now we exercise together. To whom it may be well answered: Nay rather, swear by this your drunkenness and surfeit. This were true charity, if being fasting and dry, you would convert that to the use of the poor, which now ye lavish out to your own destruction, then might ye not improperly swear by your charity. You bid unto your feasts the proud rich men, and ye shut out the poor hungry sort, thinking it a glorious matter to have plenty of woorshypful gheastes. And in this point, besides the opinion of the common people, which is the fountain of all error, ye have an author: Believe me saith Cicero, it is ae seemly thing for the houses of worshipfulmen, to be open unto worshipful guests. In deed sir, this is very good, for them to be open to choose that can requited with the like, but to be shut against the needy. For which matter we know that Lactantius, perhaps not unworthily, hath reprehended Cicero, who hath also handled the same matter better in another place, but in the same book. This, saith he, is a great duty, as every one hath most need of help, so especially to secure him. The contrary whereof is practised by most men, for look of whom they expect greatest commodity, yea although he have no need of them, to them they become most serviceable. Yea, now Cicero in deed thou sayest well and truly, for so men aught to do, although many do contrary. But to return again to the matter, if thou wilt be without the complaints and disdain of guests, abstain from feasts: They that have been present at a feast, have had some just cause perhaps to reprove somewhat, and to be grieved: but he that is offended because he was not at the feast, he is no guest, but a most impudent Parasite, whose tongue is no more to be esteemed then his belly, which is not only not to be feared, but many times to be wished: for as the Satirical Poet saith, what comedy can there be better, or what more pleasant jester, than an hungry stomach? Some such are described by the Comic writers, & diversly provoke laughter: what could they do, unless they were heard in presence? To conclude, this is the sum of all: there is none other way to avoid the controlment of feasting, then by not feasting, & to drive away the nips and madness of flatterers, then by laughing at them, & contemning them: thou hast none other means to purchase quietness.  joy. 
I give myself to feasting.  Reason. 
Thou hast chosen a worthy study, what is most agreeable to this cast, and what to that: or with what meats hunger is best staked, or with what sauces provoked. Behold this noble & profitable part of Philosophy, what meat shall first, what second, and what third, cloy thy loathsome stomach? And what kind of wine doth send up most pleasant fumes to the brain.  joy. 
I am delighted in feasts.  Reason. 
If this be meant as the Latin word Conuivium soundeth, and as our forefathers, who were the authors of this name did purport, I will not only not reprehend it, but commend it: For it is a pleasant thing, and honest, and to be wished, for friends to live together: but you call eating together, a feast, and to a most filthy thing, ye give a most excellent name, as though friends could not live together, otherwise then by eating and drinking, and not better by thinking, and talking: seeing that, as Cicero sayeth, To a learned man, to think, is to live, and there is nothing more pleasant, than the wonted and faithful conference of friends. Cover not therefore so shameful a thing with so fair a name, for it will appear through: and that which is called a living together, shallbe known to be but an eating together. Hearken rather to the Apostle S. Paul, How with a loud voice among other things he exhorteth us from evil banquetings and drunkenness, and take beede that ye be not carried away to filthiness by the glory of names.  joy. 
Feasts do delight me.  Reason. 
Speak plainly what thou meanest, eatings, drinkings, gorginge, gormandize: If thou be delighted to receive these things, thou art but a base debtor for a base benefit: But if thou have delight to give them, than art thou a fool, and a slave to a foolish carefulness.  joy. 
I seek glory by feasts.  Reason. 
It is your fashion to seek for a thing, where it is not to be found.  joy. 
I hope to win glory by feasts.  Reason. 
It is false glory, and a very error. We read how Alexander king of Macedon, gave himself over to feasting, yea, even unto bloody drunkenness. And so did Lucius likewise unto immoderate charges, and the lamentable loss of his Empire. Show me other such two: what prince canst thou name unto me, that is wise, or king, that is sober, and is given to such pleasures? As for the worthy Philosophers and Poets, it is needless to speak of them, and much less of the godly men, and generally of all that have conceived any great or religious matter in their mind, unto whom doubtless all this whole case is infamous and hateful.  joy. 
By feasting I have won glory among the common people, & the favour of many men.  Reason. 
A great price for most vile ware, to become a Cook to please other men's belies. I suppose there be some whom their stomachs do pinch, and poverty doth bridle, unto whom nothing is more acceptable, then to be discharged of that bridle by the care and charge of other, and to obtain that by other men's means, which by their own they are not able. Those that yield them this supply, so long they extol and magnify, as they do so: But if once they leave of, they themselves also shall surcease to be longer extolled: and thus will I also surcease, and this is the sum of all. The condition of guests, is to be delicate, and complaining, and very hard to please. And concerning Parasites, learn this short rule: While thou feedest them abundantly, they will eat, and laugh with thee, they will clap their hands, they will commend thee to be a good man, liberal, and call thee a notable member of thy common wealth: They will leave out no one jot of perfect Graecian adulation, whereof the Satirical poet speaking, termeth it a nation most expert in flattery, and a great devourer of meat, with other such qualities commonly known to boys. If thou leave of sometime thy liberality, they will diffame thee to be covetous, wretched, and miserable. But if thou do it through want, than they will report of thee, that truly thou art a poor man, but there is no harm in thee, saving that thou art a fool, and hast no wit, and they will shun thee and thy house, as it were a rock. Then shalt thou perceive that saying of Horace to be true: The friends departed, when once the lees wax dry in the cask: where the Poet speaketh of such kind of friends. As for true friends, they specially continued in adversity, and most diligently frequent those houses which fortune hath forsaken. Such follies and difficulties it were best to redress in time, and to learn to contemn these proud guests, these dry scoffers, with their babbling and tittletattle, and persuade thyself thus: There is no place for upright judgement, where all thing is attributed to pleasure, and nothing to virtue. Finally, this transitory name which is purchased by evil means, and this which is commonly called glory, among learned men is counted infamy, not glory.   

Of Apparel. and trimming of the body. The twenty Dialogue.  JOY. 
BUT I am bravely appareled.  Reason. 
Things that are pure, do love to be seen naked: And it is a common fashion to cover filthy things.  joy. 
I am most exquisitely appareled.  Reason. 
Thou mayest be ashamed of thy outward trimness, as often as thou shalt think what is covered therewith: For it were a fantic part of pride, to cover dung with purple.  joy. 
I am very neatly appareled.  Reason. 
Hast thou not heard what that most valiant man in Sallust saith? that neatness belongeth to women, and labour to men.  joy. 
My apparel is fair and fine.  Reason. 
Then is it a banner of pride, and a nest of lasciviousness.  joy. 
My clotheses are excellent, and care.  Reason. 
I will not set against thee godly poor souls half naked, and stiff with cold, and scarce able to keep of the winter's bitterness, with their simple mantles of Rugge. I know well, that sinful wealth, disdaineth holy poverty. And the same most rich man also, of whom I spoke yet while in our third disputation before this, used considerately to wear none other garment than home made, such as was spun and wrought by his wife, and his sister, and his daughter, and his nices: For this is also written of him, Thus he that was lord of all, wearied a few women, but such as were most near of kin unto him. And thou perhaps being another man's servant, dost weary nations that are a great way of from thee. For thee the Flemings spin, for thee they card, for thee they weave: for thee the Persians, the Seres, the Indians do ioyle: for thee the Tyrian Murrey swimmeth, or Purple fish: for thee the soft grains of Hispis hangeth upon the shrubs: for thee the sheep of Britain look white: for thee the Indian Sandix looketh red: both Ocean's sweat for thy sake: but for Augustus, only his wife and his daughter, his sister and his nices do take pain. Thus much is virtue decreased, & pride increased. And since men have délighted in the contrary, the examples of modesty are waxed vile. For in diet and apparel many contemning this great & worthy prince, have gone after the worst, as Caius & the residue, whose belly & back were never covered with civil, nor manlike, nor Roman, nor truly human, but with mad, and sometime womanishe, at another time divine, superfluous on every side, and monstrous attire.  joy. 
My garments are most exquisite.  Reason. 
Costly apparel, both by suspicion of great diligence in trimming and setting forth the beauty, dimisheth the grace, and by the brightness thereof, bewrayeth the blemishes of the deformed, and stirreth up the eyes of such as pass by to behold it. And therefore, a deformed man or woman, can not hurt themselves by any means more, then by coveting to seem fair and well favoured, The gallant apparel, and brave setting forth of the body, which is of purpose done to win fame by, provoketh laughter.  joy. 
I am decked forth in most choice colours.  Reason. 
Nature cannot be surpassed by art: And many times disdaining that she is provoked, by how much the more greater force she is pressed and covered, by so much the more she riseth up and showeth herself. As for the natural deformities of this mortal body, they can neither be altered with colours, nor covered with odours, but they make them either more evident to be seen, or more doubtful to be suspected.  joy. 
I am carried away with the love of precious & variable attire.  Reason. 
Lay a dead carcase in a coffin of gold, beset it round about with pearls and cloth of gold, the more thou trimmest it, the more horrible and ugly it is. And to the intent thou mayest not be offended at that which I speak, let us seek out the original of that name. For this word carcase, cometh of the Verb cado, which signifieth to fall. Which being so, why may not the body of a living man be so called, aswell as of a dead? For, the one is alrep●●●●●●on, the other shall fall, & falleth continually.  joy. 
I have 〈◊〉 sle●parel, and made after the new fashion.  Reason. 
I have no time nor place now to lament & detest this counterfeiting mockery of outlandish attire, which this present fantic age hath brought in among you from the farthest parts of the world. But both God & man do utterly abhor these deformed beasts in the shape of men, whose minds are brutish, whose speech is the latin tongue, whose apparel barbarous & straying, whose hear is braided & frizzled after that delicacy of women, whose manners are hard & uncivil, after the toughness of boars: at one side, plainly bewraying the filthiness of their bodies by the impudency of their demeanour: on the other side, openly discovering the lightness of their minds, by the wavering of the feathers in their top. But whether the masters that are so vigilant, or the scholars that are so apt to learn, deserve most to be hated, it is to be doubted: By whose devices thou seest it is now come to pass, that between jesters and Dukes, between honest Matrons and harlots, there is in sight almost no difference at all: Neither doth this mischief cease, but it daily increaseth, and the madness is diversly varied.   

Of rest and quietness. The xxi Dialogue.  JOY. 
REst and quietness from labours, are happened unto me.  Reason. 
Two most acceptable commodities of man's life, unless immoderate use have made them most grievous mischiefs, which it hath wrought in many, and hath procured as many plagues to the body, as diseases to the mind: swelling to the one, and rust to the other.  joy. 
I enjoy most pleasant rest.  Reason. 
Say rather that thou dost use. We can enjoy nothing here, but we use many things: thus saith the wholesomer doctrine.  joy. 
This quietness is very pleasant unto me.  Reason. 
It skilleth much what kind of quietness the same is: for there are two kinds of quietness, One is busy, which even in very rest is doing somewhat, and busy about honest affairs, and this is very sweet: The other is slothful & idle, and given only to sluggishness, than which there is nothing more loathsome, or more like to the grave▪ From the first 〈◊〉 many times spring great works, both profitable to the we snare●● glorious to the auctors. From the second cometh nothing but inglorious flouth and sleepiness. The first is meet for Philosophers: but the second for sluggards, and such as are given to their belly and sleep, where they may eat and sleep their fill without interruption.  joy. 
I enjoy my wished rest.  Reason. 
That rest which we must enjoy, shall never have end. Consider therefore in what rest thou take delight.  joy. 
I have found wished rest.  Reason. 
Wouldst thou say rest, or lusking, or sleep? which some poets call the kinsman, and some the image of death: and both very properly.  joy. 
I sleep and take my rest.  Reason. 
And many also that go, do rest in mind, and many also that sit & lie, are troubled in mind. And sleep itself, which is called the rest of all living things, hath it own secret griefs, with many horrible and troublesome visions & fantasies: concerning which, the holy man talking familiarly with God, and being afflicted, maketh his complaint.  joy. 
I lie idly in my bed chamber.  Reason. 
Which of these, I pray thee, thinkest thou rested more pleasantly? either Vacia which lay sleeping at his Farm in the country, or Scipio fight against his enemies in Africa, and Cato against serpents, and Regulus against both? For there is neither quietness without joy, neither can there be any joy without virtue.  joy. 
My toils being past, I refresh myself with pleasant sleep.  Reason. 
Toil & labour are the matters of virtue & glory, who so rejecteth these, rejecteth them also. Contrariwise, too much sleep is the matter of vice and infamy, which driveth many, and throweth them headlong into perpetual sleep. For it nourisheth lust, maketh the body heavy, weakeneth the mind, dulleth the wit, diminisheth knowledge, extinguisheth the memory, and breedeth forgetfulness. It is not without cause, that wakeful and industrious persons are commended: As for the sleepy, we see not them praised, but puffed. And therefore as some us term sleep, death, so other call wakefulness, life. Take heed then, of life and death which thou choose. It is best to wake, which the wise do commend, that the life may be the longer.  joy. 
I enjoy a long, & un interrupted sleep.  Reason. 
It is well, if it be not broken by pinching cares, by covetousness, by ambition, by fear, by sorrow, and by wicked love: but evil, if a man's sleep be disturbed by some care of dishonest st●die. Truly, while the people sleep, the prince waketh, & while the army resteth, the captains be vigilant, which both experience declareth, and Homer's Ilias proveth to be true. Upon noble minds vigilant cares do depend, but such as are sober and hotsome. It is credibly reported, that Augustus Caesar, of all Princes the greatest and best, used but short sleep, and that also often interrupted. And thou gloriest in the contrary.  joy. 
I sleep profoundly.  Reason. 
So do gluttons, lechers, & wrathful persons, together with bruit beasts, but living notwithstanding: sluggish persons, and they that sleep, are only compared to the dead: and as touching that part of time, that happy men do nothing differ thereby from men in misery, thou knowest it to be a position of Philosophy. Wherefore, as that part is diligently to be eschewed, which leaveth so small a difference of dreams only between men and beasts: so is the contrary to be pursued, which offereth no hardness to them that are willing. For if in respect of a simple glory, or small gain, both Warriors, & merchants, and Mariners, do watch whole nights abroad in the open air, the one among ambushmentes of their enemies, the other among the surgies and rocks, more fierce than any enemy: art not thou able to watch some part of the nights in making prayers to God, and among thy books, for the true glory, and a large gain?  joy. 
Being weary when I was awake, I have now wholly given myself to sleep.  Reason. 
Thus it is, ye change not your copy, ye deal in all matters after one manner: and look what thing God himself, or nature, or any art, hath given you for recreation, that ye turn to your own shame and discommodity▪ your drink to drunkenness, your meat to surfeiting, your leisure to sleepiness, your good health to voluptuousness, your beauty to lasciviousness, your strength to injuries, your wit to deceitfulness, your knowledge to pride, your eloquence to harmfulnesse, the bravery of your houses, and the apparel of your backs, to pompousness and vain ostentation, your riches to covetousness and riot, your wives and children to fear and perpetual carefulness Go now, be astonished, complain of your fortune, and lament your wickedness: of good things ye make evil, & of heavenly gifts, ye make fetters, and snares, and chains for your soul.  joy. 
I am delighted in pleasant sleep.  Reason. 
Not only Kings, Captains, and Princes, Philosophers, poets, & Householders, do watch up, and rise in the night, which Aristotle sayeth to be available for health, for good husbandry, and philosophy: but thieves also, and pilferers, and which is also more marvelous, mad men, and lovers, whom the remembrance & desire they have to their trulls, doth stir forward: and wilt not thou for the love of virtue, hate sleep, that is friend to vices? and as Horace saith excellently, Seeing thieves rise in the night to kill true men, wilt not thou awake to preserve thyself? You may be ashamed, that filthy causes can so much prevail with you, and most sovereign can do nothing.  joy. 
I sleep all night, and no man troubleth me.  Reason. 
Aristotle seemeth, which I have touched before, in this manner to divide a man's life, attributing half to sleep, and half to waking. And as touching the one half thereof, he saith, that a virtuous man's life differeth not from a fools life: in which place, he will have he night to be understood for sleep, and the day for waking. This I confess, is a good and true division, for it equally divideth time into the parts: But if it be thus taken, that the parts be of equal space, truly there is an other great difference between them. For there is no cogitation or discourse more sharp, or more deep, than the nightly, no time more convenient for students. If he say that sleep is the one half of our time, it is a strange saying, to come out of the mouth of so studious and learned a man. God forbid that a mind which is well instructed, and given to study, should sleep half her time, seeing to some the fourth part, and to voluptuous persons also the third part is sufficient. I would counsel a man to rise in the night, in every part of the year. God forbid, but that they which have any great exploit in hand, sleep both the whole Winter and Summer nights: Howbeit, it is sufficient perhaps to have broken it once, and as much sleep as is broken by watching, so much may be quickly supplied, if need so require, by taking a nap after noon. But the hours of the winter nyghters are often to be broken: in them it were expedient to sing, to study, to read, to writ, to think, to contemplate, by wit some new thing is to be devised, & that which is won by study, is to be repeated in memory. Hearken also to S. Jerome, writing to Eustochius: We must rise, saith he, twice or thrice a night, and we must meditate on some part of Scripture which we have learned without book: And at length, when your eyes are weary with this study, ye must eftsoons refresh them with sleep, and being then recomforted with a little rest, they must again be wearied with exercise, jest that by sleeping all the night long, and lying still upon the pillow, ye appear to be as it were buried carcases: By the often and coomely stirring of yourselves, declare that ye are alive, and given to virtue.   

Of pleasant smells. The xxii. Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Am delighted with sweet odours.  Reason. 
These serve either for food, or apparel, concerning which thou hast heard mine opinion.  joy. 
My study is upon sweet smells.  Reason. 
Of smells, some provoke the appetite, and some wantonness. The desire of these incurreth the note of incontinency, especially if it be vehement. Others are desired for their own sake. The greediness of them, is not reproved of dishonesty, but of folly: Whereby it cometh, that the smell of women's ointments, and of junkets, is more discommodable than the odour of flowers, or apples. The same reason is also in those pleasures, which are received by the ears and eyes. If ever thou hast applied thy mind to the reading of Heathen writers, thou knowest these things, neither do I now touch thee, but by notes I bring thee to remembrance of the truth, to the end thou mayest see, that such kinds of delights are either dishonest or light.  joy. 
My study is upon sweet odours.  Reason. 
I would it were upon good fame, the smell whereof is also called good, but of evil fame much more: and it is more strong than the sent of any spices while they are a beating, or of brimstone while it is a burning. Of these savours, the mind judgeth, and not the nose.  joy. 
I am delighted in sweet smells.  Reason. 
If thou be led by sense, and seek after pleasure, as I have said, it is either dishonesty or lightness; if for health sake, it is excusable, so that measure, which is the sauce of all things, be present. For a mild smell comforteth a fainting spirit: but in all things that saying of Terence is of great force, Nothing to much. For as in many other things, so in this also there is ins●●te variety of kinds, not only between man and man, but between nation and nation. For if the report be true, which great authors do not condemn, the people that dwell about the head of Ganges do eat no meat at all, but are nourished only by the smell of a wild apple, whensoever they travail abroad, they carry nothing else with them then that good & wholesome fruit: and are so impartent of stink, that as the pure air noorysheth them, so an infected smell stifleth them: A delicate complexion, which so liveth and dieth. Hence it proceedeth, that every nation towards the East, being pampered with the delicacy of the air, as they are less careful of meat, so have they less plenty, and are more desirous of sweet odours, and from thence forsooth this curiosity came first unto us. The Assyrians, the Arabians, and Sabei, when they were vanquished by your weapons, overcame you with their odours: which the rough and invincible sobriety of your forefathers resisted so long, that the five hundred threescore and fifth year, after the founding of the City of Rome, provision was made by a strait edict of the Censores, that no man should bring sweet foreign ointments into the City. But not long after, the vices of posterity, as the manner is, abrogating the decrees of the Elders, wantonness gate the upper hand, and crept into the very Senate, which had been the author of that constitution.  joy. 
I am desirous to smell well.  Reason. 
Strange odours, and the art of perfuming, and pleasantly smelling, is an argument of no natural good smell, and a token of some secret defects. In respect of which causes, not only any honest man, but honest woman also, would be loathe by such kind of delicacy, to offend the senses of any valiant and good man. Thou remember'st the story of a certain young man, who being anointed with sweet ointments, and coming before the Emperor Vaspatian to give him thanks for the office which he had bestowed upon him, as he stood before him, the Emperor perceiving the smell, and disdaining at the matter, with stern countenance and rough speech: I had rather said he, thou hadst smelled of Garlic. And so, well checked, either suppressing or cancelling the letters wherein he had granted him his good will, he sent him frustrate away with his pleasant odours. Thus, as these smells have been always a shame, so have they also sometime been hurtful, especially where there is some grave and upright Censor of manners. Yea, what shall I say that they have been dangerous to some? For thou knowest also, how that Plautius' a Senator in the triumuiral proscription, for fear of death hiding himself in the Salernitane Dens, was bewrayed by the smell of his ointments: purchasing thereby to himself destruction, and to the proscribers excuse of their cruelty. For who would not judge that he was justly stain, who in such troubles of the common wealth▪ and so great danger of private men, would then trim himself with sweet smelling ointments?  joy. 
I have accustomed myself to artificius odours.  Reason. 
Leave them of, if thou wilt follow my counsel. It is more shameful to frequent the artificius, than the simple: For every dishonest thing, the more artificius it is, the more dishonest it is. Art, which is an ornament to honesty, is an increase to dishonesty. Hereunto add moreover, that it is now grown unto far more excess than in old time, although that Rome, as I have said, and Lacedaemon also, which I had almost termed the Graecian Rome. when this infection came out of Asia, resisted it with rough manners and straight edicts, as it had been an army of well appointed enemies. Notwithstanding, at length the delicate band of sweet ointments, with the legions of vices, got the upper hand, and their scouts passed over into Europe, and there subdued most valiant nations. And because it were over long to prosecute every thing, by the softened 〈◊〉 ●●●sse of one most rough and painful man, thou mayest co●● 〈…〉 ●he residue. For 〈…〉 the very thickest and heat of 〈…〉 invincible and bar●●●●● Hannibal was anointed, with his army: ointments 〈◊〉 piercing, 〈…〉 near●ing. And therefore, of this ●●●●minate cammauyne and his 〈…〉 ●hose beginnings were wondered, 〈…〉 was the end, as he ●ell deserved. Whereby it 〈◊〉 ●hee p●●●e, that where always▪ ye have been much bound ●●●e virtues ●f Scipio Africane ye are somewhat also beholden to the oint●●●entes of Hannibal for it had been good for them they had been dry, as it was best for ●●u that they were anointed, This customs prevailed so ma●●●●andred years after, that it were a pain, and also would astonysh a man, to read what is 〈◊〉 concerning this matter, both by greeks and La●●●● What shall I use many words? Ointments came unto 〈…〉 then whom nothing was more high & excellent, namely I●SVS Christ, which he, that came and put away all softness and delicacy of the m●●●, & to extinguish all prouocati● as of pleasures, suffered himself to be anointed withal: verily not delighted with the pleasantness of the odours, but with the affection and tears of the offerer. But now this custom is by little and little diminished, that whereas your age is in many things inferior to the glory of your forefathers, yet in this it seemeth to extol it, in that it is not carried away with the fond desire of sweet ointments: but they that are now delighted therein, it chanceth unto them not by the general infection of the time, but by the special imperfection of their own minds.  joy. 
I am enticed & delighted with fragrant odours.  Reason. 
It cannot be otherwise, but that those things which of nature are delightsome and pleasant, should entice a man, and while they be present delight him. It is the saying of the wise Hebrew: With ointments, and sundry odours the heart is refreshed. Howbeit it seemeth to me that in ointments there is not so much delight, as loathsomeness. But admit there were so in these odours, yet in my judgement men should rather resist the things that be absent, to 〈…〉 ●●●empt, and oblivion, and use the things that are ●●ese● 〈…〉 ●●●●●ly, neither bestow any care or travail upon 〈…〉 ●●●●wne secret judgement thou ●●●fesse thy 〈…〉 contemptible things. And that I may not dra●● 〈…〉 concerning odo●●●●●●eing dishonest an●● 〈…〉 all effem●●●ing men's minds to 〈…〉 ●●ter I embrace the opinion of S Augustine, who speake●● 〈◊〉 of the provocation of odours 〈◊〉 desire them not, saith he 〈…〉 they be absent I require th● 〈…〉 if they be present I 〈…〉, being ready always to wa●● 〈◊〉. Do thou the 〈…〉 thou never smell evil of 〈◊〉 odours, or he od●●●● with harefull cleanliness.   

Of the sweeten 〈◊〉 of Music xxi●●● Dialogue.  〈◊〉. 
I Am delighted in singing 〈◊〉 instrument.  Reason. 
Albina how much better were it in tears and sygninges? It were better to come to joy 〈…〉 by joying to tears.  joy. 
I take pleasure in songs and harmony.  Reason. 
Wild beasts and fowls are deceived by singing, and, which is more strange, fishes also are delighted in Musycke. Thou knowest the pretty fable of Arion and the Dolphin, which is holden so true, that it is chronicled. Many notable writers have made mention of that Miracle, but none more gallantly than Herodotus, the father of the Grecian History. Hereunto agreed the brazen images which are there set up, where the physician first arrived on shore safely out of so great danger sitting upon the back of the swimming fish. Moreover, it is said, that the sirens do decey●e by singing. This is not believed, but found true by experience, how by flattering words one man deceiveth another: and to be short, there is nothing more apt to deceive, than the voice.  joy. 
I am delighted with pleasant Music.  Reason. 
The Spider, as they say, anointeth before he bite, and the Physician before he strike, the fouler also, and a woman ●●●●terreth whom they mind to entice, and a thief embraceth whom he will kill, and the Polypus fyr●●huc●●●●h whom he ●●ea●teth to drown. And some naughty pe●●●● are never more ●o be feared, then when they sh●●●● 〈…〉 courteous in voice and behaviour▪ 〈…〉 adverbially to 〈…〉 found in the G●lmyo● Dom●●●. Generally, there ●s sear●e a●●● 〈…〉  joy. 
I 〈◊〉, and 〈◊〉 in singyng● 〈◊〉 Re●●●●●: 〈◊〉 heed, for it is 〈◊〉: So●●● possesseth the last part of joy: and again, the spi●●●● shalb●● 〈◊〉 ●egore a fall.  joy. 
I sing sweetly.  Reason. 
Th●● 〈…〉 whether it be thy last. The Swan singeth 〈…〉 his death: Moore have perished through 〈◊〉, 〈…〉 and there exhalate report, that one who 〈…〉 wont, dy●d suddenly in the mids 〈…〉 I am delighted in song and Music. 〈…〉 cause▪ Every day, and hour, and 〈…〉 the G●●●●, whither it is your 〈…〉 ●●ought with ●●●ngyng, and in old ty●●●, 〈…〉 ●ecorders, whereof is that verse of Sta●●●● 〈◊〉: Whose custom is, the tender souls with Pipes to bring 〈◊〉. Thou takest please 〈◊〉 in both these pomps of funerals, whither thou makest hast (although thou perceivest not thyself to go) without rest or intermission.  joy. 
I love singing.  Reason. 
To what purpose? Doubtless in the minds of woorthymen especially, there resteth a most mighty music, but the effects are sundry, more than a man will believe. And to omit that which serveth not to our purpose, some it moveth to vain mirth, some to holy and devout joy, some many times to godly tears: which variety of affections, hath drawn great wits into sundry opinions. For Athanasius to avoid vanities, forbade the use of singing in Churches. S. Ambrose studious of godliness, appointed that men should sing. S. Augustine maketh godly mention among his confessions, that he abode both, and that herein he was sometime in some difficulty of doubt with himself.  joy. 
I delight to sing.  Reason. 
This hath been a pleasure unto many heretofore, and now it is to thee. For in old time, who so could not sing and play upon instruments, was counted unlearned, which judgement fell upon Themistocles the Athenian, the most noble of all the Grecians, for that he refused to play upon an Harp as he sat with company at meat. And Cicero reporteth, that Fpaminundas the Theban, perhaps because he would avoid that ignominy, could play very excellently upon instruments. It is strange, that Socrates being so grave a Father as he was, would learn to play: and therefore let us not marvel though Alcibiadis were by his uncle Periclis set to school to learn upon the Recorder, being among them so commendable an exercise, that they learned the same also among the liberal arts. But let us commend the wit of a shamefast Boy, who taking into his hand the instrument of an excellent physician, who of purpose was sent for and hired to teach him and putting it unto his mouth, and straining his breath, 〈◊〉 by his cheeks began to swell, & perceiving thereby the detormitie of his countenance, blushed, and broke the Pipe, and threw it away disdainfully, deserving surely, though but small of years, to be an example, that by the whole consent of the people the use of Recorders and wind instruments should have been banished the City of Athens. This ardent desire of Music, although it be not yet come so far unto you, as to possess the minds of all Princes, yet hath it invaded the minds of some, and specially of the worse sort. For Caius the Emperor, was very much given to singing and dancing. As for Nero, how much he was addicted to the study of the Cythernes, and what great regard he had of his voice, it is incredible to be spoken. This is one folly in him, and very ridiculus, that the same night which was the last of his life, and the first to the world, to take breath, as it were, for a little time, among the complaints which instant death and present fear and sorrow did minister, this one thing most often and most miserably he bewailed, not that so great a Prince, but that so great a physician should perish. I let pass others: even unto this your age which now is present, though but here and there, yet there is come some delight of the ear, wherewith to be honestly and soberly delighted, is a certain humanity, but to be caught, and as it were wedded unto it, is great vanity.  joy. 
I am deceived with the pleasure of sweet notes.  Reason. 
O that thou didst hear the sighs of the godly? O that the groanings and lamentations of the dampened might enter into thine ears: And on the other side, the reioycynges of the blessed souls, and the singing of Angels, and that heavenly harmony which Pythagoras establisheth, Aristotle overthroweth, and our Cicero restoreth, and godliness and faith persuade thee to be there perpetual, and the most sweet voyce●, if not of the heavens, yet of the heavenly inhabitants, wh●●here without end do praise the first and eternal cause. 〈◊〉 these things, I say, should enter into thine ears, how plainly mightest thou discern which consent were the sweeter, and which the wholesomer? But now thou committest the judgement of the sound to a deaf sense, concerning which, perhaps hitherto may seem unto some to be a small matter, notwithstanding it hath troubled many excellent men. Neither was it without cause that Plato, a man of a divine wit, supposed that Music appertained to the state, and corrections of manners in a common wealth.   

Of Dancing. The xxiiii Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Delight in dancing.  Reason. 
I would have marveled the more, if the noise of Vyals and Recorders had not pricked thee forth also to dancing, and after the ancient manner, one vanity had not followed another, howbeit a greater, and much more deformed. By singing there is some sweetness conceived, which many times is profitable, and holy: by dancing never any thing but lasciviousness, and a vain sight, hateful to honest eyes, and unmeet for a man.  joy. 
I desire much to be at dancings.  Reason. 
The body covereth and discovereth the mind: the casting of the hands, the moving of the feet, the rolling of the eyes, declare that there is some such like wantonness in the mind, which is not seen. And therefore it behoveth such as are lovers of modesty, to take heed that they do not speak any wanton thing: For the hidden affects of the mind, and secrets of the heart, are many times descried by small tokens: moving, sitting, lying, gesture, laughter, going, speech, all these are bewrayers of the mind.  joy. 
I receive great pleasure in dancing.  Reason. 
O foolish pleasure? Imagine that thyself leadest a dance, or beholdest other dancing, without hearing any instrument, and seest the foolish women, or men more effeminate than women, without any noise to turn about, and to dance forward and backward. I pray thee didst thou ever see any thing more absurd or doting? But now the sound of the instrument covereth the uncomely moving, that is to say, one madness hideth an other.  joy. 
I am delighted in dancing.  Reason. 
There is not in dancing so much a present delight, as an hope of pleasure to come: For it is the forerunner of Venus, to lead about selly women that are astonished with the sound of the instruments, to court them, to clasp them, and under colour of courtesy to win them: there the hands are free, the eyes free, and the speech free, there is noise of the feet, the dissonant voices of the singers, the sounding of the trumpets, the meeting together, the dust, and that which is often added to plays and shows, night itself, enemy to honesty, & friend to vices: these be the things which drive away fear & shame fastness, these are the provocations of lechery, these are the laxations of liberty. And, that ye shall not think me to be easily deceived, this is that delight which simply, and as it were innocently ye profess by the name of dancings, & under the covering of pastime, ye clock wickedness. And although many times this be done among men only, or women only, they do then but severally exercise themselves, & learn what they shall do when they meet again: like as scholars do meditate while their master is absent, what they shall say when he returneth. Pluck up by the coote this crafty and wicked show, take away lasciviousness, and thou shalt take away dancings. Believe me, no man will dance before the Lord with King David, jest peradventure his wife laugh him to scorn, although no man be mocked for dancing, or wanton demeaning himself before his Lady.  joy. 
Dancing is delectable.  Reason. 
Thou art jump of mine opinion. If it delight, it is in respect of some other matter, for of itself it is an absurd thing, and bringeth more weariness than pleasure. For, to turn round, what is it other then to procure giddiness of the head, and to go about without end? Among the local motions which Plato reckoneth, to wit these, forward, backward, on the right hand, on the left, upward, downward, and round about, only the seventh is infinite. And therefore the things that are perpetual, that is to say, heaven, and the planets, do continually observe the same: and in earth, the madness of men increase ably putteth it in practice, almost in all their actions and devices. Neither is there any Orpheus to stay the Isionian wheel, but invisible dancings, where the volubility of the minds, carrieth the bodies about with them. And therefore when that which is written may be said of all, then may it most properly be verified of these: The wicked walk round about. This sport hath been the cause of many shameful deeds. Many times an honest Matron hath by means hereof, lost her long preserved honesty. Oftentimes the unfortunate young virgin hath hereby learned that upon her wedding day, which she had better never had known.  joy. 
I am willing to exercise myself in honest dancing.  Reason. 
I had rather thou hadst chosen some other kind of exercise. But I perceive whereabout thou goest, and what thou meanest. Thou wouldst have this general restreinct taken away, thou wouldst have liberty to be given, and an order therein to be prescribed. Forasmuch as therefore thou art so minded, and such is thy manner and custom, than which if it be nought, there is nothing worse, and if it be good, there is nothing better: let this be a rule unto thee in all these things, that such as thou canst not altogether want, thou use them most modestly and seldom. That thou behave not thyself softly, nor womanlike in any matter, but let thy manly rigour show itself, yea somewhat beyond it own bounds: and let thy dancing, or what other pastime soever thou frequent, be a relaxation to the wearied spirits, and an exercise to the body, and not a pleasure to effeminate the mind. I would gladly abstain from examples, for the imitation of excellent men is not safe for all to follow. Every feathered foul is not able to follow the Eagle. Of imitators, some imitate the contrary, some one thing, and some another. Few do fully attain to the perfection of that which they imitate. The younger Cato, when his mind was overpressed with cares of the Common wealth, was wont to refresh himself with wine. The like did Solon among the greeks. Now some man perhaps desirous to imitate these, will always do one thing only which they did, he will drink: and that which they used to do seldom times, and moderately, this man will do continually, and immoderately: and that which they used for a remedy, he will abuse unto drunkenness. The like may be easily showed in other things also: but now thou understandest, as well as I, what that is which I fear, with thee. Notwithstanding, forasmuch as thou hast enforced me to undertake the defence of a condemned matter, I will set down unto thee, the example of a notable parsonage, which thou shalt not follow, or not change, which I will recite unto thee in these words, which Seneca useth in that book wherein he searcheth after the tranquillity of the mind. Scipio, saith he, moved that same his triumphant and martial body, after the tune and measure of instruments, not wanton mincing, as it is now the manner to swim in dancing, far more effeminately than women, but as the ancient men in fore time were wont at plays and festival times to dance, after a manlike sort, which should no way impair them, if their enemies did behold them. By which words, what he thought then of his own age, may be perceived: But he was happy that he saw not thine. And although he do allow of some large scope of dancing and drinking, saying, that sometimes it is lawful for a man to drink till he be drunk, which I marvel that so precise a disposition would grant: yet if thou wilt follow faithful counsel, drink wine sparyngly, and abstain from dancing. There be other more honest kinds of recreation, wherewith thou mayest refresh thy loathsome and wearied mind. But in all things this is the best counsel which he uttered last of all, to be circumspect, and take heed: and whatsoever thou dost, so to do it, as though thine enemies beheld and marked thee: It is much more better to live in such sort that thine enemies may wonder at thine abstinence and gravity, then that thy friends should excuse thy lasciviousness. That good fame is more noble, when no man is able to object a true crime, and dare not object a false, then when a fault is objected, and purged. Perfect virtue maketh the accuser afeard: but that which is but mean, provoketh him. And as touching sobriety, I had rather thou were like Caesar, whom his very enemies can not deny but that he was a man of little wine, as Suetonius writeth, then like Cato: I mean not the ancient Cato Censorius, of whose sobriety we have spoken before, but the latter, whom Seneca in this sort defendeth for drunkenness objected against him, that Cato's life was such, that a man may better object an honest crime against him, than a dishonest▪ But concerning that whereof now we entreat, I had rather thou shouldest not dance at all, then to dance as Scipio did. But if thy mind force thee unto that which I would not have th●● do, I would wish thee to imitate these captains, that if that saying of the Lyrike Poet have fully persuaded thee: At one time we must drink, and at another dance: Drink wine so as Cato drank, and dance so as Scipio danced.   

Of playing with the Ball. The xxv Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Am delighted also with playing at the Ball.  Reason. 
Lo, there is another foolish occasion of crying, and leaping.  joy. 
I am desirous to play at the ball.  Reason. 
It seemeth that ye hate rest, ye seek toil & labour every way, which I would they were comely. For if this play be undertaken for exercise sake, which, I pray you is better, for a man to weary himself with a furious throwing and striking, wherein nothing can be kept in the mind, or else with moderate walking, wherein is both profitable moving of the body, and honest stirring of the mind? Which manner, certain of the Philosophers did make so proper to themselves, that the most famous sect took name thereof Hadst thou rather follow Dionysius of Syracuse, than Aristotle of Stagyrite? Forasmuch as we have heard that the Philosopher used to take delight in studious walking, and the Tyrant in this troublesome game: howbeit I will not deny, but that modest minds have sometime been delighted with this pleasure: For Quintus Mutius Scaenola, the Soothsayer, could play very cunningly at it, and Augustus the Emperor, after that he had ended the civil wars, from exercises of the field, betook himself to the bal: & also Marcus Aurelius Antomu●, as it is written of him, played very well at tennis. Notwithstanding, although the first of these were very well seen in the law, both of God and man, and the other also were learned, and both were good princes, yet do I not like any thing the better of this hasty and clamorous game. For all vehement motion, specially if it be joined with outerie and clamour, is unfitting for an honest wit.   

Of playing at Dice and Lots. The xxvi. Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Am delighted with playing at dice and lots  Reason. 
In the one of these games is loss, in the other folly: yet it is reported that Scaevola frequented them both, & that which is yet higher, that Augustus the Emperor used the one. Yet notwithstanding, that this first chose these to be a recreation to himself from the ceremonies of the Gods, & the laws of men, in the knowledge whereof he excelled, and Augustus from the cares of his great Empire, which he governed long and well, now and then to refresh himself from his ioyle: I will not commend the like in thee. For great and learned men have certain strange & peculiar appetites, which if thou imitate aswell in manners as in doctrine, thou mayst soon fall: for all things are not worthy to be praised, which are praised.  joy. 
I take pleasure in playing at Tables.  Reason. 
Who would not be delighted to throw forth a couple or more of squared bones, with certain numbers marked upon every side, and look which way they run, that way to direct the fingers, to place the round Tablemen in order? A glorious exercise, which is like to deserve a famous name, with a triumphant chariot, & renowned days.  joy. 
I delight moreover to play at Lots.  Reason. 
O childish desire, O lost time, O superfluous cares, O most vain outcries: foolish joys, ridiculus anger, for old doting men to stand gaping over a pair of tables, and a few rolling pieces of wood, by stealth robbing and falling in: whereof that game was in old time called Ludus latruncularis, whereat there was an Ape that played, as Pliny writeth. Dost thou marvel at it? Why, it is a peculiar play for an Ape, to gather together the stones, counters, or tablemen, and to cast them abroad, to throw them against the wall, hastily to cast forth the hands and to pluck them in again, to insult over his adversary, to threaten him with grinning teeth, to be angry, to contend, to chafe, and sometime, as Horace saith, to scratch the head, to gnaw the nails, and briefly to do all thing that may provoke the lookers on to laughter. And do ye omit any one of these? or in your gaming let pass any one kind of madness? Are ye not in such wise tormented and vexed, as though the good estate of your selves, or of the commonwealth were in hazard? There be many, I suppose, which might have overcome their enemies in battle, if they had been as diligent to furnish their soldiers in the field, as they have been no place their Boxen or ivory table men in order. Scarce shall you find any man more earnestly bend to any thing, then to this foolish practice. But this is a general rule in the kingdom of sollie, that look what thing is least profitable, thereof is conceived most delight and pleasure.  joy. 
I am delighted with dice playing.  Reason. 
If thou wilt be ruled by counsel, I will tell thee of an honest and worthy kind of diceplay, which in old time was frequented by learned men in Athens: that upon holidays, when a company of friends were met together, every man should allege somewhat concerning learning, not some ambiguous Sophism, but some substantial matter, according to the discretion of the alleager, appertaining to virtue, and honest living. Now, when they had conferred upon these matters without envy or anger, they which by the judgement of the best learned seemed to be overcome, were amersed of some small piece of money. Let the same money be converted to Philosophical suppers: And so it shall minister sufficient provision for the charge, exercise to your study, and a spur to your wits, which shall aswell provoke the conquerors, as the conquered. With this kind of dice play, wherewith our forefathers were wont to furnish their Saturnalia, furnyshe you your godly holidays, and wherewith they were wont to pass their Athenian nights, pass you also your Roman nights. Thus hast thou a game whereat thou mayest willingly play, and shalt not be ashamed to have played at it.   

Of prosperous playing at Tables. The xxvii Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Have a desire also to play at tables.  Reason. 
O wide gaping whirl podle, that can not be filled: O sorrowful and sudden flitting of the patrimonte? O tempest of the mind, and cloud to fame, and provocation to wickedness, and way to desperation. Those whereof we have spoken before, deserve indifferently to be called games, but this is a mere sorrow.  joy. 
But I have had prosperous success at this play.  Reason. 
There is no good luck at tables, all is evil, & miserable: For both he that loseth is grieved, and he that winneth is enticed & drawn into danger.  joy. 
I have played fortunately.  Reason. 
Present prosperity hath oftentimes been the aboving of future calamity, and this plague hath it own proper provocations. If all that play at tables should loose, no man would play: but some do win, howbeit those winnings are the forerunners of loss.  joy. 
I have played & won.  Reason. 
It is well, if thou return not again into the field: otherwise there is no field more plain, nor fortune in any field more inconstant.  joy. 
I have played and won.  Reason. 
Thou shalt play again, & loose. That which thou winnest, a thousand will pluck from thee on every side: & that which thou losest, none will restore. Add this moreover, that if there were any justice, that which thou winnest is not thine, & that which thou losest, although it be not another man's, yet it ceaseth to be thine. Finally, there be divers causes which may dehort and pluck back a good mind from this madness, unless a certain headdinesse, pricked forward with covetousness, urged ye thereunto.  joy. 
I have won at tables.  Reason. 
Understand that thou hast received an hundred times uzurie of an impious banker: thou must therefore restore that which thou hast won, and add thereunto somewhat of thine own, which cannot be demanded again, and is of itself consumed, and thou hast left of to be fortunate in thy sleep.  joy. 
I have won, and thereby am the richer.  Reason. 
All money is unstable, and by reason of the roundness thereof, it runneth away: but there is nothingmore unstable than the money that is gotten at tables. Table playing giveth nothing to any man, specially that ply it diligently, but many times they borrow one of another, or it wresteth somewhat from them, and is the more cruel, the more flattering that it seemeth. For there is no loss more grievous, then is to him that hath begun to taste the sweetness of gain.  joy. 
I have played, and gained.  Reason. 
To rejoice for winning at tables, is even as a man should rejoice at sweet poison: For both anon will break out at the beynes.  joy. 
I take pleasure in my prosperous play.  Reason. 
Delyghting in sin, is worse than sin itself. There be some that sin, provoked thereto by means of an evil custom, who rejoice not after they have sinned, but are sorry, and if it could be, would rather they had not sinned. And some we have seen, who among the scorching flames of lust, have felt a cold yeinesse of sorrow and repentance, and if a man may so term it, a will and a nill at one instant, although they have been borne away to the worse by force of some custom, whom we may not nevertheless utterly condemn, but by much practice they may be brought to better state: but as for those that rejoice in wickedness, what hope, I pray you, shall a man have of them?  joy. 
I am delighted in playing at tables.  Reason. 
I hope thou wilt not be so still, or long delighted: the state of cities is every day altered, & dost thou think that the fortune at tables is permanent? Believe me it will turn, and convert thy joy into tears. I do not mean that they will turn, as thou hast seen them, and as they have done to thine advantage and vain joy: but they will so turn, that it shallbe to thy very tears and sorrow.  joy. 
I take pleasure in playing.  Reason. 
A detestable and desperate delight, and which proceedeth from a filthy and corrupt mind: and thou deseruelt therefore to be chydden and rated. For what Gentleman, or what man, that is not rather a savage beast, will be delighted with the name of a game, which is full of wickedness, and most filthy impiety? Where there is nothing manly besides the men's faces, and their countenances, distracted between anger and sorrow, and outrageously confused with outcries, more than is sitting for men: where there is no comeliness in behaviour, nor modesty in words, no love towards men, no reverence towards God, but chiding, railing, deceit, perjury, and ravin, and in the end, bloodshed and murder. Human rashness can devise nothing more cruel against GOD, than the blaspheming of his holy name, wherewith above all the forgeries of mischief, that game aboundeth▪ Where, if any perhaps hold their peace for shamefastness, yet with their often looking up, what they speak with the lips of their heart, themselves do know. What honest man can, I say not play at, but with his eyes behold this game, and is not grieved and driven away with the loathsomeness of so wicked a sight?  joy. 
Notwithstanding, I am delighted with this game.  Reason. 
Take heed that the Cretaine curse fall not upon thy head, to be delighted in evil custom, than which nothing is more light to be spoken, nothing more grievous to happen, and nothing more near to destruction.  joy. 
I am delighted with playing at Tables.  Reason. 
Dishonest delight is to be abjected, if not for virtue sake, yet for regard of thine estimation, and care of thy honesty: For thou shalt not find any thing among the actions of men, wherein their manners and vices are more plainly set open. Thou hast seen some set down to play, that have trembled, and prayed most earnestly, and called upon the chance which they would have: and others, who otherwise were courageous and upright of mind, at this game, for a little money, to pray, to be angry, and in fine, to be furious. What, and how many things have certain valiant men done at game for a small sum of money, which in an other place they would not have done for a great treasure? There is the kingdom of all vices, but especially of wrath and covetousness. Thou remember'st, how Ovid in the same book where in he teacheth the dishonest and superfluous art of love, yet sometime intermyngleth some profitable matter: He admonisheth the women lovers, that to conceal the vices of their mind, they abstain from this, and such like games, lest being seen either swelling with anger, or greedy with covetousness, they displease their lovers. How much better were it for this commandment to be given to men, that they offend not only the eyes of men, but also of GOD that seeth all, and loveth good minds and courteous manners?  joy. 
I have played, I have won, and am glad.  Reason. 
A filthy game, and hurtful victory, a vain pleasure.  joy. 
I have won, and am glad.  Reason. 
All rejoicing in a man's own evil, is foolish: And therefore it was some Hellhound that first devised this game, the unskilful whereof are subject to mocks, and loss: and the skilful, to wonder and astonyshment. For what is more marvelous, then that which is commonly spoken in the old proverb, and is vulgarly found to be true by experience? That all the great players and masters of this game, are naked, bore, and poor.   

Of jesters. The xxviii. Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Take delight in the pastime of jesters.  Reason. 
The delight of musical Harmony is more noble, which is procured by a certain liberal art: as for this, it is full of vanity and impudence.  joy. 
I take pleasure in jesters.  Reason. 
I had rather thou tookest pleasure in poor folk, in humble friends, and in carefulness.  joy. 
jesters do make me laugh.  Reason. 
And what doest thou make them do? How many times have jesters mocked their masters that laughed at them? How oftentimes wondering at the folly of those that wonder at them, have they feigned some other matter, whereby they falsely delight them, & truly delight themselves.  joy. 
I have learned jesters.  Reason. 
Thou hast those that thou mayest laugh at, & that wyllaugh and gird at thee. An ancient plague among the rich, which beginning among the tuscans, grew so great at Rome. and came to such boldness, that Esope left a wonderful and very great patrimony unto his son which he had gotten thereby: and Roscius gathered this distracted and vagraunt practice into an art, writing a book of the Art of jesting▪ wherein he was not ashamed to compare it to Oratory, and to match himself with Tully: and that for this cause, for that those sundry affections and secret conceyvynges of the mind, which Cicero was wont in eloquent speech diversly to pronounce, he could also express the very same after another fashion, but to like effect, by apt gestures. And truly he was very cunning, neither do I know what were so hard or sorrowful, which he could not easily have mollified: I speak not how by means of his wit he purchased the friendship of the most courteous & gentle Cicero, and was found worthy for whom so great an Orator should plead, and of whom he should leave a work to the remembrance of posterity: but that he qualified the cruel and proud mind of Sylla, and by him that despised all men, being received into favour, was rewarded with a ring of gold: who also as often as him listed, could provoke to mirth and laughter so many grave and severe fathers, and that Senate by which the whole world was governed: Who enticed the people of Rome, being so great and so many, to give to him, above a daily stipend out of the common treasury of an hundred pence, besides his servants and assistants. A great reward, although it were paid in final money: and I cannot deny but that these things were handled by him with wondered and rare agility of mind, so that if there were a Roscius any where to be found, perhaps it is not denied to thee which was lawful for Cicero, not only to use his pastime otherwhiles, but also his wit and familiarity. For there is great agreement of wits one with an other, although they differ in study and profession. But where we seek him, many notable arts have in short process of time perished, not only the art of jesting, which is now come to this pass, that it is certain that they which now follow it, are of a corrupt sense and false judgement. And truly hereof it followeth, that they to whom evil things seem good, good things are unknown: and that they are unaccustomed to noble cares, that are delighted with vile.  joy. 
Many jesters do frequent me daily.  Reason. 
They will leave to frequent thee, when thou shalt leave to be rich and liberal, I should rather say, foolish and prodigal.  joy. 
I have a great troop of iosters.  Reason. 
Thou mayest rather say of Flies, which follow thee while thou art anointed, and when thou art dry, will forsake thee: and it is not sufficient that they do forsake thee, but that like infamy will follow this farewell. There be some tongues to whom rest and quietness is a punishment, they have no delight but to talk of other folk, either in falsely praising them, or bitterly slandering them: and look whose wealth they cannot bite, they gnaw his fame. This is one general law among jesters and Parasites, that they be both sorts of them armed with slatteries, and follow fortune: For the one sort, it is sufficient to fill their bellies, the other sort hath another hunger, unto whom it is an injury to make mention of meat, whose greediness must be filled, which hath no bottom.   

Of the games of Wrestling. The xxix. Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Am delighted with the games of wrestling.  Reason. 
If to be a looker on, thou art a fool, if to wrestle, thou art mad.  joy. 
I use to exercise wrestling.  Reason. 
By every one of thy words, it appeareth unto what master thou art a slave. For these, aswell as the abovenamed, do belong to the body, and as I have admonished a little before, there be things that may be done more honestly without force and noise. And there is also a more excellent moving of the mind, which if thou knewest, thou wouldst contemn and hate these bodily endeavours. But you esteem of your mind, as a degenerate and hateful guest: and of your bodies, as some great and dearly beloved lord: for him you plough, for him you sow, for him you mow. Truly in so doing ye do well: but in this ye deal unjustly, in that ye refer all things to the body: and not regarding the mind, for this ye spend whole nights in wakefulness, for this ye sigh, for this ye vow, for this ye learn good arts, this ye obey and serve, of all other a most sumptuous and unthankful master, to whom neither any thing is sufficient, and if perhaps it want somewhat at any time, it never is mindful of a benefit received, and yet notwithstanding ye obey whatsoever this master commandeth, and suffering the mind to hunger, for this you do not only provide necessaries, but also superfluous things in each respect, and such as will hurt: and not only such things as appertain to food and apparel, whereof we have spoken in their proper places, but also to games, and sundry lusts, not perceiving how much the truth is against your devices, which speaketh by the mouth of the most eloquent Cicero: whereby it appeareth, that he which neglecteth the body, neglecteth not himself, but his frail and transitory house: but he that regardeth not his mind, truly regardeth not himself. For be saith not, Thou art he whom this outward shape declareth, but every man's mind is himself, and not this form which may be pointed unto by the finger.  joy. 
I am delighted with the exercise of wrestling.  Reason. 
The heat of Charrettes, the noise of horses, & the guiding of the scorching wheels through narrow straights unhurt, the cry of the wrestlers, and their thronging together, the oil, the sweat, and the wonderful dust, is a great token of the dullness of the senses, whether it be the pleasure of the eyes, or nose, or ears, that is thereby conceived: Which if it were sound and perfect, not these places of outcries and tumults, which they term places of wrestling and exercise, but rather the diligent observation of this place of exercise and toil, which they that are borne do enter into, which they that live do tread and trample continually, from whence they that die do departed, should delight thee, being a more profitable and honest pleasure.  joy. 
I am given to the study of wrestling.  Reason. 
This was not the lest glory among our forefathers in old time, but so great, that unto Diagoras Rhodi●s, who was also himself a famous wrestler, when he saw two of his sons in one day rewarded with wrestling victories, as though there remained nothing more noble in this life whereunto he might aspire, another ancient man of Lacedaemon, a friend of his, said, Now die Diagoras, for thou shalt not ascend up into heaven. He accounted it so great and high a matter for three of one family at one time to be tried wrestlers. Truly a very small and light Graecian estimation of true praise, but so common, that it troubled also great wits. For Plato, being so great a Philosopher as he was, was famous for his deeds at Olympus, and in that practice known by many events, but this was while he was a young man. The valiantness of his courage, from whence some think that Plato's name was derived, the strength of his body, and the heat of his years, moved his youthly mind to the trial of his strength, wherein he was equal with the best: but in process of time, considering what he had done, he betook himself to that which was better, and chose rather to belike Socrates, then Milo. And truly great age accuseth: Youth is easily forgiven: there is no excuse to a man of his folly.  joy. 
The study of wrestling delighteth me.  Reason. 
In this game the vilest person sometime hath the victory, and the virtue of the mind is vanquished by the hugynesse of the body. What Duke or noble man canst thou name unto me, which Milo could not overcome, who would run a Furlong with a live Bul upon his shoulders, and killing him with a stroke of his bore fist, stuck not to eat him whole in one day? A strange matter, but commonly written by Historiographers. Who therefore shall meet with this fellow to match him in his kingdom of Chivalry? verily, there is nothing more shameful then to behold noble spirits to be overcome with such a beast: and therefore let valiant minds which trust well to themselves, have a special regard that they enter not into such exercise where they may be conquered by the most cowards: But if thou take pleasure in contention, enter that conflict wherein he that overcometh is the better man, not of the strength of the body, or of any other matter, wherein one may be both the worst and the conqueror. Strive not therefore for riches, nor for dignity, nor for power, but for virtue and knowledge: and not to the end thou detract from any man's good name, but that the emulation of another man's praise may be a provocation unto thee towards glory: let there be no jot at all of envy, but of virtue. Here hast thou an example of the younger Cato, of whom Sallust writing: He strived not, saith he, neither with the rich for ryehes, neither with the factious for faction, but with the valiant for virtue, and with the shamefast for honesty, and with the innocent for abstinence. This is the most honest kind of contentious exercise, not only to be kept at Olympus, but in every place: no less in the bedchaumber, then in the judicial Court: and no less in leisure, then in business: and no less with them that are present, then them that be absent: and with all noble minds of all ages, and of all countries. I have always judged that saying of Scipio in Livy to be notable and princely: I am persuaded, saith he, that this cogitation is in the mind of every noble parsonage, to compare himself not only to renowned men which now live, but that have lived in all ages. And thou likewise, if there be any among the troops that be present, which I scarce can hope, or among all the memory of antiquity, choose some match unto thyself, with whom thou mayest contend, not with arms and Cuggels, but with wisdom and virtue, without fear of danger, but in hope of an immarcessible crown. This is my counsel and opinion concerning the wrestling exercise.   

Of sundry Spectacles and Shows. The xxx Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Am delighted with sundry Shows.  Reason. 
Perhaps with the Curtain or Theatre: which two places are well known to be enemies to good manners: for look who goeth thither evil, returneth worse. For that journey is unknown to the good, which if any undertake upon ignorannce, he can not choose but be defiled.  joy. 
I am delighted with the plays, and the prizes of Fence.  Reason. 
Other dilightes have some part either of vanity, or of sensuality, and this hath both, besides cruelty, and inhumanity, unworthy of good minds, neither is it any excuse for us, that in foretime the Romans which were the flower of men were delighted in these: for in upright judgement, that same City which most abounded with good and noble examples, had nothing in it more to be reproved, or deformed, than the residue, saving at one side the troubles of civil wars, on the other side, the immoderate study of plays: as though the great bloodshed at home in the wars, were not sufficient, unless the peace also were bloody, and the pleasures bloody: unless perhaps some man will say, that the Theatre were more honest, wherein thou mayest see not only the people gaping, but also the Senate, and the Emperors of Rome, the Lords of all the world. In like sort were they also delighted in spectacles, who were made spectacles to mankind. I will tell thee a strange matter, but well known and common. That same rage and folly of frequenting the Theatre, so invaded the minds of all men, that it brought abroad into common assemblies, not only the wives and daughters of the Emperors, but also the Virgins vestal, whose chastity was such, as nothing was more perfect, nothing more tender than fame, nothing more reverent to be preserved, in so much that in them all motion, all trimming, all wanton talk was reprehended and pu●yshed: and yet we read that there was a place appointed for these in the Theatre, not by every one, but by the good and great Prince Augustus Caesar, Notwithstanding the error wherein great men are overseen is not therefore the less, but rather the greater, and more conspicable.  joy. 
I am very willing to see plays.  Reason. 
A thing which is neither honestly played, nor honestly beheld, neither easily to be spoken whether the player or the looker on be more infamous, or whether the Scene be more dishonest, or the several place for the Senators, saving that poverty many times draweth men to the one, and vanity always plucketh them to the other. For in every offence, it skilleth much whether a man offend through poverty, lasciviousness, or pride.  joy. 
I am delighted with the sights of the amphitheatre.  Reason. 
A very hurtful delight every way, aswell public as private, which thou mayest easily gather if thou call unto mind out of the stories the beginning hereof, and the increase, with what expenses of common charge, and with what care of Princes near unto madness, and finally, with what study and toil of the people it was builded. Truly it is an hard matter to report the manifold vanities, and superfluous to repeat so many common things, a thousand couple of Fensars at once, which were not only not sufficient for the play, but for the fight, with the flocks of Elephants, and Tigers, and Lions, and Leopards, and wild Asses, and courageous Horses, and sundry kinds of strange beasts, sent from all parts of the world, from their Deserts, Parks, and forests, to serve the Roman Theatre. Moreover, that the same sumptuousness of building had no pattern, but not like to want imitation, pillars of Marble brought by Sea and by land for the use of the plays, cunningly carved by the great industry of the woorkmen, proudly polished on the tops, and the branches glistering with gold. Of which madness Scaurus was the chief and beginner, he that was Edilis or Master of the works in building the Stage of the Theatre within the space of a few days, which was reared with a small deal of timber and a few roopes, bringing in three hundred and threescore such monstrous pillars, to please the eyes of the people that rejoiced in such toys: and finished a work, as thou knowest it is written, the greatest that ever was made by man's hand, not in respect of the temporal continuance thereof, but by everlasting destiny, whereby he deserved truly to be reported, that as first by a grievous proscription he sent the citizens, so afterward in his most vain Edileship he sent good manners into banishment: as one that was both auctor and example of much loss time to the foolish commons, and of many great expenses to the common wealth. But O strange case: shortly after, the madness of them that came afterward, surpassed this outrage: whereby it came to pass, that what by the wonderfulness and number of the works, there was nothing in all the whole world to be wondered at, but Rome. For thou seest also how it is written, that the very bowels of the earth were pierced, the ●●●ntes digged up, the bidden rocks discovered, rivers turned aside and conveyed away in pipes, the fretting sea shut in or out with great banks, tops of mountains hanging, & the secrets of the sea seatched, and to be brief, a great and large scope of madding left to the posterity, and the expectation of your Grandfathers fulfilled in you, to wit, that your lasciviousness would never leave ye. And that the mischief might be the more ●eaped, private calamity was added to public loss: For the people being tied with the desire to see, and in the mean while forgetting their daily gain, they neither let one day escape them, neither perceived how armed penury pinched them by the back: And thus enterchangably private destruction, was turned into public, and public, into common. Neither is the loss of patrimony more grievous then of manners, where lust is learned, and humanity forgotten. And therefore what ye should hope for by shows from the very beginning, your first king Romulus gave a precedent, who in them circumvented the rough and severe chastity of the Sabine women. And although the honour of matrimony covered both the injuries, unto how many since that time hath this been a mean, not to marriage, but to whoredom, and wandering sensuality? To be sh●rt, believe this one thing, that we have seen chastity often overthrown by plays, but always assaulted. And to speak nothing of those men who have proceeded to such outrage of wickedness, that they do almost glory in their adultery: the good name and honesty of many women hath there perished, many have returned home unchaste, more doubted of, and none the honester. Moreover, to the end there may want no kind of mischief, what bodily slaughters, not only of private men, but of whole multitudes do there happen: the effuse laughing, turned into sudden sorrow, and the dead corpses carried out of the Theatre, and the troops of weepers, mingled with the companies of rejoices, do declare. Thou hast heard, how that the same Curio, which was slain in the civil war in Africa on Caesar's side, went beyond Scaurus in wit, whom he could not match in wealth, how he, I say, devising a Theatre of wood, but double and hanging, by wonderful art hung up a fit above ground, that conquering people, being overcome with the plays of the nations, and rejoicing in their own perils, that laughing within, and amazed without, they might be both laughed at and pitied of the beholders. And do we wonder that he could turn the mind of one great banished parsonage, by laying before him the hope of an Empire, who by proposing so light and short pleasure of the eyes, could turn about so many thousand citizens in a movable spectacle? But, some man will say unto me, there perished no body: ●●t there might have perished, and thousands also in another place perished. And that I may not touch both new and old downefalles together, by means whereof many have found both their death, and their grave: under Tiberius the Emperor, at a notable show at the city Tidena, thou remember'st how by the fall of the amphitheatre, twenty thousand men were slain. This is the commodity and end that the lookers on do get.  joy. 
I behold shows with great pleasure.  Reason. 
Either of feigned love, or true hatred. The first is not for a man to behold: the second not for a reasonable creature. Who will willingly receive a dagger to his heart? Who will power more blood upon an hot wound? Who can wax pale sooner, than when he seeth death? What delight have ye to go to the school of cruelty? You need no schoolmasters, ye learn evil too fast of yourselves: You learn more of yourselves at home, then is needful. What if the masters of mischief, and the mistress of error, the common multitude should join unto this with ready wits? Many whom nature framed gentle, have learned cruelty by means of shows and spectacles. Man's mind, which of itself is prove to vice, is not to be pricked forward, but bridled: if it be left to itself, it hardly standeth: if it be driven forth, it runneth headlong. There cometh in much evil at the ears, but much more at the eyes, by those two open windows death breaketh into the soul: nothing entereth more effectually into the memory, then that which cometh by seeing: things heard, do lightly pass by, the images of things which we have seen stick fast in us, whether we will or not: and yet they enter not, unless we be willing, but very seldom, and they departed soon. Whither goest thou then? What violence carrieth thee a way? To be merry an hour, and always afterward to be sorry? To see that once, that thou wilt repent a thousand times ●hat ever thou sawest it? To see a man slain with a weapon, or to be torn by the teeth and nails of wild beasts, or some such other sight as may trouble a man that is awake, and terrify him when he is a sleep: I can not perceive what pleasure is in it, or rather, what bitterness and grief is no: in it: and I can not discern any greater argument of madness in you, then in that bitter sweetness and unpleasant delight thrust you daily forward to death, enticing you by miserable flatteries, drowned as it were in a Stygian sleep. You observe one order almost in all things: Whatsoever ye desire, whatsoever ye go about, whatsoever ye do, it is against you.   

Of Horses. The xxxi Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Take pleasure in a nimble Horse.  Reason. 
A most fierce and unquiet beast, which sleepeth not, and is never satisfied.  joy. 
I am desirous to ride Horses.  Reason. 
It is not much more dangerous to sail upon the raging Sea, then to ride upon a fierce prancer. There is no beast more proud toward his master: neither is this improperly gone for a proverb among horse breakers, That an horse doth twice evil, although be be at one time humble, and at another proud: Who being of such strength and swiftness, will suffer himself for a little boil meat to be subject to another, to be tamed, to be hampered, to be haltred, to be linked in chains, to be bridled, to be shooed with iron, to have nails driven through his hooves, to be spurred, to bear an armed rider, to abide slavish imprisonment, and filthy servitude? On the other side, as though he were untamed, he behaveth himself as if he were free, and doth every thing as if he were his masters enemy: When he should run, he regardeth not the spur: When he should stay, he taketh the bridle between his teeth: When he should snort, he is asleep: When he should lie in secret, he snorteth. This is that pliant beast which some term trusty and faithful, whereof fables do report so many goodly matters, calling him commonly a noble, a princely, an excellent, an honourable beast, worthy to be bought at a great price, and kept with great diligence: Nay rather, it is a beast whose wearisomeness, if it be compared with his serviceableness, no wise man will buy him, no good husband will feed him: a beast that is impatient, both of rest and labour, with the one he is proud, with the other he is tired: with the one a fierce beast, with the other a dull jade: at one time bold, at another time fearful: at one time flying, at another time falling: at one time startling at a fly or a shadow, at another time despising his master, and divers ways drawing him into danger. Who can sufficiently describe his stubbornness, the danger of his teeth, and his heels, his neighing, and his impatiency of his sitter and rider: For truly look how many conditions there be of horses, so many dangers are there of the horsemen.  joy. 
I have great delight in horses.  Reason. 
I should wonder the more at thee, unless I remembered some great men, bend also to the like study to to foolishly. Who hath not heard that Alexander king of Macedon, erected a tomb for his horse which he loved, and named a city after his horse's name? But the coutage and heat of mind wrought no wonderful thing in him while he lived. There was more stomach in Augustus, although less folly: for he builded not a tomb for his horse, but he made a grave, which thing notwithstanding was unmeet for his wit and gravity. For whether julius Caesar's monstrous horse were by him (or any other) consecrated with a statue of marble before the temple of Venus, it may be doubted. Antonius Verus, who came after in years and glory, but in riches and imperial name was but little inferior, that I may omit to tell what fare, and what furniture he ordained for his horse which he loved immoderately, truly he caused a statue of gold to be made like him, while he was alive, and when he was dead, a sepulture to be builded (that we might be the more grieved at it) in Vaticanum, among so many holy bones as were there buried, & to be buried. This is scarce credible, but true notwithstanding. The Poet thinking on this, and such like things, maketh the souls of such men to be delighted with horses in hell. And yet this vanity is never a whit the less, but the greater, which is able to allure so great minds unto it. But that no man shall think that this was some ancient folly only, and not at this day reigning, let him call to mind one dwelling not far of, and not long since, who is yet living, and not very old, and dwelling here in Italy among you, whose name it shall not be needful for me to utter: a man highly in fortune's favour, and of no small wit and judgement, a man otherwise of great courage and policy, whensoever he hath occasion to utter himself, or hath any weighty affairs in hand, who notwithstanding when his horse which he loved was sick, laid him upon a bed of silk, and a golden pillow under his head: and while he himself, being bound and not able to stir by appointment of his Physicians, for the gout, was governed by their orders, nevertheless being either borne in the arms of his servants, or upon some other horse, and carrying his Physicians with him, he would go visit his sick horse twice or thrice every day, and sorrowfully sighing, would sit by him, and gently struck him with his hand, and comfort him with fair speech: To be short, there was no kind of means by Physic let pass unassayed, and nothing omitted that might relieve his sick friend. Perhaps posterity will call this a tale, howbeit it is true, and known among a great people. Thus this noble gentleman, was as careful for the good health of his horse, as for his own, and lamented for his death as he had been his son.  joy. 
I delight to ride.  Reason. 
It is profitable sometime, and also an help to swiftness, and a remedy for weariness, and a token of nobility, to ride upon a goodly courser, and to excel all theresidue, not only by the head, but also by the shoulders, and to be higher than the other by the whole body. Contrariwise, a fierce horse is most troublesome, & many times hurtful to his master. If thou wouldst go a journey on foot, thou hast no power nor space to rest thee: & therefore thou choosest rather to exchange the dustines on foot, for the danger on horseback. And for this cause, horses have delivered many from the mids of death, and brought sundry also into extremity of destruction, or hurt them with falls, or tumbled upon them with their bodies, and so killed them. Yea, horses are not the lest seed of war. Take away horses, thou shalt take away foreign invasions of countries, and the greatest part of warlike destruction: That as in natural Philosophy the question is moved of winds, and of julius Caesar in histories, whether it were better the wind should blow or not, or that Caesar were borne or not? The like question may also be demanded concerning horses, there are so many contrary reasons on the contrary side. And it was not without cause, that Thessalia, which first found out the use of horses, and tamed them, first coined money, of silver and gold, and first assayed to go upon the Sea in a ship, seemed to be the store house of Mars, and for that also not once only, after so many hundred years it was wet with plenty of valiant blood.  joy. 
How much thinkest thou, doth our poet delight me, where he describeth the manners, spirit, and courage of a noble horse.  Reason. 
And doth not the saying of the Hebrew prophet make thee afraid, where he saith: (At thy rebuke, O God of jacob, have they fallen asleep that got upon their horses?) Examine every point, not only that pleasant, but also this rough saying.   

Of hunting and hawking. The xxxii Dialogue.  JOY. 
BUT I am delighted in Dogs.  Reason. 
Now I understand the delight of a beardless youth, who as Horace saith, Delighteth in horses, and dogs, and the pleasant green fields. But beware thou be not that which followeth: Apt to be plucked to vice, and sharp to them that tell thee thy fault. A flow provider for profit, lavish of money, proud, covetous, and ready to forsake that which thou hast loved. I fear me thou art such an one, since thou settest thy pleasure upon such transitory delights.  joy. 
I am delighted with dogs, and fowls.  Reason. 
This piece of madness was wanting: is it not sufficient for thee, to gad and wander abroad, but meanest thou to fly also?  joy. 
Thou mockest me, for I mean not to fly, but I am delighted in the fowls that fly.  Reason. 
But they will fly away, and contemn thy pleasure, and not know thee, and unthankfully be deaf when thou callest them. What shouldest thou do that wantest feathers, seeing thy pleasure is winged? Imagine that they returned, the taking of them would be hurtful: thou wouldst call again, and forgetting thy more profitable affairs, lose thy time. Again, looking back, and casting thine eyes up to the clouds after thy foolish bird, perhaps thou wilt weep, as though there were no necessary work to be done in this life: by reason of the pleasure which you find by your idleness and sloth, ye glory in that ye are slaves to your birds. Nature hath given you two hands, with the one ye rule the bird, the other you trouble with crooked talents. So being idle on all sides, & being come lame with desire to fly, to the end ye may not seem to do any thing with great noise, ye rise before day, and suddenly run out of the doors, as though the enemies were at the threshold, & all the day after, ye run about the ponds and waters, woods, and bushes, filling the air with sundry outcries, and evil favoured houlinges. And in this pastime ye spend your breath, which is meet for some greater matter: with which spirit your forefathers made their enemies afeard in battle, and in peace maintained justice. At night when ye come home, as though ye had achieved some great enterprise, yet sit within doors, declaring how well that bird slew, and how well this bird hath endued his meat, how many feathers of the train, and how many of the wings are remaining or lost. Is not this all your skill? is not this your love? is not this your felicity? and is not this all which ye requited to God your Creator, to your country that bred you, to your parents that be gate you, to your friends that love you, to wit, your Spathaukes, or your Hernshawes skimming in the air, and some piece of a torn foul, and sweat, and dust, and your nightly story of your lost day? Unto this ye be always valiant and unweeried, and unto earnest business, weak and dainty. Livies stories, and Tully's orations, and the holy Scriptures, ye condenme as overlong: whereof ye may be ashamed. Who can hear this with unoffended ears? Who will bear with you, being borne to other things, to live in these delights, if ye live in these doings?  joy. 
I take pleasure in spaniels and Hawks.  Reason. 
We have heard of many princes and noble men, whereof some were wont to take delight in horses, and many in dogs, insomuch that Adrian the Emperor erected monuments, not for horses only, as those of whom we made mention before, but for dogs also: And moreover, builded a city in the same place, where in prosperous hunting he had slain a she Bear with his own hand, & used many time to kill a Lion, but never that he made any tomb for a bird or foul: For which cause, some say that Virgil mocked Marcillus that was nephew to Augustus, in that he seemed to take pleasure in them when he was a young man.  joy. 
I delight much in hunting.  Reason. 
This exercise was peculiar sometime to the Latins, but now to the Frenchmen, which experience teacheth to be true, and whereof some of their own writers do boast. Wherefore to speak nothing of those kings, whose whole life was perpetual hunting, the chiefest king of them all, whensoever he had any rest from battle, excercysing himself in daily hunting, at length when he grew to the extremity of death, relieved the discommodities and weerysomnesse of his age with this exercise. A strange matter, specially in a wise King, and not abhorting from good learning: Howbeit, this was his country manner as some report. But let it be his country guise, and let them enjoy it alone, neither let the Italians take it away from the Frenchmen, neither contend with them in folly: For if, laying error aside, thou cast thine eyes upon the thing itself, thou shalt perceive that this is the exercise of base Noble men of the meanest degree, whom a certain sloth and distrust, which is companion to cowardice, and from low matters shame and pride do dehort and pluck back. Wherefore, being unfit for honest affairs, they devil in Woods, not to lord a solitary life, whereunto they know themselves as unmeet as for the life politic, but to live with wydo beasts, and Dogs, and Birds, which they would not delight to do, unsesse they were joined unto them by some likeness: who if they conceive any pleasure thereby, or only passing away of their time, they do foolishly on both sides, and yet perhaps may attain to their desire. But if they seek thereby any glory of their wit and magnificency, then are they deceived For, what commendation (I pray you) is it, I say, not for Princes, but for Gentlemen, to take pleasure in handy crafts, or rather servile practices, and affairs? which is one of their excuses. For they which have utterly renounced the liberal studies, which their forefathers esteemed, and proclaimed open war against learning, whither shall they run but to the enemies Camp? But perhaps they will be ashamed when they look back to the elder times, and confer themselves with their predecessors: For they shall oftentimes read how Plat● studied Philosophy, and Homer exercised Poetry, and ●ullie pleaded, and Cae●ar triumphed, but never read that they hunted.   

Of great retinue of servants. The xxxiii. Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Am accompanied with a great train.  Reason. 
Cumbered thou wouldst say.  joy. 
I have a great retinue of servants.  Reason. 
Say rather that thou hast a great number of enemies about thee, from whom (an hard case) thou canst not escape, who behold the secret places of thy house, and bewray thy counsel if they know any, who, besides their continual thievery, a thing which never happened to any besieged, must by thee in the mean while be clothed, and feed, and kept within thine own house: an hard and doubtful kind of war, which never hath peace nor truce, where under thyve ensign, the enemies army possesseth thy walls.  joy. 
I have many servants.  Reason. 
Where many servants are, there is much strife, much discord, & many domestical conflicts, whereof either thou must be a shameful beholder, or a painful appeaser, and being an indifferent person between the playntifes and defendants, thou must serve them, being of their master, become their judge.  joy. 
I have many servants.  Reason. 
A servant is a most curious beast to inquire, and most negligent to obey. He will know what thou doest, and what thou thinkest: and what thou commandest, he will not understand.  joy. 
I keep many servants.  Reason. 
A few will do a man more service than many, whether it be that grateful diligence avoideth the multitude, or else that whereas many be, one looketh upon another, and they pinch courtesy who shall go about the business. For as it is a shame to the diligent to avoid labour, so is it a glory to the slothful, which all men know to be true: but none will give counsel to the contrary, and every man is delighted with a multitude.  joy. 
I have many servants in my house.  Reason. 
Where many servants are, there is much noise, and little service, and no secrecy at al. Look how many servants tongues, so many criers trumps: How many servants ears, and eyes, so many rifts in the house, whereby even the things that are in the bottom will easily run out. A servants mind is a broken and leaking king vessel, it holdeth nothing, what so ever thou pourest in, it runneth out immediately.  joy. 
I have many servants at home.  Reason. 
Thou hast many hissings, many viperous tongues, & thou knowest not the pleasure of domestical peace: thou hast also many wide & capable bellies, slippery throats, troubles in thy hall, shame to thy bedchamber, destruction to thy store, & perpetual gormandize. It is an hard matter to govern a few servants well, but many, it is impossible.  joy. 
I have many servants at home.  Reason. 
It were better for thee to be alone. There is nothing worse, than when quantity or number augmenteth the quality of evil things: a few servants are evil, but many far worse.  joy. 
I have many that do serve me.  Reason. 
It were well if the promise, & the thing promised, were all one. But how much difference there is between them, they which have experiment do know. They promise' much, I confess, and call the Gods to witness of their promise, that they will never deceive, or be untrue. But if a man require the performance of the promise, he shall find none at all. Promise' and faith were sufficiently performed, if they did not abuse or deceive these whom they have promised faithfully to serve and obey: but they count it sufficient to have made such promise only. Add this moreover, that besides their promise of service, they profess also knowledge in all things, but when it cometh to trial, they know very little or nothing, and they will be sure to do nothing but what their belly, sleep, and lust persuadeth them. There is nothing more humble and lowly than these at their first entrance, and nothing more insolent or unfaithful than their continuance, and nothing more odious and hateful at their departure. It is an hard thing to think, I say not to suffer, with what pride & insolency these servants, and serving men, will walk by the masters of houses, and promising their service, will take mastership and government upon them, and as though they were hired to make waist, they do not only devour all, but disperse abroad and consume, and fill their bellies with their gifts, being prodigal of other men's goods, and most greedy to catch that which is not their own: Whom if at any time shame or necessity bring them to their own consideration, that they remember themselves to be servants, with what pride, with what complaining, and with what grudging they do their service, who is he that knoweth not? That a man would be loathe, not only to give money for such service, but to have it for nothing. And to be short, such hatred and enmity as th●y have privily conceived at home, as soon as ever the● be out of the doors, they fall to open contention and railing with their tongues against their masters whom they hate, ready to try the matter with them by dint of sword, if it were lawful. And if perhaps any of them abstain from reproachful words, not the love of the first master, but the fear of the next master, worketh that effect: unto whom in this respect he feareth to be discredited and suspected, while he may judge the like evil cond●●●●●● 〈◊〉 ●ym, towards himself. By means 〈◊〉 which things, vnles●● 〈…〉 blinded their eyes, men might evidently perceive, how m●● 〈…〉 ●●ter it were to be without all such servants and service. 〈…〉 have servants round about me.  Reason. 
Under the 〈…〉 servants indeed, as I have said, most cruel and wicked em●● 〈◊〉 are contained, & yet pride will not suffer you to live without th●● 〈◊〉▪ And in this point, as in many other, poor wretches, ye 〈…〉 in your own harm. In this respect ye chiefly 〈…〉 for this ye wander by Sea and land, for this ye●● 〈…〉 ●●ther, and cast abroad gold, to the end that the hand of your enemies may grow every day greater and stronger. B●● 〈◊〉 is it not so? Is not the company of the rich generally of 〈◊〉 ●●ther opinion? Many times a man shall see a well governed family of a reasonable calling, to be inferior unto the most 〈◊〉 and gorgeous Courts of the Persians and Lydians almost 〈◊〉 none other thing, yea rather far to surpass them in most 〈◊〉 ●●tere, saving that those Courts do feed more, and more 〈◊〉 ●●ly.  joy. 
I have a great troop of servants way●ing vp●on me.  Reason. 
Nay rather urging thee, and treading thee under foot, and leading thee bound in rattling chains, so 〈◊〉 may well be said to thee: What hast thou done, wre●● 〈◊〉 thou shouldest need so many keepers to guard ●hee.  joy 
〈…〉 servants guard ●●e on every side.  Reason 
Thou hast 〈…〉 of flight, and therefore not of escaping with life. To 〈…〉 dernly delighted with a man's own harm, is a point of desperate madness. And therefore in this respect poverty is to be wished and loved, in that it delivereth a man from all the discommodities which riches do bring, but specially from the crafts and weerisomenesse of servants.   

Of the magnificency, and beautifulness of houses. The xxxiiii Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Have a gorgeous House.  Reason. 
What shall I say other than that saying of Tully: The house is to be furnished with dignity, and not altogether to be sought of the house: neither o●●ch●●●●●●●ner seek credit by the house, but the house by the 〈◊〉.  joy. 
I have ag●●o●y house.  Reason. 
Why art 〈◊〉 ●●oud thereof? It is the workman's praise, and not thine. 〈◊〉 I dwell in a most beautiful house.  Reason. 
Where 〈…〉 may lie hid, where thou mayest wander, where thy ser●●●●es may riot, where the people may tarry, where the Para●●●● may hunger, a wide place capable of much weerysomnes. 〈…〉 I dwell in a great house.  Reason. 
Of cities and hou●●● 〈…〉 like, for he that dwelleth in a wide place, dwel●● 〈…〉 ●●or to the happy life, it skilleth not how wide, but 〈◊〉 meeryly thou livest. Oftentimes in kings Palaces dwell ●●●●●e and grief: and in poor men's cottages quietness and 〈…〉 the largeness and beauty of the house were the chief●●●utter, the art of building were the most worthy art of all o●●▪  joy. 
I dwell in a princely house.  Reason. 
As though 〈◊〉 place could drive away cares and sicknesses: or that death 〈◊〉 ●●th a Ladder to climb up to the tops of Towers? Did 〈◊〉 ●●ullus Hosti●ius abide in his Court, when he was strooken 〈◊〉 lightning f●●● heaven? And was not also Targuimus 〈…〉 in his Court, when he was slain? To be brief, Targui●●●●●●perbus was also in his court, when he was driven out of 〈◊〉 ●●ngdome. There is no place inaccessible to dangers, & no 〈◊〉 ●●ut against death.  joy. 
My dwelling is mine own 〈…〉.  Reason. 
Nay thou hast but a short time of dwel●●●●e, the day of thy departing is at hand: thou imaginest thyself to be a Citizen, and thou art but a stranger, and dwellest but for a rent: There will come one that will thrust thee naked out of doors.  joy. 
I have a gorgeous and beautiful house.  Reason. 
When thou art departed from hence, thou shalt have a dark and narrow one: but if thou do uprightly consider of thy house, it is but obscure and narrow, and decaying, and every day worse able than other to stand upright, continually failing and foreshowing it own fall: which neither is far of from utter ruin, neither can delight a valiant tenant as an house, but grieve him as a prison, where he w●●●●e loathe to stay, but desirous to be discharged. Go 〈◊〉 ●●●yes ●owe, and vaunt of other men's houses, or of thine own prison.   

Of strong defenced Castles. The xxxv. Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Devil in a most strong Castle.  Reason. 
There is some commodity in houses, but much more evil in Castles. Houses defend men from heat, and wind, and rain: but these cast storms of carefulness into the minds of the possessors, and bring cares and dread to his political security.  joy. 
I have a Fortress enclosed with very strong walls.  Reason. 
Hast thou forgotten the Spartan saying: who to his fr●●nde that showed him the walls of his country, answered: If you have made these for women, it is well: but if for men, it is shameful.  joy, 
I have a most strong hold.  Reason. 
What other thing was it then your impatiency, and your pride, and covetousness that made you have need of Castles? How much better were it to live indifferently with men, and to live upon the plain and tilled land in quietness, and there to take the pleasant sleep, then to enclose thyself within rough and craggy rocks, howling with nightly watches, and through thine own misery to make thyself suspected, and hated of all men? Hast thou forgotten what Publicola did: who although he were one of the chief of those that delivered the City of Rome from subjection to the kings, perceiving nevertheless that the people suspected him by reason of the situation of his house, to the end he might discharge himself of that false suspicion, he plucked his house down from the hill.  joy. 
I have an impregnable Castle.  Reason. 
Hast thou not heard the old proverb: There is no place so impregnable, into which an Ass laden with gold can not enter? A strong Castle provoketh, not hindereth besieging. The Castle Tarpeian resisted a while the insult of the Senones, and so did Tarentine of the Carthagiens, until in due time they were both succoured. Camilius relieved this last, and the other Fabius. But was Hannibal able to defend both Castles of Locris: Not truly, nor Ilium itself, nor Byrsa could be defended, nor Corinth, which of ancient time had the f●●●●●f pregnable, notwithstanding Mumius the conquere● 〈…〉 Was not the Castle Praenestine, a more strong and better fortified than which I know not whether ever there were any, about threescore and ten years since, by that great enemy, because he could not by force, yet by flattery and false promises, taken and razed, which at length rose up again, being shaken and weakened, as it were, by a long continual fever? To be short, there is nothing invincible, nothing safe against the craft of man.  joy. 
Lying in a most strong Castle, I fear nothing.  Reason. 
Castles have given cause unto many of hurtful boldness. Many that might have lived safely in peace without Castles, have committed themselves to the defence of Fortresses, and perished in them, to the end their boldness might there especially be tamed, where it first began, men's minds aught not to be provoked to adventures, but rather to be bridled. All deep security is folly, unless it be concerning God.  joy. 
I dwell in a most sure defenced Castle.  Reason. 
Admit thy Castle be somewhat, yet what is it other than a certain refuge, and a dishonourable place of lurking to abide besieging, which as Livius saith, is in war a most miserable thing. When didst thou ever hear, either that julius Caesar at any time, or both the africans, or Pompeius Magnus, or Marius, or Alexander, or Pyrrhus, or Hannibal, or any other princes of great fame, enclosed themselves within Castles, or rather did not insult over Castles: Understand this much, that Castles are not the receptacles of valiant men, but the hiding places of dastards. Sthephanus Columnensis, a man in this our age equal to the best of all ages, when a certain Noble man, a stranger unto him and unknown, being moved with the fame of his excellency, came to aid him, and as it chanced were upon a certain day in a grievous and doubtful conflict, compassed with a great band of enemies: This strange Gentleman perceiving the danger, drew near, and, O Stephan, saith he, where is thy Castle: He smiling, as not having any house of his own in Rome, and laying his hand upon his breast, This, saith he, is my Castle: truly a speech most worthy of him that spoke it. And in deed so the case standeth, holy and devout persons, put all their trust in GOD: upright and politic men, in virtue: valiant and warlike men, in arms: cowards and fearefulmen, in walls and castles.   

Of precious household stuff. The xxxvi. Dialogue.  JOY. 
IN my great house I have excellent furniture.  Reason. 
In superfluous roomth, an unprofitable weight: The one mininistreth lurking for the eves, the other prey: but both of them danger for thee, and nooryshment for burning and malice.  joy. 
In my wide house, I have plenty of household.  Reason. 
The one of these thou must forsake when thou changest place, & if thou wilt enjoy the other, thou must often remove it: which will bring more trouble than pleasure, and more burden than honour.  joy. 
I have great store of all manner of furniture at home in my house.  Reason. 
A continual war, not with thieves only, but with mice and Moths: Spiders also, and rust, and smoke, and dust, and rain, do continually fight against ye. O ye delicate rich men, with what weapons will ye drive away these enemies?  joy. 
My household stuff is most precious.  Reason. 
Not the value, but contempt of the thing, maketh a rich man: otherwise desire groweth by seeking, and poverty by desiring: so that nothing maketh a man poorer, than the riches of a covetous person, which if they were rightly weighed, and contempt proceeding from an indifferent mind ensued, that were the true way of riches. I will never count thee wise, while thou art in love with such follies, not if I saw thy house were covered, and thy furniture all beset and glittering with gold and precious stones.  joy. 
My furniture is so brave, that it is envied at.  Reason. 
Perhaps it is so in the sight of the eye, or persuasion of the mind, but in very deed it is a burdensome and troublous heap of pelf: but there is nothing more hungry and miserable, than covetousness, whose greediness is provoked by the things that are sought, and yet when they be obtained, they have no taste: forasmuch as while they are hoped for, they shine, and while they are possessed, they wax vile: so that while many a man thinketh he hath won wealth, he hath gained but sorrow & carefulness. These are thy dear burdens: but if thou chance to behold any dearer and more precious, or daily beholding them take away thy wondering, thou wilt not esteem them. But admit thou love them still, and thy wondering at them do continued: doth there not also withal a difficult & perpetual error remain? For in getting there is but one care, but many toils in keeping: thou shalt have something always to look to, to number, to fold, to beat, to brush, and something also that shall please and displease thine eyes.  joy. 
I have great plenty of household stuff.  Reason. 
O foolish man, that art delighted with the greatness of thine own impediments.   

Of Precious stones and Pearls. The xxxvii Dialogue.  JOY. 
THE glittering and beauty of precious stones delight me.  Reason. 
I confess, this is not the lest part of terrestrial and mortal vanity, of them that do enclose large patrimonies within a little stone: whose price is unstable, and uncertain, and changeth every day, in that it dependeth only on the fame of the buyers, and light belief of the mad richer sort: so that some that have lain long time neglected, suddenly rise to great prices: and some that have been of great value, suddenly fall to be of no estimation: I know not upon what marks appearing, not so much in the things themselves, as in the opinion of such as have skill in them. A worthy knowledge truly, which neglecting the worshipping of GOD, the care of the mind, and the knowledge of them both, giveth itself only to the searching out of veins of stones. But this is the world: And this is not the first time that they are much accounted that craftily make prices of them: as for the true prices, there are none at all, or not known. But how dangerous this vanity is, and how doubtful and uncertain the judgement, it may appear who so calleth to mind that which chanced of late, how that when as that Gentleman of greater fortune than wisdom, had bought a little stone, which was a carbuncie, for ten thousand crowns: he said oftentimes, how that the exceeding brightness and beauty, surpassing all common and natural stones, brought him in suspicion of the rightness thereof, and for that cause he showed it unto a very cunning Lapidary, to have his opinion therein: Who answered, that in deed it was no true stone, but rather glass, or some such like kind of stuff: not natural, but devised by some supernatural and wonderful art. Which doubt of this Gentleman's, what was it other than a confessing that the same glass was more beautiful than any stone, although perhaps the stone be harder: Notwithstanding let them judge hereof, who cast away they money in this kind of gain, which they might convert to more honest uses, or misspend their time in this kind of knowledge, which they might employ in better studies. And if this doubting were just, and upon good cause, who seeth not what ambition, and how much blindness there is in them which pay so decree for a thing, not in respect of the form & substance, but of the bore name only.  joy. 
There is nothing that I hold more dear, then precious stones.  Reason. 
Truly I believe thee: Not virtue, not thine estimation, not thy country, not thy life itself. And to say nothing of those two things which you make account of, as nothing more vile: the two last things, & therewith also great riches, and whatsoever else ye esteem most precious, I will prove that they have given place to the price & love of a precious stone, and that the keeping thereof hath been preferred before exile and poverty: yea and if need had so required, before death also. Who knoweth not of Nonius practice in the like case? This Nonius was a Senator of Rome, and a very rich Gentleman, and had a precious stone esteemed as twenty thousand crowns, and the stones name was Opalus. It groweth in India, glistering with variety of all colours. Now Antonius the Triumuir, being provoked & set on fire with the desire of this jewel, as a man of all other most proud and covetous, and unto whom whatsoever nature made desired, fortune made lawful, conceived (as it fortuned) a mortal hatred of the owner, with an unlawful desire of the stone: Whereby it came to pass, that in that general heateof proscription & banishment, wherein so many lights of the common wealth perished, that Nonius name also was published among the residue: which whether it were for this crime, that he possessed a thing that was precious, and very well liked of the tyrant, it is not certainly known: But he, as one that took example of the Tiber of Pontus, to the intent he might redeem his liberty, by the loss of his hurtful burden, & provide for his safety, which was more dear unto him, than his present danger, he took that with him, and so departed: persuading himself, that if he had that with him, he would take no care for the loss of his living or country, being ready therewith to go into banishment, to beg, and if need were, to die. Who will not think well of that, whereunto a Senator bore so great affection? And truly one of these twain we must needs grant, either that the jewel was of great value, or that the owner was of a base mind. But thou lookest not to know which of these twain I conclude to be truest. For although the judgement of this and such like, or rather the infection of them which they leave in the mind, have far and wide infected the manners of the common multitude: notwithstanding, it behoveth great wits, neither to be delighted with money, nor any thing else, saving the beauty of virtue only: unless it be, that through the means of these short pleasures which delight the eyes, the mind, being stirred up, be taken with the love and desire of the eternal beauty, from which fountain it springeth whatsoever is fair.  joy. 
I am enticed with the love of excellent precious stones.  Reason. 
This excellency nature hath not made, but opinion only, which among some hath given the chiefest price to the Carbuncle, and among other, to the Diamoude. That which I reckoned first, is the special judgement now a days among the common jewellers and Lapidaries. And this last, the opinion of certain ancient writers, according to whose judgement, the Diamond, which is not only the most precious of all stones, but of all earthly things, was wont to be the Jewel and gem in old time of kings, and not all, but of the chiefest. But now at this day, forasmuch as there is no increase of any thing so great and so speedy, as of lasciviousness and pride, it grew not only to be worn by kings, but also to be set upon fingers of the common people. Next unto this is the Indian & the Arabian Pearl in estimation, and after them the smaragd, I know not by what perturbation of order. For if the redness and paleness of the first be commendable, why likewise should not the whiteness and greenness of these in like manner should not the whiteness and greenness of these in like manner delight the eye? The Sapphire also may more justly complain, since there is nothing that the earth bringeth forth, that in likeness more resembleth the clear heaven. Howbeit, as I have said, it is the madness of men, and not the nature of the things, that is in price, the vain follies of the rich, and the fables of idle persons, who would soon contemn these trifles, if they would busy themselves about more profitable affairs concerning peace or war.  joy. 
The glistering precious stones, and pleasant shining pearls, do much move mine affections.  Reason. 
Move thee, sayest thou? yea rather they overthrow, tread under foot, effeminate and make weak the mind. Concerning which matter, if I should go about to heap up examples, both of men and women, I should not instruct thee, but weary thee. I will touch one only, and which is greatest of all, to the end thou mayest understand, how dangerous this folly is to the weaker minds, which hath invaded the most high and valiant. Pompeius, surnamed the great, the most continent of all the Roman captains (I mean of the latter sort, who, how much they excel the residue in noble exploits, and valiant deeds, so much they are inferior unto their forefathers in modesty of manners, and frugality of life) when he returned conqueror out of Spain, from subduing the West parts of the world, and had driven the thieves and pirates into one place together, to whom the name of Conuenae, metres together, was given, which shall last for ever. There upon the Pyrenean mountains, the sharpness of the place perhaps assisting, and modesty helping the matter, and abating the pride of his age and victory, he set up a manlike Trophei, and monument, framed in manner of a counterfeit, of his natural and rough visage: being then great in deed and magnificiall, who although he were but young in years, yet was he old in manners, and ripe in mind. The same man afterward, when he had taken the Pirates, and vanquished the East, being then changed, as it were with the alteration of the time and place, and returning another man, from another part of the world, he showed in triumph not his humility, but his manly countenance, become more effeminate than before, after a womanish, or divine manner, not portraited in Brass or Marble, but adorned with rare and exquisite pearls. This is no small rebuke, for the pride and spoil of the East, to be laid upon the head of one man, not without the insulting of the conquering people, and to the excusing of the Princes that should ensue. For what should not Rome (being afterward in slavery under tyrants) suffer, which being free, beheld this so great insolency, of a most loving citizen. As for the other furnitures of his triumph, which was more humble or sober, they are not mentioned, neither the armour and horses of the subdued nations, as the manner was wont to be, nor the prisoners, charets, nor other booties: The vilest things which we reave to have been there, was gold, precious stones, and pearls. Among many other things, there was a great Guardeviandes of Chest, wherein was great store of treasures of all sorts and colours, every one consisting of several kinds, both cups of gold, and garments, and pictures: Yea, there was among other things a Moon of massy gold, of a wonderful weight, and beds of gold, and sundry crowns and garlands, beset with great and white pearls. Moreover, there was a mountain of gold, the form whereof was four square, all beset with Hearts, and Lions, and figures of sundry beasts, and living creatures: also with trees, and all kinds of fruits, with glittering pearls covering the golden branches of the trees upon the top of the mountain. Of the same substance also there was a clock, so cunningly wrought, that the woorkemanshyp excelled the stuff, which continually moved and turned about, a right wonderful and strange sight to such as use to admire vain matters.  joy. 
With these things I am wonderfully delighted.  Reason. 
Truly I think it well, and I suppose that thou wouldst gladly have beholden this Triumph, and more greedily have led it, & most greedyly have possessed it, whereunto the state of thy passionate mind persuadeth thee. But believe thou me, these things which do so much delight the sight, are always hurtful to the body and soul. And a● for him of whom we speak, there was nothing that ever did more hurt his triumphant glory, not the Thessalica day, nor the Egyptian foil. For there he yielded not wholly to fortune, but here he yielded wholly to vice. There appeared the force, and unfaithfulness of another: but here his own frailty, and ambition. And therefore there he lost his power, and his life: but here he impaired the fame of his populare name, and of his excellent modesty, and his name of Pompeius the Great, which he had won by his great travel. A strange matter to be told, how that he that was found to be more victorious against the Spamardes, being a warlike nation, then against the dastardly and fainthearted Asians: and this the more to be marveled at, in that during the time that he abode in Asia, he remained perfect and invincible, when as he bore himself most uprightly and abstynently in the Temple of Jerusalem, of all other the most richest that ever was. But at the last he was not able to withstand the force of vice, neither continued he, as before he had always been, a singular and one manner of man, but being made, as it were, one of many, was so captivated and cast down. This was the effect of the glittering of the precious stones, of the beauty of the pearls, and of the weight of the gold, In like conflict before Asia had overcome Alexander, but it is small victory to win him that is overcome by his own vices, and a great matter to overcome the overcomer of himself. After whom, there was almost no captain that could govern himself uprightly among the pleasures of Asia, which being transported over into the country of Latium, did vanquish you in your own native soil. For if ye will confess the very truth, when ye had conquered all other nations, yourselves were conquered in the Asiane conquest. Go thy ways now, and make much account of precious stones, which are friends to the eyes, and enemies to the mind, and the vanquishers of valiant men.  joy. 
I take great pleasure in glittering precious stones.  Reason. 
Some man is delighted with them that are of sundry colours, and some with the paleness of other, so that this appetite is divers, but the vanity is one. Thou hast heard how that in the judgement of king Pyrrhus, who made war against the Romans, the Achate was esteemed of all stones the most precious: And now, as prices of things do altar, it is of the lest value, wherein, as the report goeth, were represented the shapes of sundry things, as of beasts, rivers, forests, birds, and wild beasts, not framed by the hand of any workman, but by the industry of nature. In this princely jewel, as Solinus termeth it, were not engraven, but naturally imprinted the portraitures of the nine Muses, and Apollo the notable physician playing in the midst of them: these spots and marks of the stone so linked one to another, that within that space, which was but very little, every Image and portraiture might be discerned by it own special notes, as they were placed within the ring, and for farther ornament, the kings name was also thereunto added. For such things as belong to great personages, are the more esteemed. But I pray you, what good did this Achate unto him? Did it make him invincible in battle, or save him from death, or could it deliver him from the rejoicing of his enemies, or from the stone which the hand of a woman threw at him? What, I say, availed it unto Pyrrhus to have had that stone? or what hindered it Fabritius and Curius that they wanted it, by which two valiant captains he was vanquished, and driven out of Italy? I dare affirm, that neither of these twain would so much yield in mind unto him, as to make exchange of their hard and rough helmet, for his sword that was so beset with gold and precious stones, or for his kingly ring. Thus valiant men despise all wanton & effeminate things. How should they covet the kings ring, who only upon the confidence & trust in virtue, contemned the king himself, his princely riches and kingdom? But you, contrariwise▪ by distrust of mind, wonder at every thing, and covet them▪ as if they w●uld advance you ●o felicity: and virtue only is contemned. There is also a more ancient report and fame of another precious stone, which Polycrates king of the Sam●● possessed: some say is was a Sardonix. That stone, among that most rich princes treasure, was counted the most precious: and therefore he, as one that had never in all his life felt a●y adversity, meaning to appease ●he malice of subtle fortune, which openly flattered him, and privily went about to overthrow him, took shipping, and launched forth into the deep Sea, and with his own hand threw in his ring wherein was that rich stone, to the intent he might once in his life be sorry: persuading himself, that he had craftily dealt with fortune, if he recompensed so many joyful good turns, with one sorrowful mischance. But she, as being neither easily deceived nor pleased, indifferently mingling good with evil, required yet a farther matter, for so long a time of favour, but a short thing, marry very hard: that he, who in all his life time seemed to himself and others most fortunate, should at his death appear and be most miserable, by so many vices and punishments lighting upon one head: and therefore refusing that which was offered (O the dalliance of fortune) even as though she had sent a fish on message to receive the ring into his mouth: this fish was taken immediately, and served to his table, and in him restored his ring unto him, no● without the wondering of the beholders. This stone (many hundred years after) Augustus Caesar, as they say, being moved with the price and strangeness of the thing, caused to be set in a crown of gold, and dedicated it in the temple of Concord. Here again I demand, what it auayle● the tyrant that afflicted his country to have had this jewel? or hindered Pythagoras to wan● his country, wherein they were both borne, and his own house, and his friends, which he forsook upon misliking of his manners? Forsooth, when by the consent of all men this tyrant was hanged upon the gallows, and most extremely punished, he was yet worthy of greater torments: But the Philosopher dying in peace, was worshipped for a GOD, and his house esteemed for a church. This difference there was between the precious stone of the one, and the cloak of the other. But neither could Polycrates Sardonix work such effect, that his body should not be consumed by fowls upon the gallows: Like as also of late days neither could the Carbuncle of john king of France, which he woore upon his finger, and was found and taken from him that day, preserve him from the overthrow and falling into his enemies hands: whose chance it was notwithstanding after certain years to see and touch it again, being redeemed, as it were, in another world, & sent to him by a friend, as a thing of inestimable price, but of no more efficacy or virtue then other stones of that kind are. For, that precious stones are bright and glistering, I do not deny, lest I speak against common sense: But I deny that they be good for any thing, or have any virtue, but that only which is commonly reported, they can also break up the locks of covetous rich men, and empty their coffers.  joy. 
Precious stones are indifferently efteemed of, and they much delight my mind.  Reason. 
But it is great madness to bestow much care and cost upon things, which although they seem somewhat, yet in deed are nothing: This is only to take delight in the pleasure and deceit of the eyes. Why doest thou travail in those things, which do not only not avail to felicity, but they detract nothing from misery, neither when they be present, nor when they be absent? And although there be many strange and wondrous matters written by many, which are not correspondent to a truth, nor profitable to the readers, but only set down to make them amazed, specially by the Magiciens, who have had so much leisure that they might fill whole volumes with such triflies. Notwithstanding in this respect I fully agreed with Plinius the second, and I suppose that they wrote these things not without contempt and laughter at mankind, to the intent that they might both fill their foolish lightness of belief with vain opinions, and delight themselves with our follies.  joy. 
I take pleasure in those precious stones, wherein it is credible that there is some virtue.  Reason. 
What virtues those are thou hast heard, and if there by any other, what so ever they be, they be mingled with the lies of Merchants and writers, and not so much feigned by industry of Art, as increased and confirmed by your assent: which things it were much more better either wisely to reprove, or valiantly to contemn, then to understand the prizes, virtues, and vices of all precious stones. But in this one point I disagree from Pliny, most of whose sayings do much please me: He promiseth to show a mean to find out the knowledge and craft of counterfeiting false stones, where he saith, It is good also to instruct riotousness against deceit: But in mine opinion, riotousness aught not to be defended and armed, but to be left alone, and forsaken, as naked among the armed troops of the subtile counterfeytours, to the end, that being oftentimes circumvented and deceived, if by none other means, it ma●●r leastwise be chastised by 〈…〉 ●●●eipt.   

Of Cups made of precious Stones. The xxxviii. Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Delight to drink in precious Stone.  Reason. 
It is an ancient kind of wantonness and riot, to 'cause precious stones to be made hollow for drinking Cups, in despite of glass, which though it be brittle, yet is it a most beautiful and clean substance, and also of silver and gold, which in times past was wont to be the bttermost bound of human covecousnesse. And there was sometime found out whereby riot might exceed covetousness, which was not counted a sufficient worthy cause of so great an evil. This the Poet saw, when he said: This man strong cities doth besiege, and houses in distress. A great evil doubtless, not only contrary to justice, but also to humanity. And to the end thou mightest know from whence it springeth, he addeth, That he might drink out of precious stone. Behold two causes of civil furies, that whereas a silver chalice had been sufficient for the divine service, yet a golden one seemed in man's eye scarce good enough, unless the danger also enhanced the price: and precious stones were cut hollow by foreign woorkmanshyp, in which a poor simple wretch should drink, and with the greater pleasure apply thereunto his lips, defiled with lies and filthiness: being a thing both unhandsome to drink in, the fear breaking of the pleasure, and costly by means of the trimming, and also difficult to be preserved, and jeopardous for health, and most fit for poysoyning. For this saying of an other Poet is true: There is no poison drunk in earthen pots. But when thou beginnest to drink in pots of precious stone, then be afraid of poisoning.  joy. 
I account it a glorious matter to drink in precious stone.  Reason. 
While pride advanceth herself, she thinketh neither upon falling, nor ruin. You be more desirous to drink costly, then safely, more ambitiously, then saue●ly. Thus vices are overcome with vices, and the taste of the 〈◊〉 doth not so much solicit●●●●●e appetite, as the colour of the cup provoketh pride. Ye stand amazed at the beams of precious stones, and this amazing ye esteem at the greatest price that may be, not only of money, but of virtue. Doth not this Virgiliane overthrower of his country, of whom I speak, seek for a precious stone of that price, lightly overpassing justice and godliness, and by loss of them, to gain this, that he might drink in precious stone, and forget himself to be a Euizen and a man.  joy. 
I am desirous to drink in cups of precious stone.  Reason. 
Perhaps there is some other cause of so fervent desire: For it is not the glistering only that allureth thee, but some hidden virtue. For who is able to declare all the operations and virtues of precious stones: Thus I say then, if all those things that are reported or written of them, the seventh part were true, it were a worthy matter: but neither the seventy part, neither the sevenscore is true in deed. And if, as Plinius saith, there be no one deceit in the life of man more gainful, who will ma ruayle if there be none more plentiful? Not that there is more common sale of precious stones, then of any other thing, as being such things as the preciousness of them maketh them rare, but that the truth is never more rare in any merchandise. For in no ware is there less liberty of experimenting, or more liberty of lying, or more vantage of untrue dealing, or impudence more free, or the custom of using it more common. But if perhaps among all these virtues there be any thing true, shall we account this to be it which the authority of Magiciens confirmeth, and the opinion of the common people established upon the same avoweth, that the Amethyst withstandeth drunkenness? Is it then without cause, that this precious stone is meet to make cups of for drunkenness? Now I jest with thee: jesting many times provoketh anger▪ to wit, in ascribing that to one, which another hath deserved: unless we will say, that this was the wit and devise of pleasure, that the drinkers sight might be delighted together with his taste, and so the senses being tickled on all sides, the drunkenness might be the more curious and merry. This, unless I be deceived, is the truest and most certain cause of this matter, both in other, and also in this, which is specially provided as it were a captain against drunkenness, over which sobriety only may triumph, in using little wine, according to the saying of that excellent counsellor, & that not to be drunk for pleasure, but for profit, to abandon the infirmities of the stomach, with a little small wine, I say, delayed with water, to avoid the force and rage of strong and mighty wines, and to quench and bridle them, as it were with a flood of water, to know and remember that in hot and strong wine, and often, or to much drinking of it, there lurketh much matter of shame, sorrow, and repentance, that whither soever thou turnest thyself, this is always in men's eyes, and that no man of a sound mind can dissemble it. These be the profitable weapons against that Monster. What place is there here now left for the Amethyst, or for any precious stone? The Magiciens have devised that lie, and there have been some that have believed, that by the virtue of this stone, promising the in sobriety, they might boldly quaff without fear of drunkenness: Falsely and impudently affirmed by the Magiciens, as many things more, and foolishly believed of the common people, as all things else. This is therefore the sum of all, there is nothing else that procureth unto you this and such like follies, but pleasure, provoked and incensed with dangers, but specially pride and forgetfulness of your state, and an hurtful fear of mind, which being such, as there is nothing more hurtful to the life of man, so I marvel that there is nothing more pleasant, I say not, in that virtue, being so great a good, seemeth but vile in your judgement, but your life, your health, your safety, your riches, and finally your pleasures, which in your judgements are the chiefest felicity. All these things give place unto pride only, this above all other things maketh you to covet precious stones, which are evermore unprofitable, many times hurtful, and never necessary. By provocation of pride it is come to pass, that being always busy and fearful, but delicate, the floors of your houses be like the Altars of your Churches, golden and glyttering with stones, and your purpled and decked sacrifices, are laid out to the furniture of your covetousness, and curiosity of your wantonness, and the residue of your bravery to pride, all which vices jointly and severally reign over you, howbeit, pride, as I have said, claimeth the principality. Covetousness peradventure, which the name itself importeth, might indifferently content herself with a great portion of gold, and lasciviousness repose herself in her banquets and pleasures, pride only never resteth, so long as she seeth any thing above her, who at the first beginning of all things, sought to make herself equal with GOD, and the very same enforceth you painfully to seek for precious stones, and curyously to join or hollow them, to the intent that when ye go abroad, or sit in open places in judgement of Courts, or at Feasts, ye may shine and glister like Stars, and continually repine at the beauty of heaven. And to return to my purpose, by the means of this guide, with your houses, with your apparel, with your meat and drink, and generally with all your things which were invented to serve either the necessity or pleasure of mankind, ye have continually mingled some fair and shining danger, by increasing whereof, this mischief cometh to light, that of precious stones ye now make not only Pots, but Basins, and dishes, and kettles, and Mortars, and almost all manner of necessaries. Therefore rejoice pride, that thou hast gotten the upper hand: thou requiredst pots of precious Stone, and thy ministers have prepared for thee all manner of vessel of the same stuff. And it is now as common a thing to use precious stones to these purposes, as to plough land to sow corn in: and so that is grown among you into a custom, which was lasciviousness among your Elders.  joy. 
I delight to drink in cups of Crystal.  Reason. 
Now I spare precious stones, this frozen ice excuseth them, which hath in it nothing more than hath glass, for it is assoon broken, and cannot be made whole, saving that it is harder to be gotten, and either it is brought from far, or if it be found neerehande, it is to be digged out of the unpassable and frozen rocks and clyftes of the Alps, by hanging down by a small rope, & for this cause it is the dearer, and of greater force to provoke your desire unto it. And therefore, thou readest how the Emperor Nero was stroke with a sudden report, and how among all his other great losses, he bewailed most grievously the loss of two crystal cups, which were broken by chance, or rather, as I think the truth of the story to be otherwise, that being thoroughly enraged with anger, and offended with the age wherein he lived, and envying the posterity that should come after, knocked them together, and broke them with his own hands, that there should never any man drink out of them more. Behold the expiation of hard fortune, there was never any thing devised or found out, wherein this master of mischief might more sharply exercise his cruelty: he wreaked himself upon his Crystal, which above all things he loved most dearly. Some man will say, that this is an excuse for meaner men. In deed to imitate a prince it carrieth some credit, but to imitate Nero no good man will be willing.  joy. 
I take pleasure in vessels of Crystal.  Reason. 
And percepuest thou not how frail and brittle thy delight is? But this is your manner, ye take pleasure in things of your own nature, and whereas your weakness aught to seek some firm thing, and your principal part, which is your soul, to behold, look, and desire high and heavenly things, on both sides ye seek after weak and base things. It happened well, that Murrhine stones are not had in price at this day among dainties. The incredible madness of your ancestors, with the same conquest which brought in many forraygne things among you, brought in these also, even at that time when Pompeius triumphed in Italy, and road so royally into the City of Rome, bringing in with him out of Asia an unprofitable seed, but which was sown in a fertile soil, and by diligent husbandmen: and it grew up so fast in short time, that a man might see the price of one Murrhine stone to be at seventy talentes, and how the lip of that cup was greedyly bitten away by the teeth of a certain lover, by means of which strange effect of love, that blemish much commending the beauty of the cup, increased both the fame and price thereof. In this respect therefore, neither your lasciviousness, wherein ye give place to no age, nor your pride, is less than was your forefathers: but in respect of both, the matter is diminished, not only by the falling of the Murrhine stone to serve your turn, but also in that they are not known unto you: in steed whereof a new kind of riotousness hath invaded your minds, the root of the Felberd tree, being a worthy wood, to make cups of, bravely set forth with knots and scars, a special folly which now resteth among the Frenchmen. To this purpose also are there other trees found out, some foreign, and called by strange names, & some known, some called by one name, & some by another, but all of like vanity, & there will more be daily found, and there will be no measure of new devices, until the glory of the Murrhine stones be surpassed by your cups. In this one poyne I confess, ye have given place to the madness of your ancestors, in that they highly esteemed of Amber cups, which screwed to no purpose, but only to have them for wantonness sake, & reckoned them amongst their chiefest delights: insomuch that it is read, how that Nero himself, not only of all princes, but of all men the cruelest, by publishing of certain verses, adopted unto himself the yellow locks and tresses of his ill belcued, and worse murdered wife, under this name, and by a special chosen title. For, a wondrous matter to think it, that cruel disposition of his was friendly to the Muses, in that he called them his, because they seemed golden. O fierce and unfortunate flatteries, O comely and commendable head, worthy by some wicked foot to be trod down to the devil? How be it you have Ambar cups, & esteem them not, or esteem them modestly, or regard them sparingly.   

Of Engravinge and seals in precious Stones. The xxxix Dialogue.  JOY. 
I TAKE great pleasure in Engravynges, and marks in precious Stones.  Reason. 
I confess how that to the comeliness of nature, a certain ornament of Art is added, & how stones are engraven with pretty faces and portraitures in them to seal withal, a kind of skill truly, which is reckoned among the finest workemanshyppes of most curious wits: and among all stones the Amethyst is most easy and fortunate for engraving, as it is reported: and among woorkmen Pyrgoteles first won to himself the name of a cunning engraver, for that among all woorkmen of his scienc, ehe seemed unto king Alexander most meet to engrave the counterfeit of his phisnomy, which afterward the Emperor Augustus did wear, when as the precious Stone, which he before used, was commonly jested at among the people, and termed the rydling Sphinx, so that besides the difficulties of the exactions, the very perplexity and doubtfulness of the seal, seemed to purchase hatred to the most modest Prince. Next unto this man both in skill and age, were Apollonides and Eronius. After whom was Dioscores, of great name in this Art, whose work when Pliny did set down, I marvel that he expressed not also his name. This is he that engraved the counterfeit of the Emperor Augustus, which he used himself so long as he lived, and after him many of the Emperors, such reverence they hare either to the countenance of so good a Prince, or wondered at the skill of so cunning a workman. But now that we have discoursed thus much of precious stones, which either nature hath yielded whole and sound for your pleasures, or art hath made hollow and engraven for your delight, I demand of thee this question, how much more aught the brightness of heaven, which is to be gotten without cost or pain, delight thy mind? And not that so much, as he, who is the spring and fountain of that light? Do the radiant Carbuncles, the green Smaragdes, the bright sapphires, the white pearls, so much allure thee, that neither the brightness of the Sun and Stars, nor the greenness of the earth & trees, nor the pureness of the air and sky in the clear morning, can move thy mind? You stand amazed at the beholding of faces which the hand of man hath engraven in stones, but ye wonder not at the cunning of that workman, neither do ye honour him, ne there do ye acknowledge him, although ye have so many & so excellent means so to do, who hath made these precious stones, & the cunning, and the hands, and the eyes wherewith to behold them, to understand them, & to make them. O ye, that are evermore the imitators of vile things, and always the contemners of worthy and excellent things.   

Of Pictures, and painted Tables. The xl Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Am delighted with pictures, and painted tables.  Reason. 
A vain delight, and no less folly than hath reigned sometime in great personages, & no deal more tolerable than it hath been in old time. For every evil example is then worst, when as either the weight of authority, or of years is joined unto it. The force of custom is great from whence soever it took beginning, and age as it advanceth good things to better, so doth it cast down evil things to worse. But O, I would God, that ye that do far surpass your ancestors in vain things, would match them in earnest matters, and with them would esteem of glory and virtue, with whom ye stand fond gazing at Pictures without end.  joy. 
Truly I am wonderfully delighted with painted tables.  Reason. 
O wonderful madness of man's mind, which woondreth at every thing, saving itself, since there is nothing not only among all the works of art, but also of nature, more wonderful?  joy. 
Painted tables delight me.  Reason. 
What mine opinion is herein, thou mayest perceive in that which I have said before. All earthly delights, if they were governed by discretion, would stir men up to the heavenly love, and put them in mind of their first original. For, I pray thee, who ever loved a river, and hated the head thereof? But you weltering heavily upon the ground, stooping, and as it were fastened to the earth, dare not look upwards towards heaven, and forgetting the chief workman, with marvelous pleasure ye behold the slender pictures of the Sun and Moon, and determine where the passage is to the highest places, but there ye end the bounds of your understanding.  joy. 
I am specially delighted with painted tables, and Pictures.  Reason. 
Thou conceivest delight in the pencil and colours, wherein the price, and cunning, and variety, and curious dispersing, doth please thine eye: even so likewise the lively gestures of lifeless pictures, and the unmovable motions of dead images, and countenances coming out of posts, and lively portraitures of faces, do bring thee into wondering, insomuch as thou wilt almost think they would speak unto thee: and this is the only danger in this behalf, in that many great wits have been overtaken by these means. So that, whereas the clown and unskilful person will with small wondering pass them over: the wiser will repose himself with sighing and wondering. A cunning matter truly, howbeit it is not possible from the beginning to unfold the first original and increase of this art, and the wonderfulness of the works, and the industry of the workmen, the madness of princes, and the unreasonable prices wherewith these have been bought and brought from beyond the seas, and placed at Rome, either in the Temples of the Gods, or in the bed chambers of the Emperors, or in the common streets, or public porches and galleries. Neither was this sufficient, but that they must also apply their own right hands, which of duty aught to have been busied about greater affairs, unto the exercise of this art, which the most noble Philosophers of all Greece had done before: Whereby it came to pass, that among you the art of painting was esteemed above all handy crafts, as a thing more near to the work of nature: And among the Grecians, if ye will believe Pliny, it was accounted among the chiefee of the Liberal Artes. But I let pass these things, for that they are in a manner contrary to mine intended brevity, and present purpose: and may seem rather to minister infected humours to the sickness, whose cure I promised to undertake, and by the excellency of the things, to excuse the madness of the woonderers at them. Howbeit I said yer while, that the greatness of them that did err, made not the error the less: but I touched that point the rather to this intent, that it might appear how great the force of that folly was, with which so many and so great wits have conspired, unto which also the prince of error the common multitude, and long continuance, which is the engenderer of customs, and acutoritie, which is a great heap of all mischiefs, are joined: so that the pleasure and admiration thereof, is able privily to remove and withdraw the mind from contemplation of higher matters. But if these things that are counterfeited and shadowed with vain colours do so much delight thee, cast up thine eyes upon him that hath adorned man's face with senses, his mind with understanding, the heaven with stars, the earth with flowers, and so shalt thou contemn those workmen whom thou woondredst at.   

Of Statues and Images. The xli Dialogue.  JOY. 
BUt I take great pleasure in Images.  Reason. 
These be sundry arts, but the madness is one, & there is but one beginning of them both, & one end, but divers matter.  joy. 
I delight in statues.  Reason. 
These come in show more near unto nature, than pictures: For they do but appear only, but these are felt to be sound and substantial, and there their bodies are more durable: Which is the cause that there remain to this day in no place any pictures of men of ancient times, but statues innumerable: Whereby this age in this point, as in many things else erroneous, would seem to have been the first inventor of pictures: or whether that because it allegeth that it hath devised somewhat which cometh near to the first invention thereof, being perfect and excellent in it, and in all kinds of engraving, and dare boldly and impudently affirm, though falsely, that it is not inferior to any, in graving and carving all sorts of seals & statues: seeing in very dtede they be almost all one art, or if they be divers, they sprang both from one fountain, to wit, the art of drawing, & doubtless are of one antiquity, & flourished at one time. For why, Apelles, and Pyrgoteles, and Lysippus, lived at one time, which may by this means be proved, in that the great pride of Alexander of Macedon, chose these three together above the rest, whereof the one should paint him, the other engrave him, and the third carve him: straightly forbidding all other, upon whatsoever cunning or assurance of skill presuming, to meddle with expressing the kings face any manner of way: and yet was not this madness less than the residue. But every disease is so much the more dangerous, how much more stable and fixed the matter is whereof it proceedeth.  joy. 
But I am delighted in Images.  Reason. 
Think not that thou errest alone, or that thou hast no fellows but the common people: For in times past how great the dignity hath been of statues and images, and how fervent the study and desire of men was reposed in such pleasures, the most diligent inquiry of Augustus and Vespasian, and other Emperors, and Kings, of whom it were impertinent and too long to entreat, & also of other noble personages of the second degree, & industrious keeping of them when they had found them, and their sundry dedicating and bestowing them, may sufficiently declare. Hereunto also may be added, the great fame of the workmen, not rashly spread abroad by the common people, or reported upon dumb works, but celebrated in the sounding books of learned and approved writers: which being so great, seemeth in no wise to be able to spring from a small root. A great name cometh not of nothing, it must be great in deed, or seem to be so, whereof great men do seriously entreat. But all these things I have answered before, and tend to this purpose, that thou mayest understand with what force so ancient and stout an error must be resisted.  joy. 
I conceive pleasure in sundry statues & images.  Reason. 
There is one of these arts, which by the handy work doth imitate nature, men commonly call it framing and fashioning. This art worketh with wax, plaster of Paris, and cleaving clay, which although among all the other arts that have affinity with it, it be more friendly, and come nearest to virtue, or is less enemy to modesty and thriftiness, which two virtues do more allow of imagies and statues of Gods and men to be made of earth, and such like matter, then of gold and precious stone: Yet what delight there is to be conceived in looking upon faces made of wax or earth, I do not understand.  joy. 
I take delight in noble statues and images.  Reason. 
I know the meaning of covetousness: it is the price, as I suppose, and not the art that pleaseth thee. I am sure thou dost in mind esteem one image of gold of mean woorkemanshyp, above many made of brass, and marble, and specially of clay or other cast stuff, and not unwisely, as the present valuation of things now adays requireth: and this is as much to say, as to love the gold, and not the statue, which as it may be made noble of a vile matter, so may it be made rude of pure gold. How much wouldst thou esteem of an image, whether it were the kings of Assyria, which was made of gold threescore cubits long, which it was death not to adore, although there be many at this day that would adore it to have it of their own, or whether it were made of a great Topas of four cubits long, of which thou readest that the Queen of Egypt's image was made? a strange thing to be spoken, I suppose thou wouldst not very much inquire after the workman that made it, but rather after the matter that it is made of.  joy. 
Images and statues cunningly wrought, delight mine eyes.  Reason. 
Images and statues sometime were the tokens of virtues, but now they be enticements of the eyes. They were erected in the honour and remembrance of such as had achieved worthy deeds, or voluntarily yielded themselves up unto death from their common wealth: Such as were decreed to be set up in honour of the Ambassadors that were slain by the king of the Vet●i: such as were erected in the honour of Scipio African, the deliverer of italy, which his most valiant courage, and worthy modesty would not receive, but which after his death he could not refuse. They were erected in the honour of wise and learned men, the like whereof we read was erected unto Victorinus: and now adays they are erected unto rich Merchants, wrought of outlandish Marble, of great value.  joy. 
Statues artificially wrought do much delight me.  Reason. 
Every kind of stuff almost will admit cunning workmanship: but I perceive how this thy delight is full of wisdom, and joined with the most noble matter. Howbeit I can not perceive how there should be any pleasure in the gold, not although it were wrought by Phidias, or what worthiness there should be in it, being but a dross of that earth, although it be yellow, but by means of the Anduil, hammers, tongues, coals, invention, handy labour. What thing may be wrought that is to be wished of a man, or hath in deed any magnificency in it, consider with thee self.  joy. 
I can not chose but take great pleasure in images.  Reason. 
To take pleasure in the witty devices of men, so it be modestly done, is tolerable, and specially of such as excel in wit: For unless malice be an hindrance, every man doth willingly reverence that in another, which he loveth in himself. To take delight also in the images and statues of godly and virtuous men, the beholding of which may stir us up to have remembrance of their manners & lives, is reasonable, & may profit us in imitating the same. Profane images also, although sometime they move the nunde, and stir it up to virtue, whilst lukewarm minds do wax hot with the remembrance of noble deeds, yet aught they not to be loved or esteemed of above reason and duty, jest they become either witnesses of our foslie, or ministers of our covetousness, or rebellious to our faith and true religion, and that most excellent commandment of the Apostle, Keep yourselves from Images. But truly, if thou behold him in thy contemplation, who created the fixed earth, the movable sea, and turning heaven, who also hath replenished the earth, not with feigned and counterfeit, but with true and living men and beasts, the sea with fishes, the heaven with fowls, I suppose that thou wilt as little esteem of Polycletus and Phidias, as of Protegenes and Apelles.   

Of vessels of Corinthe. The xlii Dialogue.  JOY. 
WHO will not be moved with delight unto Corinthian vessels?  Reason. 
Earthly things can not move him that is accustomed to heavenly: and even so, if these vessels be compared with the heavenly treasures, they be small, they be nothing, they be but loathsomeness, and an heavy burden. For how can the mind, which thinketh upon it own beginning, gape into the pits of earth, or esteem of that which is digged out of them, while he beholdeth the Heavens, the Sun, the Stars, & himself, and is busied in the contemplation of the most high creator of all things.  joy. 
I take pleasure in Corinthian vessels.  Reason. 
Knowest thou not then, that thou takest pleasure not only in a cold and senseless burden of the earth, but also in the woorkemanshyp of a smutchie and filthy workman, and lasty, in the remnants and relics of the Roman spoils? Return to histories. When Mummius had by fine force taken the City of Corinth, and after the spoil consumed it with fire, all manner of images, as well of gold, and silver, as of brass, whatsoever by chance had escaped the hands of the conquerors, whereof that City in old time had great plenty, were with like fire melted together: all kinds of metals ran there flowing, as it were, in one channel, and by that means of all those metals, there arose one most noble metal, which was the beginning of these most precious vessels: & from the destruction of the City, sprang forth the name of lasciviousness, not that the same madness arose in that City which now was falling, but the matter only was prepared for the madness that should follow hereafter, And by this means, Corinth was at that time the beginner of this madness, which now cometh from Damascus: & from thence at this day are vessels sent, which will soon ravish both your eyes and minds.  joy. 
I am delighted in Corinthian vessels.  Reason. 
I should marvel the more at thee, unless it were read in excellent good writers, how that Augustus the Emperor, although he were a most modest and grave prince, yet was he notwithstanding so invaded, & driven headlong with this delight, that he was thought to have condemned certain in the Triumuiral proscription for none other cause then the desire of such vessels: insomuch as there was an infamous libel fastened upon the statue of this worthy Prince, to his perpetual ignominy, wherein he was termed a Corinthiarian. And if ye will believe me, there was but small difference in this respect, between this most excellent Prince, and the vilest that ever was, Antonius, saving that a less cause moved Augustus to do an injury: and every offence is the more grievous, the greater the person is that offendeth, and the less cause he hath to offend: Neither can the greatness and power of the offender escape the wounds of tongues and pens, or exempt them out of the judgements of men: but rather they do sharpen them, and provoke them to farther revenge. The prattling multitude spareth not the blemishes of kings, and although they fear them in presence, yet privily they use their liberty, they hiss in dens, and bark in darkness, and send forth doubtful voices to the clouds: they disperse sharp verses in the streets, they clap up papers upon statues, they speak by signs, they cry out in silence, they threaten with their eyes, and strike with their tongues. Thus oftentimes great infamy groweth upon small causes, and vile dye terms, upon honourable names. If this could happen to so great a Prince, what may private men hope for, who aught to embrace mediocrity, and abandon superfluitle?  joy. 
I take pleasure in vessels of Corinth.  Reason. 
If thy breast were shut up against error, and thine eyes against brightness, it might easily appear unto thee, how much Potter's vessels are to be preferred before Corinthian, and how much more easy to be gotten, pleasant to be used, safe to be kept, and fit to be employed, both about divine and human uses. And truly as touching security, if this note of the Emperor Augustus be true, they which were proscribed and condemned, should have lived in greater safety, if they had been without Corinthian vessels. And as touching divine service, that God is as merciful unto men when he is worshipped with potter's vessels, it is not doubtful unto me, nor unto Seneca. But concerning human use, although it be certain that Tuberoes' earchen vessels by blind voices or scrutiny did hurt their master, as a great rebuke and slander among the people, and thereby he had repulse in the Pretorshyp, & in the judgement of Valerius Maximus, who doth popularly excuse this deed of the people, they seemed unworthy of such a public function: How be it, I am of opinion in this point with Seneca, who commendeth very much of them: for they are most agreeable to the ancient sparyngnesse, and the manners of the Romans, by which as the private family of a modest householder, so aught also the honest common wealth of a well governed City to be guided, that bridling their steps, they may keep the bounds of a well ordered and peaceable state upon the earth. And therefore if Helius Tubero in bringing forth his earthen vessels before the Chapel of jupiter, whereby he consecrated his frugality and sobriety, and as Seneca sayeth, His poverty in the Capitol, did offend the eyes of the wanton people, it was not the fault of the good Citizen, but of the time: for then all things be 'gan to decline from the ancient straightness, to this effeminate delicateness, which first began to wonder at, and fall in love with cups and dishes of gold, and of precious stone, platters engraven about the brim with branches and ●oures, Saltes with knots and wines round about, vessels with tunning ivy, and such like devices, which Galienus the Emperor sent unto Claudius that should be Emperor after him. divers other kinds of madness also which are attributed to magnificency, but last of all now in these days, not only running ivy, or vine branches, or other curious branches, but also the whole woods themselves, with their in habitantes, as all kinds of trees, and wild beasts, and fowls, & men's faces, and whatsoever the eye hath seen, or the ear heard, or the mind imagined, are of long continuance now expressed and engraven in gold and precious stone, of which we have entreated a little before. To be short, pride so much increaseth, that gold waxeth vile. Not long since these Corinthian vessels, which thou praisest, were not regarded, and contempt, which might have been praised concerning the true estimation of vile things, is now made discommendable by the false admiration of worthy things.  joy. 
But I am now in love with Corinthian vessels.  Reason. 
Corinth which was burned with your fyrebrands, hath brent you again with her flang, and hath revenged the rasing of her walls upon your minds: And this is no strange thing, for oftentimes when ye have been the conquerors in foreign wars, ye have also been overcome by foreign vices. Even after this manner Scipio Asiaticus, & Manilius Volsio, the conquerors of Asia, did overthrow you with the Asian pleasures, with beds of purple, & garments of gold, and exquisite furniture for household, and, which is most vile, with banquets & cooks: so did Pompeius Magnus overcome you with pearls and precious stones, and Mummius with painted tables & Corinthian vessels, while your captains triumphed over your enemies, and your enemies triumphed over your affections.  joy. 
I am enamoured with the use of Corinthian vessels.  Reason. 
The Corinthian or golden vessels make the meat never a whit the better, neither the Samian the worse: for this desire of yours riseth, not from the quality of the things, but from the sickness of your minds, or rather is itself a sickness of the mind: which to the end thou mayest the better cure, and so wax whole, in steed of the care for so many unprofitable vessels, take one most profitable & wholesome care upon thee, that ●hou mayest know how to possess thine own vessel in honour, and holiness, as it is written, & not in the passion and desire of having.   

Of store of Books. The xliii Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Have great store of books.  Reason. 
The occasion to speak of them, is ministered in convenient time: For as some get books for learning sake, so do some others for pleasure & boasting. There be other some also which do furnish their chambers with this kind of stuff, which was invented to furnish the mind withal, and use them in none other sort than they do their Corinthian vessels, or their painted tables, and images, & such other like, whereof we entreated last. There be some also which, under the colour of books, do satisfy their covetousness: these be the worst sort of men, which esteem not the true prices of books, & as they are in deed, but as they may sell them. A vile plague, and lately grown, and which seemeth but newly to have crept in among the practices of the richer sort, whereby there is grown one instrument and art of concupiscence more.  joy. 
I have great plenty of books.  Reason. 
A painful, but a pleasant burden, & a delectable distraction of the mind.  joy. 
I have a marvelous multitude of books.  Reason. 
Thou hast therewithal also great plenty of travail, and scarcity of quietness: thy wit must be busied this way, and that way, and thy memory be troubled with this matter, & that matter. What wouldst thou have me say? Books have brought some men to knowledge, & some to madness, whilst they draw out of them more than they can digest. As fullness sometime hurteth the stomach more than hunger, so fareth it with wits: and as of meats, so likewise of books, the use aught to be limited according to the quality of him that useth them. In all things, that which is to little for one, is to much for another. And therefore a wise man seeketh not plenty, but sufficiency in all things. For the one of these, is many times hurtful, the other, always profitable.  joy. 
I have immoderate store of books.  Reason. 
We call that immoderate, which hath neither end nor measure, without which, what there is good and agreeable to itself in human affairs, do thou consider with thyself, yea, in those things which are accounted best, unmeasurableness and immoderatnesse is to be eschewed, and this saying of the C●●nicke Poet is always to be had before our eyes: Beware of to much.  joy. 
I have an inestimable many of books.  Reason. 
Hast thou more than had Ptolomeus Philadelphus, king of Egypt, more than the libraries of Alexandria, wherein it is well known, were 〈◊〉. M. books gathered together, which being with great study & diligence brought from sundry places, were hurut together in one fire? which Livius termeth an excellent work of the majesty and diligence of a kings travail, whom Seneca reprehendeth for that judgement, saying, that it was not a work of the majesty and didigence of a king, but of his studious lasciviousness, and not so good neither, but of a King vainly boasting himself in spectacles and shows sought of purpose. And yet notwithstanding perhaps the riches of a King may excuse the saying of Livius. and the deed of Ptolomeus, and the Kings intent forseeing and providing a far of for public uses: which in this respect truly was commendable, in that he caused the holy scriptures, which are not only profitable for the world, but also necessary, with great travail and charge by choice men for that purpose, to be translated out of the Hebrew into the Greek tongue. But what shall a man say, when private men do not only match, but surpass Princes in sumptuousness? We read how that Serenus Sammonicus, who was a man of wondered knowledge, and yet had greater defyre of more learning, but had far many more books, to the number of threescore and two thousand, who when he died, gave them all to Gordianus the youger, unto whose father he had been most friendly & familiar. Truly a great inheritance, & sufficient for many wits, but able to overthrow one wit, who doubteth? what (I pray you) if this man had done nothing else in all his life time, if he had himself never written any thing, or taken the toil to search, or had never gone about to take the pain to read or understand any matter that was comprehended in all those books: Had he not business enough to know the books themselves, and their titles, and the names of the authors, and the forms, and number of the volumes? A worthy occupation, which of a Philosopher, maketh a book keeper. Believe me this is not the way to noorysh the wit by writings, but to overwhelm and kill it with multitude, or else peradventure after the manner of Tantalus, to torment the astonyshed mind with thirst, which tasteth nothing, but gapeth after every thing.  joy. 
I have an innumerable multitude of books.  Reason. 
And also an innumerable multitude of errors, some published by the wicked, some by the unlearned. And those of the first sort, contrary to religion, godliness, and the holy Scriptures, the other repugnant to nature, equity, and good manners, & the liberal sciences, or Histories, and the truth of things done, but all generally striving against the truth: and in them all, specially the first, where greater matters are handled, and true things are mingled with false, the discerning of them is hard and dangerous. And to admit that the integrity of authors were perfect & absolute, what writer is able to remedy ignorance and slothfulness, which corrupt and confound all things? For fear whereof, many excellent wits have given over sundry worthy works, and our most lewd age is deservedly plagued with this punishment, which is careful of the kitchen, and negligent of learning, & encourageth Cooks, and not writers. And therefore, whosoever can a little blot paper with ink, and knoweth how to hold a pen in his fingers, shallbe counted a writer, yea, although he be void of all learning, without wit, and destitute of knowledge. I do not seek now, nor complain of Orthography, which is long since perished, I would to GOD they could write by one means or other indifferently that which they be willed, than the weakness of the writer would appear, and the substance of the things not lie unknown. But now by means of their confused copies & registers, promising to writ one thing, they write so another, that a man cannot tell himself what he willed them to write. If Cicero or Livius, and many other of the famous ancient writers, should come again into the world, but specially Plinius the second, and read their own works, would they understand, and not in many places doubt, whether these were their own works, or some barbarous writer? Among so many ruins of human inventions, the holy Scripture remaineth, both by means of the more special care of men, but chief by the express working of God the author thereof, who defendeth his holy word, his sacred Histories, and divine laws, and giveth continuance unto his inventions. The most principal of all other arts do perish, and the greatest part of them are lost. Thus of so great a loss there is no remedy, because there is no perceiving of it, which in this case is no strange thing, for the great losses of virtues and manners, are neglected. Now when ye proved for small matters with such diligence, ye account of the loss of learning among trifles, and there be some that reckon it among gain. There was one of late, not in the fields or woods, but that which thou mayest the more marvel at, in a great and most flourishing City of Italy, not a shepherd or a ploughman, but a Noble man, and of great credit among the people of the country where he dwelled, who swore that he would give a great sum of money, upon condition there would never any learned man come in and dwell in the country where he inhabited. O wicked voice of a stony heart. It is reported also, that Licinius was of the same mind, and loathed learning, which (as it is written) he termed a common poison and pestilence. Howbeit, perhaps his rude and clounyshe birth may excuse his folly: But surely if he had been advanced to the state of an Emperor, he would not have abandoned that nature. For the saying of Horace is true. Fortune changeth not a man's kind. But what shall I say of your noble men, who do not only suffer learning to perish, but pray and wish that it may so? Truly this contempt and hatred of so most excellent a thing, will in short time drown you in the depth of ignorance. And moreover, not to wander from the purpose, the writers are restrained by no law, and allowed by no examination, and chosen by no judgement: there is not so much liberty given to carpenters, to Husbandmen, to Weavers, not almost to any artificers, although in others it be but a small danger, but in this, a great peril: Nevertheless every man runneth to writing, without choice or discretion, and they that destroy all, have assured rewards. And this is not so much the fault of the writers, which according to the common custom of men do seek after gain, as of students, and those that are put in trust with public government, who never had any care of such matter, having forgotten what Constantinus gave in charge to Eusebius of Palestine, to wit, that none should writ books, but such as were of skill, and well seen in the study of antiquity, and very expert in the Art wherein they write.  joy. 
I have good store of books.  Reason. 
What if thy mind be not capable? doest thou remember Sabinus in Seneca, how he vaunteth in the skill of his servants? What difference is there between thee and him, but that thou art the more fool, and both of you brag of that which is another's: he, of his servants, which in deed were his own, and thou, of the learning of thy books, which appertaineth nothing unto thee? There be some that will seem to know what so ever is written in their books at home: and when there is mention made of any matter of learning, that book, saith he, is in my study, supposing that that were as much to say, as it is here also in my breast, and so with a proud look they say no more: A ridiculus kind of people.  joy. 
I have abundance of books.  Reason. 
How much rather had I that thou didst abound in wit, and eloquence, and learning, and specially in innocency and virtue? Howbeit, these things are not to be sold for money, as books are, and if they were, I know not whether they should find so many buyers as those books do: Those furnish the walls, these the mind, which forasmuch as they are not seen with the eyes, men regard them not. But truly if store of books made men learned or good, than they that are the richest men, might be the best and learnedst men: the contrary whereof we see commonly.  joy. 
I have books, which are means and helps to learning.  Reason. 
Take heed that they be not rather impediments: For as great multitudes of soldiers have been unto some an hindrance of winning, so plenty of books have been a let unto some of learning: and of store, as it chanceth, cometh scarcity: but if it be so, that a man have them, they are not to be cast away, but laid aside, and the best are to be used, and diligent heed to be taken, lest perhaps they which would profit in time, may hinder out of season.  joy. 
I have many, and sundry books.  Reason. 
The diversity of ways many times deceiveth the travailer, and he that want assuredly in one path, was in doubt when he came to a cross way, and the incertainty of three or four ways meeting together, is far more great: and so it happeneth often times, that he that hath read one book with effect, hath opened and turned over many without profit. There be many things burdensome to them that learn, but to the learned, few words do suffice: to much is hurtful unto both, but with strong shoulders it is to be borne up.  joy. 
I have gotten together a great many of excellent books.  Reason. 
There is no man that I can now call to remembrance, that was famous for his multitude of books, besides the King of Egypt, of whom I spoke before: which honourable name he won, not so much by the number of his books, as by his worthy transtation of certain of them. Doubtless, a marvelous work of so many wits, unless the wit of one that came afterward had been a greater wonder: but if thou seek glory by books, thou must take another course, for thou must not have them only, but know them, neither are they to be committed to the Library, but to memory, and not to be shut up in the full study, otherwise, no man shallbe more glorious than the public library, or his own study.  joy. 
I have many notable books.  Reason. 
Thou hast many tied in chains, who if they could break away, and speak, they would bring thee to the judgement of a private prison: then will they privily weep, and that for sundry things, but specially for this one thing, for that one covetous person many times hath plenty of those, which many that are studious do want.   

Of the fame of writers. The xliiii Dialogue.  JOY. 
YEA, what say you unto it, that I writ books myself?  Reason. 
A public disease, contagious, and incurable. Every man taketh upon him the office of writing, which belongeth but to few, and one that is sick of this disease infecteth many: It is an easy matter to envy, and hard to imitate: so that the number of the sick increaseth daily, and the strength also of the sickness waxeth more mighty: every day more do write every day worse, by reason that it is an easier matter to follow, then to overtake. Very proper, and approved, and found true by experience, is the saying of the wise man of the hebrews: There is no end of writing books.  joy. 
I do writ.  Reason. 
I would wish that men could keep themselves within their bounds, and that an order amongst all things were observed, which by the rashness of men, is confounded: They should writ that have skill and are able, and other read and hear. But now is it no small pleasure to the mind to understand, unless the proud hand make haste also to pen and paper? and whosoever doth understand, or think that he understandeth some small piece of a book, thinketh he himself meet by and by to writ books? I would that this one saying of our country man Cicero in the very beginning of his Tusculane questions were engraven in your memories, so that it might be known unto all that are in high degree, and place of light and knowledge: It may be, saith he, that a man may mean well, but yet is not able eloquently to utter that which be meaneth. It followeth also: But for a man to commit his meaning and thought to writing, that is not able well to dispose and set it forth in comely order, neither by any means to delight the Reader, is the part of one rashly abusing both his leisure, and learning. These words of Cicero are most true, but this abuse is now grown so common, that every man taketh that to be said to himself, which sometime was to that most holy banished man, who wrote such matter as he had learned out of the very fountain of truth, and not out of the dried puddles, said, and oftentimes repeated this word: (Writ.) Which commandment all contemners of all precepts do obey: for all do writ. And if, as I have said, there be so great danger in those that writ other men's books, what shall we think of them that writ their own, and them that be new? Whereby they bring into the world doubtful and damnable arts and opinions, or that, which is the lest mischief that they commit, they weary men with their rude and unpleasant style, insomuch as who so wanteth in them promptness of wit, if he list to lose his time and bestow the travail of his years, he shall not want weariness. This is the fruit (and none other) of your inventions, to infect or affect, but seldom or never to refresh. Notwithstanding all men write books now adays, and there was never such store of writers and disputers in any age, and never such scarcity of those that are skilful and eloquent. It chanceth therefore that that happeneth unto these men's books which Cicero saith in the same place, And therefore, saith he, they read their books with their friends, neither will any man touch them, but such as would fain have the like liberty in writing granted unto them, This was rare in Cicero's age, but now it is common. And every man meddleth with them, because all would have the same liberty. Thus these triflers, and pamphlet writers, commend, exhort, cherish, and prick forth one another, and arrogate unto themselves falsely the praises of other men in like cases. Hereof cometh this boldness in writers, and disturbance of matters, and therefore please not thou thyself overmuch in writing of books.  joy. 
I write books.  Reason. 
Perhaps thou mayest do better in reading them, and converting that which thou readest into the rule and government of thy life: For the knowledge of learning is then profitable when it is applied to purpose, and declareth itself in deeds, and not in words only: otherwise that is often found to be true which is written, Knowledge puffeth up. To understand perfectly and speedily, to remember many things and those great also exactly, to utter them comely, to writ them cunningly, to pronounce them sweetly: unless all these be referred unto our life, what be they other than the instruments of vain braggerie, and unprofitable labour, and foolish jangling?  joy. 
I writ books.  Reason. 
Perhaps it were better for thee to go to Plough, to keep Sheep, to be a Weaver, to play the Mariner. Many whom nature hath made handicrafts men, in despite of her, have become Philosophers: And contrariwise, fortune hath kept under foot some which were borne in the fields, or under hedges, or upon the shop boards and staulles of Artificers, or the netting of ships, which were apt to have been Philosophers. Whereby it cometh to pass, that they that are ignorant of the causes do wonder, if as in the mids of the Sea, or Country, in the Woods, and Shops, there be found sharp and quick wits, when as in the Schools there be dull and blockyshe: For if nature be won, she is hardly won.  joy. 
I writ earnestly.  Reason. 
How much more earnestly have some written in fore times, whose heat is so extinguished, that it were unknown whether ever they had written or Noah, unless other had written so of them. Not human work endureth always, and mortal labour maketh no immortal thing.  joy. 
I write much.  Reason. 
How much more have other written? Who can reckon the works of Cicero, or Varro? Who can recite the books which Titus Livius or Plinius hath written? There is one Graecian, who wrote, as it is said, six thousand books. O fervent spirit, if this be true, O long and quiet leisure? Truly if it be a business of great travel to writ well one or two books: that one man should write so many thousand, it is not so easy to believe, as strange to wonder at: Howbeit writers of credit do report it, whom it were hard not to believe, who say that they have not only heard so, but also seen them, and that more is, known it to be true, for that themselves have read the books: which if it be a marvelous matter that one man could read so many, is it not more marvel that one man could writ them all? It were overlong to repeat what men amongst you, and amongst the Grecians have written, and what they have written among whom none hath been fully fortunate to the full accomplishment of his study: but that some part of the one, and a great part of the other, and some, are wholly perished, and therefore look what thou canst prognosticate of thine own studies.  joy. 
I write, that is mine only delight.  Reason. 
If it be to exercise thy wit, and in writing unto others to instruct thyself, if to forget the time, and to the intent that by the remembrance of that which is past thou mayest avoid the present weerisomenesse, I do excuse thee, and if thou do it to the intent to cure thy secret and incurable disease of writing, then do I take pity upon thee. For there be some, if thou knowest not so much, which would not writ, but because they can not leave of, and running as it were headlong down an hill, and unwilling to stay, are forcibly carried away with that desire.  joy. 
I have a great courage to writ.  Reason. 
They say there be infinite kinds of Melancholy. Some cast stones, some writ books, and to writ so, unto one is the beginning of madness, and to another the end.  joy. 
I have, and do writ much.  Reason. 
If it be to profile posterity, there is nothing better: If to get a name only, there is nothing more vain.  joy. 
I have written much.  Reason. 
O notable madness, and may we marvel then if paper be dearer than it was wout to be?  joy. 
I writ, and thereby I look for fame.  Reason. 
As I said erewhile, perhaps it were better for thee to dig, and go to plough, and thereby to hope for a good Harvest: for it is salfer sowing in the ground, then in the wind. For the study of fame, and earnest travel in writing, as it hath advanced the renown of many, so hath it sent over innumerable to be fools and beggars in their old age, and showed them bore and babbling spectacles to the common people. For while ye be writing, fit time for better travails escapeth away: and being ravished, and forgetting yourselves, ye mark not so much, until at last old age and poverty awake ye.  joy. 
Notwithstanding, I writ for desire of fame.  Reason. 
A strange desire, for pains, to seek wind: Truly A had thought, that Sailors only had wished for wind.   

Of Mastership. The xlv Dialogue.  JOY. 
BUT I have taken the degree of a Master.  Reason. 
I had rather thou hadst gotten learning, for there is nothing more shameful, then rude and unlearned Maistershyppe.  joy. 
I am worthily made a Master.  Reason. 
Thou canst not worthily be made a Master, unless thou hast been a scholar: and necessary it is that thou have showed thyself dutiful, lowly, and willing to learn, or else thou hast gone astray out of the way that leadeth to Mastership: although I am not ignorant how that some have risen to the highest degree of knowledge without a Master, which certain excellent men of great name have reported and written of themselves: but their travail, their wit, their desire to learn, their intent, their diligence, and continuance stood unto them in steed of a Master, neither wanted they an inward Master in silence, Howheit, I speak now of the common sort.  joy. 
I am called a Master.  Reason. 
The false name of Maistershyppe, hath hindered many from being true Masters in deed: and whilst they believed every body of themselves, more than themselves, and were counted to be that, which they were not, they happened not to be that which they might have been.  joy. 
I have the title of a Master.  Reason. 
Thou hast seen a Tavern, wherein was sour wine, freshly decked forth with Pictures and flowers, where the thirty wayfaring man might be deceived. But is the Vintner also deceived by his own craft? Truly there be some so accustomed to deceitfulness, that by long use of deceiving others, at length they begin to deceive themselves: and that which long time they have been persuading others, in the end they persuade themselves: and that which they know to be false, they believe to be true. Glory thou as much in thy Maistershyppe as thou wilt. But if it have chanced unto thee worthily, it is no strange thing: if unworthily, it bringeth these two mischiefs with it: the one, that it maketh thee ashamed to learn: the other, that it maketh thine ignorance the more known.   

Of sundry titles of Studies. The xlvi Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Am adorned with many and sundry titles.  Reason. 
There is great vanity of boughs, but no fruit.  joy. 
I abound with store of titles.  Reason. 
If with true titles, it is a painful burden: if with false, it is filthy and shameful. And what need a man to seek for such titles, in which there is either toil or ignominy? Virtue being contented with one, or no title at all, is a sufficient title to herself.  joy. 
I have deserved to be a Master of Philosophy.  Reason. 
Philosophy promiseth not wisdom, but the love of wisdom. Whosoever therefore will have this, he getteth it by loving. This title is not hard and painful, as some suppose. If thy love be true, and the wisdom true which thou lovest, thou shalt be a true Philosopher in deed: For none can know or love the true wisdom, but pure and godly minds. And therefore it cometh to this point, which is written, (Godliness is wisdom.)  
Your Philosophers, standing in contempt and ignorance of this opinion, fell unto brabbling and bore Logic. And therefore when Divines rashly entreat of GOD, and Philosophers of Nature, they circumscribe his most mighty Majesty with trifling arguments, and prescribe laws unto God, that laugheth and mocketh at their foolish presumption: but these dispute in such sort of the secrets of nature, as if they came lately out of heaven, and had been of God's privy counsel, forgetting that which is written: Who knoweth the lords meaning? or who was his counsellor? Not regarding also, or hearing Saint Jerome, who often and by many strong arguments in the same book, wherein he bewaileth his brother's death very precisely and briefly: Philosophers, saith he, disputing of heaven. speak they know not what.  joy. 
I profess many Artes.  Reason. 
That is an easy matter, but to know many is very hard: for confessing, is more safe than professing: The one is a token of humility and repentance, the other of lightness and insolency. For they that do confess, deserve pardon more easily than they that do profess knowledge.  joy. 
I have obtained the title of Divine and Human wisdom.  Reason. 
Wisdom wanteth not titles, she is sufficiently known of herself. Who ever lighted a Candle to go seek for the Sun? Many with these titles have been obscured, and without them have become renowned. Oftentimes there hath been none for good, but some notable sign hung forth, where have been evil wares to cell.  joy. 
What say you to this, that I have won a poetical garland about my head?  Reason. 
There remaineth yet one labour, to seek the truth, and this travail also is double, to seek, and to set forth, and to feign to the delight of the ear it is a great matter, hard, difficult, and therefore very rare. They that are worthily called poets in deed, do apply themselves to both, but the common sort neglect the first, and are contented to use deceit and colourable means.  joy. 
I have obtained the rare glory of Poetry.  Reason. 
Thou hast found a mean in respect whereof thou mayest neglect the common wealth, and thine own private wealth likewise, thou hast sought also a way unto poverty, unless that dame Fortune of her own voluntary liberality, will largely bestow riches upon thee, thou hast moreover sought out the means to seem unto some mad, and unto some insolent.  joy. 
I have won the Bay garland unto myself.  Reason. 
The Bay is a most flourishing and green tree, when it is first gathered, and unless it be watered with a pregnant wit and diligent study, it will whither immediately.  joy. 
I have gotten the Laurel garland.  Reason. 
When a man hath taken pains, he hath won also envy withal, which is the reward either of study, or of warfare. That slender bough hath purchased nothing to thy mind, but only a vain sign to thy head, showing thee unto many, who thou hadst better had never known thee. For what hath it done, other than laid thee open to the teeth of the envious? These notable tokens of knowledge, have hurt many, both in peace and war.  joy. 
I profess the Art of Oratory.  Reason. 
This is strange which I hear: For it seemeth that of late it is grown out of use, so great and innumerable are the things whereof it consisteth, that there have always been fewer good orators, then excellent poets. And therefore some have said, that it is the proper duty of an Orator, to be able to speak copiously and trimly of every matter that is proposed. Although this opinion be rejected as most arrogant, notwithstanding of how many things an Orator aught to entreat of, although not of every thing, in applying a certain artificial and sweet eloquence in every thing whereof he speaketh, which of itself is a great matter, if thou consider of it uprightly, thou wilt be amazed, and perhaps thou wilt repent thee of thy rash profession: lest thou beware that whilst thou wilt go about to seem to know all thing, thou appear to know nothing, and as it often chanceth under the profession of great skill, thy hidden ignorance do necessarily appear.  joy. 
I am a professor of the liberal Artes.  Reason. 
This matter many times containeth in it more boldness, than learning. A man's life is too short for any one Art: and art thou sufficient for them all? One Art sufficeth one wit, with sweeting and toiling to attain to the top thereof. To cast of many, as much as necessity requireth, is not amiss, and more modesty it is to know it, then to profess it. I will also add this, which hath seemed true unto the best learned, that it never yet happened unto any of the most excellent and famous learned men to be thoroughly and absolutely perfect in any one Art. And as touching Rechorike only, this saying of Seneca is well known, Eloquence saith he, is a great and manifold matter, and was never so favourable to any, that it happened wholly unto him: he is happy enough, that hath attained to some one part thereof. This, by what men, and what manner witnesses he proveth it to be true, thou hast heard, which being so, let these numbers of professors which are almost match to the common multitude, both in rudeness and multitude, consider with themselves what they do, and whereabout they go, which are not contented with one part, nor with one Art, but without discretion invade them all. O wonderful confidence and presumption: but it is now common.  joy. 
What will you now say concerning the professions of Physic and Law?  Reason. 
Let thy patientes and clientes make answer to this. What did ever these titles avail them to the health of their body, or gaining of their causes? Perhaps they have procured thy profit, & for this cause ye hunt after arts, and the titles of arts, to the intent that what is wanting in learning, may be supplied in degrees and apparel, and that the saying of the Satirical Poet may beverified, The Scarlet, and the jewels beset with Amethistes, do cell the Lawyer. Which thing would appear to be true, yea, if the ancient Rethoricians returned again into the world: for no man would give unto Cicero two hundred crowns, unless he wore on his finger a great ring of gold. To be short, let this he unto thee the sum of all that hath been spoken of, to wit, that there be some men of rare disposition, whose studies are sound and honest, the ends whereof are truth and virtue. This is the knowledge of things, and the amendment of manners, and either the ornament of this mortal life, or the entrance to the eternal. As for the rabblement of the residue, whereof the number is great, some of them hunt after glory, some a glittering, but a vain reward, but to the greater sort, the only respect of money is their end, which is not only a small reward, but also a filthy, and not worthy the travail, nor match to the toil of a gentle mind: in all these respects, as I have said, the title and apparel is not to be contemned, for it is effectual unto that whereunto it is appointed: for why? the minds and judgements almost of all mortal men, specially of the common multitude, which are destitute of this mean, are deluded with shadows. Most matters are governed by opinion. But for them that are given to virtue, to glory in titles, is not only strange and dissonant, but also (as jiudge) impossible.  joy. 
I profess many things.  Reason. 
It were better to do one good deed, then to promise many. And men were in good case, if so be they were such as they profess themselves to be.   

Of the Titles of business, and affairs. The xlvii Dialogue.  JOY. 
I AM the Kings Procurer.  Reason. 
Then art thou the people's enemy.  joy. 
I am the Procurer of the Exchequer.  Reason. 
Then art thou the common wealths enemy.  joy. 
I follow the kings business.  Reason. 
It is painful for a man to follow his own business: What is it then, thinkest thou, for him to follow another man's, specially theirs that are of might, whom to please, is perpetual servitude, to displease, danger, heavy looks, and punishment ready for a small offence?  joy. 
I follow the kings business.  Reason. 
Thou hast an account to yield to an hard judge, which thou shalt scarce be able to make even with the spoil of all thy goods, with hate of thyself, and grievous offence.  joy. 
I solicit the kings business.  Reason. 
Take heed lest, while thy soliciting is difficult, thine account be yet harder, and so inextricable, that as we have seen it chance in many, it entrap thy patrimony, fame, and life.  joy. 
I am the kings Procurer.  Reason. 
Thou must needs displease many, and last of all thine own Lord and Master, and which is most dangerous, GOD himself, and for the kings small commodity, the great discommodities of the Realm, and exceeding damages of the people, must be dissembled, or procured.  joy. 
I am made the Kings Procurer.  Reason. 
So soon as ever this odious office began to touch the threshold of thine house, even that day thou beganst to leave to live for thyself, from thenceforth thy liberty, thy quietness and pleasure are departed. In steed of these, are servitude. pain, business, fear, sorrow, trouble, and biting cares, come in place: now art thou not a live, although thou breathe: for the life of such as are busy, is death, who being all of them in misery, yet are they in most miserable case which are busied in other men's matters, specially in the affairs of Kings, Tyrants, and great personages.  joy. 
I am a judge.  Reason. 
judge so, as though thou shouldest forthwith be judged by another. There is one judge of all men, and one incorrupt judgement seat: Before this, shall all ye mortal men appear, what need ye then to have the skin of the false judge nailed upon the judgement seat, or to have any barbarous admonition to do justice? Every judge sitteth in that seat, where if false judgement shallbe given, neither money, nor favour, nor false witnesses, nor sinister entreatynges, nor vain threats, nor eloquent patrons, shall avail him.  joy. 
I am one of the Consuls of my country.  Reason. 
A very difficult glory. It is a rare matter so to give counsel, that thou mayest at once both profit and please, that there may be truth in word, faith in counsel, silence in that which is committed, sweetness in speech: fortune shall govern the event, and the event shall purchase credit to the counsel.  joy. 
I am governor of a City.  Reason. 
Thou leadest an unbridled beast, and as Horace termeth it, that hath many heads, with a small twine, and governest a great ship alone, that is tossed with hugy waves. A little house is hardly guided, how difficult therefore it is to govern a whole City, see thou: Hadst thou so great need of trouble, or so little at home, that thou hast undertaken the public? Yea moreover, it is not only an office of difficulty, but also a vile function, insomuch as the Satyrycal Poet termeth the governor of a City, a Steward, or Baylyffe, noting thereby the state of these times. If then he were a Bailiff or Husbandman, what is he now other than a Woodryfe, or Woodman? At that time Rome began to be a village, and now it is a Wood  joy. 
I am a Precedent of a Province.  Reason. 
Being condemned unto an honourable exile, thou hast exchanged private quietness, for foreign carefulness: look for no rest or pleasure. The state of Presidentes is bitter and troublesome, they are forbidden plays and feasts upon holy days, their doors are shut against gifts, and open to contentions, their houses are void of pastimes, and full of complaints and chidings, what so ever is a miss, whatsoever out of order, or out of square, throughout the whole Province, there it must be handled and amended, an hard case: for how difficult a matter it is to amend many, in this appeareth, that very few do amend themselves.   

Of titles of wars, warfare, and Cheifteinship. The xlviii. Dialogue.  JOY. 
I HAVE received the honour of the warlike Girdle.  Reason. 
Seemed it unto thee that thy life had in it to few discommodities already, unless thou hadst learned also the Art of warfare, by means whereof thou mightest always remain either unquiet, or without honour, or open to dangers, or subject to contempt.  joy. 
I profess warfare.  Reason. 
You profess that when ye are borne, and therefore what need you otherwise to profess it: One armeth his body with harness, another his mind with deceits, another his tongue with eloquence. There is not one of you unarmed: one soweth, another buildeth, another declaimeth, another pleadeth causes, one goeth on foot, another rideth on horseback or in a Couch, one runneth, another saileth, one commandeth, another obeyeth. There is never an one of you idle: what strange kind of warfare is this? One man liveth in the Camp, another in the judicial Court, one in the schools, another in the woods, one in the fields, another upon the Sea, one in the Palace, another at home, one spendeth his life abroad in travail, all are at warfare, and not men only, but Horace saith, that the Whelp also is at warfare in the woods. And truly of them that go to warfare there be many sorts, but the warfare itself is but of one kind, to wit, man's life upon the earth: which he that defined to be warfare, truly seemeth unto me to have weighed with deep and upright judgement, if so be that he had added battle to this warfare.  joy. 
I am priest to go armed into the wars.  Reason. 
Why doest thou arm thyself outwardly? The war is within the mind, that is, which the vices do besiege and overthrow: What need weapons in this case, unless they 〈◊〉 worn for the ornament of the body, and not for defence of the mind? There be some that say, that there is no sight more gallant then to see an armed man: but what bravery there is in an armed man's breast and head, more than in that which is peaceable and unarmed, I cannot perceive. But forasmuch as thou art carried away with this delight, go to, gird thy body with armour, receive the shewres and Sun upon thy Helmet, take unto thee thy weapons, cover thyself with thy shield, and while thou art sleeping at home, thou shalt be alwaked by Alarm, and thinkest thou hast won some great preferment, but thou wast deceived, and hast chosen to thyself a dangerous and bloody trade of living. Hope hath many deceipts, and there be, I confess, many chains which draw the minds of those into destruction, which with greediness have unadvisedly sought after that good, which all do desire and covet. Neither do I deny, but that some have by service in the wars attained unto very great riches, and been advanced to great Empires: but believe me, more have fallen into poverty, come to imprisonment, servitude, violent & sudden death, by means thereof. Thou, since thou art so disposed to profess thyself a soldier, unless thou wilt disgrace thy profession, make always account of thy life as if thou were continually in dying, and let that Imperial voice evermore thunder in thine ears, Learn to strike, Learn to die. One syllable long or short shall vary thy deeds and altar that case with thee, for either thou shalt kill, or be killed, and therefore it behoveth thee at all times, and in all places, to make thyself ready. These Arts are thy delight. Hearken unto the Satirical Poet, where he speaketh, and reciteth the rewards of warfare, where having rehearsed an innumerable fort, he gathereth notwithstanding very few, among which, the first and chief is, Liberty to offend: A reward truly not so much to be desired of good men, as to be accepted by the armed laws, which among armour and weapons are put to silence.  joy. 
I have sent my son forth to the wars.  Reason. 
It is almost commonly seen, that the son of a soldier, is himself a soldier also. For the father can leave none other inheritance to his son then he hath, to wit, his Bow and Arrows, his Piece, his Shield, his Sword and War, and that also which maketh up the game, his gylden spurs. And this which we have said to the father, the son may think it spoken to himself.  joy. 
Being a Captain in the wars, I am become ●●●●●s with victories.  Reason. 
How much better were it, that being a governor in peace, thou becamest famous in virtues.  joy. 
I have sustained many wars.  Reason. 
Thou hast bereaved thyself and many others of rest and quietness, a worthy work.  joy. 
I am famous for victories and triumphs.  Reason. 
Many times evil is more known then good, and a dark tempest more spoken of then a fair Sunshyne day. To conclude, thou hast provided titles for thy tomb, talk for the people, and nothing for thyself.   

Of the friendship of Kings. The xlix. Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Have won the friendship of Kings.  Reason. 
True friendship among men is rare, and thou fanciest to thyself that thou hast won the friendship of Kings, whom the excellency of their estate, & the loftiness of their mind, maketh them commonly the contemners of their inferiors.  joy. 
I am beloved of kings.  Reason. 
I perceive then that thou carest not for thy soul, virtue, fame, quietness, rest, & security: for the fashion of most kings is well known, they scarcely love any, but such as setting all other things apart, will make themselves the bondslaves and ministers of their cruelty, lust, and avarice. And therefore, if thou be beloved of Kings, there is no inquiring farther of thee, thou little carest for thyself.  joy. 
It is by means of my goodness and virtue that I am beloved of Kings.  Reason. 
What answerest thou then to Sallust? For Kings, saith he, are more suspicious of good men, then of evil, and always they stand in fear of other men's virtues.  joy. 
In respect of good qualities, I am beloved of my Prince.  Reason. 
Of what qualities, I pray you: Hawking, or Hunting? Concerning these I reproved thee in a certain discourse not long since, of warfare, whereof we disputed last: Which unless it be commended by large bloodshed, and great dangers, it deserveth not the name of warfare, but of warlie cowardice, not only in the judgement of kings, but also of the common people.  joy. 
The king loveth me for my conditions sake.  Reason. 
It is for thy vanity, or danger: or perhaps for some crimes that are in thee, murder, poisoning, vauderie, treason, flattery, & lying, common plagues, which daily custom in thee excuseth, and urbanity commendeth: For these be the most fittest means to win the good will of some kings, to whom there is nothing more hateful than virtue & learning. By these therefore there is no hope to purchase their favour, which are rather the cause of their hatred: thus is peace confirmed between wisdom and fortune.  joy. 
I am a great man with the king.  Reason. 
Art thou greater than Lysimachus was with Alexander, or Sejanus with Tiberius? the greatness and fall of both whom, thou knowest, although writers do vary concerning the first of them: I let pass others, the story is long.  joy. 
I am well-beloved of my King.  Reason. 
It were better he knew thee not, and peradventure more profitable that he hated thee: for than thou shouldst avoid the danger which now thou followest. Worse is the flattering voice of the fouler when he calleth the fowls into his net, than the noise of the ploughman that maketh them afraid.  joy. 
My King loveth me well.  Reason. 
There are some of whom a man may doubt, whether their love be more dangerous than their hatred, these are worse than serpents, in whom there is poison mixed with medicine, but in these men there is nothing but pestilent or hurtful, for whether they love or hate, the mischief is almost all one, saving that their hate dryveeth away, and their love detaineth. And to be short, there is nothing more unquiet and dangerous, than the friendship of Princes, unless it were the government of a kingdom itself, although I am not ignorant of that danger also, which many have wished for in vain, and often have bought it full dear, and obtained it with great peril: such is the trade of men. Thus one danger is procured by another, one with many, and with great the greatest. A strange matter: a great good thing that cometh freely is contemned, a greater evil with great evils is sought for.  joy. 
I hope that my Prince loveth me.  Reason. 
That which thou hopest, think what manner of thing it is, a brittle, wavering, & frail foundation, which the often falls of Princes do declare: a cloudy, troublesome, and unquiet advancement, which the sorrowful, busy, and dangerous life of princes proveth to be true. Take heed therefore where thou buildest: for like as the fortune of Princes, so their wills and liking also is always uncertain, variable, and inconstant, although notwithstanding if these things were permanent, there were no goodness in them, but rather much hurt and evil.  joy. 
I have with great pain and danger, deserved the love of my King.  Reason. 
O, how much more safely and easily mightest thou have purchased the favour of the King of all Kings.   

Of the abundance of friends. The. L. Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Abound in friendship.  Reason. 
It were strange that thou only shouldest have such plenty of that thing, whereof all either men have such scarcity, that throughout all ages there are but very few couples of friends made mention of.  joy. 
I have great plenty of friendship.  Reason. 
Counterfeit friendship perhaps, for as for true friendship it is so rare a thing, that whoso in his long life time could find one, is counted to have been a very diligent travailer in such matters.  joy. 
I am fortunate for friendship.  Reason. 
Thou canst not know that, unless thou be infortunate in other things: For this saying is true, The fortunate man knoweth not whether he be loved or not.  joy. 
My friendshyps' be assured.  Reason. 
Then is thy adversity assured: for this saying is also true, An assured friend is tried in time of adversity.  joy. 
I have much friendship.  Reason. 
Commit the judgement hereof to experience, not to report, that lieth in many things: perhaps thou shalt find fewer than thou supposest.  joy. 
I have to great plenty of friendship.  Reason. 
Avoid superfluity in all things: he that hath sufficient, requireth no more.  joy. 
I have sufficient store of friends.  Reason. 
This never happened to the people of Rome, while they were in their most flourishing state, neither unto any mortal creature, as thou mayst read in the most excellent Historician.  joy. 
I have great store of friendship.  Reason. 
I said erewhile that they be either feigned, or imperfect, as the Philosophers hold opinion, for that it may so happen, that at one time thou mayest rejoice with one friend, and be sorry with another: or if debate chance to happen among them, thou must needs break thy faith, either with the one or with the other, or with them all.  joy. 
I have store of profitable and pleasant friends.  Reason. 
I perceive thou speakest of the common sort of friendship, which notwithstanding cannot be many at one time, in that to requited the friendlynesse of many, & to live familiarly with a multitude, is very difficult, specially unto him whose mind is busied in the execution of some grave affairs, and travail of wit.  joy. 
I have friends that profit me, and delight me.  Reason. 
It is but slender friendship, whose foundation is either pleasure or profit: for while these things remain, the friendship shaketh, and when they decay, the friendship faileth: This is not only possible, but easy, yea almost necessary, inasmuch as for the most these things do follow either prosperity, or age, and the comeliness of youth, than which there is nothing more uncertain. But the friendship which is established upon virtue, is immortal, in that virtue itself is a stable and firm thing, and to use Aristotle's words, a continuing thing, for that it can not die. And therefore those which we have loved in respect of honesty, we love them also when they are dead.  joy. 
I am deceived, but I have faithful friends.  Reason. 
Beware that thou be not deceived, and desire not to make experiment. For it chanceth often, that look whereof the conceit hath been pleasant, the trial hath been bitter and grievous.  joy. 
I think I have good friends.  Reason. 
Examine diligently whereupon thou dost think so, and specially how much thou thyself lovest: For there be some that love not, and yet think that they are beloved, which is a great folly, and a common error among rich men: they think that love may be bought for money, which is only purchased by mutual loving and liking. A good mind is a most excellent thing, it is not moved with herbs, or charms, not with gold or precious stones, not not with the sword or extremity, but is won by loving and gentle entreating. Moreover, the amorous saying of Ecato the Greek Philosopher is well known, which pleaseth well Seneca and me: If thou wilt be loved, saith he, love thou. Although this be many times in vain, so many, so insearchable and deep are the secret places of the heart, and the minds of some are so venomous, discourteous, and cankered, that where they be much made of, they disdain: and where they be loved, they hate: & are not only contented to requited no good will again, which is not incident to the most cruel wild beasts, but the more courteously they be dealt withal, the more dogged they wax: And, if a man may believe it, by love they are stirred to hatred, which is the most dangerous & grievous evil that ever in this life man's simplicity tasted.  joy. 
I think that I have very good friends.  Reason. 
This word good, is evermore the Epitheton that belongeth to friendship, which though it be not named by the tongue, yet is it always understood in the mind. And if thou wilt speak it short, say, friends, and there withal thou shalt say, good.  joy. 
I think I have friends.  Reason. 
Beware thou be not falsely persuaded, jest haply experience make thee one day believe otherwise. To search the depth of the mind, it lieth not in man's power, and now adays ye get friends at the Wine, and prove them with your tears, and that is last which should have been first.  joy. 
As the world standeth now with me, I have many friends.  Reason. 
Thou meanest, I think prosperity: For thus it falleth out for the more part, that although all fortune have need of friends, yet they have greatest store of friends that have less need of all other things: And thus always scarcity followeth scarcity, and plenty waiteth upon plenty. When need and poverty cometh on, than they decrease, or rather to speak more truly, friendship at that time is descried. Who were friends to thee, and who to thy prosperity, it will appears when prosperity departeth. Thy friends will follow thee, and her friends will go after her: Thine will be the better, but hers will be the greater company. Thou must not marvel, if when the Cask is drawn dry, they departed which came only for the sweetness of the wine: for adversity driveth away a dissembler, and the dregs a drinker.  joy. 
I seem to have an innumerable sort of friends.  Reason. 
It is well said, I seem. Whereupon riseth this thine opinion, seeing that true friendship among all men is rare, and thine, thou sayest, are innumerable? For thou must thus first persuade thyself, that there is no friendship but among good men, and then hereby thou mayest the more certainly conjecture in thy mind, I say not how many true friends thou hast, but how many there be in the number of all mankind, when thou shalt begin to number how many good men there be.  joy. 
I have very many friends.  Reason. 
Many acquaintance say, and yet how truly thou shalt say so, it is in doubt: For there is no living thing, no wares more difficult to be known, then man.  joy. 
I have many friends.  Reason. 
Companions perhaps or guests. These will not fail thee, unless thy cheer do fail: As for friends, there be always few, or none at all, and many times (which is most injurious) a household enemy possesseth the name of a friend, and under colour of feigned good will, there lurketh domestical treason.  joy. 
I have more friends than need.  Reason. 
It is very necessary, and especially to be regarded of all that are in authority, that among so many lies of flatterers, there may be one that hare and will speak the truth, in which respect an enemy is far more profitable than a friend.  joy. 
I have many friends.  Reason. 
Believe me, thou hast need of many: And this world would be far more holy, vermous, and quiet, if there were as many friends, as there are so accounted.  joy. 
I have a friend.  Reason. 
That is much: For there is nothing more dear, nor more rare, than a friend.   

Of Friends not known, but by report. The. Lively Dialogue.  JOY. 
PResent report, hath purchased unto me absent friends.  Reason. 
This happeneth many times, that report maketh not only those that a man knoweth not, but also very enemies to be friends. Report made Masinissa known to Scipio, so that he that was wont to be the leader of all the Carthagien horfemen against the Romans, become afterward General of the Roman horsemen against the Carthagiens, and got him not only the hearts of his private enemies, but also of thieves and Pirates, which are the common enemies of all the world: For the glory and excellency of his name drews them unto him, upon whom while he remained in exile at Linthern, they came lorcibly rushing in, so that at the first sight they appeared terrible. But when they perceived themselves to be suspected, laying aside their threamynges, and setting apart their weapons, sending away their guard, they conformed themselves to unaccustomed mildness, and only the chief of the thieves came unto him, to the intent to worship him as a God, and his house as a most holy Church: They wearied his victorious right hand with many kisses, and hung up their gifts in the porch of his house, as the custom was in those days to offer them upon the altars of the Gods, accounting it in steed of a great gain that they had seen him, and rejoicing as if they had seen an heavenly vision, they departed wonderfully coutented. This happened unto Scipio: but seek for such another, and where, I pray thee, wilt thou find him? How be it it may happen also unto others, and the excellency of a man's fame may win him the friendship of one that is absent: for I do not deny, but that report beareth great sway in the world. Notwithstanding, is it not much to be feared, jest that as one saith, Presence do diminish the report? How many have there been whom absent men have wondered at, and contemned them when they have seen them before their face? Man's judgement is a tender thing, and is easily turned.  joy. 
Report hath won me friends beyond the Alps, and beyond the Seas.  Reason. 
All your doings are almost of like fondness and vanity: For what commodity or profit shalt thou reap by him of whom thou wast never seen, nor never shalt be seen, and whom thou never sawest, nor never art like to see? your vices also do make your present freendshippes unprofitable and untrusty, although to say the truth, they be no true freendshyppes in deed, but are only so rearmed. What mayest thou hope then of these thy freendshyppes? Behold, the Comical Poet sayeth, that Courtesy winneth friends: but truly, true friends in deed are scarce obtained with great and manifold courtesies: and thou thinkest that thou hast gotten a friend with a few words, and those possible none of thine own, thou art too full of hope.  joy. 
Report hath brought me a friend from the farthest part of the world.  Reason. 
A contrary report will also take him away from thee, and so much the more easily, by how much men's ears are more commonly open to evil, then good reports.  joy. 
Fame hath gotten me a good friend.  Reason. 
How knowest thou how good he is whom thou never sawest, seeing that thou knowest not all this while what they be whom thou speakest unto daily, and art conversant withal? Your óuer quickness of belief oftentimes deceiveth you, ye soon believe that which you would have. You give much credit to lying fame. Thou hopest that thou seest his mind, whose face thou never yet sawest, notwithstanding that there be so many secret coverts and hidden places in the hearts of those that are very well acquainted. It is an hard matter to know a friend, but in great adversity: and it is more difficult to know him, then to get him. For perhaps he may be gotten some time with a few words, who shall scarce be known in many years, and by many tryalles. I speak now of a friend after the common manner of speech, but as for a true friend, he is not found before he be tried: Neither truly do other men's words, or his own, prove a friend, but the trial of his love and trustiness.  joy. 
Report hath won me a friend a far of.  Reason. 
Some body hath won thee a friend by telling a lie of thee: and likewise by reporting the truth, or peradventure by blazing a false tale of thee, another will take him away from thee. For look by what means all things are made and do grow, by the same they are soon undone and resolved: And nature will have it so, that things which soon do grow, shall soon decay.   

Of one only faithful Friend. The. Lii. Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Have one faithful and approved friend.  Reason. 
In trying, your judgement is often deceived, and look wherein ye think yourselves most expert, both in that, and so likewise in all other things, your opinion faileth.  joy. 
I do know it, and not suppose only, that I have a most faithful friend.  Reason. 
And how many have there been, thinkest thou, that believing so much, yea, and as they thought, knowing so much, yet when the matter came to more diligent examination, found themselves to be deceived: Whence cometh it that there be so many complantes made daily of friends, but only because whom ye counted most faithful, ye have found untrusty: There is no conjecture nor estimation so difficult, as is of the mind of man.  joy. 
I do not conjecture nor suppose, as I have said, but I know that I have a most assured friend.  Reason. 
Either thou hast a most excellent thing, or else thou art in a most foul error.  joy. 
Concerning this matter, I am in no error, but I have a friend whom I have tried in sundry and great difficulties.  Reason. 
Then hast thou a most sweet and sacred thing, a more excellent than which, next unto virtue only, neither nature, nor fortune, not labour, nor study, have granted unto Mankind. A man's parents, I confess, are dear unto him, his children dear, his brethren dear, all these may wax unpleasant, and yet for all that they are still our parents, children, and brethren, yea though upon occasion they surcease to be sweet unto him: only a friend, as long as he is true, can not surcease to be sweet and dearelybeloved. Parents, I say, are dear: Notwithstanding, did not jubiter expulse Saturnus his father out of his kingdom? Did not Nicomedes deprive of life Prusias his father, that was king of Bythinia, who at that time was in consultation with himself how to murder his son? Ptolomeus also, hereof surnamed Philopater, who having slain his father, mother, and brother, and last of all his wife Eurydice, governed the kingdom of Egypt in such sort by the advice of harlots, that he had nothing in his whole Realm proper to himself, besides the bore and vain name of a king. Did not also Orestes slay his mother Clytaemnestra, Nero his mother Agrippin. and Antipater his mother Theslalonice? Children also are dear. Did not These us command his most chaste son Hippolytus, and Philip king of Macedon his son Demetrius, a young Gentleman of singular towardness, to be slain? Did not also the other Ptolomeus, which is a name repugnant to godliness, who was also a most trusty king of Egypt, slay two of his sons? Likewise, Herode king of judea slew one, and Constantinus, Emperor of Rome, slew one of his sons, called Crispus. Did not also Maleus, general of the Carthagiens, hung up Carthalon his son? Yea moreover, mothers, whose love is more tender, and their kind more mild, have also showed cruelty against their children. The history of Medea is known to all men. What sayest thou to the Queen of Laodicea and Cappadocia, who upon the immoderate desire she had to reign, slew five of her sons? Parents, I say, are dear (for I repeat these again) children are dear, brethren are dear. But to conclude all wickedness in one example, Phraates king of the Parthians, the most wickedest wretch that ever lived, & of all men most enraged with fury and desire to reign, cruelly and unnaturally slew his own father Orodes. being an old and diseased man, and moreover his thirty brethren, the sons of the abovenamed king, and with these also his own natural son, to the end there should none remain in Parthia to govern the kingdom. But these examples be old: hear we not how of late memory in Brittany. the father and the son contended for the crown? and how this other day in Spain, brethren were together by the ears for the kingdom? Howbeit of such contentions, and specially among brethren, there be plenty examples both new and old, that it were almost an harder matter to find out which brethren were friends, than which were enemies, But we will let them both pass, for now we gather remedies, and not examples. Moreover, are not husbands dear, and wives dear? Concerning this matter thou shalt inquire of Agamemnon and Deiphobus, and of your countrymen, Claudius the Emperor, and Africanus the younger: these men shall tell thee how dearly beloved they were unto their wives. On the other side, demand of Octavia, and Arsinoe, what the one thought of her husband Nero, and the other of her Ptolomeus. The first of her adoptive, the other of her natural brother, & both of them of their husbands. The first will testify as she hath been found toward herself, the other towards her children. Thus, as thou seest, we gather the most choice and worthy examples: As for the common sort, both of cities, and vulgar life and trade of men, which are full of such like complaints, I let them pass. Which being so, since in all kinds of those things which seem most dear, what by privy hatred, or open displeasure, oftentimes there is much bitterness, friendship only is void of such grief and displeasure, and friends never not only not slew or destroyed, but did not so much as hurt one another willingly: Wherefore if thou have found such a friend as thou speakest of, persuade thyself that thou hast found a great treasure, and take heed thou do not as the common sort of people do, who giving themselves to the searching and following after vile matters, and contemning excellent things, do busy themselves more with tilling their land, and following their trade of Merchandise, then in seeking of friends, and ensuing of virtue, and so haply thou neglect this commodity which thou hast gotten. If ye bestow so much care and diligence in preserving your gold and silver, and oriental precious stones, which are but the excrements of the earth, and purginges of the sea: how much more diligent aught ye to be in enterteyning and keeping of a friend, which is a most precious and divine thing? Beware thou offend him in no respect, or that upon occasion of any word he conceive displeasure against thee, and so departed from thee, and then too late thou hear that saying of Ecclesiasticus: Like as one that letteth a bird fly out of his hand, so hast thou lost thy neighbour, neither canst thou take him again, or follow him, for he is far of. He hath escaped as a Roe out of the snare, and because his soul is wounded, thou shalt not be able to entrap him any more. And therefore, as I say, thou hast a great and sweet treasure, but painful notwithstanding, and difficult: painful, I mean to be gotten, and kept. A friend is a rare jewel, he must be kept with great diligence, and if he be lost, be lamented with great sorrow.   

Of plenty of riches. The liii Dialogue.  JOY. 
BUT I abound in riches.  Reason. 
I marvel now the less, that thou seemedst to abound in friends: for it is no strange nor new matter, to see the doors and entries of the rich frequented by common friends, and feigned attendance.  joy. 
I have great plenty of riches.  Reason. 
A dangerous and burdensome felicity, which shall purchase more envy, then procure pleasure.  joy. 
I flow in wealth.  Reason. 
It followeth not straightways that therefore thou flowest in quietness and pleasure. Thou shalt scarce find a rich man, but he will confess that he lived better in mean estate, or in honest poverty.  joy. 
I am grown to great wealth. Security, joy, and tranquillity are decreased, which if they would increase with riches, I would not only permit, but exhort men to love them.  joy. 
I have great riches.  Reason. 
Then hast thou a thing hard to be gotten, careful to be kept, grievous to be lost.  joy. 
My riches are great.  Reason. 
If they be dispersed, they will decrease, and if thou keep them, they will not make thee rich, but keep thee occupied, and make thee not a master, but a keeper.  joy. 
I have great riches.  Reason. 
Take heed rather that thou be not had of them, that is to say, that they be not thy riches, but thou rather their slave, and they not servant to thee, but thou to them: For if thou know not so much already, there be many more that are had, then that have riches, and there is more plenty (whom also the saying of the Prophet noteth) of men that belong unto riches, than riches that belong unto men: Thus the greediness and baseness of your minds, of masters maketh you servants. The use of money is well known, to b●y those things that are necessary for nature, which are but few, small, and easy to be gotten: what so ever is superfluous, is noisome, and then they be no longer riches, but chains and fetters, and no longer Ornaments of the body, but impediments of the mind, and heaps of carefulness, and f●ate.  joy. 
I am full of riches.  Reason. 
Beware that they burst thee not: for every fullness seeketh an issue. riches have procured the death of many, and do bereave almost all men of rest.  joy. 
I have wonderful store of riches.  Reason. 
A thing repugnant to good manners. To much riches have not only corrupted the manners of private men, but also of the whole people of Rome▪ and overthrew their great and wonderful virtue, who so long were a noble, just, and upright people, as they were a poor people. In poverty they were conquerors of nations, and which is more glorious, conquerors of themselves, till at length they that had overcome vices, were themselves overcome and overthrown by riches: I speak that which I know, and therefore thou seest what thou hast to hope of riches.  joy. 
I abound in riches.  Reason. 
How much had I rather thou aboundedst in virtue.  joy. 
I rest in my riches.  Reason. 
Poor wretches, ye lie a sleep in the briars: your sleep is sound, that ye feel not the pryckles: Behold, the day cometh that shall awake you, and shall plainly expound that which is written. The rich men have slept their sleep, and when they awaked, they found no riches in their hands.   

Of finding of a gold min. The liiii Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Have found a Mine of gold.  Reason. 
This hope of riches, hath been cause of poverty unto many, and of destruction not unto few, whilst neglecting all other things, and bestowing all their care and travail upon this one thing. Notwithstanding their toil hath turned to little profit, whilst in respect of the greedy desire that they have to gold, forsaking the sight of heaven and the Sun, they learn to lead forth their life in darkness, and are consumed with the thick and noisome damp before their tyme.  joy. 
Chance hath offered unto me a gold Mine.  Reason. 
To the intent that being turned away from the contemplation of heavenly things, thou mightest gape after earthly things: and not only that thou mightest live more unfortunately, & shorter time, near to the ground, but also drowned under the ground.  joy. 
I enter into a gold Mine.  Reason. 
Nero the Emperor, the same terrible and miserable night, which notwithstanding he had deserved, which was the last night that he lived, being put in mind by such as were about him, to hide himself in a certain Cave under the ground, to the intent he might escape the reproachful death, & abusing of the people that sought after him: answered, That he would not go under the ground while he was living. But thou, being compelled by no fear, but only carried away with covetousness, goest alive under the earth, neither can the comfortable shining of heaven keep thee from thence, neither the horrible darkness of the earth drive thee away. What marvel is it, if men consume themselves with travailing all the world over to seek riches, seeing also in seeking and digging for them under the ground, they disquiet the infernal souls and Fiends of Hell? And as the Poet Ovid saith, Men have entered into the bowels of the earth: And those riches which God had hid up, and covered with the darkness of hell, they are digged up notwithstanding, which are the provocations unto all mischief.  joy. 
I have found a Mine of gold.  Reason. 
It is an old proverb, Many times one man starteth an Hare, and another catcheth him. Thou hast found a booty which many will covet, one only shall possess, & peradventure thou shalt not be that one. Unto desired things there is much resort, & it is dangerous when one man hath found that which many will covet, and none will be willing to share with other. And this is the cause, that though Italy, as Pliny saith, be inferior to no country for plenty of all sorts of metals, notwithstanding by ancient provision & acts of parliament, order was taken that Italy should be spared.  joy. 
I dig earth that will yield gold.  Reason. 
The travel is certain, but the event doubtful: what if thou dig long & found nothing? what if thou find much, but not for thyself? what if it be the worse for thee to have found sum what, & better for thee to have found nothing? Man's joy is most times accompanied with sorrow.  joy. 
I am gone down into my gold Mine.  Reason. 
This question is commonly moved amongst men: what device will drown a man in the bottom of hell? and thou being in bell, dost thou seek what will advance thee to the top of heaven?  joy. 
I have found a Mine of gold.  Reason. 
Thou hast found the ready way to the devil.   

Of the finding of Treasure. The lu Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Have found treasure.  Reason. 
Beware of the crafts and deceits of fortune: The hook is offered in the bait, the line as gins pretend a kind of delight.  joy. 
I have found treasure.  Reason. 
Treasure hath been death unto many: and though it bring no danger to the body, yet is it perilous to the soul. riches do not satisfy the desire, nay they slake it not, but rather provoke it: man's desire is set on fire with success, and as the gold increaseth, the thirst of gold increaseth also, and the desire of seeking more: but virtue decreaseth, which only is the death of the soul.  joy. 
Chance hath brought me treasure.  Reason. 
An hurtful burden, and enemy to modesty. He will arrogate any thing to himself, whom sudden fortune hath made happy.  joy. 
I have fallen upon treasure by chance.  Reason. 
Perhaps thou mightest more safely have fallen upon an Adder, forasmuch as plenty of silver and gold do commonly bring scarcity of virtues: and this is proper to all things, specially that do come suddenly, that though other do hurt, yet they do it by little & little, whilst in time they draw away somewhat from the truth, and give confirmation to the erroneous opinions: but these procure sudden astonyshment, and trouble the mind, with an unexpected invasion.  joy. 
The treasure which I found, I have laid up at home.  Reason. 
That which is chief in this thy joy, thou hast found an heavy and unprofitable lump of earth, it is a shame for the mind, which is of an heavenly nature, to wax proud thereof.  joy. 
A treasure unlooked for, hath suddenly happened unto me.  Reason. 
Thou thinkest it will continued▪ but it will suddenly decay: for look what is soon grown, is as soon withered. Sudden 〈◊〉, is like the prosperity of one that is in a dream.   

Of Usury. The lvi Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Have laid forth my money safely to Usury.  Reason. 
There are some that will abuse things that were invented for a good purpose, and those things that were evil invented, to worse purpose, or worst of all: thou hast found money, not to the end thou wouldst be rich, but to the end thou wouldst be naught, and (as I suppose) wouldst not be so evil, unless thou hadst found money. There be some that be the worse for their good chances, not acknowledging therein the blessing of GOD, neither like unto him of whom it is written, He will thank thee, for that thou hast deast mercifully with him: But rather, supposing that GOD from above hath given them occasion, and (as it were) a mean and way to commit wickedness: And therefore thou hast found money, wherewith thou mightest purchase ignominy, and, unhappy man, mightest make a lifeless metal to be a burden to the lively soul.  joy. 
I have well laid forth my money to usury.  Reason. 
Say not that an evil thing may be well laid forth, but only laid down. If thou cast away an evil burden, it is well: otherwise wheresoever thou bestowest it, as long as it appertaineth unto thee, it ceaseth not to be evil.  joy. 
I have well laid forth my money to good increase.  Reason. 
How an evil thing may be well laid forth to commodity, see thou. Truly how much the more abundant every evil thing is, so much it is worse. Thou knowest the saying of David. Their iniquity is sprung forth, as it were out of fatness: And the richer an usurer is, the worse he is, so much the greater his covetousness and wickedness is.  joy. 
I apply usury.  Reason. 
Couldst thou find out no better Art to bestow thy time upon: Or didst thou find many, but this was most meet for thy disposition? Or what else was the matter that among so many thou appliedst thy mind to this, a more worse or viler then which, I know not where thou couldst have found any, or that dependeth upon the liking of a more wretched, base, and cowardly mind? Among so many Arts as are at this day known, and so many trades of living, thou hast chosen the worst of all: which thou hast done for that it seemed a quiet kind of life, namely to sit still and reckon the days, and to think long until the last day of the month come speedily: little regarding how therewithal also thy hours, days, months, and years do pass away: and like as their time draweth near that are indebted unto thee, so doth thy term likewise approach: and like as their time, I say, draweth near that they must pay thee, so doth thy time draw near, that thou must pay thy debt unto nature, leaving that behind thee which thou hast shamefully gained, and not knowing when the time will come. Thus thou extortest from the poor, to enrich thou knowest not whom, and art always in fear of the future judgement, and in the mean while art not master, but a fearful keeper of that which is gotten by filthy Rapine, and pinched with hunger and infamy. I would marvel how this mischief could be suffered in well governed Cities, but that I see all mischiefs are suffered in them. And therefore when as not long ago, Usurers as Leaperous persons lived separated apart from the company of other men, that not only none should come at them but those that stood in need, but also were eschewed by them that met with them, as stinking and contagious persons: Now they live not only among the people, but they be conversant also with Princes, and they be advanced by marriages, and come to great honour and dignity: such is the force of gold. Yea moreover, a thing which thou mayest wonder at as a Monster, Princes themselves be usurers. the Lord amend them, so small regard have they of the loss of soul and honour, so sweet is the savour of money howsoever it be gotten.  joy. 
I take delight in usury.  Reason. 
A filthy and miserable delight.  joy. 
I use to say forth money to usury.  Reason. 
If we believe Cato. thou hast slain a man.  joy. 
I am an usurer, I have learned none other trade to live by.  Reason. 
This is a defence for thy covetousness, this is the cause which thou pretendest: and if it be hard for him that is willing to learn, who can learn against his will?  joy. 
I will always occupy usury.  Reason. 
Then shalt thou always be a wretch, always covetous, always poor, and in the end go to the devil.   

Of fruitful, and well tilled land. The lvii. Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Have fruitful land.  Reason. 
Understand thereby then the power of him that maketh fruitful, and so use the heavenly gifts, that thou displease not the giver of them: which thou shalt do, if the fruitfulness of thy land, drive not away the sobriety and modesty of thy mind, and thy plenty, be bestowed upon thy friends and the poor: there is nothing pleasant or savoury to one that is alone.  joy. 
I husband most exquisitely fruitful land.  Reason. 
Man aught not to be servant to the land, but the land to man: by means of man's transgression, it is come to pass that the earth yieldeth nothing to the owner without travail: if it be not husbanded, it bringeth forth but a rough crop, Burrs, Thistles, briars, and Thorns: the same to labour with the plough, and by strange manuring, to make it soft and pliant, man's need hath enforced. Hereof began husbandry, which in times past was the most holy and innocent life, but now subject both to the ancient toil, and new vices, since nothing hath been left unsearched by envy and avarice: Townysh vyllanies have crept into Country cottages. Truly it is likely that husbandmen were the last that waxed wicked: whereof it cometh that the Poet saith, When justice forsook the earth, she left her last footsteps among them: But it is to be feared, lest they that were last evil, be now chief: so that if haply men should one day generally return to virtue, and the ancient manners of old time, these men would then also be last. But now I come to the Art of husbandry, which was sometime had in great price, and used by men of great calling and wisdom: wherein, as in many other things, Cato, surnamed Censorius, possesseth an high roomth, of whom when it was written, and that most truly, that he was an excellent Senator, an excellent Orator, an excellent Captain, and at length, to the filling up of his commendation, it is added, that without comparison or example, he was the most excellent Husbandman of his tyme. Who will then be ashamed to till the ground with Cato? who will think that there is any thing unfytting for himself, which he thought seemly enough for his person? who besides the gifts of his body and mind, and the glory of his worthy deeds, had triumphed for conquering of Spain? Who would be ashamed to drive forth and call to his Oxen, whom that voice drove along in the furrow, which had sometime heartened so many great armies to battle, and most eloquently defended so many doubtful causes? Who would disdain the plough and the harrow, which that triumphant and Philosophical hand touched, which had purchased so many notable victories over so many enemies, had written so many excellent works of worthy matter, appertaining both to Philosophy, History, or common use of life, as are those books which he wrote concerning this matter whereof we now entreat? He was the first amongst you that gathered the precepts of Husbandry, and brought them into the form of an Art, and set them down in writing: after whom there followed many other, whereof some have advanced that poor and simple skill, in worthy and excellent verses, which now calling to my mind, and not forgetful of man's necessity, truly I do not now discommend of Husbandry. Notwithstanding, neither the excellency of writers, neither the fear of poverty, shall ever constrain me to judge it meet to be preferred or matched with the liberal and commendable arts? although the first age of the empire had those that were both valiant captains, and good husbandmen, but now by continuance of time the case is altered. Howbeit, it happeneth not now through the frailty of nature, that your wits are not sufficient to attain unto things of so divers nature: And therefore in this age, I will permit that excellent personages give their minds sometime to Husbandry, not to make it a toil, or their trade of living, but rather for their recreations, & to put greater cares out of their heads, as namely, sometime to graff the tender twig upon the budding stock, or to correct the rank leaves with the crooked hook, or to lay quycksettes into the Dyke in hope of increase, or to bring the silver streams by new digged furrows into the thirsty mebowes, I am content to give these men licence after this manner earnestly to busy themselves, to dig, and delve: but wholly to apply the mind unto the earth, unless necessity constrain thereunto, I count it unmeet and undecent for a learned and valiant man, who can not lightly want some matter of more noble exercise. The good mother Nature, when she gave many arts unto men, she made a difference also between their wits and dispositions, that every one should follow that, where unto he was most euclyned. Thou shalt find some one, who being of an indifferent wit, can so cunningly either till the land, or sail over the seas, that in this behalf no Philosophers wisdom may be compared to his industry. It is a folly, and a bootless thing, to contend with another man, not in thine own, but in his art: wherein, although otherwise thou excel him, and be higher, as they say, than he by the head and shoulders, yet thou shalt be found his underling, and where thou art superior in the greatest matters, thou mayest easily be overcome in many small.  joy. 
This Summer, my land hath been very fruitful unto me.  Reason. 
Mark the next, for present plenty hath many times been a token of future scarcity. It is a rare matter to find prosperity without intermission.  joy. 
I have husbanded my land diligently.  Reason. 
It is well done, if thou hadst nothing else to do.  joy. 
I have trimmed my vinyeard exquisitely.  Reason. 
Perhaps thereby thou hast promised to thyself a plentiful vintage: but hast thou also made an agreement with the frost, and hail?  joy. 
I have sowed my ground thicker than I was wont.  Reason. 
Thou shalt feed the more Cranes and Wild-geese abroad, more Mice and Rats at home, thou shalt be host to fowls and worms, a picker forth of Darnell, a maker of thy floor, a builder of barns, and a servant to thy reapers and thresshers.  joy. 
I have sowed my fields plentifully.  Reason. 
Be of good hope, thou shalt reap that which thou hast sowed, corn and carefulness: unless perhaps I may say this more truly, that the come belongeth to many, and the carefulness to thee alone: and to speak as the truth is, the field is thy mind, the tillage thine intent, the seed thy care, the harvest thy travail: these shalt thou find most plentiful.  joy. 
I have well husbanded my land.  Reason. 
I will tell thee a thing that thou mayest wonder at. Those ancient husbandmen, those valiant men that took great glory in Husbandry, were of opinion that it should be well followed, but not too well: an incredible thing perhaps to be heard, but by proof of experience found to be most true, for the profit scarce counterueyleth the charge, and among the ancient writers, there is a comparison, not unfit, made between a man and a field: These twain if they be sumptuous, although they be prifitable, the remainder will be little or nothing at all, and therefore in that respect, neither is to be much regarded.  joy. 
I till my land with great diligence.  Reason. 
I had rather thou didst till and husband thine own self: but thou, being an earthly creature, lovest the earth, which is no strange thing, since thou thyself shalt make fat that earth which now thou tillest. Till and husband as much land, and as many trees as thou list, yet in the end, thou shalt not possess very many feet of ground, neither, as saith Horace, Among those trees which thou husbandest and tyllest, shall any follow thee their short Master, besides the hateful Cypress trees.   

Of pleasant green Walks. The Lviii. Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Have pleasant walks.  Reason. 
I confess in deed, that these sometime do bring honest pleasure, and sometime unhonest. And therefore, those that be studious of virtue, and such as give themselves to voluptuousness, do equally delight in shadowy withdrawing places: For the place provoketh some to wisdom, and some to repentance, and some to incontinency and wantonness. For it is not for nothing that the great Orator, when he objected adultery against a vile person, described also the pleasantness of that place where the fact was committed, as adding a spur unto the wickedness: and therefore we aught not to take delight in the place, but to be merry in mind, if it have happened unto thee to have such an one, as knoweth well how to use all places.  joy. 
I have store of pleasant walks.  Reason. 
Who hath not heard of Tiberius' secret walk, and the withdrawing place of Caprea? I am ashamed to recite the things that are known to all men. The old man Hircinus', how doth he rail against secret walks: How much more gloriously did Scipio Africane live a poor banished man in the dry country, than the Roman prince in all his pleasures? I therefore repeat this again: All your felicity consisteth not in places, neither in any other things, but in the mind only. So that they which have commended of the solitary life, and secret withdrawing places, would have it thus to be understood, to wit, if the mind be able to use them wisely, and not otherwise. And therefore I attend to hear, what profit thou reapest of those thy pleasant walks, and then mark what I will pronounce thereof. For if thou vaunt thee so much of the places which yesterday were not thine, and to morrow perhaps may be taken from thee, and if thou consider uprightly, at this present are none of thine, doubtless thou vauntest of that which is another's. What hast thou then to glory of? What belongeth it unto thee that the Alps be cold in Summer, that the mountain Olympus is higher than the clouds, that the hill Apenninus beareth wood and trees? What though Ticinus be bright, Athesis pleasant, Sorga sounding? If these be praises, truly they are not the praises of men, but of places: but it is thy part to minister just matter of thine own commedation.  joy. 
I walk in pleasant places.  Reason. 
In the mean while it skilleth what cares do walk in thy breast: for what availeth it to put stinking ointments into ivory boxes? What, to have a foul mind, in fair places? How many holy fathers have flourished among the rough mountains? How many filthy adulterers have rotten in the green meadows? Moreover, it hath been proved that such places have not only been hurtful to men's minds, but sometimes also to their bodies & lives, not only by taking too much air, but also by the sword & sudden invasion. Who readeth not in Curtius of the most pleasant groves and woods, the secret walks & herbars which the kings of the Medes planted with their own hands, the chiefest thing wherein the kings & nobles of the Medes bestowed their endeavours and took greatest delight, as it is reported? Howbeit, in them at the commandment of a drunken and frantyke young King, the ancient and noble Parmenio was stain, who, as I suppose, was the chief of the Dukes and Captains of the Macedones. Who knoweth not Caieta, and that bending of the shore there, a fairer and pleasant place then which, there is none under the Cope of heaven: in which place the noble Cicero was murdered at the commandment of drunken and cruel Antony? This place in some respect might be convenient for so worthy a man, that since the destinies had denied him power to die at Rome, he might die in that flourishing country, the most flourishing Orator of all other, and best citizen: Howbeit the manner and author of his death was far unworthy, It was by chance that Cicero at that time walked in those places, to avoid the troubles of the city, and was after his manner either devising some new matter concerning Philosophy, or appertaining to the course and trade of living, or bewailing the common wealth. The grief of his mind which he conceived of the state of his country, he assuaged with the delight of his eyes, when as the Butchers that were sent by him that was enemy to all virtue, dispatched such a man out of the world, as no age to come will restore the like. Thus therefore it happeneth, that delectable places are most ap● for treason and deceit, whilst men live there most loosely, and have lest regard to foresee dangers. For the wild beasts are soonest snared in the thickest woods, and birds are most easily limed in the green twigs.  joy. 
I walk merrily in my pleasant walks, and void of care.  Reason. 
Mirth, and neglect of care, are always contrary unto heedfulness. So long as every man thinketh earnestly upon his own dangers, and the common state of man's life, there shall scarce any man live very merrily, or devoid of care: And it is neither the beauty of the places, nor hope of riches, that can breed forgetfulness of mischiefs that are at hand.  joy. 
I take delight to be abroad in my walks.  Reason. 
Not more delight than do the wild Boars and the Bears. It maketh not so much matter where thou art, but what thou dost: The place shall never make thee noble, but thou the place, and that never ouherwyse, then by attempting some notable matter therein.   

Of Flocks and Herds of Cattles. The. Lix. Dialogue.  JOY. 
I joy in my flocks and herds.  Reason. 
A brutish joy.  joy. 
I abound in herds and flocks.  Reason. 
A beastly prosperity, which beasts have procured.  joy. 
I love flocks and herds.  Reason. 
In all loves, it is to be suspected, that there is some likeliness between the loving, and beloved.  joy. 
I love herds and flocks.  Reason. 
You love every thing saving virtue, and one of you another: Those things which especially aught to be loved, ye care not for, & those things which ye should not esteem, ye love.  joy. 
I love herds and flocks.  Reason. 
O wretched lovers of vile things, and haters of the worthy? You love those things which understand not that they are loved, neither are able to love you again, for you yourselves do not love one another, nor love them that love you, and all this mischief cometh through covetousness, that you not only prefer a bondslave before a free borne man, but also a beast, before a reasonable creature.  joy. 
I have plenty of herds, and flocks.  Reason. 
If thou feed them thyself, what other shalt thou be, than a most busy shepherd? A vile office, although it be praised of many, specially of Catullus of Verona: but if thou do it by other, than thou art not the shepherd thyself, but servant to thy shepherds, and laid open unto their deceits. Sometime thou art endamaged by thy neighbour, sometime by falling from an high, sometime by murrain, sometime by thieves, sometime by straying, every day some excuse must be feigned, whereby thy loss, sorrow, and abuse do grow: but the greatest grief is, to be deceived by a rude rustic varlet.  joy. 
I am rich in flocks and herds.  Reason. 
riches are praised, yet are they uncertain, and subject to many chances, deceits, theft, murreines, which come so often, & are so hot, that many times they consume whole flocks, and disperse whole herds. Thou knowest the rot which Lucretius described, and afterhym Virgil, with many other, which for the want of writers, are not set down of like fame, and also as hurtful.  joy. 
I am rich in flocks and herds.  Reason. 
Wide and large riches, which can not only not be comprehended in a coffer, as gold and precious stones, but also not within the compass of a most great house, so that thou art not safe from servants, nor from thieves, nor from cruel wild beasts, for every one hath power over thy goods.  joy. 
I rejoice in my herds and flocks.  Reason. 
Thou shalt once rejoice, and be sorry a thousand times. There shall no day pass over thy head without some sorrowful news: Now the Sabeis are broken in, and have taken away all that thou hast, and have put thy servants to the sword, as it was once in time passed said to that good old man that was so rich in cattle: As one time an Ox hath broken his horn, at another time an Horse hath strained his leg, now a Wolf hath devoured a straggling Lamb, at another time the rot hath invaded the infected flock. Wretches, ye are not contented to behold your own miseries, and mortality, but that you must also bewail the death of bruit beasts.   

Of Elephants and Camels. The. Lx. Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Have Elephants.  Reason. 
To what purpose I pray thee, for peace, or war? With these, the two most notable enemies of Italy, Pyrrhus and Hannibal, whilst they hoped to break the array of the Roman armies, they troubled their own orders: A grievous and noisome beast, and which, as thou knowest well, hath oftentimes destroyed their own masters and keepers: to sight strange, and for hugeness of body, form, swell, and noise, terrible, unprofitable to use, and hard to be gotten.  joy. 
I have a great Elephant.  Reason. 
There have been sometime Elephants in Italy, not taken by hunting▪ but caught from the enemies, and led in triumph, which at the first sight m●de the Italian horses afeard, w●en these Elephants followed them into the Capitol, and were not long before taken from Pyrrhus: As for the Carthagiens, they were not so much taken from them, as forbidden the use of them: for such were the conditions of the yeace, which they agreed unto when they were vanquished, and it was specially and namely provided, that they should deliver up such as they had that were already tamed, and thenceforth they should tame no more. And thus by small and small the use of Elephants decayed, not only in Italy, where they were far strangers, and were brought thither as it were by force, but also in Africa and Egypt, which are countries nearer to the places where they do breed. Thus report goeth, that in Italy in the days of your great grandfathers, Fredrick that was king of the Romans had one, and the king of Egypt also but one only: and both these princes had them rather for show, then for 〈◊〉 use. Thus these beasts in India and Aethiopia, being de●y●●●● from the wearisomeness of foreign nations, dwell quietly in these own native wildernesses. And what art thou that seemest so much to glory in an Elephant? Art thou a second Hanaibal. who being carried upon an Elephant, and looking with one eye, troubled all Italy? This beast, although he do somewhat resemble the understanding and reason of mankind, as some writers have reported, and is much commended for mildness of manners, yet do I say that he is but an unprofitable beast, and more meet for the prodigality of a Prince, than the calling of a private person, which is able to fill an house, and to empty a barn.  joy. 
I have camels also.  Reason. 
These are almost both to be considered of a like, but that the Elephant is meet to bear turrettes, and camels to carry burdens, and the more commodious and profitable of the twain. If thou wilt follow my counsel, use such beasts as most prudent nature hath engendered in those parts of the world where thou thyself livest, who hath distributed beasts and all other things, as they are most meets for every climate.  joy. 
I have a Camel.  Reason. 
job had three thousand, & lost them: For both sicknesses, and thieves, and infected pastures, and falls, and a thousand other chances hung over your herds. Fields, and hills, and walls are daily destroyed: what then shall a man say to these which do not stand? All your goods for the most part are in perpetual motion, and that fame which ye aught to seek through the engrafted virtue of the mind, ye hunt after with the rareness of strange and fortaine beasts.   

Of Apes, and other beasts of pleasure. The. Lxi Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Take pleasure in an Ape.  Reason. 
A beast filthy to behold, and unhappy in effect, of which what canst thou hope other than wearisomeness? Whatsoever he findeth in the house, either he spoileth it, or casteth it about. If then thou take delight in such things, doubtless thy Ape is pleasant unto thee. Cicero calleth him a monstrous beast, saying also that there is nothing less to be marveled at, then that an Ape overthrew the pitcher of lots, which that most learned man worthily mocketh at, to be written of in the Greek histories for a wonder, when as in deed it might seem more marvelous, if he did not overthrow and cast every thing about.  joy. 
I have plenty of beasts of pleasure.  Reason. 
There is nothing that can be at once both filthy and pleasant: for what pleasure or delight is there in filthiness? Howbeit, a man aught to eschew whatsoever offendeth his eyes, his ears, his nose, and his mind, and that taste is corrupt which taketh pleasure in bitter things. But this is your manner, to be delighted with filthy things: and ye take singular pleasure, not only in filthy and unprofitable beasts, but, which is more vile, in dishonest persons, and men of unseemly speech, and odious demeanour: and to be short, the more evil ●auoured a thing is, the more acceptable and beloved it is unto you. This is a renerall rule amongst you, this is your fantasy, this is your disposition, this is your study, and the commendation of your judgement.   

Of Peacocks, chickens, Hens, Bees, and Pigeons The. Lxii Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Have store of Peacocks.  Reason. 
By their tails I would advise thee to think upon Argos eyes, lest the most famous plague that followeth the neglecting of good rules, do hurt thy feet.  joy. 
I have many Peacocks.  Reason. 
I confess it is a beautiful and comely bird to behold, but this pleasure of the eyes is requited with great weerysomnesse of the ●a●●●, against the horribleness of whose most hellish noise, it were needful for men to run away, or to stop their ears with V●●●ses wax: I will say nothing of the grief and complaints of the neighbours, which are more hateful than any thing else. But you, whilst imperiously, and leaving nothing unassayed, ye tender your throat and belly, ye think neither upon your own nor your neighbours discommodities, forgetting how that in old time the most valiant and worthy men had no such care or desire, when as fishes, and wild beasts, and fowls, were 〈◊〉 ●uedled withal, & besides the feathers there is nothing to be ly●●● of, as Ovid saith. And now truly I can perceive nothing in this foul that may delight a man, besides the excellency of the ●●esh, which some say will never putrefy, though it be kept & long while, which thou mayst prove if thou list, and S. Augustine saith, he hath proved. Thus, unless ambition and prodigality be present, neither your meat nor your delight can satisfy you. Truly, it is reported that Hortentius the Orator was the first that ever killed a Peacock at Rome to be eaten for meat, a man of great eloquence, in manners delicate and soft as a woman: but such a one, whose manners very many, whose eloquence very few, do imitate.  joy. 
I noorysh Poultry and chickens.  Reason. 
A trouble to thy house, meat for Foxes. scrapers of the floor, by means of whose talents thou shalt always have dust, and never an even floor.  joy. 
I have great store of Hens.  Reason. 
To omit their noisomeness, the commodity & charges almost all one, one egg is dearly bought, and casteth much cackling.  joy. 
But I have plenty of Bees.  Reason. 
Thy felicity is not only mortal, but flying on the wing, and fugitive.  joy. 
I have many Hives.  Reason. 
There is as much business and noise in every one of them, as in a great City, or an army of men. Now the swarms are ready to t●●e away, now the kings will fight, now they need ringing of a ●●an or brazen Basin, now casting of dust, that they may be saue●▪ Many times when thou hast done all that thou canst, thou shalt be never the near. And thus thinking thyself to be rich, shalt find thyself naked: and therefore if thou compare the carefulness of the keeping, with the honey, thou wilt say, It is bitter Hony.  joy. 
I have plenty of Pigeons.  Reason. 
By night the Bees be whist in their bedchambers, faith Virgyl: but Pigeons be never at quiet, for there is no living thing more unquiet than a Pigeon.  joy. 
My Pigeon houses are full.  Reason. 
Then hast thou some that strive and fight, some that moan, some that foul the house by day, some that break thy sleep by night: behold what a great matter this is of rejoicing.   

Of Fyshpondes. The lxiii Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Rejoice in my fyshpondes which I have made.  Reason. 
I do not think, that thou hast made them with more felicity than did Solomon. And therefore when thou shalt turn thyself to behold all the works which thy hands have made, & the travails wherein thou hast swe at in vain, in them all thou shalt perceive vanity and affliction of mind, that perhaps thou mayest be sorry in that wherein thou hast taken pleasure, reputing it both loss of time, and of expenses.  joy. 
I have made me fyshpondes.  Reason. 
It is not sufficient for the belly to have searched through all lands, but the waters also are assayed, and there is a prison made for fishes in their own kingdom.  joy. 
I have stored my fishponds.  Reason. 
Thou hast deprived fishes of their liberty, and natural habitation, and those whom nature made whole, thou haft taught to be sick.  joy. 
I have let in the water into my fishponds.  Reason. 
Thou seest, how to have enforced the waters, it was noted and ascribed unto price in julius Caesar, as great a man as he was: what dost thou then think of thyself?  joy. 
I have enclosed fishes with in my Wears.  Reason. 
You keep flying fowls in prisons at your pleasure, what marvel is it then, if you have the flow fishes at your commandment? All things are in your power, and subject under your feet, ye most painful and covetous mortal men, except your own mind only, which either ye cannot bridle and govern, or, which more true is, ye care not to do it. And therefore being wild and vagrant, he driveth you about, and enforceth you to all kinds of vanity and mischief: which if it were obedient unto you, or rather subject to reason, he would then lead you in a more ready path, to a better end, and 'cause you to contemn many things which ye covet.  joy. 
I have fish shut up in my ponds.  Reason. 
Forasmuch as all things are subject unto you, see how seemly a thing it is for you to be subject to pleasure, unto the most vilest thing of all other, the most noblest thing that is under heaven. But thus it fareth, you will rule all, to be servants yourselves to sensuality. And this folly is not new, nor of the common sort, but ancient, and of the chiefest. Fyshpondes and Wears for Oysters, did Sorgius Orata first appoint at the shore Barane. About the same time Licinius Muraena began the Wears for other fishes: who both took their surnames of a fish. These are worthy causes of a surname, to wit, for that one of them loved the Gysthead, the other the Lamprey. These be they that have deserved the titles to be called Africani, or Macedonici: and perhaps these men have taken no less pains in taking and bestowing their fish, and in building their Wears, than Scipio and Paulus did in delivering and beautifying their country, with their conquests and triumphs. And therefore it is very true which some say, In quantity all men's cares are almost equal, but in quality far unequal. And as evil examples have always plenty of followers, after this Licinius, there followed noble men, Philip, Hortentius, and Lucullus also, a man otherwise of famous memory, who not being contented with a simple wear, near unto Naples, he caused an Hill to be cut away: which stood him in as great charges as the building of his country house, or village, devising a place of rest for the fishes which he had taken, by the cutting away of a stop which was made of hard rock, and letting in the Sea, as it were a cauline Haven. And therefore Pompeius the great, who devised not only Wears, but Empires also, not improperly termed this Lucullus the Roman Xerxes, that is to say, a dygger away of hills. What shall I say of others? The first that made Wears for Lampreis, was one Curus, I know not what he was; for, notwithstanding all his Lampreys, he is scarce yet known, whereof he had such plenty, that with six thousand of them he furnished julius Caesar's triumphant supper. This man had also his imitators, namely Hortentius the orator, of whom we spoke before, a man that never failed in following an example of wantonness: and therefore it falleth out many times, that your learning nothing abateth your madness: but it never bringeth any thing that a man may wonder at, whilst they that have attained unto learning, think that it is lawful for them to do every thing, and arrogate much unto themselves, which they durst not, if they had not learning. It is reported therefore that this man had a Wear at the shore of the Baiane coast, whereas, among other fishes which he had, he loved so dearly one certain Lamprey, that he mourned for him when he was dead. Behold a worthy love, and meet to provoke so grave a man to tears. He that (as it is read) neither bewailed the civil wars of his time, nor the proscriptions and slaughter of the Citizens, neither yet would have lamented the overthrow at Cannas, if it had happened in his time, did he weep for the death of a Lamprey? This lightness is so great, that that which is of later days must needs be pardoned. The age and sex of Antonia maketh her folly more excusable, who is reported, not to have wept for her Lamprey, but while he was living, to have decked him forth with rings and jewels of gold, insomuch that the strangeness of the sight, caused many folks to repair to Paulos▪ for that was the name of the village, lying in the Baiane confines. There were also Wears of Wylkes and Perewincles, and other vanities concerning fishes, and specially the Pike of Tibur, which was taken between the two brydges'. But I have spoken enough of other men's errors, in which the more thou seest enwrapped, the more diligent take thou heed lest thou be snared in the like: neither do I now forbid thee the use of fishes, but only the over much care of vile and unnoble things.   

Of Cages of birds, and of speaking and singing birds. The lxiiii Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Have shut up sundry birds in a Cage.  Reason. 
I leave now to wonder at the prisons for fishes. There be some also provided for birds, whose dwelling is the open air, a more large and wide country: Gluttony hath found out hunting, it hath found out fishing, it hath found out hawking, and it is not sufficient to take them whom nature created free, but they be also kept in prisons. How much more seemly and honest were it, to enforce the belly to be contented with meats that may be easily gotten, and to leave the wild beasts to the woods, and the fishes to the Sea, and the fowls to the air, then to bestow so much travel upon them, that if it were bestowed to catch virtues, in this time by good study having obtained them (for they will not fly away) ye might have planted them within the closet of your minds, from whence they could neither escape away, nor be purloined.  joy. 
I have filled my Cage with birds.  Reason. 
A thing nothing at all necessary, and no less hard to be found, then difficult to be preserved, ancient notwithstanding, which above a thousand and four hundred years since, one Lelius, surnamed Strabo, first devised, not that Lelius that was counted the wise, who, if he had found out bird cages, had lost the title of wisdom. There be some inventions that seem to be profitable and pleasant, which notwithstanding become not noble wits: they that first found out fyshpondes, and hired Cages, what other thing did they respect then their bellies, which is far from those that are studious in virtue?  joy. 
I have fat Chrushes, and Turtle doo●●s in my Cage.  Reason. 
But not slow tormentors, since thine appetite being provoked by so many enticements, requireth the punishment of a sick stomach. Hast thou not heard the saying of the Satirical Poet? This notwithstanding is a present Punishment, when thou puttest of thy clotheses, being swelling full, and carriest thy undigested Peacock with thee into the bane. He speaketh there of a Peacock. It is a beautiful & a famous foul: but it is not he alone that pincheth the overgreedfe paunch. The delight of thy belly, is but of short taste, which in short time will also turn to loathing, unless it be moderated. Rawness that is not easily digested, is a sickness that bringeth long pain, and many times death: Go thy ways now, and brag of thy fat Thrushes, & Turtledooves.  joy. 
I have speaking Choughes, and Pies, & Parrots.  Reason. 
The Emperor Augustus taking pleasure in the like, gave great sums of money for them that saluted him conquerous and trimphant Caesar. And when afterward there were many other such presented unto him, answered, that he had enough such saluters at home already, laying there a measure to that vanity: saving that the last Crow with his strange pastime, caused himself to be bought more dear thou were the residue. These histories are read in the Saturnalia: But what in the natural History of our neighbour of Verona: This Crow that was so docible, using to fly out of the cobblers shop, where he was most diligently fed, and coming abroad into the open street, would salute Tiberius Caesar, and Drusus, and Germanicus by name, and the whole people of Rome, with such admiration and love of them all, that when as a neighbour moved either with envy or anger had killed him, with great sorrow and grief of almen the killer was first driven out of those quarters, and afterward stain by the people, and the Crow with diligent exequys and solemn funeral, was taken up and buried. O always unspeakable madness of the people? In that city there was a Crow wept for and buried, and he that killed him, being a Citizen of Rome, was put to death: in which City neither Africane the greater had a Sepulchre, neither the less a revenger, for that on God's name this Crow, as I have said, saluted the people, but these men of whom I speak, did not salute, but procured safety and glory to the people. Thus the speech of Crows is more acceptable, than the virtue of valiant men. Let any man now deny, that it is safe for him to agreed to the people's judgement: although who so is an upright considerer of things, he will not marvel at the public contempt wherein worthy men are had, since of these woonderers at Crows, and other prattling birds, divine voices, and heavenly Oracles are despised.  joy. 
I have a fair Parrot.  Reason. 
This bird forsooth above all the residue is notable for his golden chain, unless it be the Phoenix again, for he among birds weareth a chain, and is moreover the only bird of his kind. But the Parrot, being a great saluter, and specially of princes, nature hath plainly made him as it were a flatterer: whereby this Disticon or two verses are known, I Parrot will learn other men's names of you: But I have learned this of myself, to say, hail Caesar.  joy. 
I have a most eloquent Pye.  Reason. 
When as eloquent men are very seldom found, hast thou a most eloquent Pie? I confess it is a prattling bird, and a diligent saluter: whereof cometh this saying, I prattling Pie do call thee my master with a perfect voice: If thou sawest me not, thou wouldst deny that I were a bird. verily there be strange things (I know not whether as true) reported, concerning the diligence and desire to learn of this bird: But this above the residue is scarce credible, that if she forget the word which she is taught, she is very much vexed and grieved, which grief of mind, she bewrayeth by her secret meditation, and if she chance to call the word to her remembrance, then waxeth she wonderful meery: But if through hardness of the word, or weakness of her memory, she be thoroughly overcome, many times she dieth for sorrow: so that now the Poet Homer's death is to be counted less strange, if so it be true. Howbeit, all Pies are not of like aptness to learn, but those only which receive their meat and name with mast, and are commonly called mast Pies.  joy. 
I have gotten a pleasant singing nightingale.  Reason. 
Pliny the second reporteth, that there are Nightingales also and Starles found that are apt to be taught the Greek and Latin tongues, and moreover, that in his time there was a Chrushe in Rome, that did imitate the speech of a man: the like whereof was known commonly of late of a Starle, whom it hath been thy chance to hear and wonder at many times even in Pliny's Country, speaking orderly many words together, pointing and pronouncing them like a man: For as touching the Parrot, it is now so common a thing, that it is no more to be marveled 〈◊〉. How often hast thou heard him plainly call for meat? How often calling his Feeder by his name, and the better to persuade him, flattering him with sweetness of gestures and words? How often laughing, in such sort, that he hath caused the standers by to laugh, that it was thought not to be the laughter of a bird, but of a very man? Which although it be so, yet all these, believe me, but specially the Nightingale would sing more pleasantly upon their own boughs then in your Cages, saving that your lust liketh of nothing but that which you have made your own, although nature have made all things common. Thus covetousness stretcheth beyond her own bonds, and her own name.  joy. 
I have gotten together innumerable store of birds.  Reason. 
Although thou have many, yea though thou have all, yet I think thou wilt lack the Phoenix: whether there be such a bird, or whether there be no such bird, or whether we believe that to be true which some have written, to wit, how that upon the four hundred year after the building of the city, this bird slew out of Arabia into Egypt, and being taken there, was brought to Rome, and there at an assembly was showed unto the people, and at length, as it is like enough, died: which last thing, those grave writers doubt not but it is false, which notwithstanding are in some distrust of the first. And therefore when thou hast all kinds of birds, yet shalt thou lack the most wonderful and beautiful bird of al. Sorrowfully and angrily I jest with thee: why do ye always rejoice, like children, in vain pleasures? And as Solomon saith, Ye little babes, how long will ye love infancy? Turn at the length unto my correction, as he also saith. For these are his words which I speak unto you: and O ye blind wretches, suffer the birds to live in the woods, to breed, to feed, to sing, and wander abroad, and stretch you forth the wings of your slouhtful minds unto heaven, and life up yourselves from the ground, endeavour not to catch birds, but to become birds. And omitting these matters, whereof I am ashamed to speak, if thou have any thing wherein it is meet for a man to rejoice, utter it.   

Of the worthiness of Marriage. The. Lxu. Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Have married a noble Wife.  Reason. 
I had rather thou hadst at home, not only Pies and Parrots, but Owls and Shritches: They would sing, she will chide: they would tell thee somewhat, she will do thee nothing: thou myghst cast them of, but her thou canst not.  joy. 
I am adorned with a noble marriage.  Reason. 
Thou art tied with a fair chain, from whence death only can deliver thee.  joy. 
I am happy, by means of a noble marriage.  Reason. 
Thou were more happy, if it were by a chaste marriage, and most happy by a single life.  joy. 
I am beautified with a goodly marriage.  Reason. 
The choice of a wife is hard, a foul one is loathed, a fair one is hardly kept, by reason that there is perpetual war between the beauty of the body and chastity of the mind. But if that do happen, which is most rare, and honesty be joined with beauty, I will then reason more largely with thee. Admit she have all other ornaments of a woman, nobility, wisdom, riches, fruitfulness, eloquence, good name and fame, good and commendable behaviour, yet know thou this, that with these pride is entered, intermingled into thy house: So that it is not without good cause that the Satirical Poet sayeth, That he had rather have Venusin●, than Cornelia, that was mother to the Gracchi, and daughter to Scipio African, that was proud of her father's triumphs and glory.  joy. 
I have chanced upon a noble and honest marriage.  Reason. 
What sayest thou of the pride and disdain? Art thou ignorant of the manners of women? Learn to serve, learn to suffer, learn to lose thy dearest friends: thou must attend thy wedlock only. A wife is a dangerous rock, and destruction to friendship, imperious, and governor of the husbands affections.  joy. 
I have married a Gentlewoman to my wife.  Reason. 
An heavy burden, and hard fetters to weary thy shoulders and feet, which sometime were free: Grievous to be spoken, more grievous to be thought on, but most grievous to be suffered, a guest not for one day, but for thy whole life, and perhaps an enemy hath entered upon thy house void of defence: So that, as I have said, the hope of the ancient remedy of divorce being taken away, death only must set the free.  joy. 
I have married a well-beloved wife.  Reason. 
Thou art deceived, she hath married thee, thou livedst to long at thine own liberty, thou hast taken a wife to be thy Mistress, a tormentor to her Children in law, an enuier of her Mother in law, a yoke to thy Household, a burden to thy Kitchen, a pain to thy Storehouse, a charge to thy Coffer, an ornament to thy Hall, a show for thy Window in the day, and an unquietness for thy Chamber in the night.  joy. 
I have gotten a most loving wife.  Reason. 
In the steed of love, which thou knowest not, jealousy, suspicion, and complaints, are come upon thee, thou hast continual wars at home, even in the mids of pleasures and pastime disagreement will spring: thou shalt be safe neither at board nor at bed, thou shalt find no time void of strife, at midnight ye shall be together by the ears.  joy. 
I have obtained a wished marriage.  Reason. 
Marriage with a wife, and peace with a divorce.  joy. 
I have a wife whom I please exceedingly.  Reason. 
Peradventure it were better for thee to displease her, than should she not trouble and consume thee with loving, but suffer thee to muse on thy matters, and to follow thy business, and to take thy natural sleep: Whereas now in pleasing thy wife, thou thinkest upon nothing that may please thyself, but upon her only, she challengeth thee wholly to herself, and yet thou alone art not sufficient for her. If upon occasion thou wouldst go any whither, she will say thou runnest away, and seekest causes to departed from her: if thou do any thing, she will say thou forgettest her: if thou muse upon any matter, she will say thou art angry with her: if thou abstain from meat, she will say her provision pleaseth thee not: if thou take thy rest, she will say thou hast wearied thyself with playing the game of love with other. And therefore, in being pleasant to thy wife, thou must needs be unprofitable to thyself and others.  joy. 
I have a wife, whom I love ardently.  Reason. 
It were better to love her chastened, virtuously, soberly, and modestly: for what is ardent love other than the burning of the mind, which while it flameth, what place can there be for modesty, for coniugale reverence, tranquillity, and quietness? Doth thy wife love thee ardently? Unless she perceive that thou love her again, her love will wax cold, and she will turn her goodwill into hatred: but if thou wilt match her in love, thou must needs burn likewise, and give thyself over only to thy lover, and be the wakeful husband of a jealous wife: some time with fair words, and sometime with complaints and feigned accusations thou must be awaked & troubled in the night, if peradventure thou have wanton east thine eye aside, or laughed heartily with one that hath laughed, or saluted thy neighbour's wife, or commended the beauty of another woman, or returned home late at night, or finally, shalt do or say any thing whereby thou mayest be suspected of the breach of love: which, if it may be called a life, then know not I what is to be termed death. And this is my opinion concerning your ardent love.  joy. 
I have a perpetual companion of my Bed.  Reason. 
And also a perpetual banishment of sleep. The sleep of the wedded bed is rare, and small, where there is sometime pleasure, sometime chiding, and never quietness.  joy. 
I have a most faithful wife.  Reason. 
I deny not but there have been some faithful, even to the death. And truly to a man that hath chosen this kind of life, a good and faithful wife is a great treasure: yet the multitude of the contrary sort is greater, for that many worthy men have perished through their wives treachery. I omit the cruel and bloody marriage of Danaus, that infamous night, and miserable slaughter of so many young men together. Not this, they of whom we spoke erewhile, not grave Agamemnon, not Deiphobus the Phrygian can deny, and among your country folk, Scipio Africane the younger, and lastly of latter time, not king Alboinus, whose blood stained the banks of the fair river Athesis, which was shed there by his unchaste and cruel wife.  joy. 
I have met with a noble, chaste, gentle, humble, obedient, virtuous, and faithful wife.  Reason. 
Thou art a notable fouler, thou hast found a white Crow: and yet there is no man that thinketh he hath found a black one.   

Of a fair Wife. The. Lxvi. Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Have chanced upon a fair Wife.  Reason. 
Thou hast gotten an hard province, be watchful. I have said already, that it is an hard thing to keep that which is desired of many.  joy. 
My wives beauty is excellent.  Reason. 
The beauty of the body, as many things else, rejoiceth commonly in the like, and hateth unlykelynesse and inequality. If therefore thou thyself be of like beauty, thou shalt be busied, if not, thou shalt be contemned, both which are grievous.  joy. 
My wives beauty is great.  Reason. 
Her pride is as great, for there is nothing that so much puffeth up the mind, and maketh proud.  joy. 
My wives beauty is passing great.  Reason. 
Take heed that her chastity be not as small. The Satirical Poet hath a pretty saying, It is seldom to see beauty and honesty to agreed: Which admit they be together, yet who can abide the insolency of behaviour, and daily contempt?  joy. 
My wife is passing fair.  Reason. 
Then hast thou at home a sumptuous Idol, & a painful, thou shalt daily see strange and new fashions, and daily disguising of the body, to see how well every thing becometh, and an inventing head to devise every way: Now term the loss of thy patrimony, a gain.  joy. 
I have a most beautiful wife.  Reason. 
Thou hast a contentious Idol, and a proud, which being assotted, thou mayest worship, which being ravished, thou mayest wonder at, & honour, and depend wholly upon her, submit thy neck to her yoke, and reposing thyself only in the beauty of thy wife, cast away from thee all other cares, and thine own liberty: And, as I said erewhile, beware thou praise none but her, turn not thine eyes from her face, wax not faint in speaking her fair, be not less fond than thou wast wont to be, whatsoever thou mislikest in her it is treason, all wisdom in thee is forsaken of her: Finally, live at thy wives commandment, & observe the becking of thy Mistress as a Drudge, and not as an Husband: Do this if thou think it so great a matter to embrace thy fair bedfellow, & to enjoy her smooth skin for a little while, & to beget children upon a white womb, as it were to take choice apples out of a fair vessel.  joy. 
I have a beautiful wife.  Reason. 
A sweet poison, golden fetters, an honourable servitude.  joy. 
I take pleasure in my wives beauty.  Reason. 
A vain and short pleasure. There is nothing more frail than beauty, specially a woman's. Who so loveth his wife for her beauty's sake, will soon hate her.   

Of a fruitful and eloquent Wife. The. Lxvii. Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Have a fruitful wife.  Reason. 
She will bring thee forth many cares, and many troubles: A barren wife, is but one trouble in an house, but a fruitful wife, is many. Thou knowest the saying of the Comical Poet, I married a wife, what misery did I not taste of thereby? Then had I children, another care.  joy. 
My wife is not only fruitful, but eloquent also.  Reason. 
At one side thou shalt have children and nurses: on the other side thou shalt not lack jests and words. Thou hast one with whom thou mayest dispute, and declaim. And hast thou not heard the saying of the Satirical Poet, where he sayeth, Let not thy wife which lieth by thy side, be a Rhetorician, or a Logician, neither well seen in all Histories. Thou soughtest for a wife, and hast found a Schoolmistress: and now thou art in this case, that thou canst not utter any rude or common thing, without thy wives controulling and mocking, and thou shalt wish in vain that which the same Poet sayeth, Let the husband be licensed to speak false congruity. Among the weerisomnesses of the world, there is none more odious than a saucy woman, or she that can not hold her tongue.   

Of a great Dowry. The. Lxviii. Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Am enriched with a great Dowry.  Reason. 
And with a great tyranny, and so one mischief is heaped upon another. There be two provocations of pride in wives, their dowry, and their beauty.  joy. 
My wife hath a great Dowry.  Reason. 
There is nothing more importunate or untractable, than a woman with a great dowry She thinketh that ther● i● nothing unlawful for her to do, which compareth her riches to her husbands poverty, which maintaineth her husband, & thinketh herself to be his Mistress, and not his fellow.  joy. 
There is a great Dowry come into my house.  Reason. 
Where the Dowry cometh in, liberty goeth out: Which thing Lycur●●s very well foresaw, who made a law, That Maidens should be married without a Dowry: adding also a reason, to wi●, That the wife should be married, and not the money, and men should look more narrowly to their marriages, when as they were restrained by no Dowry: And both wisely, for in deed in many houses the husband is not married to the wife, but the money is married to covetousness, and doubtless a great Dowry is the wives liberty, and the husbands bridle.  joy. 
I have a very great Dowry with my wife.  Reason. 
Nay, rather change the places of thy words, and say thou hast a wife with a great Dowry: How much more willing wouldst thou be to shut her out of doors, if thou mightest do it without the money? Truly that marriage is shameful, when as a Virgin is not brought to the bed in hope of issue, but the desired Dowry brought to the coffer by provocation of covetousness.  joy. 
My wife hath brought me a great Dowry.  Reason. 
Speak more truly, a great price for thy liberty, which if it had been dear unto thee, as it aught, thou wouldst have sold it for no money.  joy. 
There is happened unto me a very rich wife.  Reason. 
Thou speakest nothing of her conditions: for I think thou thoughtest nothing of her manners, & of the chiefest Dowries in women, to wit, faith, shame fastness, chastity, & modesty: These ye regard not, and in your marriages ye respect only money & beauty, that is to say, covetousness and lechery, fit means for such marriages.  joy. 
My wife hath great store of money.  Reason. 
Mark whether that saying of Themistocles, wherein he concludeth, that he had rather have a man without money, than money without a man, may not aptly be applied unto women also?  joy. 
My wife is very rich.  Reason. 
How much better were it, to live in quietness with a poor wife, then to be troubled with a proud: and to be hungry with a poor wench that is humble, then to live in brawling with a rich and insolent Peacock?  joy. 
My wives Dowry is exceeding great.  Reason. 
It followeth that the pride of her mind is as great, and hath no regard nor fear of her husband. Thou wilt not dare to reprehend her faults when thou considerest her Dowry, thou wilt not presume to humble her when thou remember'st that thou art proud by her means, and thou must not only put up her loftiness, and tediousness, but also her checks and injuries. Dost thou not remember the Prince Aurelius Antonius, who lost not the surname of a Philosopher, although he were an Emperor? Who knowing his wives whoredom, and when his friends exhorted him either to put her to death, or to put her away, answered: If I put away my wife, I must also restore her Dowry, which was the Empire. Thus thou seest how a Dowry bridled the mind of a most grave man, and great parsonage: and will not thy wives bridle thee?  joy. 
My wives Dowry is very great, infinite, and inestimable.  Reason. 
The Dowry of marriage was devised to support charges, not to provoke covetousness And therefore the more it is increased, the more it is defamed, as by means of the greatness thereof, doing hurt two ways, declaring both the impudency of the giver, and increasing the greediness of the receiver.  joy. 
My wife's Dowry is very great  Reason. 
It skilleth not how great the Dowry be, but what manner of woman the wife is: and truly in a Dowry, not so much the quantity, as the quality is to be considered, to wit, from whence it came, and by what means it was gotten: for many great Dowries have been gotten by evil means. Thou knowest the Hehopolitane and Punic manner, whose marriages are not made by their country Religion, but their Dowry is gotten by whoredom and filchinesse.   

Of pleasant love. The Lxix. Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Enjoy pleasant love.  Reason. 
Thou shalt be overcome with pleasant snares.  joy. 
I burn in pleasant love.  Reason. 
It is well said thou burnest: for love is a secret fire, a pleasant wound, a savoury poison, a sugared bitterness, a delectable sickness, a sweet punishment, and a flattering death.  joy. 
I love, and am loved again.  Reason. 
The first thou mayest know of thyself: the second thou mayest stand in doubt of, unless thou take thy sweet hearts secret talking in the night for a testimony thereof.  joy. 
Without doubt I am beloved.  Reason. 
I perceive she hath persuaded thee, and it is no hard matter to persuade one that is willing, for all lovers are blind and quick of belief. But if thou think that there be any trust in a lovers oath, then bring forth the bill of thy lovers hand which was written in the brittle Ice, whereunto the Southern winds were witnesses. But, O thou foolish man, never give credit to a dishonest woman: sex, heat, lightness, custom of lying, desire to deceive, and the gain of deceit, every one of these, and much more all these, maketh it suspicious whatsoever cometh out of her mouth.  joy. 
I love that which delighteth my mind, and I burn in love sweetly.  Reason. 
Thou thinkest to hear that of me, which the Master of love sayeth, That thou mayest rejoice in thy happy burning, and sail forth with thy wind of pleasure. But that is not my counsel: For mine advise is, that the more pleasantly thou burnest, the more warily thou shouldest avoid the fire. Evils are never more perilous, then when they do delight: but many times a most sharp end followeth such sweetness.  joy. 
I love, and am beloved.  Reason. 
If it were so, what is it other than a double knot, a near link, a grievous danger? I should think the better of thee, if thou didst love only, and thou were not beloved again, although the facility and difficulty of love be a like hurtful, as some say, in that the mind is taken with facility, and striveth with difficulty: Notwithstanding, I am of opinion, that there is nothing that: procureth love more, then to be loved: and on the other side, nothing more deterreth a man or woman from loving, then to know that he or she is not beloved, neither shall be loved. Howbeit the blind and greedy mind of the lover, will not easily believe it, who is one of that sort whereof it is written, That they which be in love, devise themselves dreams.  joy. 
I love with pleasure.  Reason. 
He that knoweth not in how ill case he is, is without sense: and he that rejoiceth in his misery, is mad.  joy. 
I confess that it is pleasant unto me to love.  Reason. 
I had rather it were hateful and grievous unto thee, that thou mightest be more ready to eschew evil, and more near to the hope of health: but now the delight noorysheth the disease, and he refuseth to be whole, that taketh pleasure in being sick.  joy. 
Let every man do as him list, as for me it is my desire to love.  Reason. 
As men commonly understand and speak, but unto me it seemeth servile and base, and a thing which doth effeminate and weaken the most valiant men. I will tell thee that which every man knoweth: there is no man but will wonder at it when he heareth it, the remembrance of great matters is so wondered, yea to them that do not know them. But to the end that I may not recite all, which I think neither to be necessary nor possible, call to thy remembrance out of two most flooryshing nations, only two most excellent Captains, julius Caesar, being conqueror in France, Germany, Brittany, Spain, Italy, Thessalia, and Egypt, & again shortly after in Armenia, Pontus, Africa, & last of all again in Spain, like to have the upper hand: in the mids of so many conquests, he himself was conquered at Alexandria by princely love. Hannibal being conqueror at Ticinium, Trebeia, Trasimenus, Cannas, and at length to be overcome in his own country, first was overcome at Salapia a City of Apulia, and that the matter might be more heinous, he humbled himself to the love of an Harlo●. How great seemeth the force of this mischief unto thee, which by so small assault could invade so stout minds and so valiant hearts, and with so brittle bands hamper so swift feet, and so strong arms? I let pass fables and old tales, how jupiter was transformed into beasts, and Mars caught in a ridiculus net, and Hercules spinning his stint upon the distaff, moreover Leander in the surgies of the sea, Biblis by tears, Procries by her husbands dart, Pyramus by his own weapon, and Hyphis peryshing by the Halter, and, which is more certain, and more credible, the Graecian Captains fighting for love, & Troy burning with known fire. Without all these, and a thousand such like, those two captains whom I spoke of before, are sufficient to prove our purpose, either for the greatness of their names, or for the truth of the History.  joy. 
I love, what will you say of hatred, if you condemn love.  Reason. 
As thou takest them, I condemn them both, neither will I call any thing good therefore, because it is contrary to evil: For two extremities that are contrary one to the other, and of equal distance from the mean, that is to say, the virtue, are both evil.  joy. 
Then it is evil to love.  Reason. 
That I confess.  joy. 
But I find nothing better than this evil.  Reason. 
I think well, as thy judgement now standeth, but thine opinion concerning matters, is affectionate and blinded.  joy. 
Let them hate that list, I will love.  Reason. 
I may well term hatred and love, things indifferent: For as it is like praise worthy to hate vice and to love virtue, even so both the hating of vice, and loving of virtue, are alike to be condemned. To be short, thou shalt scarce find any thing which of itself deserveth either praise or dispraise, but that by means of some small addition, praise and dispraise do come one into another's place: and therefore take heed what thou lovest.  joy. 
What should I love, but that which other do love?  Reason. 
All men love not one thing. There have been some that have loved God so fervently, that for this loves sake they counted it a vantage to lose themselves and their lives. Others there have been, who not looking so high, have done the like only for virtue, or their countries sake: I would name these, but that they were innumerable.  joy. 
I was never in heaven, neither have I at any time seen virtue, but I love the things that can be seen.  Reason. 
If thou love nothing but that which may be seen, than lovest thou no excellent thing: yea, thou dost directly against the most common commandment, Love not the things that are seen, but the things that are not seen: For the things that are seen, are temporal, and the things that are not seen, are eternal. But you, being blind in mind, and given only to your eyes, are far unmeet not only to love, but to understand or think upon any eternal thing: but ye follow those things that shall perish with you, & covering your filthy affections with an unhonest cloak, ye term lechery love, whom ye worship, and, according to the liberty of your speech, ye make him a God, to the end he may excuse your shame, which the heaven can scarce abide to cover. For what doth God command to be done that is evil? Go your ways then, and build Altars to your God, and offer incense unto him, he will carry you to heaven: nay rather, the God of heaven will throw both him and you dawn into hell together.  joy. 
You turn the pleasures of youth into slander, I love, and therefore bear with me.  Reason. 
If pardon be to be asked of him that is hurt, then forgive thyself: for thou hurtest none but thyself, and ah poor wretch, among what rocks doest thou drive thy slender boat?  joy. 
I take pleasure in living so, and I know not what should forbid me.  Reason. 
It is a miserable thing to sin, more miserable to be delighted in sin, & most miserable to excuse & love sin: and then is the matter absolute, when as to the study of pleasure, a certain opinion of honesty is adjoined.  joy. 
I love, neither can or will I do other.  Reason. 
Thou mightest if thou wouldst, & perhaps hereafter thou wilt wish thou hadst. For thus it happeneth in many matters, but specially in this sickness, that the same remedy which virtue hath long time assayed in vain, continuance of time hath brought to effect.  joy. 
There is no time shall see me otherwise then loving.  Reason. 
Go to then, play, rejoice in thy mad sleep, & thou shalt weep when thou awakest.  joy. 
I will not weep, but sing, & comfort myself with verses, after the manner of lovers,  Reason. 
This is a point whereof much may be spoken, & seeing thou leadest me unto it, I will stay upon it. Among many other things, I confess, that the madness of lovers is wondered, not only among the common people, among whom by custom, growing into nature, all madness is excusable, but also among the best learned in both tongues. For it is evident, that the Greek Poets, & yours likewise, have writ●en plausible somewhat of others love, & much of their own, & have gained the glory of eloquence in that, wherein they deserved the blot of reproach Among the Grecians, ●app●●o was the most to be borne withal, whose age, sex, & lightness of mind might well excuse a wench: but what shall we say to Anacr●o●, & Al●aeus, who were both of them not only famous poets, but also valiant men, & renowned in their common wealches for their worthy deeds: or what shall we say to your poets, ovid. Catullus. Propertius, Tibullus, who have written almost none other thing than love: Howbeit, why should I blame the poets, unto whom there is granted more liberty in writing, and not rather the Philosophers, which are the governors and leaders of life? In which respect thou mayest also rejoice, that there was much more gravity in yours, then in the Greek Philosophers. For among yours, thou shalt scarcely find one, that hath not only not committed any such folly, but also laughed at it, and condemned. But among them, a man would wonder, not only at the common sort of them, but also at the stoics, which are the most precise sect of Philosophers, yea Plato himself, whom we know to have been in this error. The stoics will have a wise man to love: and truly if they can agreed upon the kind of love, they are not deceived: For as I have said, a wise man will love GOD, and his neighbour, and virtue, and wisdom, and his country, and his parents, and his children, and his brethren, and his friends: and if he be a perfect wise man, he will love also his enemies, not for their own sakes, I confess, but for his sake that so commandeth. Among all these things, I pray thee, what place is there left for beauty? For thus we read it defined in Cicero's Tusculane questions, That love is an endeavour to make friendship, in respect of beauty. But who is so blind, that seeth not what this beauty meaneth? And therefore Cicero aptly demandeth this question, What love of friendship is this, saith he? Why will not any love an evil favoured young man, neither a well favoured old woman? forsooth, age and favour are here specially respected, which are the foundations of this friendship, which by a more honest name, is rather called friendship then lust, or sensuality, but what in deed it is, it may be easily perceived by open & sound eyes. And therefore the matter cometh to this issue, that if there be any love in all the world, without careful or unhonest desire, without sighings and burning grief, the same is granted to a wise man: it must be without all manner lust or lasciviousness, as the same Cicero saith, and without all vexation and trouble of mind, which of wise men are specially to be avoided. For as the appearance of things may be covered by speech, so can not the truth of them be changed: and we speak now of none other than the libidinous and sensual love which cannot possibly be without many of these, and other great evils. And thus much concerning the stoics. Now I come to Plato, who is called the prince, yea, the God of Philosophers. And although there be great contention among many in this point, notwithstanding in every controversy we must stand to the judgement of the ancient and better sort, and not of the greater number. Plato, I say, this great Philosopher (that I may speak if by the licence of so worthy a man) hath written much more licentiously concerning his filthy loves, although to a true philosopher in deed, there is no lust that is not filthy, and not to be allowed, then becometh the name and gravity of Plato to have written. He hath written notwithstanding, and, for which I am the more sorry, his works be extant, neither was he ashamed of the blot of so renowned fame, nor the judgement of posterity, the force of this passion of his mind, and the sweetness of his style which pricked forth his pen, so far overcoming his care and fear in this behalf, which he had now so abundantly in this filthy and shameful argument, that a man may sooner discern the beams of the Platonic wit, in the writings of the Epicures, then of the followers of Plato. And this I perceive to have been the cause that many forsook their writings, which they might either more honestly not have written at all, or more wisely have suppressed, and also, as I guess, will be the cause hereafter that many will do the like: but I have now touched the chiefest. Thus have I said somewhat concerning the reprehension of this madness, and much more also may be said, and for remedy thereof not a little. For as touching the comfort in this sickness, whereof thou speakest, which thou imaginest to come by verses, let Hor●ces short verse & demand be unto thee in steed of an answer, Dost thou think that by these verses thy pains, vexations, and grievous cares may be driven out of thy mind? By speaking & singing, love is nourished and kindled, not quenched and assuaged, so that those songs and verses of which thou speakest, do not heal, but hurt thy wounds.  joy. 
By your advertisement & experience I now begin to believe you, and therefore setting other things apart, convert your style, if it please you, unto remedies.  Reason. 
Many in fortymes have gone about to get these together, among whom Ovid the great Physician loved better the sickness than the health, whose medicines, as may be seen, are some childish, some filthy, or without effect: Others also have written, among whom hath Cicero, shortly, & effectually. To be short, among all that I have chosen and liked, these are in few: changing of place, which as it is sometime wholesome for the body, so is it also for the diseased mind: diligent eschewing of all things whereby the countenance of the beloved may be brought into remembrance: also busying of the mind, and eftsoons converting it unto new cares and troubles, whereby the foot steps of the former disease may be utterly extynguished: earnest and continual thinking how shameful, how sorrowful, how miserable, and lastly, how short, how slippery, and how small a thing it is that is sought for by so many dangers and troubles, how much more easily and commodiously it might otherwise either be fulfilled, or wholly rejected, and reputed among the most vilest things. Moreover, shame hath cured many, which remedy happeneth to the most noble minds, whilst they seek to avoid infamy and irrision, & are loathe to be pointed at as they go in the streets, laying before their eyes the filthiness of the thing, void of effect, full of shame, full of danger, full of just causes of sorrow and repentance: last of all, setting false excuses and vain persuasions aside, to put on the true, to wit, that neither nature, nor destiny, nor stars, bear any sway in this matter, and finally nothing, but only a lightness and free judgement of the mind. For it is in the choice of him that is sick, to be made whole, so soon as he beginneth to have a will to be whole, and can find in his heart to break of the pleasant links of their sweet company, which is an hard matter to do, I confess, but possible to him that is willing. For as Cicero sayeth most gravely, This is to be declared which is found to be in every perturbation, that it is nothing but in opinion, in the judgement, and in the will. For if love were natural, than all should love, & should always love, & all love one thing, and then shame should not deter one, and musing another, and sasietie another. For this last, which is satiety or fullness, is by some numbered among the remedies, and so is also a new love, whereby the old is driven forth, as it were one nail by another: which although unto Artaxerxes king of Persia, whom the holy scripture calleth Assuerus, it was put in mind by friends, and found profitable by effect, as josephus declareth the matter more at large. I contend not of the event, but I speak of the choice. And therefore truly I have been of opinion, that these two remedies have sometime been profitable, but always dangerous: and if with none of these, nor with them all thou canst recover, then must thou in thy mind run to the causes of the disease. These, as I suppose, are the chiefest and greatest of all, health, beauty, and good favour, riches, leisure, youth. And as contraries do best cure the diseases of the body, so will they excellently remedy the mind also, as sickness, deformity, poverty, great business, and old age, which is a worthy refourmer of the errors of youth. These be my last remedies, which are hard in deed, but in respect of the greatness of the plague, to be wished.   

Of the birth of children. The lxx Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Have children borne unto me.  Reason. 
A double mischief, and a domestical burden.  joy. 
There are children borne unto me.  Reason. 
Thy wife is troublesome, her Aunt more troublesome, and her children most troublesome of al.  joy. 
I have children borne.  Reason. 
A most bitter sweetness, & gall anointed with Hony.  joy. 
I have sweet issue borne unto me.  Reason. 
Think that there is sprung unto thee at home a fountain of grievous cares: thou shalt never live without fear, and anguysh.  joy. 
I have begotten children.  Reason. 
Thou couldst before neither fear, nor hope, nor pray: but now thou shalt learn to thy cost, thou shalt learn also to take compassion upon parents bereaved of their children, and thou shalt learn to experiment long cares in thy short life, & that now thou takest longer business in hand, thou shalt learn to be grieved for the things that belong nothing unto thee, and to dispose that which thou shalt never see: To be short, thou shalt learn to love another more than thyself, thou shalt learn to love most ardently, and to be loved most coldly, which are hard matters.  joy. 
I have children.  Reason. 
Now thou beginnest to understand what duty thou owest to thy parents.  joy. 
I have begotten children.  Reason. 
Thou hast planted a tree which must be husbanded with intolerable pains, which will keep thee occupied as long as thou livest, and whereof perhaps thou shalt reap either no fruit at all, or late fruit, and that peradventure when thou art dead.  joy. 
I have children.  Reason. 
If they be good, a continual fear, if they be wicked, a perpetual sorrow: in the mean while a doubtful comfort, and an undoubted care.  joy. 
I have children.  Reason. 
Then hast thou whereof to be sorry while thou art living, and to be known when thou art dead, and wherefore thou mayest be willing to die often.  joy. 
I am the father of good children.  Reason. 
The better thy children are, the more dangerous is thine estate. Thou knowest not what cause of sorrow thou hast purchased by begetting children, what entrance thou hast made into thy house for tears, what power thou hast given unto death and misery over thyself. O wretched mothers, saith Horace: but O wretched fathers, say I  joy. 
I am father of very good children.  Reason. 
Thou shouldest wish for death while thou art in this prosperity, jest that whilst thou livest, thou surcease to be that which delighteth thee, and at length, with Nestor thou demand of thy fellows, why thou hast lived so long.  joy. 
I rejoice and am happy, for that I have wished issue.  Reason. 
A troublesome felicity, a careful joy, and many times sorrowful, a miserable happiness. I could aleage many excellent men, whose felicity was by nothing so much hindered, as for that they had children.   

Of a pleasant young child. The lxxi Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Have a pleasant young child.  Reason. 
If so be that this mirth turn not to sorrow, and the pleasanter thine infant is while he is present, the more sorrowful thou be when he is from thee.  joy. 
I have a child of good towardness.  Reason. 
What if in nothing? That age is of all other most frail, and is many times cut of in the mids of their flower. And as there is nothing more sweet, so is there nothing almost more bitter.  joy. 
I have a most flattering and prattling Infant.  Reason. 
O, take heed that these flatteries turn not into tears. The sight and prattling of a young child is very pleasant, I confess, and as it is written in Sta. Papinius▪ their heavenly looks, and interrupted words, after the manner of verses or mitre, which while they are heard, do delight, when they can be heard no more, do grieve, and can not be remembered without sorrow. Thus in all worldly things, but in nothing more than in this, bitterness is evermore set against sweetness.  joy. 
I am delighted in my most pleasant Infant.  Reason. 
I forbidden thee not to be delighted, that I may not withstand nature, but I seek for a mean in all things, without which there is nothing well done. I would have thee to rejoice more sparingly, that if thou have occasion to be sorry, thou mayst also more sparingly be sorry: and I would wish thee to think, that it may easily come to pass that thou mayest trust to a broken staff, or lean to a rotten wall, which Adriane the Emperor is reported to have said often, when he had adopted Aelius, who was a fair child in deed, and but weak: and thou mayest also sing to thyself this verse of Virgil, The destinies shall only show him to the earth, but not suffer him to live longer.  joy. 
I rejoice in my young Child.  Reason. 
Rejoice so, as if thou shouldest be sorry, either for that, as I have said, it may chance he may die, or, which is much more grievous, and happeneth very often, of a most pleasant child, become a most unthankful and disobedient young man.  joy. 
I joy much in my young child.  Reason. 
There is no husband man so foolish that will rejoice much in the flower, the fruit is to be looked for, and then he aught to rejoice moderately. In the mean while tempests, hail, and blastings are to be feared, and the joy must be moderated with dread.   

Of the excellent favour of Children. The. Lxxii. Dialogue.  JOY. 
MY Children favour is excellent.  Reason. 
If thou have learned by mine instruction not to regard thine own favour, than thou knowest how much thou hast to esteem of another's.  joy. 
The favour of my children is great.  Reason. 
A thing very dangerous for the male kind, but much more for the female: For beauty and chastity dwell seldom together, they will not, and again, if they would, they can not, seeing all human things, especially honesty can if or kept in safety now adays, chiefly if it be joined with an excellent beauty. There be some whose beauty is envied at, but that envy keepeth itself within it own bounds, some are sorry, some angry with their beauty as much as may be possible, many have waxed old, continuing undefiled among the hatred of many, some have showed perpetual and unquenchable tyranny. How many sailors do pass every day upon the calm sea? how many Merchants do travail through the deserts with their wares safe, & neither Pirate meeteth with the one, nor the Thief with the other? But what beautiful woman canst thou name unto me, that hath not been assayed? Although she be chaste, she shallbe tempted and overcome. What woman's mind is able to resist so many corrupters? The scaling ladders of sugared words are set to the walls, the engines of gifts are planted, and the secret moynes of deceits are cast up under the ground: If these means will not serve, than force is violently offered. If thou require proof, call to thy remembrance the most famous ravishments. Beauty hath tempted many, and caused many to be tempted, some it hath overthrown, and driven them into wickedness, or to death. Among the hebrews, joseph was an example of vehement temptation, but the providence of God turned the danger into glory. Among the Grecians, Hippolytus and Bellerophon: and among you, Spurina, to the end she would not be tempted, defaced herself with her own hands. Among the first was no: Thamar? among the second was not the Greekish Penelope? among the third was not the Roman Lucretia safe? Finally, among all sorts, the most part have been commonly either tempted, or overthrown. These be the fruits of this transitory and brittle beauty, which many times have not only overthrown whole houses, but great Cities, and mighty Kingdoms. Thou knowest histories. Truly, if Helen had not been so beautiful, Troy had stood safe: if Lucretia had not been so fair, the Roman kingdom had not been so soon overthrown: if Virginea had not been so beautiful, the authority of the ten men had not so soon failed, neither Appius Claudius being so great a law maker among the Romans, being vanquished with lust, had lost his fame at the bar, and his life in prison. Finally, there have been innumerable, who if they had not been so fair as they were, there should not have been so many, that being forced and deceived, have fallen out of the castle of chastity, into so great reproaches and ruin of their souls: and therefore utter what good effects thou hast found in beauty, that they may be compared with their contraries.  joy. 
My Child is passing beautiful.  Reason. 
This beauty having inflamed the lust of one called Messalina, choose which thou hadst rather of these twain: either to deny, and so to be slain at the lovers commandment, either to agreed, and to perish by Claudius' sword. Thus at one side by chastity death is purchased, & by adultery there is nothing but only a little deferring of death procured: and this is the effect of this noble and excellent beauty. In this therefore, as in all other things, the mediocrity is commendable: and if any of the extremities were to be wished, beauty is more delectable, but deformity is more safe.  joy. 
I have a most beautiful Daughter.  Reason. 
Be careful of treason, and beware of force. Dost thou think that there is but one jason, or one Theseus, or one Paris? Yes, there be a thousand. To have a Daughter, is a care and trouble: if she have beauty, there is fear, which thou canst not avoid but by death or old age: for by marrying her into another house, thou shalt but translate thy fear, and not extinguish it.  joy. 
I triumph and rejoice in the singular heautie of my Children.  Reason. 
For young folk to glory and rejoice in their beauty it is a vain thing, but common: but for an old man to rejoice in the beauty of his Children, which unless he doted, he would perceive to be full of vanity, or subject to dangers, it is more folly, and next cousin to madness.  joy. 
My Child hath an heavenly beauty.  Reason. 
Thou hast read, I think, the four and twenty book of Homer's Iliads, where Priamus speaking of his son Hector. He seemed not, sayeth he, to have been the son of a mortal man, but of a God. This said Priamus, but Achilles showed that he was the son of a mortal man, and not of a God: and remember thou likewise, that this heavenly beauty of thy child whereof thou speakest, may be taken away and blemished, and so long as it continueth, whatsoever account be made of it, it is but an uncertain thing. Howbeit the immoderate love of fathers, which is enemy to upright judgement, bringeth forth these errors and trifles.  joy. 
I have a passing fair Daughter.  Reason. 
If nothing else chance, thy house must be most sumptuous.   

Of the valiancy and magnanimity of a Son. The. Lxxiii. Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Have a valiant Son.  Reason. 
The more valiant he is, the more it behoveth thee to be fearful: For Fortune layeth more dangers upon none, than those that contemn her, that is to say, Valiant men. And not without good cause: for other men hide themselves, and seek to avoid her force: but these lay themselves open to her fury. Recall forepast ages to memory, and thou shalt perceive, in a manner, all the most valiant men consumed by violent death.  joy. 
My sons valiancy is exceeding great.  Reason. 
Fortitude is a most excellent virtue, but accompanied with sundry chances, and therefore see thou have always tears, and a coffin in a readiness: Death is at hand to all men, but nearest to the valiant.  joy. 
My Son is a most valiant man.  Reason. 
Then hast thou one that perhaps may purchase unto his country liberty, to his enemies slaughter, to himself honour, and one day unto thee tears, but fear continually.  joy. 
My Son is valiant, and of great courage.  Reason. 
What other thing did Creon bewail in his son that was slain, than his courageous desire of martial praise? What Enander in his son Pallas, than his new glory in arms, and the sweet honour of his first encounter? Whereof did fearful Priamus admonish his son Hector, then that he should not alone expect Achilles? What doth the careful mother entreat her son, other then to shun that warlike champion? Finally, what did Hector's wife (being ignorant of the heavy chance that already was happened) say that she feared, other than her husbands well meaning, and the heat of his mind, that was not able to stay him out of the first array of the Soldiers, but would rather run before them all? Which thing also she feared at the beginning, when as she spoke unto him as he was going into the wars, in this manner, Doth thy valiancy so devilishy be witch thee, that thou takest compassion, neither upon thy Son, nor me his Mother, who shall shortly be thy Widow? Lastly, what other did Achilles' mother say, being fearful for her Son, Now must I seek for my son Achilles by Land and Sea, and I would he would follow me? Whilst in wain she took him, being feeble, out of the garboil of the hot wars, and carrying him into the palace of the calm old man, hid him up in her virgins secret closerts. All these lamentations and fears were by nothing else procured, then Martial force, and valiant courage.  joy. 
My son is exceeding courageous.  Reason. 
A great courage, without great power, is great folly. True valiancy and magnanimity apparteine but to few men: although they that seem most mighty & strong, how weak they be in deed, many things besides death do declare, but specially death itself: so that it may be said shortly and truly, There is nothing more weak, nor more proud then man.  joy. 
I have a courageous son.  Reason. 
Rejoice therefore, for thy house shallbe full of great attempts, and empty of rest and quietness, and thou shalt often wish that thy son were not so courageous. To conclude, fortitude is a noble virtue, and magnanimity beautiful, but both are painful and troublesome, and modesty is safe and quiet.   

Of the Daughter's chastity, The. Lxxiiii. Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Have a chaste Daughter.  Reason. 
A great joy, but a careful: For the greater her chastity is, the more watching is lust over her. For there is nothing more ardently invaded, then that which is defended with chaste watch, and womanly shamefastness. When the corruptor hath won the path, he goeth forth then more slowly, and permitted things are more coldly desired: a thing that is much coveted, is hardly preserved.  joy. 
My Daughter's beauty is excellent.  Reason. 
There it is then, where a very good thing ministereth matter to the most vilest. The beauty of Lucretia was great, but nothing in respect of her honesty: so that the chastity of this noble Matron violently pricked forth the hot young man to adultery. Thus the wickedness of the reprobate, abuseth the ornaments of the virtuous.  joy. 
My Daughter's chastity is known.  Reason. 
Pray that it may continued. Thou readest in the Poet, A woman is always divers and changeable: Which although Virgil said it not, were it therefore less true? How many have we seen that have been honest while they were young, and have afterward proved wanton in their age? And so striving with their present vices, against their forepast honesty, do seem in a manner to repent them of their time honestly spent: a more foul reproach then which, there can chance in no sex and age.  joy. 
I have a most chaste Daughter.  Reason. 
If she knew herself; and understood whose gift chastity is, and giving thanks unto him, could apply all her study to preserve the same, & wou●d continued undefiled in safety, thou shalt then have great cause (I confess) to thank God, and rejoice with her, more than if thou hadst married her to a King, and yet, believe me, some time to fear also: For since constancy is rare in all things, be sure there is none at all in women.   

Of a good son in Law. The. Lxxu. Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Have a very good Son in law.  Reason. 
Thou oughtest to love him more dear than thine own son, for thine own son cometh to thee by chance, but thy son in law by choice. Thank therefore thy Daughter, who owing unto thee Nephews, hath now brought thee a son.  joy. 
Fortune hath brought unto me a very good son in law.  Reason. 
In this kind of affinity, there be examples of notable faith, and treason. Seldom or never hath any Son been so faithful to his father, as way Marcus Agrippa to Augustus Caesar, as Marcus Aurelius to Antonius Pius, unto whom even unto his lives end, which was the space of three and twenty years, he so behaved himself, that not only he deserved his love and his Daughter, but also the succession in his Empire as his Son, through his continual faith and diligence. But Nero was no such son in law unto Claudius, although he not by his deserts, but by his mother's policy, obtained the emperors daughter, and Empire.  joy. 
I have found a courteous, and agreeable Son in law.  Reason. 
Beware lest either the hope of succession, or the seeking after goods, do infringe this agreement. Who will not wish that he may live, whose life he seeth to be profitable unto himself? But if he once begin to attempt any thing, so that perhaps he suppose thy life to be an hindrance, or thy death begin or seem to be profitable unto him, than the affections of the mind are changed, and secret hatred will soon break forth. And of what force the discord is between the Father and the Daughter's husband (to say nothing of the ancient Fable of Danaus, and Nummianus, who was slain by the wicked treason of Aprimus his Father in law, and likewise Stilico, who through the desire to reign forgot his Father in law that was dead, and his Son in law that was living) the most memorable example of Caesar and Pompey, doth sufficiently declare.   

Of second Marriage. The. Lxxvi. Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Mean to be married again.  Reason. 
If thou knewest thoroughly what a woman were, or what excellent auctors do writ of her, thou wouldst not have married at the first.  joy. 
I intend to marry again.  Reason. 
If thy first marriage have not tamed thee, then marry again, & if the tame thee not, than thou mayst also marry the third time.  joy. 
I am about to marry again.  Reason. 
Who so having children by his first marriage, bringeth a Stepmother among them, he setteth his house afyre with is own hands. If youth prick thee, or lecherous old age stir thee to lust, than which there is nothing more filthy, perhaps (to speak now more civilly then virtuously) it were more profitable, were it not the cause of sin, or forbid by the law of God, to remedy the matter by keeping a Concubine, then that a quiet house be disturbed by Stepmothers tempests and hatred.  joy. 
I intend to marry again.  Reason. 
Thou mayest do so by the law of man, the law of God rather suffering it, then praising it: All men know what Saint Paul saith concerning that matter. And truly we may easily perceive, how that among the Gentiles, who in that respect lived in more liberty, this was more suffered, then liked of. For your Forefathers did always repute the experiment of many marriages, to be a token of a certain lawful intemperancy: which opinion Saint Jerome embracing, how much he writeth against second marriages, and how sharply, our promised brevity will not suffer us to declare: which although it seem all to be spoken against women, and not against men, & doubtless that sex aught to be the greater preserver of chastity & honesty, notwithstanding there is more wisdom and constancy required of men.  joy. 
I have need of second marriage.  Reason. 
I should wonder, unless I knew your conditions: for you make not only vain, but hurtful things also necessary for you. And as for thee, thou hast a very hard mouth, if thou have need of another wife to bridle thee.  joy. 
I make haste to be married again.  Reason. 
Too it then apace while thou art hot, and when thou art cold, thou wilt repent thee: Hast thou not noted how pleasant sleep is in an empty chamber? Thy mind is only bend upon that filthy and miserable act, which passeth away and woundeth.   

Of the marriage of Children. The. Lxxvii. Dialogue.  JOY. 
MY offspring is increased by the marriage of my children.  Reason. 
This care is somewhat more commendable than the last was, and yet notwithstanding, the increase of the hines hath often been more profitable, than the bodily issue: The one filleth the cask with pleasant wine, the other annoyeth the friend with bitter cares.  joy. 
I have bestowed my daughter in marriage.  Reason. 
If thou have so done circumspectly and happily, thou hast both preserved thy daughter, and found a son, or as I have said erewhile, one better than a son: but if thou have done otherwise, then hast thou both cast away her, and purchased to thyself an enemy, and to thy daughter a Tyrant.  joy. 
I have bestowed my daughter in marriage.  Reason. 
If she were a good daughter, thou hast bereft thyself of a sweet and pleasant jewel, and transported it into an other man's house: If she were an evil daughter, thou hast eased thyself of an heavy burden, and laden therewith another man.  joy. 
I have married my daughter.  Reason. 
Rejoice not to much at it, Marriage hath been unto many the beginning of a careful and unfortunate life: and admit that all things fall out happily, a wife is a trouble some thing, and thou hast sent forth her whom thou lovest, about an hard labour and a painful business. Children will come at home, and thereof will spring up a peculiar fountain of cares: But if there come non●, then that is a misery and grief. Thus fruitfulness shall make her burdensome, and barrenness shall make her odious, and perhaps she will wish she had tarried at home with thee, and will have this thy overhasty love in bestowing her.  joy. 
I have gotten an husband for my daughter.  Reason. 
The end of an idle life, and the beginning of a painful, an heavy burden of household cares, the knowledge of the world, and the tri●● or herself.  joy. 
My daughter is married.  Reason. 
But she ●oth 〈◊〉 her liberty, her virginity, & her quietness, which is n● indifferent change.  joy. 
I have provided a wife for my son,  Reason. 
The bringing home of a daughter in law is worse than the sending ●ooth of thine own daughter, forasmuch as civil war is always more dangerous than foreign. Thou hast set open thy Castle gates perhaps to an enemy, or truly to a partner, for now thou art not Lord and master alone of thine own goods, and therefore it skilleth to know what manner one thou lettest in.  joy. 
I have provided for my son, a noble, rich, and a fair wife.  Reason. 
Why doest thou conceal that which followeth, to wit, a proud, and an importunate one, who is envious of her husband, and of thy life? There is ancient war between the husbands father and the sons wife, and neither of them hath the greater vantage, but equal fear, for they be both in one state and condition. There is no living thing that so much affecteth the higher place, as doth a woman: For in case she perceive herself (by means of your life) debarred thereof, what she imagineth then in her mind, and what she wisheth, it were an hard matter to conjecture.  joy. 
I have married my son to a wife.  Reason. 
What knowest thou whether thou have procured an everlasting weerysomnesse to him & thyself, or perhaps secret danger to you both? Many daughters in law, have consumed their fathers in law, and husbands, with continual pride and doggedness: some have made them away with poison, and some have shortened their days with a weapon. How many sons had Egisthus, before he had ever a daughter in law? Yea, there hath been found such a daughter in law, who being carried away with desire to reign, and impatiency of the second roomth, to the end she might the sooner see her husband and herself possess the government, having procured the death of her own father, caused her Chariot to be driven over his stain carcase: If this be the reward of fathers at their own children's hands, what shall the sons father look for at his sons wives hands?  joy. 
I am glad that I have celebrated my daughter's marriage.  Reason. 
How many times hath an unlucky event disturbed this celebration? and tears & tumults followed songs, and banquets, and dancings? All immoderate joy is foolish, specially in these things whereout sorrow may and woonteth to arise.  joy. 
I have both provided a wife for my son, and an husband for my daughter.  Reason. 
Thou hast changed burdens, thou hast laid a strange care upon thine own shoulders, and carriest thine own care upon other men's shoulders.   

Of Nephews. The lxxviii Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Have a young Nephew, borne of my son.  Reason. 
A great love of thy sons, and a continual care, notwithstanding it hath a certain end: but if it pass any further, there is no end of carefulness, and both he that is borne of thy son, and he likewise that shallbe borne of him, finally, all of them, are borne to thy pain, whose number, how far it proceedeth, or may proceed, thou knowest. He that was the father of the people of Israel, if he, being affected as thou art, had in such sort lived during the life cyme of our first fathers, how great a burden of cares should there have rested upon the wearied old men's shoulders: For besides Priests, and women, and children, and other unable persons, there sprang of his line in few years above six hundred thousand fighting men. Go thy ways now, and boast thee in the armies of thy Nephews, among whom if perhaps there be any happy, there must needs be wretched of them innumerable. What then? ye must nevertheless not only love your sons and Nephews, but all men also: You must love them, I say, in him in whom ye be all brethren: notwithstanding, thou must not be careful, nor to immoderately glad, least presently thou be vexed with contrary affections, and it repeathee sometime to have rejoiced, and thou be ashamed that thou art constrained to hate him, being a man, whom thou lovedst dearly sometime when he was a child, as it many times happeneth.  joy. 
I have a Nephew borne.  Reason. 
It may chance so to fall out, that either through the wickedness of thy Nephew, or perhaps the force of fortune, thou wilt call that an unhappy day, which now thou thinkest to be fortunate. Yea, peradventure the child may die shortly, & so purchase thee as much sorrow, as ever he procured thee joy. There be many, & divers, and suddyne, and unlooked for chances, that happen unto men, but 〈…〉 innumerable. If all should live that are borne, the 〈…〉 not hold mankind, not though they lived not continually, for if they should live continually they were not men, but even until they came to old age, or unto ripe & lawful years. Wherefore, it is a folly to conceive great joy of a very short thing, and uncertain to what end it will come, which is found to be true in children and nephews, but specially in nephews, and most especially now in nephews children, the further they be distant from the root.  joy. 
I have nephews borne of my mother, my daughter, and my sister.  Reason. 
These appertain less unto thee, commit this joy and care unto their fathers.  joy. 
I have a nephew borne of my brother.  Reason. 
So was Luca●e nephew unto Anneus Seneca, who proved to be no small part of the Spanish eloquence, and likewise jugurtha unto Mycipsa king of Numidia, who was not the last example of the Libyan treachery, the destroyer of his country, & murderer of his brethren.  joy. 
I have a nepheve borne of my sister.  Reason. 
So was Psensipus Nephew unto Plato on the sister's side, and in a manner his heir in Philosophy: likewise Alcibiades such a Nephew to Pericles, the disturber of his country, and the raiser of the wars in Greece: and Brutus also to Targinius the proud, who threw him down from his kingly dignity, & was a great man, & profitable to his country, but utter enemy to his uncle.  joy. 
I have a Nephew borne of my daughter.  Reason. 
Innius, being a modest and grave man, was Nephew by the daughter unto Pacunius, and succeeded him in Poetry, and so was Commodus unto Antonius pius, a most shameless and light person.  joy. 
I have a Nephew borne of my daughter.  Reason. 
Romulus and Remus, being nephews unto Numito● of his daughter, restored their grandfather to his kingdom of Alba. Aucus Martius, being Nephew unto Numa by his daughter, possessed his grandfathers kingdom at Rome with great honour: But Cyrus that was Nephew unto Astyages of his daughter, expulsed his grandfather out of the kingdom of the Medes. These Histories are alleged to this purpose, that concerning the birth of nephews, how much may be hoped, so much also may be feared.   

Of adopted children, husbands children by a former wife, and wives children by a former husband, The lxxix Dialogue.  joy. 
I Have adopted a son.  Reason. 
Adoption is handmaiden unto nature, which although she be the more noble, yet is adoption the more wary, and that which nature doth without advice of the begetter, and as it were by chance, in adoption the same is accomplished by the judgement of him that adopteth.  joy. 
I have gotten a good son by adoption.  Reason. 
Thou oughtest do so, if thou have neglected it: for as begetting, so is not election excusable, herein thou canst not blame thy wife, nor accuse fortune.  joy. 
I have adopted a son.  Reason. 
This civil remedy was denised well to help nature. The same hath been experimented to have been profitable, & to some pestiferous. Nerua adopted a good son, but I know that some writers are of opinion, that Trajan was deceived in his adopting. And that Augustus was deceived in adopting his Nephew Agrippa, his putting of him away, which shortly after happened, doth testify: but that he was not deceived in the adopting or succeeding of Tiberius, I perceive him almost constrained thereunto to confess the same, by putting certain of his friends to death, which his own speech also declareth, and the preface of his last Wyland Testament. But Mysipsa, of whom I made mention not long since, was altogether an unfortunate adopter, sending not a son, but rather a cruel Dragon, into his Palace among his children: whom although, while he lay a dying, he exhorted so to live that he might not seem to have adopted better children than he had begotten? Howbeit, for the more part better are adopted then begotten, and no marvel, since the one is guided by experiment and advice, and the other by neither. But many times it falleth out contrary wise, that not worse only, but worst of all, are adopted: For man is a close and doubtful merchandise.  joy. 
I have a good son in law.  Reason. 
Seldom is there found a good son in law, but more seldom, a good father in law.  joy. 
I have a good son in law.  Reason. 
What matter is it unto thee how good he be? unless thou rejoice as being thy wives factor. For what shall the virtue of another man's child avail thee, but only to bewray the lewdness of thine own children?  joy. 
I have a very good and faithful son in law, not inferior to any of my children.  Reason. 
It may be so. Such a son in law was Drusus to Augustus, but not Nero such an one to Claudius.   

Of an excellent Schoolmaster. The lxxx Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Vaunt of mine excellent schoolmaster.  Reason. 
Thou ceasest not yet to boast of that which is another man's: For what doth the excellency of thy schoolmaster apparteine unto thee? Believe me, which I repeat oftentimes, it must be within thee, which must make thee glorious.  joy. 
I glory in an excellent schoolmaster.  Reason. 
Let him in the mean time enjoy as he list that which is his own, and glory also if he please, although if he be very excellent in deed, he will not do it, and touching thyself we will say somewhat hereafter.  joy. 
I have a notable schoolmaster.  Reason. 
I long to hear what manner scholar 〈◊〉 art? For before I know that, I can pronounce no certainty. How many fools and dullards 〈◊〉 thou were ●here in the schools of Socrates and Plato? How many without any schoolmaster at all, have by their own industry become excellent, insomuch that they become schoolmasters unto either, that had no schoolmasters themselves? We read not that Virgil had any schoolmaster. The Poet Horace speaketh nothing of his schoolmaster, but that he was very liberal of his whipping cheer, which I suppose he meant of the stripes which he received being a child. Cicero would not advance his schoolmaster with great and most worthy praise, neither could he: On the other side, his son, by what instructors and schoolmasters he was brought up, namely his own father, and Cratippus prince of Philosophers at that time, if we believe Cicero, it is apparent, nevertheless how notable a knave, and famous drunkard, he become, it is well known, who might have been learned and sober, had it been with the only look and example of his father. Plato himself, although as I have said before, he boast of his schoolmaster Socrates, yet is it more for his glory that he excelled Socrates, then that he learned under him.  joy. 
I have a very learned schoolmaster.  Reason. 
The schoolmasters learning may be profitable unto the scholar, but it cannot be glorious: yea, whereat thou mayest the more marvel, he may diminysh thy fame, and exaggerate thy slothfulness: but thou hast shut from thyself all means of boasting, and of excuse: thy knowledge shallbe ascribed to thy schoolmaster, and thine ignorance to thyself: And therefore thou hast no cause to glory, but rather to aspire unto glory. Thou hast such an one whom thou wouldst be wyll●ng to follow and attain unto, not whom thou must ●●●nke thyself to be, for that thou art his scholar. To be short, there is in him not which thou hast, but which thou covetest and hopest to have, and that not without thy great study and travail.  joy. 
I have a worthy man to my daily schoolmaster.  Reason. 
Cicero's son, of whom we spoke erwhile, had two notable men to his schoolmasters, whereof the one instructed him with books at hand, the other with words from a far, but how much he pr●●●●d thou hast heard. Do we not know, that many Prince's children have had many excellent schoolmasters at one time? But what availeth it to have them that teach, if there be none to learn? If the patiented be not aptly disposed, the force of the Agent worketh in vain. verily, if to look upon, and to speak with learned men, would make the lookers on, and the conferrers learned, although we see few desirous of virtue or learning, notwithstanding we should see great concourse and resort unto them.   

Of a notable Sholar. The lxxxi Dialogue.  JOY. 
FOrtune hath brought me a notable scholar, whom I love almost more dearly than mine own child.  Reason. 
It is a troublesome business to form thy wit unto the unequal steps of a child's capacity, and always to have thine eyes and mind bend upon one child, and to submit thine understanding and voice unto his ability and sufferance. But if thou have more scholars, than hast thou a greater heap of travels in hand, which will toss thee, & tumble thee, this way & that way, & as the Satyrial Poet sayeth, To observe so many moving and wavering hands and eyes of children without end.  joy. 
I have one only most excellent scholar.  Reason. 
For one notable scholar, thou exposest thyself to many secret judgements: Wherein soever he offendeth, it shall redound unto thy discredit. Behold his learning, will men say, his eloquence, his manners: see the schoolmaster in the scholar, there can be expressed no better resemblance of a man, then of his disposition.  joy. 
I have gotten a famous scholar.  Reason. 
Go to then, thou hast great hope of glory, his profiting shalhe ascribed unto his own wit, & his default unto thy negligence: for as much as plutarch the Philosopher writeth unto his scholar Trajan the Emperor, that the public report useth to lay the faults of the scholars upon their schoolmasters: which, as we read, many have found to be true, among whom was Quintiliane, and Seneca, and the father of Philosophers, Socrates himself.  joy. 
I have famous scholars.  Reason. 
It were better they were modest, howbeit, there is no true fame and renown without some sparkle of virtue.  joy. 
I have the charge of a great scholar.  Reason. 
Thou encountrest with a threefourmed Monster, at one side to profit the child, on the other to please the parents, and thirdly to tender an account to the common wealth, which she will require at thy hands, in looking for him to be instructed, who was altogether ignorant and unlearned when he was committed unto thee.  joy. 
The charge of a noble child, is reposed in my credit.  Reason. 
His age, & nobility are to be suspected. The one, signifieth that he will be unmyndful, the other, that he will be proud.  joy. 
The child that is put in trust unto me, standeth in awe of me.  Reason. 
What wilt thou say, if he contemn thee, when he is a Springal, and will scarce know thee when he is a man? The faith and constancy of children is well enough known.  joy. 
The Child that I have in trust, loveth me.  Reason. 
Thou hast printed a mark upon an unfinished wall, which shall be put out as the wall increaseth: faithful love requireth a sound age.  joy. 
I have a noble Child to teach.  Reason. 
An unquiet chance, an uncertain event: some wits there be whom no diligence can amend. Sometime the Father loseth his cost, the Schoolmaster his travail, the Child his time. Teach him that is apt, trouble not him that is unapt to learn, weary not both thyself and him in vain: Art hardly overcometh nature.  joy. 
There hath chanced unto me a young Scholar, and not unapt to learn.  Reason. 
Although thou stand upon a slippery ground, and build upon an uncertain foundation, notwithstanding, look faithfully to that which is put in trust unto thee. If he be of ripe years, he may remember it: otherwise his is the forgetfulness, and thine is the trust: Virtue is a sufficient reward to itself. There is nothing more sweet, than a conscience bearing a man witness of his good deeds. Let not despair of reward, withdraw thee from virtue, for that even in this life there is no good deed unrewarded, the most plentiful fruit whereof, as the wise men have said, is to do it, and to remember it in silence.  joy. 
I have found a Scholar of great towardness.  Reason. 
And truly of great troublesomeness, and if he prove good, thine heart hath begotten thee a son, and thy tongue hath brought him forth: if evil, an enemy, who so often as he shall remember how he stood in fear of thee, will hate thee.  joy. 
The brightness of my Scholar is very great, whereby I hope to shine.  Reason. 
Moderate brightness delighteth the eyes, but immoderate offendeth them. Moreover, none will lighten thee, unless thou shine of thyself, and although thou be covered, the true light is within.  joy. 
I have a great Scholar.  Reason. 
Not greater, I think, than had Seneca. Some Schoolmasters have been defended, and some oppressed by the greatness of their Scholars, and unto some they have been an assured Haven, and unto some a most dangerous Rock.   

Of a good Father. The. Lxxxii. Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Have a good Father.  Reason. 
Acknowledge then thy good, for it is but short.  joy. 
I have a very good Father.  Reason. 
He will procure grief unto thee, or thou unto him.  joy. 
I have a most tender Father.  Reason. 
If the order of nature be observed, great heaviness remaineth unto thee for inheritance, but if the order be perverted, the like abideth him.  joy. 
I have a Father yet.  Reason. 
Use him with diligence, this is a frail pleasantness, and thy Father is an old man.  joy. 
I have an old man to my Father.  Reason. 
There is now no place for lingering: make haste to gather the last fruit as it were from a ruinous tree. Keep him company as much as thou canst, see him diligently as if he were immediately departing, but hear him more willingly, and lay up his last advertisements in thy careful mind, and when thou goest from him, leave him furnished with necessaries, as if thou were going a far journey. The time will come thou shalt lack his counsel, and shalt seek him, and not find him at home.  joy. 
I have an extreme old man to my Father.  Reason. 
Make haste to show the last dutifulness of virtue towards him while there is time, if thou omit any thing now, thou wilt always be sorry.  joy. 
I have a virtuous Father.  Reason. 
Then hast thou such an one, as desireth to die before thee, and feareth to live after thee.  joy. 
I have a very good Father.  Reason. 
Thou shalt not know what he was, before thou want him, and for whom thou wilt lament, when thou hast lost him.   

Of a most loving Mother. The. Lxxxiii. Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Have a most loving Mother.  Reason. 
But thou art unto her a continual fear and carefulness.  joy. 
I have a most loving Mother.  Reason. 
The Father's love is greatest, but the Mother's love is most vehement, and both their loves are such, and so great, that the affection of the child, unless it be very rare, can scarce countervail it. Notwithstanding, the contention between the Parents and the Children, in showing love and duty one towards another, is commendable and virtuous, & let them have the victory upon whom the fountain of heavenly charity is most abundantly powered. But hitherto the Parents have the upper hand, neither is yet the dutifulness of the Children, or their reverence towards their elders and progenitors such, that it may minister just cause that we should think it would be otherwise: but if it should chance so to happen besides expectation, there were no sight in the earth that could be devised more acceptable unto the heavens.  joy. 
I have a very good Mother.  Reason. 
Be thou at leastwise a good child unto her: remember that thou was first a burden and coil unto her, and afterward a most bitter pain, and lastly a continual trouble, and jealous carefulness. Think on her womb that bore thee, and her breasts that gave thee suck, how many sleeps, and how many meals or pleasures thou hast broken her of by thy crying? What fear and sorrow thou hast procured her by thy chances, and sometimes also perhaps perilous pleasures. Many times, as the fear of children's death hath enforced the wretched Mothers to end their lives, so also hath the joy of their life. This last point appeared plainly that day, wherein they that remained after the slaughter at Thrasimenus, being dispersed, returned safe to their friends: and when two Mothers, who thought no less but that their sons were slain in the battle, saw them notwithstanding come again in safety, not being able to sustain the force of so sudden a joy, they died presently. So that by this and such like examples it is truly verified, that amongst men there is no greater ingratitude then that which is showed against the Mother.  joy. 
My Mother is yet living an old woman.  Reason. 
As often as thou lookest upon her, and beholdest the earth also, think from whence thou comest, and whither thou shalt, out of how narrow a place thou camest, and into how narrow an one thou shalt departed, to witteout of the womb of thine own Mother, into the bowels of the Earth, that is mother of all things. Among all the things therefore, which between these twain do delight, and busy the mind, draw back the reins of pride and covetousness.   

Of good Brethrens, and loving and fair Sisters. The. Lxxxiiii. Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Have loving Brethrens.  Reason. 
A rare matter, for parents for the most part do always love, but brethren most commonly do hate and despise one another. And therefore the truth crieth out by the mouth of the Poet Ovid, That seldom is love sound among brethren: whereas there is noted the wickedness and undutifulness of brethren, children, and almost all sorts of men, excepting parents.  joy. 
I have very good Brethrens.  Reason. 
Truly I wonder at it, it is enough that they be good, for most times they be evil, and the worst of all other, and so much worse than open enemies, by how much there is less heed to be taken of domestical treachery. How great the love of brethren is, that I may not bring to light them that are unknown, nor offend them that are present, the most famous couples, the Micenian, the Theban, and the Roman brethren, do declare: which infamy, why it should more redound unto one city, then to the whole world, I see no cause. Behold the first brethren that were in the world, one was slain by the hand of the other: and yet hast thou not heard? a most horrible mischief to tell, for Phraates, king of the Parthians, of whom I spoke before, beside his most detestable parricide in murdering at one time his own father and natural son, we read how he slew moreover his thirty brethren, not fearing by so foul a massacre and bloodshed, to establish his ill gottten kingdom, and utterly to extinguish all fear of competitors.  joy. 
My Brethrens are good.  Reason. 
I suppose you have not yet divided your inheritance, for then your malice wylbreake forth: Gold is tried by fire, and so is the mind by gold. That agreement which seemeth to be great, is oftentimes overthrown by a little gold.  joy. 
I have loving Brethrens.  Reason. 
Perhaps thy single life, or lack of children causeth them to love thee. Thy marrying will discover them, but having of children more better, when they shall perceive themselves deprived of the hope of succession, which hope hath caused the most impatient to suffer much.  joy. 
I have brethren that love me most dearly.  Reason. 
It aught to be so, unless malice, or fear, or covetousness, or immoderate desire to have: which while it coveteth to be satisfied, quite forgetting the law both of God and man, do hinder it. How great so ever the love be between the parents and the children, yet are the manners and conversation divers, which although the parents do perceive quickly, yet do they acknowledge it too late. Although father's love their children at the first, yet it is long are they receive them into familiarity, yea, many times in their ●●●●age. But brethren, before they be borne, & after they be borne, are conversant together in one house, and are wrapped in the same clouts, and are of equal years, and of like manners. So soon as they be borne, they see one another, are fed with the same meat, under the same parents, are accustomed unto the same fellows, to the same pastimes, to the same Schools, to the same Schoolmasters and bringers up, they grow up together, they w ●● men together. There is equality between them on every side, and love confirmed and established by many assured knots and indissoluble links, unless some accidental causes do break them, and the hardness of a rough mind do infringe them, which is so common a thing, that I know not whether there aught to be any love greater, then between brethren, or any malice be more cankered, or displeasure more deep: equality is always so troublesome a thing, and man's mind so impatient of a match.  joy. 
I have virtuous and godly brethren.  Reason. 
Keep them with like virtue and godliness. Love is a very dainty thing, make much of it, it is hardly gotten, and easily lost.  joy. 
I have good Sisters likewise.  Reason. 
An heavy burden, but pleasant, and almost the first travel for young men, wherein they may exercise themselves when they come to their own liberty, & wherein they may win their first renown of virtue and honesty.  joy. 
I have good Sisters.  Reason. 
See thou that they may have a good Brother of thee, and while thou livest, although your Father be dead, let them not feel the want of him.  joy. 
My Sisters are very fair.  Reason. 
Thou art keeper of a slippery thing: beware of deceit when thou watchest most circumspectly, let the troops of suitors that are about her awake thee. It is an hard matter to preserve beauty where one man assaulteth: what thinkest thou then where there be many? The guard of chastity aught to be by so much more circumspect then of gold, as it is more precious, and not to be recovered. Truly, there is no means whereby a Virgin's chastity may better be preserved, then by timely marriage.  joy. 
I have fair Sisters at home.  Reason. 
Provide that thou have them not there long, they would better furnish many houses.   

Of a good lord. The. Lxxxu. Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Have a good Lord.  Reason. 
Whether thou hast him, or he have thee, think with thyself: but this is the manner of speaking, for so you have a Lord, as a man may say he hath a Scab, or a Cough. There be many things which the possessors have against their wills: those riches be troublesome, which a man can not shake of.  joy. 
I have a good Lord.  Reason. 
Then hast thou lost thy liberty, for no man can have a Lord, and liberty at one time. Now neither thy Sisters, of whom thou spakest erwhile, neither thy Daughters, neither thy Sons wives, neither thy Wife, neither thy Patrimony, neither thy life, are in safety: for in respect of the Lord, whom thou hast, thou hast left of to have all other things at once.  joy. 
Chance hath offered unto me, and my country, a good Lord.  Reason. 
These twain are repugnant, and quite contrary: for if he be good, he is no Lord: and if he be a Lord, he is not good, specially if he would be called a Lord  joy. 
I have a good Lord  Reason. 
Parents are good, brethren and children may be good, but friends are always good, else are they not friends: howbeit, for a Lord to be called good, is a gentle lie, or a pleasant flattery.  joy. 
We have a very good Lord  Reason. 
Perhaps a good governor of the people, and defender of the Common wealth: a more acceptable thing then which can not be offered unto God by man. He is not only not worthy to be termed very good, yea, not so much as good, but rather worst of all, who taketh away from his Citizens and Subjects, the best thing that they have, to wit, their liberty, which is the chief and most special commodity of this life, and for the fulfilling of one man's bottomless gulf of covetousness, which will never be glutted, can willingly behold so many thousand wretches in misery, with dry eyes. And if justice and mercy can not prevail, yet at leastwise shame and honesty must revoke him from so heavy a spectacle, although he be affable to be spoken withal, fair spoken to persuade, and lastly, liberal unto a few, of the spoils of many. These are the means that Tyrants do use, whom men commonly call Lords, and are found to be Hangmen: With these mists, they blear men's eyes: with these baits, they cover their hooks, and catch the credulous in their snares.  joy. 
I have a mighty Lord  Reason. 
There is one only in heaven (who of his own right hath called himself Lord) and commandeth himself so to be called: for Augustus Caesar, that was lord of the earth, provided by proclamation, that none should call him Lord. The one is God of gods, the other Emperor over men: The one maintained his Majesty, the other preserved his modesty. Finally, in this respect he sharply reproved the people of Rome: for thus it is written of him, He always abhorred the name of Lord, as a reproach and slander. Which moderation also, it is well known that his successor observed, although in all degrees he were far inferior unto him: who though he were greedy of government, yet refrained himself from the title of Lordship, and so keeping as it were a middle course between ambition and modesty, he was content to be a Lord, but not to be called so, knowing that it was unjust which he desired, and therefore desired so as he might avoid the blemish of reproof. Hard, proud, and grievous is the name of a Lord, specially where is love of liberty, and shame of servility? Whose foootesteppes Alexander that was Emperor of Rome wifely following, would have no man writ unto him in any more lofue style and manner then to a private man. As for the other Alexander, that was king of Macedon, he would not only be called Lord, but also God: whom these petty thieves of our time following in like pride of mind, scarce having possessed by sinister means a town or twain, will not only be called Lords, but count it a shame to be reputed men, and take it as an injury to be so termed.  joy. 
I have a very good Lord in deed.  Reason. 
There is one very good Lord in deed, whom if thou hast, thy service is most honest, and more happy than a kingdom.  joy. 
We have a just Lord, and 〈◊〉 very good King.  Reason. 
The greeks make no difference between a King and a Tyrant, according unto which signification, our Poet speaking of a king, sayeth, It shallbe unto me some part of contentation to have touched the tyrants right hand. But among you, only the purpose and manner of government maketh the difference: so that he is truly to be termed a King, that ruleth with justice and equity. But who so sitting in the high seat of princely dignity, is not a diligent looker to the profit of the Common wealth, but rather a procurer of his own private lust, or either seeking after rapine, or imagining revenge, pursueth his own wilfulness or wrathfulness, and giveth himself up to the outrageous and unbridled motions of his mind, the same is a slave unto evil masters, and no king, although he appear in more majesty than the residue, and bear the Regal sceptre in his hand, and vaunt himself in his Purple and princely apparel, but is rather a Thief that is risen unto dignity, by vexing the Commons, or troubling the people, and is set in that place, to the intent that exercising his cruelty with a more free scourge, proving some, and tempting other, troubling and molesting all, being himself ignorant, and following his own passions, notwithstanding, by the ordinance of him that turneth evil to good purpose, although with wicked and unjust hands, yet executeth he the just judgement of God, even as a bloody tormentor putteth in execution the upright sentence of a righteous judge.  joy. 
My country hath a just and godly King.  Reason. 
A rare treasure, and a most happy state of the Common wealth, unless the present joy procuring fear of that which is to come, diminished the felicity, by causing a change to be suspected, and the wanting of that which is lost, which shortly after is like to heap up together future miseries, were remaining in men's minds that know the conditions of human things, and Fortunes slypperie wheel, which suffereth no prosperous thing to continued long. Custom assuageth the feeling of that which is evil, and unaccustomed things cast a man down, so that some have said that it is best to be always in adversity, which they would not have said if prosperity would always endure.  joy. 
We have a just and merciful Prince.  Reason. 
Wish to die while he liveth, that thou mayest not lament the alteration of the state: For seldom doth one good Prince succeed another, but oft-times after an evil cometh a worse, and most times after a worse, the worst of all.   

Of the clearness of the Air. The lxxxvi. Dialogue.  JOY. 
THe air is clear and pleasant.  Reason. 
Who can now justly say of you, that your heavenly mind is addicted to the earth? For ye hung it up now in the air, and ye bestow your love upon the Element, than which there is none more unconstant.  joy. 
The air is clear and calm.  Reason. 
If thou stay awhile, thou shalt quickly see it cloudy and troublesome, that thou wilt think thyself to be under another heaven.  joy. 
The air is clear and calm.  Reason. 
How much rather would I wish that thy mind were clear and calm: that clearness and constant tranquillity were profitable, which neither clouds could cover, nor winds trouble.  joy. 
The air is clear.  Reason. 
Every clear thing is not by and by the best, for we read that cloudy provinces are more wholesome than the clear, and in this respect the West part of the world is preferred before the East.  joy. 
This bright air delighteth me.  Reason. 
To take delight in the creation and handy works of God, it is not forbidden, so that the whole delight of the mind be converted unto God, who is the fountain of all goodness, and the eternal Creator of all things be praised in these things which are temporal: otherwise, hearken what is written, If saith job, I beheld the Sun in his brightness, and the Moon when she shined clear, and my bart rejoiced in secret, and I kissed my hand with my mouth, which is a very heinous offence, and a denying of the most high God.  joy. 
The air is very clear, I would it might always continued so.  Reason. 
Thou art not able not only to abide it so still, but also not any long while: The alteration of time is worthily commended to be very commodious of many, but specially of Cicero.  joy. 
The air is very clear, I would it might not be changed.  Reason. 
Thou knowest not how soon this clearness will bring wearisomeness: There is nothing so pleasant, which continual frequenting the same maketh not loathsome. There is no medicine more effectual against all tediousness of this life, than variety of time and place: With this, man's life is nourished and fed, and as S. Augustine saith, He that cannot be filled with the quality of things, at leastwise may be glutted with variety.   

Of fortunate sailing. The lxxxvii Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Sail prosperously.  Reason. 
I perceive the matter, Neptune layeth snares for thee.  joy. 
The Sea hath showed itself calm unto me.  Reason. 
A deceitful calmness, and as I may term it, a bait for shipwreck: For if the sea were always rough, no man would venture upon it.  joy. 
The Sea is pleasant and sweet unto me.  Reason. 
It is a suspicious sweetness: thieves flatterynges are threatenings. This face of the Sea will suddenly change, so that thou wilt little think it to be the same, but being cold for fear with the strangeness of the sight, wilt seek and say, Where is that Sea which I praised erewhile? from whence come these so many and horrible Mountains of water? from whence this roaring of the hugy waves, and these boisterous billows which with threatening froth rise up to the clouds? None know but those that have proved, what the Sea is, and how outrageous a beast, and what moved the Poet to call it a Monster. For there is nothing more monstrous in the whole world, nothing more untrusty or inconstant, nothing so often transformed, so dangerously, or suddenly: finally, nothing more quiet while it resteth, or more unmerciful when it is troubled.  joy. 
The Sea is now calm and quiet.  Reason. 
The earth itself sinketh, and openeth, and dost thou attribute firmness to the Sea, as if thou dissembledst thy senses? trust it not, to tempt fortune oftentimes, is mere madness.  joy. 
At lest wise, I have now sailed prosperously.  Reason. 
There is no savage beast that falleth into the snare, but he feeleth some sweetness before.  joy. 
I have sailed prosperously.  Reason. 
Wicked persons also sail prosperously, and godly men commit shipwreck.  joy. 
I have sailed happily.  Reason. 
Believe me, if thou continued, thou shalt sail unhappyly.   

Of wished arriving at the Haven. The lxxxviii Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Am now come to the Haven: now I sit upon the Shore.  Reason. 
Many perish in the Haven, more upon the Shore: thou hast exchanged the kind, but not eschewed the danger.  joy. 
I am come to land.  Reason. 
Thus thou sayest, as though the dangers of the land were either less or fewer than of the sea, although they be more secret: Did not he esteem them both alike, who sometime by the one, and sometime by the other, had been greatly distressed upon them both? Neither is it without cause, that the same poor searcher of waters in Statius, when he died, commended the Winters and South wind, and the better dangers of the experimented Seas.  joy. 
I am upon the land.  Reason. 
Thou art the more subject unto chances, in respect there be more men Inhabit the earth, than the Sea. For one man is the greatest part of the miseries that chance unto another: so that death cometh from whence succour aught to come, to let pass the sundry kinds of beasts, whereof the life of man is full.  joy. 
At the least wise the earth will stand steady under foot.  Reason. 
But many times it hath not stood, and for confirmation hereof, I let pass ancient examples, as Achaia, and the residue of Greece, with Syria and other countries, where in times past both whole Cities have been utterly swallowed up, and hills sunk down, & Islands drowned: to omit also unspoken of the ancient ruins of your own hills Aetna & Vesenus, amongst you of late days. Rome itself the head of cities was shaken with an earthquake, which in the time of the civil wars was counted a strange matter. In this age the Alps trembled marvelously, & the high rocks being torn away, gave licence to the Sun beams to view such places as were never discovered before, since the creation of the world: a great part also of Spain and Germany was overthrown. Thou hast seen Cities, strong Castls, and Towns, at one time standing most firmly, which within few days after, a miserable and fearful sight, lay all flat upon the earth. Yea, the river Rhine itself ran forth in his channel as it were weeping for the ruins wherewith his banks were on each side defaced, specially that side which was sometime most beautified with buildings, whose rubbish he washeth now with his rattling whirlpools. And therefore cease thou to be careless where is no security.  joy. 
I have the earth under my feet.  Reason. 
Not so certain a place of dwelling, as of burial.  joy. 
I am glad that I am come to the ground.  Reason. 
Like, I see, rejoiceth in it like, and thou art earth also.  joy. 
I am come to earth.  Reason. 
Not yet truly, but shalt shortly.   

Of coming forth of prison. The lxxxix Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Am glad I have escaped out of prison.  Reason. 
Truly I confess that this liberty after it hath been restrained is more acceptable, and more also when it is resfored then preserved: but all things that delight, do not profit, and many times sweet things are hurtful, and bitter things, wholesome. Many times not prison only, but death also hath been profitable, and as often life and liberty hurtful.  joy. 
I am glad I have escaped forth of prison.  Reason. 
Erewhile thou reioycedst that thou hadst gained the Haven, and now thou art glad that thou hast escaped it. Prison unto some hath been an Haven, to some, a refuge and Castle of defence, and hath preserved some that would have perished, if they had been at liberty. Things that are shut up and tied in chains, are easily kept. Blind mortal men know not what is good for them, and therefore they desire their own harms, and when they have obtained them, they rejoice, whereof they shall soon be sorry. And that thou mayest not seek far for an example: thou sawest of late that man, whose enterprise was more courageous than constant, who in time of trouble durst profess himself Patron of the common wealth of Rome, First he took upon him the name of Tribune, and afterward when fortune changed, was banished the City: then after his fall into prison that first was Prince, and then Bishop, being in both well and honestly reputed, at length by evil chance being set at liberty, and not only stain, but also hewed in pieces by his enemies weapons, as he was dying, I suppose, wished he had been in prison.  joy. 
I rejoice that I am come forth of prison.  Reason. 
Henceforth thou shalt be conversant in the courts that are troublesome with contentions, in the streets of the cities, and tumults of business, and supposing trouble to be liberty, shalt falsely gratulate to thyself the one for the other, while a thousand snares shall entrap thee, whom before one key did shut up: and when all men rejoice out of a storm to come into the Haven, thou only art a wonderful Maryner, who willingly settest out of the Haven into a tempest.  joy. 
I am glad that I am returned out of prysyn.  Reason. 
The goodness and commodity hereof, as of such other like things, is neither to much to rejoice, nor to much to be sorry, but in each state to keep an equanimity, as the government of your life, specially in so great darkness of future accidents: neither is it so miserable a thing, as some make it, to go into prison, neither so happy to come forth. How often hath the prison of the enemy, been more safe than his liberty? How often hath liberty, which you also much covet, turned to destruction and death:  joy. 
I am come forth of prison.  Reason. 
Many chances may deliver a man out of a large prison, but out of his narrow prison, death only.  joy. 
I am come forth of a painful prison.  Reason. 
Into that prison thou mayest return again, but when thou art once departed out of the other, thou canst not come again in this time.   

Of a quiet State. The xc Dialogue.  JOY. 
Having disposed mine affairs in good order, I now live quietly.  Reason. 
Forsooth, even as thy ship out of the surgies of the sea, so thy mind, being discharged of the cares of this life, is arrived in the harbour of troubles and terrors: but in deed it is not so, for now hast thou greatest cause to fear. Knowest thou not that the state of human things doth not continued, but he that sitteth highest upon the wheel, is the nearest to falling?  joy. 
All things go with me as I would wish.  Reason. 
Thou sayest well in saying they go all, for nothing tarrieth. Before than that thou seem happy, perhaps hope possesseth some place within thee, but afterward fear, and last of all sorrow, but joy never, I speak of the true joy, until such time as we attain to the true & permanent good things.  joy. 
Having disposed mine affairs, now I take my rest.  Reason. 
Travail and sorrow are the sum of human things, & canst thou take thy rest in them? An hard head, that can endure to lie between an iron pair of sheets, and rest thyself upon a pillow of thorns.  joy. 
All things are well provided for.  Reason. 
I suppose that thy ship of merchandise is arrived, thou hast escaped danger, thou hast builded an house, thou hast tilled thy land, thou hast pruned thy vine, thou hast watered thy meadows, thou hast made thy floors, thou hast planted trees, thou hast cast rivers, thou hast plashed hedges, thou hast builded a dove house, thou hast put thy flocks and herds into pasture, thy bees into their hives, thy seed into the furrows, thy new merchandise thou hast sent to sea, thou hast laid thy money safely to bank, thy coffers are full, thy hall is rich, thy chamber neat, thy barns well stored, thy store house full to the brim, thou hast provided a dowry for thy daughter, a wife for thy son, thou hast won the people's favour with thy ambitious flattery, thou hast gotten their voices, thou hast prepared unto thyself a ready way unto riches and honour, there now remaineth nothing, but that thou rejoice in thine own felicity. This, if I be not deceived, is thy conclusion: but mine is far other wise, to wit, that thou die. It seldom happeneth unto men, to enjoy long that which they have gotten together with great diligence: the toil is long, the use is short.  joy. 
Now that my affairs go forward prosperously, I am in an assured state.  Reason. 
How thou canst stand, while thine affairs go forward see thou, for I cannot perceive.  joy. 
I rejoice, now that my business proceedeth according to my desire.  Reason. 
Now therefore it is time to die: thinkest thou that there can any man live long meery hear? die therefore while thou art meery, before thou begin to be sorrowful. I will now repeat again that which I have said: For the repeating of profitable things is not tedious, but pleasant. doest thou remember in Tully, what Lacon said to the ancient Diagoras Rhodius, who at that time much rejoiced, though upon very light occasion, which thou heardest before when we entreated of Palestrical exercises? Die now Diagoras, quoth he, for thou canst not climb into heaven. And truly it was gravely spoken: For in this so great an alteration of things, what can the mind look for more, then to leave to be merry, and to begin to be sorrowful? And therefore Diagoras very seasonably followed his friends counsel: for in the sight and a midst the shouting and gratulation of the people, in the midst of the embracings and kisses of his sons, he gave up the ghost. This History is written in the book of the Attic nights: and in sum, more have perished through joy, than sorrow. Of all therefore that are wise, but specially that are in great joy, death is to be wished, of which we aught always to think, but most of all in time of prosperity, and this cogitation will bridle all other.  joy. 
I have taken pain, and now I rest.  Reason. 
You hope all for that, but therein ye be all deceived: The course of your life fareth otherwise, and the end thereof answereth not your expectation. This thy rest is either short or false, or, to speak more truly, both: and how then carry dream any rest hear? So doth he that is in prison dream of liberty, the sick man of health, and he that is hungry, of dainty cheer: but behold, the last day is at hand, which will shortly drive away these dreams. But be ye not deceived by dreams and false opinions, whereof the life of man is full, promise not unto yourselves rest hear: Believe me, death is all the rest that men have after their travails.  joy. 
I have all things most plentifully, that I think to be necessary for●ine.  Reason. 
All things more than needful, are waist & superfluous, but this is the manner of man's mind, that professing and ascending upward to heaven, burdeneth itself with so great care and study, as it is scarce never able to disburden itself again: so that being weighed down with a foreign burden, while it endeavoureth to rise upward, it falleth down, & the earth is unto it in steed of heaven.  joy. 
I have abundance of all things, and they be now in the Haven.  Reason. 
Then are they in the end of their course: For this present life is like to the troublesome Sea. The end of the one is at the shore, and of the other in death, so that they may be both well termed Havens. And truly the most part of men, while they be careful in heaping together necessaries to live by, in the chiefest of their preparation they are cut of by death, and there is nothing now more common, then for death to prevent the carefulness of this life: it happeneth but unto few to obtain their desire, and from these, the use of their daily gain is so soon taken away, that the shortness of their joy is an increase of their sorrow, whereof it is known that many have complained at their death.  joy. 
Now that I have ended my travails, I live in security.  Reason. 
So doth the foul fly safe between the line and the grin, the fish playeth among the hooks, and the wild beasts among the toils. Oftentimes whereas is most danger and lest fear, it is fortunes cunning to take away distrust, that she may strike the more freely.  joy. 
I have toiled all my life time, to the end I might take my rest at last.  Reason. 
Thou hast placed thy rest & security upon a dangerous downefal, & hast lived in sorrow, to die in mirth, wherein thou hast followed no absurd government concerning thy life and death, so that we agreed about the quality of the security, and rest, & sorrow, and joy.  joy. 
I have provided all things to furnish myself while I live.  Reason. 
Nay rather, to make thy death more grievous: Thou hast well provided for the Physicians, they will shortly come thick unto thee, prattling about thy bed: There will come also some to make thy Testament, & some to look for Legacies: some that will dissemble their joy, & counterfeit tears, & secretly curse that thy life continueth so long, & thy death approacheth no faster: some will mark the crisis or determination day of the sickness, some the signs and tokens, & some will watch the golden carcase. All these goods which in all thy life time thou hast scraped together, will be the means only, not for thee to live the better, but to die the more accompanied. Thou hast not altogether lost thy labour, for thou shalt not lack company when thou art sick, neither money for thy lust and superfluities, neither pomp for thy burial.  joy. 
Now that I have gotten all things, I may take my rest.  Reason. 
I said erewhile, thou soughtest rest and comfort of life, but thou hast found pain and tediousness of death.  joy. 
I have disposed all things, and attained prosperity.  Reason. 
Thou hast heaped together a nest of most deceitful and transitory hope, which so soon as it groweth to any ripeness, will flee away, leaving thy heart void and sorrowful, and many times it perisheth before it be fledge.  joy. 
After my long travail, cometh quietness.  Reason. 
Perhaps it will be as short as may be possible. For often the travel of many years perisheth in a moment, & when as for the most part all procedings are by degrees, the ends of things are not seldom sudden.  joy. 
By long cares, at length I am come to the beginning of security.  Reason. 
Human curiosity is very careful of the beginnings, but is so blind that it cannot foresee the end. A thick mist of the time to come, hath bleared the sight of mortal men's eyes. Let our deliberation be the accomplishment of our fortune: But to speak more truly, it is the will of God, in whose hands are all men's chances, not such as in your fond opinion and ungodly hope you imagine to yourselves, but which he foreseeth in his providence. For this is his saying, Fool, this night will they take thy soul from thee: Whose then shall these goods be which thou hast gathered? An horrible threatening, which if it be not able to quail your hope, and break of your sleep, doubtless ye are fallen deaf.   

Of Power. The xci Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Have great Power.  Reason. 
Then hast thou also much envy.  joy. 
I am of great power.  Reason. 
And also in much peril.  joy. 
I am of very great power.  Reason. 
Thou art subject also to infinite travails, and inextricable cares.  joy. 
I may do much.  Reason. 
So much as thou mayest do over other, so much may other do over thee.  joy. 
I have very much power.  Reason. 
The greater thy power is, the more empire fortune hath over it: she bestirreth herself but coldly in small things, she chooseth rather the more plentiful matter to exercise herself in. In a great pile of wood the flame rageth with fiercer noise: great prosperity prepareth the way for great adversity. A man shall scarce find one that is in miserable state in deed, that hath not before been in great prosperity. The calamity of an unknown man, can not be known.  joy. 
Look what I would do, the same I can do.  Reason. 
Take heed then that thou have a will to do no evil: and know this, that the more power thou hast, so much the more business, and less liberty thou hast.  joy. 
I am of great power.  Reason. 
How knowest thou whether it will continued? I am ashamed to set down what men of power have come to weakness, & what kings have been brought unto infamous slavery. Full of briars & slippery are the steps of man's rising, the top is wavering, the fall is horrible: the rising to high degree is difficult, the continuing is careful, the fall is sudden and grievous, which to be true, not only every king and people, but also the greatest Empires do testifite.  joy. 
I am mighty in arms and riches.  Reason. 
True and firm power is founded upon virtue: if thou take away the foundation, the greater the building is, in the more danger it is. What availeth it to fill houses with riches, fields with Mattocks, seas with Navies, if in the mean while household enemies besiege & overcome the mind within? Wilt thou have me grant that thou art of power? Overcome then those enemies, and drive them out of thy bounds, subdue anger, covetousness, lust, yea, and thine own self, who art enemy to thine own fame and soul. For what power is this, to subdue other by a man's own passions?  joy. 
My power is surely grounded.  Reason. 
How can that he when as your life itself is daily subject to alteration? O thou weak creature, why dost thou swell? thou disputest of power, and in the mean while art in danger of thy life, which sooner than a man can speak it, either some secret force of nature, or the biting of some little beast, or some most vile and base person, hath often times taken away from the most mighty personages.  joy. 
My power is very firmly established.  Reason. 
Where, I pray thee? upon the sand and waves, or in the wind, or, as they say, upon Fortune's wheel? Howbeit, my friend, lay down this thy foolish confidence. Here is no power stable, and to utter (though improperly) that which I think, here is no power, that is of power.   

Of Glory. The xcii Dialogue.  JOY. 
BUT I have found great Glory.  Reason. 
How great things may be expressed in a little, I do not understand. If thou measure the shortness of times, and the narrowness of places, thou must needs confess that here can be no great glory. I will not here rehearse unto thee, how that the whole earth is but a prick, the greatest part whereof nature hath made inhabitable, and to fortune inaccessible, and that the time present is less than a prick, and evermore unstable, and passeth away so swiftly, that a man can scarce follow it with his mind: as for the other two parts of time, they are always absent, so that the one weerieth us with slipperiness of remembrance, the other with careful expectation: so that all times, either by floods of water, or overmuch heat, or with some plague or intemperance of the heaven or earth, or briefly by themselves, and their own fall, are so torn and confounded, that no age almost hath that which another had: & no less in time then in place a man may see in short space, the thing that was commonly known, not to be known at al. These, & such other like matters, I say, I let many pass: they be common things, whereby it is easily discerned how great this mortal & earthly glory is.  joy. 
I have gained that glory which my calling requireth.  Reason. 
If it be unworthy, truly it is but short: if it be worthy, rejoice, not for that thou hast it, but for that thou hast deserved it.  joy. 
I have gained glory.  Reason. 
True glory is not gained but by good means: see therefore how thou hast gotten a name, and so shalt thou understand whether it be true glory or not: if chance hath brought thee fame, the fame will also take it away.  joy. 
I am in great glory.  Reason. 
Beware jest that glory which thou supposest to be true, be the Image of false glory: In worldly matters there is great illusion.  joy. 
I am in much glory.  Reason. 
Like as no poor man seeketh to have the report that he hath great store of money, but only to deceive: so truly, for none other cause do the wicked covet the opinion of great virtue: notwithstanding both of them are privy to themselves whatsoever other men report of them, the one, how much money he hath in his coffer, the other, how much virtue he hath in his mind.  joy. 
My glory is notable.  Reason. 
If deservedly, use it modestly, that thou add not there unto the blemish of pride: if not, abuse the people no longer.  joy. 
My glory is glittering.  Reason. 
Either study to deserve it, or put of that heavy garment which is none of thine own. It were better to be without glory, then lyingly to be glorious. For true glory is preserved by labour: What dost thou think then of false? It is hard to feign and dissemble in all matters, but most hard in that which many do watch on every side. Men endued with true glory, are rare to be found, whom because of their great difference and unlikeness, the obscure and malicious common people do hate. It is an hard matter to lie hid among so many snares of the enemies, thou canst not blear all men's eyes that are so diligently bend upon thee.  joy. 
I appear glorious.  Reason. 
Perhaps it were better for thee to lie hid, and more safe. This spoke he gravely, that hath said many things lightly, He hath lived well, that hath lain hid well.  joy. 
I am famous and far known, and widely renowned.  Reason. 
Malice pierceth and searcheth the most secret things, and thinkest thou that she will let pass the things that are in sight? Yea, they are but few, for whom it is expedient to appear and be seen, and few whom fame would not hurt to be fully known. The saying of Claudianus is well known, Presence diminisheth the fame: but how much more doth knowledge of the matter diminyshe it? Men are seldom found in deed to be such as they seem.  joy. 
I appear glorious.  Reason. 
Thou liest hid in an hollow cloud, forth of which when thou shalt come a little abroad, the falser thy glory was, the truer shall be thy shame.  joy. 
But my glory is true.  Reason. 
None knoweth that better, than thyself: & so if in thine own affairs thou put on the uncorrupt mind of an outward judge, true glory, as some wise men hold opinion, is as it were a certain shadow of virtue: for it keepeth company with her, and followeth her, and sometimes goeth before her: which we see to be true in young men of noble and virtuous disposition, whom the opinion which men conceive of them, maketh them noble before their virtue be perfect, which, as it were with certain pricks and spurs, provoketh & inflameth noble and modest minds, to be in all respects answerable to the hope of their countrymen and citizens, and throweth down headlong the foolish and proud. Hereof cometh the ridiculus metamorphosis of noble youths into obscure old men: For praise that is profitable to a wise man, hurteth a fool. Hereby thou perceivest that a shadow can not be of itself, but it must be the shadow of another thing. Wouldst thou then that thy glory were true? see then that true and sound he thy virtue.   

Of Benefits bestowed upon many. The xciii Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Rejoice that I have bestowed Benefits upon many.  Reason. 
When thou hast found many unthankful, thou wilt be sorry.  joy. 
I have powered forth benefits upon many.  Reason. 
Thou sayest true, for if a man consider the minds of the receivers, the most part of them is cast away.  joy. 
Many are beholden to my benefits.  Reason. 
Some will release themselves by forgetfulness: others will requited thy good turns with injuries, and if injuries cease, yet complaints will not cease: how many do complain of such as have done them good? This is injurious, I confess, but so common, that complaints are not so often made of the enemies. Thou hast heard in Lucan. how Photinus complaineth of Pompeius, and in Seneca, Sabinus of Augustus. But why do I call thee unto books, or antiquity? Behold the midst of Cities: every village is full of such complaints. There is no ingratitude, as I suppose, but it groweth upon one of these three causes: Envy, which thinking, by the benefits bestowed upon others, themselves to be injured, forget the good turns that themselves have received: Pride, which either judge themselves worthy of greater, or disdain that any other should be preferred before them: Covetousness, which is not assuaged, but inflamed by rewards, and in gaping after that which is to get, remembreth not what is gotten already. I might more briefly term the whole cause of this mischief, foolishness: for it is not only the cause of this, but also of all other mischiefs, the ignorance of the true good, and the perverseness of opinions. here-hence proceed the infections of the mind, chiefly, pride and covetousness, unto whom no duty is not stubborn, no bountifulness not too little.  joy. 
I have been beneficial unto many.  Reason. 
A certain magnanimity which Aristotle intendeth, is said to remember what it hath bestowed, but to forget the benefits received. Which opinion, although it want not some colour, yet in my judgement he that hath the true magnanimity, is a contemner of mean and base things, and therefore whatsoever he doth, although in the judgement of many they be great, yet are they but small to a mind that imagineth greater and rarer matters: and contrariwise, if he have received any thing whereby he is made beholden to another man, although it be but little, yet is it grievous unto one that loveth liberty, and aspireth unto excellency, whereof he is desirous with speed to be discharged and unburdened. And therefore concerning this matter, I like of the saying of Anneus Seneca, Let him that hath done a good turn, saith he, hold his peace, and let him tell it that hath received it. And it is finely said, for that there are two poisons or wounds of beneficency: The one, the exprobration of the giver, the other, the forgetfulness of the receiver: both are Mothers to ingratitude, and Stepdame's to a good turn. The first, bringeth forth ingratitude in another, the latter, in itself. The first also extinguisheth a benefit in itself, the latter, in another. These mischiefs how many soever they be, may be cured by Senecas counsel.  joy. 
I have done good unto many.  Reason. 
But thou hast not done unto most, which are grieved that they are contemned and neglected. There is in us, I know not how, a more perfect remembrance of injuries and offences done unto us, then of the good turns which we have received. And it chanceth many times, that for benefits received, a man shall find his friends forgetful or lukewarm, but his enemies mindful and earnest.  joy. 
I have done many great good turns for many men.  Reason. 
There are many of that disposition, that it is dangerous to do them good: some have purchased a friend with a small benefit, and an enemy with a great, for that a small debt is easily repaid, and they are ashamed to own a great debt, and are loathe to repay it, so that there is no third left, but that he must leave longer to own that oweth against his will. Thus whilst shame grieveth him that oweth a good turn, and sorrow him that hath received it, the ship of him that is beneficial, is carried between the two dangerous rocks of Scylla and Charybdis, and so it is come to pass, that many that might have lived hardly and sparyngly, have been brought into danger through liberality. For a man can not freely be good among evil men, an hard saying, but I must needs utter it: there is no living thing more unthankful then man.  joy. 
I have showed myself beneficial far and wide.  Reason. 
There be some that be beneficial, but not friendly, whom the greatness of their calling, and the necessity of men constraineth to give many things, unto such as they do not only not love, but not so much as know, of whom if they hope to be beloved for their benefits sake, they be very much deceived. There is none lightly, but loveth where he is beloved. Love is a mutual knot and reciprocation of minds. Gifts are oftentimes given upon necessity, but love is bestowed by judgement. Therefore, as I will never deny, but that benefits well bestowed, and with a merry countenance and well meaning mind, employed upon worthy persons, are glorious: so is there no man that doubteth, but that many, yea, the most part of them, through the fault of the givers or receivers, are lost and cast away: and that way unto love is more easy, short, and straight, which I showed thee before, to wit, to attain unto love by leaving, in which, while thou goest forward, if thou win the true name of a beneficial person, it shall make thee famous and beloved above expectation.  joy. 
I have bestowed many and great benefits.  Reason. 
Not what, but how, and with what mind things be done, both God and man do respect: great things are many times odious, and mean things acceptable, but above all, the very naked heart only is accepted in the sacrifice and gift of the poor.   

Of love of the people. The xciiii Dialogue.  JOY. 
THE people love me.  Reason. 
Stay awhile, and anon they will hate thee.  joy. 
The people love me.  Reason. 
Make no great haste, the end is not yet come: for as one day, so is the whole life described by the end.  joy. 
I am beloved of the people.  Reason. 
Who was of them better beloved than the Scipios, than Camillus, than Rutilius and Metellus? What shall I speak of Themistocles or Milciades, or of his son Cymon, or Aristides? What of Theseus, of Solon, of Hannibal, or of Lycurgus? These Citizens, I say, although they were never so dearly, and never so short time beloved of their people, notwithstanding their ends are all known, and this love turned either into contempt, or into hatred, and requital unworthy of their deserts, travel at home and abroad, accusation, death, exile imprisonment.  joy. 
Most part of the people love me.  Reason. 
The worser sort then, for there are but few good, and it is known that the love of evil men, is purchased by evil means: For if a certain similitude and likeness procure friendship, as the wise hold opinion, think of thyself what thou art, in that most of the people do love thee.  joy. 
The people love me.  Reason. 
A fair Winters weather, summers air, calmness of the Sea, the moons state, and love of the people, if all these were compared together, for inconstancy, the last shall bear the bell.  joy. 
The people honour me.  Reason. 
With their lips I think, but their heart is far from thee: for it is not more true unto thee then to God. The people doth seldom any thing willingly, but raise tumults and uproars.  joy. 
The people fear me.  Reason. 
They will not do so long: For it soon decayeth that is not grounded upon assured judgement.  joy. 
The people's good will is fervent towards me.  Reason. 
Of an hot beginning many times cometh a warm middle, and a cold end: which may be seen in nothing sooner than in the good will of the people.  joy. 
The people praise me.  Reason. 
The praise of fools, is counted infamy among the learned.  joy. 
The people have me in admiration.  Reason. 
After some small alteration they will despise thee, for always they hold one of the extremities, but never the mean, as fearing him whom they so accounted of for an enemy.  joy. 
The people do reverence  Reason. 
I would marvel if thou couldst prospero under so attending attenders.  joy. 
The people have a good opinion of me.  Reason. 
They use to judge on both sides without discretion, and therefore the verdict of the common people, among true judges, is an argument of the contrary.  joy. 
The people esteem well of me.  Reason. 
The estimation and judgement of mad men is suspected of sound wits: I had rather the people knew thee not, then so liked of thee.  joy. 
The people speak much of me.  Reason. 
And thou therefore art over credulus, and carried away with the populare air: which although thou knowest to have happened sometime unto great men, yet is the vanity never awhyt the less, to rejoice in a slender and uncertain state.  joy. 
The people have me in admiration.  Reason. 
And I also wonder at thee, that thou ascribest this any deal to thy glory.  joy. 
The people love me.  Reason. 
This is no praise to thee, but thy fortune: it is the people's manner oftentimes to love the unworthy, but from them many times they receive a most worthy reward of their unworthy love.   

Of invading a Tyranny. The xcv. Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Have invaded a Tyranny over my country men.  Reason. 
Thou hast well requited thy foolish lovers: They advanced thee more than reason required, and thou hast thrown them down under the yoke of unjust servitude.  joy. 
I have taken upon me a tyranny.  Reason. 
Thou hast deprived others of their liberty, thyself of security, and both, of your rest.  joy. 
I have obtained a Tyranny.  Reason. 
A state of undoubted travail, of an uncertain event, but for the most part infortunate: I will not refer thee unto ancient and foreign Histories. What was the end of Alexander Phaeraeus? what of Dionysius of Syracuse? what of Phalaris of Agrigentum? what of Anno the Carthagien? what of Elearchus of Heraclea? what of Aristotinus Ephirensis? what of Nabis the Lacedaemonian? and lastly, of Hipparchus the Athenian, whose death purchased immortal fame to his murderers? Neither will I sand thee to new and domestical examples, Cassius, and Melius, & Manlius. Citizens of Rome, Catuline also, and the Gracchi, & Apuleius, not Tyrants, but affecting a tyranny, who were espied in their wicked attempts, hindered of their purpose, and suppressed: And lastly, not unto those, who being greater, not better, cloaked their cruel and unjust tyranny, with the colour of a just Empire, namely Caius and Nero, Domitianus and Commodus, Bassianus, and the residue of that crew, who were Princes only in name, and had both tyrants minds, and tyrants ends: but I will rather refer thee unto other, whom in the remembrance of your fathers and grandfathers, yea also of this present age, this your region hath seen. These, that I may not weighed thee with them that are far of, I would have thee to consider and behold, and thou shalt see that the common and usual end of Tyrants, is either by sword or poison, and thou wilt confess that the saying of the Saterical Poet is true, Few Kings and Tyrants die without murder and wounds, or of a dry death, without bloodshed.  joy. 
I possess a tyranny over my Citizens.  Reason. 
A booty and slaughter house to fill thyself with gold, and with blood together with the gold like an hungry Crow, and like the greedy Horseleech, which will not let go the skin till he be full of blood. But with what countenance, or what conscience, dost thou either shed that blood, which to preserve (if thou were a man) thou shouldest willingly shed thine own blood, or extortest gold from thy Citizens, to give it unto thy cruel tormentors, spoiling them whom thou shouldest feed with thy riches, and enryching those, from whom (as thou readest) thou shouldest by all means extort? so smally are the examples and precepts of your Elders regarded. But this is one most vile discommodity in the life of Tyrants, that they stand always in fear of them whom they should trust, & trust them that have no trust nor truth at all: and all this mischief happeneth on the one side, for that injuries are offered to them that have not deserved, on the other, for that benefits are bestowed upon the unworthy, so that the whole course of things, being confounded through disorder, enemies are made friends, and Citizens are made enemies.  joy. 
I am the Tyrant of my country.  Reason. 
Couldst thou find in thy heart to be so, if thou remembredst that it were thine own country. If the representation of your common mother came into thy mind, thou wouldst never in such sort tear thy brethren, with whom thou hast been brought up in thy childhood, and also in riper years, hast enjoyed the same air, the same waters, the same religion, the same holidays, the same plays and delights: with what mind canst thou insult and reign●●ouer them, and rejoice when they weep? Lastly, with what impudency ●●ooest thou live in that City, wherein thou knowest thy life to he hated of all men, thy death wished of all sorts, where thou art assured there is none that would not have thee destroyed, as a most cruel Wolf in a gentle flock?  joy. 
I have undertaken a tyranny.  Reason. 
If thou compare the present time with the time past, thou shalt perceive how miserable a clog thou hast laid upon thy shoulders: thou lyuedst sometime a safe & quiet life; but now henceforward unless thou join madness to mischief, thou shalt pass no day nor night without fear and trouble of mind, eat no meat without suspicion, take no sleep without dread, while thou beholdest on every side the sword hanging over thy head, which Dionysius is reported, not unfitly, to have showed unto a certain friend of his that wondered at his wealth and authority, who was a tyrant in deed, but a most grave considerer of the state of tyranny.  joy. 
I have purchased a tyranny by the sword.  Reason. 
If thou have gotten it by the sword, thou must keep it by the sword, and perhaps lose it by the sword: Thou hast won worthy riches in deed, to be odious and fearful unto all men, and that which followeth thereof, to be continually a fearful burden to thyself. But to admit there were no danger, which in some Cities and countries the nature of the people beareth sufficiently, being apt to servility and obedience, yet when, being out of fear and danger, thou shalt call to mind what Laberius, a Knight of Rome, said unto him that was the first founder of this which now hath the name of a just Empire: Needs, saith he, must he fear many, of whom many stand in fear. The reason of which saying is that which Ovid allegeth, For every man wisheth him dead, whom he feareth: which was first alleged by Ennius, where he saith, They hate, whom they fear: each man wisheth him dead whom he feareth. But if all fear and danger do cease which hath happened unto some Tyrants, their boldness being nourished by public calamities, or the experimented dastards of their Citizens: yet is it not a shame for thee to govern those unto whom it were more meet thou were their underling, besides thy injurious force, which is the worst thing of al●●▪  joy. 
I have put on a tyranny.  Reason. 
Thou hast put of all humanity and justice, and chosen a troublesome and bloody life, or else truly a doubtful death: Unhappy man, whose death only thy country, which hare thee and brought thee up, doth continually hope for. Is not he in sufficient woeful case, whom all men would have to be in woeful case? And is not he most wretched, who cannot possible be so wretched, but is worthy to be more wretched?  joy. 
I possess the chiefest place among my Citizens.  Reason. 
Thou possessest a tyranny over thy Citizens, thou hast placed thine house upon sand, thy bed in the briars, thy seat upon a downefal, thy poverty in rapynes, and thine envy in miseries.   

Of a Kingdom and Empire. The xcvi Dialogue.  JOY. 
Behold, I am a King by right.  Reason. 
That cannot be long unknown, for what the difference is between a King and a Tyrant, I have declared already: And what availeth it for thee to be called a King, if thou be a Tyrant? The safety of a King and kingdom, consisteth not in a glorious name, but in true justice. I deem it less evil for thee to reform the government that thou hast gotten, and afterward so to behave thyself, that thou mayest appear to be a true King, then by tyrannical vexation to spoil the kingdom whereunto thou comest by right, wherein thou lawfully succeedest thy father: for there belongeth more true praise unto the proceeding and end, then to the beginning of things.  joy. 
I am a king.  Reason. 
It were better and more quiet to live under a good King, then to be a King thyself.  joy. 
I have ascended into the Regal seat of the kingdom.  Reason. 
A conspicuous place, and object unto all men's eyes, and therefore dangerous for slothfulness, and painful and difficult for virtue: For a good King, is a public servant.  joy. 
I am advanced to the Regal throne of a kingdom.  Reason. 
To the end thou mayest seem worthy, forget thyself and thine own affairs, think upon thy people and the commom wealth: the day first that thou wast made a King, thou beganst to die to thyself, and to live for other, and which is the hardest case of all, for unthankful and unjust considerers of thy travail.  joy. 
I am come to a kingdom.  Reason. 
Perhaps thou mayest get there some transitory glory, but no quietness at all.  joy. 
I reign uprightly.  Reason. 
Thou dost well, and a most acceptable thing unto God. And know this, that thou servest such as are always repining and full of complaints, and that will scarce give thee thanks before thy death. There is seldom any King so good, but the people love him better that shall succeed, who when he is come, the other is wished for again. These are the manners of the common people, to hate the things that are present, to desire the things that are to come, and to praise the things that are past. How then should complaints cease, if every good thing that is present do stink, and nothing pleaseth, but that which grieveth, whether it be already past, or hoped for.  joy. 
I have gotten the Sceptre and Diadem.  Reason. 
Glorious fetters, and a noble misery, which if all men thoroughly knew, trust me, two would not so often strive for one seat, but there would be more kingdoms than Kings.  joy. 
I wear the princely robes.  Reason. 
It is not the outward apparel, but the inward furniture and princely mind that maketh a King. Alexander the Emperor of Rome was wont to say, that Empire and government consisted in virtue, and not in sumptuousness.  joy. 
I am advanced to a kingdom.  Reason. 
Now is the state of the subjects uncertain, whether they be happy in that kind of happiness which is imagined to be hear, or in misery. For a virtuous king, is the felicity of a transitory kingdom: but unto thee remaineth doubtful travail, and weighty business.  joy. 
I am a King, and a King may do what he list.  Reason. 
No man less: yea, that which in old time was lawful, is not so now: And if perhaps thou look for licentiousness by means of thy kingdom, know that thou art no King, but a Tyrant.  joy. 
I am a King, and I may do what I will.  Reason. 
Nothing but what becometh a King, who, as I said, hath less liberty than a private person. If in following this path thou seek for pleasure, thou art deceived, and as the proverb saith, thou goest quite beside the Cushyn: Pleasure is far behind, but this way leadeth unto pain & glory.  joy. 
I am a king, and I shall now live in assured tranquillity.  Reason. 
Nay rather if thou were in any heretofore, it is now lost: he is but a foolish marryner who seeketh for calmness & tranquillity in forsaking the Haven, & making sail into the wide sea.  joy. 
But I am made Emperor of Rome.  Reason. 
A very honourable name, but a very hard office. To keep great things is an hard matter: but what is it to build up that which is fallen down, to gather together that which is dispersed, to recover that which is lost, to reform that which is defaced? thou hast taken in hand the tilling of a forlorn Farm, which many of long time have neglected: hard land requireth many spades, and dry meadows much water: thou must abide heat and cold, and if thy travail find semblable success, thou shalt reap the commendation, & thy successor the residue, thou shalt sow for him, and for thyself the Harvest will come to late, for it requireth many summers.  joy. 
I am advanced to the Empire, I will take my rest & live in security.  Reason. 
Thou art in a false persuasion, thou couldst never do it less: hast thou clymbed up to the top of an high hill to avoid winds and lightning? Hast thou not read the saying of Horace: The hougie Pine tree is most often shaken with winds, & high towers when they are overthrown have the greater fall, and lightening striketh the loftiest mountains? How much otherwise, did the expert & wise princes Augustus & Diocletian judge of the excellency of this state, whereof the one, as we read, thought of giving over the Empire, the other, gave it over in deed, and being called unto it again, would not grant thereunto? How much otherwise did Marcus Aurelius & Pertinax, whereof the first being by adoption called to the hope of th'empire, is reported to have disputed much of the discommodities of th'empire, the other being made Emperor, to have abhorred th'empire? Great is the advancement to the Empire, great are the toils in the Empire, & when a man is once risen aloft, the greater and more grievous is his fall. If thou wilt not believe me, ask julius Caesar, & Caius Caligula, & Claudius, & Nero, & Galba, & Otho, and Vitellius, & Domitianus, & Commodus, & Pertinax, of whom I spoke last: Moreover Bassianus & Macrinus with his son Diadumenus, and of all other, the most filthy Heliogabalus, and far unlike unto him in manners Alexander, and the more that thou mayest marvel, the mother of them both, with her son: Also the Maximi and the Maximiniani, and the Maximi and Gordiani: Moreover, the Philippes and Decius, and Gallus, and Volusianus, and Valerius, famous for his notable calamity, & Galienus the contemner of his father's misery: To be short, Aurelianus & Probus, julianus & Licinius, Constantius and Valens, Gratianus and Valentinianus, and that I may not weighed thee with rehearsing all, demand the question of that whole race and succession of Tyrants and Princes, and they will answer thee all alike, that look by what way they arose to the Empire, by the same way they ran to ruin. And doest thou then imagine that thou shalt find rest there, and live insecuritie, where all have found danger and trouble, and many a most miserable end of their lives? This did not those four imagine to themselves, whom I named in the beginning: Not he that was grandfather on the mother's side to the Emperor Antonius Pius, Arius Antonius, an holy virtuous man, as Histories term him, but as I confess of him, a wise man, who picied Neruas' state, in that he had taken the Empire upon him. For truly it is injuriously done to envy at Princes, when as in deed they aught rather to be pitied.  joy. 
I am an Emperor, and I am able to revenge.  Reason. 
Against the enemies of the common wealth perhaps, but not thine own. For these, if thou be a true Prince in deed, by thine advancement security is purchased: thy public duty and godliness must bridle thy private affections. Thou canst not be enemy to this man and that man, since thou hast deserved to be father unto all men. For a Prince hath that care and authority over his subjects, that a father hath over his children. A good Prince is the father of his country: there was none of all his titles which that worthy Emperor Augustus accepted more thankfully than this, who repressing the motions of his youth, determined to fulfil that name of a father: and therefore, they which were sometime thine enemies, are now thy children.  joy. 
I am an Emperor, I may be revenged.  Reason. 
Thou oughtest not to use thy power that way, but persuade thyself thus, that when the power of a great Empire falleth upon excellent minds, and that are equal to their calling, it is the occasion of pardon, and not of revenge, whereof the more vile & weak a man's mind and strength is, the more he is greedy. In which matter, it were expedient for thee to remember the saying of Hadriane the Emrour, who (as it is written of him) when he was made Emperor, said unto one that was his enemy, thou hast now escaped my hands: A princely and magnifical saying, and fit for an Emperor.  joy. 
I am an Emperor, & I shall have treasure answerable to my charges.  Reason. 
This saying tendeth to rapine, and as of other things, so also of charges and expenses there is a continual stream and bottomless pit, which can never be satisfied. It would require a long time to set down in as large manner the follies and madness of men, but specially of the Emperors of Rome, in this behalf. Notwithstanding, among all I will touch a few, & of them a few things among many. Most notorious was the madness of Caius, who made a bridge between Baiae and Puteoli, which raging crook of the sea he first passed over on horseback, & after-terward triumphantly in a charet. What shall I speak of pearls of great price dissolved in Vinegar, & golden loaves, and golden services of meat set before the guests at the table, whereby the meaning was not according to the common custom of feasts to stake the guests hunger, but to consume the wealth of the Empire, and to provoke their avarice? Add hereunto moreover casting of money among the people, great moles & heaps of stones & rubbish thrown into the rough and deep sea, hard rocks cut in sunder, plain fields thrown up into hills, & tops of hills made level with plain fields, to the one earth added, from the other earth taken away, and that so suddenly, that the strangeness of the wonder was nothing inferior to the violence done unto nature, to wit, when death was the reward of delaying the work, by which means having within one years space consumed the great treasure of his predecessor Tiberius, and all the riches of the whole Empire, he was driven to extreme poverty, and most shameful rapine. Among these things I do not reckon, how that he had determined in his mind to make a cut through Isthmus the hill of Corinth, which although it would have been a work of great charges, yet had it been profitable for sea faring men, whereby the two seas had been made one, and they that had passed from Brundisium to Athens, or Chalcis, or Byzantium, should have avoided the great crook of Achaia. Next followeth Nero, match and superior unto him in madness, whose disordinate expenses had no measure, specially in building, wherein he surpassed all prodigal fools, and himself also. He was not more ●●●●ful in any other thing, then in this: and therefore I will touch on● 〈…〉 numerable follies. He buyided an house, which reached fro● the hill 〈…〉 unto ●sguiline, and stretched also over a great chart of the city, so that not unworthily among the taunts & reproaches wherewith the people with most free indignation girded him home, this also was cast against him, All Rome shallbe one house, ye Romans departed ye to the Vehi, if so be that this house do not also stretch unto the Vehi. This house he commanded to be called the golden house, not unfitly, declaring the price by the name. For the house was seeled and knotted with precious stones, and of such height, that at the entrance 〈◊〉 of stood a Colossus, an hundred and twenty foot high. Within was a Gallery and Hal seeled about with pendents of Gold & ivory, and upon the top devices of strange workmanship, with motions after the manner of heaven, by little and little, of their own accord turning about day and night without intermission: Also a Pond like the Sea, adorned round about upon the shore with buildings, after the manner of a City: Moreover, fields and pastures, and vineyards, and woods, replenished with all kinds of living things. The midst of this house, as far as could be conjectured, was that place which is commonly called Colosseum, whose ruins do yet at this day astonish the beholders: and the more to augment the wonder of the matter, all these things were in the very mids of Rome. So that notwithstanding he seemed to himself not only not to have exceeded, but not yet to have answered the greatness that aught to be in an emperors house, insomuch as when he dedicated the house, he made no greater wonder at it, but said this much only, Now at length I begin to devil like a man. I omit these trifles, that he never ware one garment twice, that he never went journey with less than a thousand charets, that his Mules were shod with shoes of silver, that he fished with a golden Net, that his ropes & cords were made of sine Purple silk: with many such other matters exceeding credit, and breeding tediousness. But who will not wonder at these things that readeth of them, but more wonder if he beheld them, the remnants and tokens whereof remain to this day? The Fishpond that was begun from the bridge Misenus, and should have reached to the ●ake Avernus, compassed and covered with wondered galleries, and the ditch that was cast from Avernus to H●stia● 〈◊〉 so long distance of way, and through so many s●●lles, w●●●e bringing the sea into it, and sailing in it without the accidents ●●●t happen on the sea, he might avoid both the toil of traveling by land, and the wearisomeness of faring by water: the length whereof, as now the inhabitants of those quarters do account it, is well known unto all men, but as Tranguillus reckoneth, is an hundred & threescore mile: the breadth was such, that two Galleys might meet, and one not touch nor hinder another. Which work if he 〈◊〉 finished, he had beggared all Italy, and the whole Common wealth, but that death only provided a remedy for so great mischiefs of the world. After him followeth Aurelius Verus, who, that I may let pass other things, made such a supper, that if he would have made the like dinner, I know not whether the Roman wealth would have been sufficient. Which thing when his brother Marcus Aurelius understood, being as great a friend to modesty as this was enemy, is reported to have lamented, taking compassion upon the Common wealth and the Empire decaying. I leave others, for these are too many, and I know that there be some of you that will think these examples to be longer than need, and the remedies shorter than promise. But sometime it delighteth a learned man, or one that loveth learning and honesty, to hear the madness of fools, which may be a warning for him to follow the contrary, and with all might and main to eschew the like. All these things tend to this end, that thou mayest recount with thyself, what it is wherein thou hopest to have treasure answerable to thy charges. For as good husbandry and modesty require no great treasures, so neither treasures nor whole empires are sufficient for prodigality and riotousness. And this cause, hath not only constrained men of mean calling, but almost all Princes, those I mean, that have followed the vain of these latter times, of necessity to fall to rapine and extortion, which hath given occasion unto many of an hastened and miserable death.  joy. 
Are not so many Cities sufficient, to bear one man's charges▪  Reason. 
Let these answer thee, of whom I have spoken so much, and others innumerable, whom the like plague hath brought to like confusion. To conclude, this most deep den of expenses, that I may so term it, like as that gaping pit of Curtius in old time, can not be filled with any riches, but may be restrained by virtue, and specially by modesty. Wherein it availeth to remember that it is others goods which thou wastest: and in this point also it is profitable to call often to mind the saying of the Emperor Hadriane, which, as it is read, he was wont many times to repeat in his speeches unto the people, & in the Senate, That he would so govern the Common wealth, as knowing that it was the people's commodity, and not his own: A fit saying for so worthy a Prince.  joy. 
I reign, and revenge is mine.  Reason. 
Truly it is not thine, for he lieth not that said, Revenge is mine. And verily, if thou be a true King, nothing is less thine then revenge, and nothing more, than mercifulness. I could wish that nature had denied stings to the kings of Men, as well as she hath to the kings of Bees: but now she hath only given an example to the free creature, not taken away his liberty: but that which she doth not enforce, it is my part to exhort. Behold that small, but divine Worm, and leave thou of thy sting likewise, not in the wound, but before the wound. The first is the part of a base person, the second of a king: otherwise, as not without justice, so neither art thou a king without mercy, not not so much as a man, but only, as the Fable saith, a crowned Lion.  joy. 
I am Emperor of Rome.  Reason. 
Thou hast Augustus, Nero, & Vitellius, whom thou mayest follow. Unto these three, not only all Princes, but all men are restrained. Choose unto thyself then one of these whom thou mayest follow. If thou be delighted in latter examples, thou hast of the same calling Trajan, Decius, and Galienus.  joy. 
I am Emperor of Rome, Lord of the world.  Reason. 
The time hath been when that might have been almost truly avowed, but to what state things now are come thou seest. And to th'intent it may be perceived, how safe it is to commit great matters unto fools and dastards, how great providence is there now fallen into how great madness? & how great pain & diligence, into how great slothfulness? The Roman Empire is now no longer a thing to rejoice in, but an example of human fragility, and the mutability of fortune.  joy. 
I am famous for mine Empire.  Reason. 
Famous names, obscure things, deceits of the world, credulity of man: these are hooks whereby flexible minds are plucked hither and thither. The names of an Empire, and of a kingdom, are glorious names: but an Empire and a Kingdom are the most difficult functions of all other, if they be rightly executed, otherwise they be dangerous and deadly: neither is that princely saying commended without cause, The glorious Crown is more full of care, danger, and sundry sorts of miseries, then is the honest and happy piece of cloth, which if men did know, there is none would seek for it, or rejoice when he had gotten it, not not willingly receive it when it were offered, or take it up from the ground, if he found it. Wherefore awake at length ye mortal men, open your eyes, and be not always blinded with false glitteringes: Measure and weigh your own bodies, consider in how narrow rooms you are enclosed, despise not Geometers and Philosophers, the whole earth is but a prick, your end is frail and uncertain, and while ye be young, and while ye be in health, ye wrestle with death: and when ye think that ye rise, then do ye descend, and when ye seem to stand most surest, than fastest do ye fall, neither is there any living creature that is more forgetful of it own strength: and many times, when ye be Worms, half dead, yet ye dream of kingdoms and empires. Remember that you yourselves are a very small prick, or to say more truly, a prick of a short prick, yea, ye are not so much as the thousandth part of a prick. This part like proud inhabitants ye ouerbeare, who shortly shall be overborne yourselves, and shall no longer possess any jot of all that ye have, but that your bodies shall wax cold and pale with death. And whereas ye be now blind and mad, and walk with a proud swelling countenance, that which nature hath made narrow, make ye more large in mind, and while ye be in bands, imagine great matters, and when ye be dying, think upon immortal things: and consider with yourselves, how that in this place and time, which in effect are nothing, ye prosecute your ridiculous and mad fancies, during the space of a very short time, to wit, rapines, injuries, revengements, troublesome hopes, uncertain honours, unsatiable desires, and your own furies and madness: and on the otherside, ye affectate Kingdoms, governments, & Empires, Navies, Armies, and Battles. And when ye have thus continued long time in your madness, whether ye be Emperors or Ploughmen, Rich men or Beggars, your bodies are but rotten earth, your life but as a light smoke driven away with a strong blast, and at length, but perhaps too late, ye shall scarce understand that this world was but an high way to pass through, and no country to remain in, and that all these names of Kingdoms and Empires are but vain and false.  joy. 
I am made an Emperor.  Reason. 
When fools be made Emperors, they do not remember that they have been and are men. Like as is the saying of Tiberius the Emperor, who, when a certain friend of his, being desirous, by rehearsal of certain matters passed between them, to bring him in mind of their ancient familiarity, having scarce opened his mouth to say these words, O sir, do you remember: he prevented him suddenly, and broke of his talk, and suffered him not to proceed any farther, but answered hastily unto him, I remember not what I have been: a wicked and proud saying, and not only devoid of friendship, but of all humanity.  joy. 
I am ascended to the Roman Empire.  Reason. 
Why dost thou rejoice hereof: Men also ascend to the Wheel and Gallows. And contrariwise, they lie down in their beds, and sit down in their chairs, and most times quietness dwelleth in low places. Climbing hath been shame unto some, punishment unto many, and painful to all.   

Of a furnished Army. The xcvii Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Have a furnished Army.  Reason. 
I should have marveled if that an Army had not followed a Kingdom & an Empire, that is to say, one misery another. But Seneca commendeth Scipio Africanus to the Stars, not because he led great Armies, which frantic and wicked persons have done also, but for his great moderation, which truly an Army never bringeth to a man, but often taketh it away, or often diminisheth it: for what virtue is there so sound, which the keeping company with so many rakehells & bloody Butchers, and their wicked example, will not quail?  joy. 
I have a great Army.  Reason. 
Thou hast now occasion to live in the fields: For neither can Armies be received into cities, neither peaceable citizens & armed soldiers devil well together.  joy. 
I have a most valiant Army.  Reason. 
Thou hast matter of war, and loss of peace: if thou rejoice in this, doubtless thou belongest not to the heavenly city.  joy. 
I have an huge Army.  Reason. 
Thou hast armed enemies on both sides of thee, from whom thou art defended neither by wall nor trench, truly an heavy and dangerous case.  joy. 
I have many valiant legions.  Reason. 
The tediousness, trouble, & insolency of these: no man can easily recite, but thou shalt learn by experimenting, how much it is better to live alone, then with many legions: For truly there are no injuries, no falsehood, no cruelty to be compared to the wickedness of soldiers. Thou shalt by thine own experience find, how true that verse is which every boy hath in his mouth, There is no faith nor honesty in men that follow the wars.  joy. 
I am Lord & governor of a great Army.  Reason. 
Perhaps thou were better be a shepherd among Tigers & Bears. The fury of wild beasts may be tamed, but the hearts of some men can never be reclaimed: and wild beasts do threaten before they strike, but the malice of men doth suddenly break forth. These whom thou termest thine, & call thee Lord, alas this hireling & inconstant generation, for how small a price, and upon how light occasion will they be changed, and of thine own soldiers, become thine enemies? Their flattering countenances shallbe turned into horror, & their right hands, which they delivered unto thee, perhaps shallbe converted to thy destruction: and if this happen, it is no rare nor unaccustomed matter. At Placentia was that terrible commotion, when as julius Caesar's army rebelled against him, whereof this was spoken, What Captain would not that tumult have made afraid? Howbeit, Caesar, through his wondered constancy and fortitude, repressed the uproar, & punishing the authors, appeased the army, & brought them to obedience. Te like did Alexander, that was Emperor of Rome, at Antioch, & it took magnifical effect. But go forward a little, and thou shalt see that shortly after he was slain by none other than his own Soldiers. In the same manner Pertinax perished before: in like sort afterward, the two Maximi, the father and the son: so Balbinus and Maximus: so Probus, a most valiant Captain: so Gratiane and Valentinian the younger, a couple of good brethren, the one betrayed by his legions, the other by his companion: so likewise others innumerable, whom their enemies could not overcome, have perished by their own armies, and those whom they called their Soldiers, they found cruel Butchers. Take heed therefore wherein thou rejoicest: For this thy cruel and unmerciful army, as he sayeth, is a beast with many heads, and dareth to adventure any thing, being thereunto provoked by anger, want, or covetousness.  joy. 
I have an huge army.  Reason. 
At the Thessalike battle, saith Florus, there was nothing that overthrew Pompey so much, as the greatness of his army: and it fortuneth almost in all battles, that the greater army is vanquished, and the lesser vanquisheth.   

Of a well appointed Navy. The xcviii Diaalogue.  JOY. 
I Have a well appointed Navy.  Reason. 
And the Air hath well appointed Winds, the Sea well appointed Waves and Rocks: Thou creature of the Land, why meddlest thou with the Sea?  joy. 
I have a well furnished Navy.  Reason. 
There be also tempests for thee & shypwrackes well furnished: thou ioyest in thine own dangers, toil, and expenses, whereof there is no end nor measure: of all your madnesses, a Navy is the most chargeable.  joy. 
My Navy is furnished.  Reason. 
The violence of the heaven and sea will shake it, and be it never so well appointed, a sudden storm will scatter and destroy it, whereof not to consider while thou sailest on the Sea, is the part of a fool.  joy. 
I have a Navy upon the Sea.  Reason. 
Are ye not in dangers enough upon the Land, but must ye trouble the Seas also? It is not sufficient for you to dig the earth, from whence is fet the hurtful Iron, and Gold that is more hurtful than iron, as Ovid saith: but ye have also ventured upon the rough and horrible seas, which the first men did only wonder at, in every place seeking your own trouble, and in every place your own danger, and in this point ye be wakeful and diligent, and in all other things slothful and negligent.  joy. 
I have entered upon the Sea with a great army.  Reason. 
Think upon thy return, for it is an easy matter to ●●t forth. The Sea is commonly calm at the first setting forward, but when men are once entered, it waxeth monstrous and ●●●ible: notwithstanding, for one that was borne among men to covet to live among Dolphins and Monsters of the Sea, is doubtless a wondered delight of a wild and rough mind.  joy. 
I have a great, and valiant Navy.  Reason. 
Perhaps it were more for thy profit and safety either to sit in a little Boat, or to stand upon the Shore and angle for fishes, then with an armed Navy, to offer violence unto nations. Many by their great Na●es hath been pricked forth to dangerous boldness, which hath enforced them thither where they have wished themselves at home. This the Grecians learned to be true at the mountain Caphareus, when they returned from Troy, namely the Lacedæmonians at Arginusis, the Athenians at the shore of Syracus●e, and the Carthagiens at the Islands Egrates. Many dangers happen unto Navies, not only by enemies, but also by the Sea. To conclude, when as there were before sundry kinds of death, this one kind more is now added to the number. O blind fools, and to to lavysh of your lives, which ye love so dearly, seeking for death every where, which ye fear above all things.   

Of Engines and Artillery. The xcix Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Have all kinds of Engines.  Reason. 
This is also a princely madness, to have wherewith to hurt men when ye list, who of duty aught to be most beneficial of all men. And for this consideration only kings were first chosen and set over kingdoms to govern men, and of them again to be honoured and loved as parents. Some also that are called fathers of their country, do every thing quite contrary, and are feared and hated of all men as common thieves and tormentors.  joy. 
I have store of engines to overthrow towns with al.  Reason. 
How much better were it to build them, and preserve them with all? But perhaps thou thinkest it a more glorious matter to destroy, and hadst rather seem to be the Policertes of thy age: but Towns are not always overthrown with engines. When Caesar in his wars in France, had erected very great forts against the Hadriatici●, first his enemies contemned him, as though he attempted far unpossible for human power to archiue, but then they saw them moved & brought close to their walls, turning their contempt to astonishment and fear, they gave up their defence, and converted themselves to conditions of yielding. And likewise in Caesar's civil wars, Brutus being captain, when he had erected and brought the like unto the walls of Missilia, he cast the besieged into as great astonishment, but not into as great fear: and therefore issuing forth in the night, they set on fire the turrets, and engines.  joy. 
I abound with engines and artillery.  Reason. 
All these things whereof thou boastest, appertain rather to the injuring of other, then to the increasing of thine own honour. How much more commendable were it, and worthy for a man, to abound rather with the instruments of mercy, then of cruelty, and rather to possess that wherewith he may give entertainment to his friends, and those that are in necessity, then by besieging innocent towns, to disturb the common tranquillity.  joy. 
I have engines that do cast great stones.  Reason. 
To cast stones, is the part of madness.  joy. 
I have innumerable engines, and artillery.  Reason. 
It is marvel but thou hast also pellets of brass, which are thrown forth with terrible noise of fire: thou miserable man, was it not enough to hear the thunder of the immortal God from heaven? O cruelty joined with pride? From the earth also was sent forth unimitable lightning with thunder, as Virgil saith, which the madness of men hath counterfeited to do the like, and that which was wont to be thrown out of the clouds, is now thrown abroad with a wooden instrument, but of a devilish device, which as some suppose was invented by Archimedes at what time Marcellus besieged Syracuse. Howbeit he devised it to the intent to defend the liberty of his Citizens, and either to avoid or defend the destruction of his country, which you now also use to the subjection or subversion of free people. This plague of late days was but rare, insomuch as it was beheld with great wonder, but now, as your minds are apt to learn the worst things, so is it as common as any other kind of munition.  joy. 
I abound in plenty of artillery.  Reason. 
It were better thou aboundedst in the hate of war, and love of peace, forasmuch? as other weapons are signs of an unquiet mind, and these of a degenerate mind, and neither acceptable to such as love peace, but rather hated of courageous warryours. Finally, understand this much, he that first invented artillery, was either a dastard or a traitor, desirous to hurt, and fearful of his enemies: and therefore he devised as Lucan saith, How to show his strength from a far, and to commit his force to the winds, as far as they will bear them. Which may be understood of all kinds of weapons that are thrown. A valiant warrior chooseth rather to encounter his enemy at hand, which the artylleryst escheweth.   

Of Treasure laid up in store. The. C. Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Have laid up Treasure in store for wars.  Reason. 
An evil thing, for worse purposes: How much more profitable were it for thee and others to lay it up for the use of thy friends and country, and specially for the necessities of them that want? that in deed were true treasure: but now the price of the heavenly treasure, is converted to the purchasing of Hel.  joy. 
I have treasure for the use of war.  Reason. 
Treasure extenuateth the strength of the mind, and wars do enfechle men, and both are hurtful.  joy. 
I have great aid of treasure for wars.  Reason. 
Treasure commonly bringeth to the owner fear of losing, to the enemy hope of gain, and bolonesse to fight: Who will not willingly go into their wars, where he may win much, and lose nothing: Thou readest in Horace of a poor fellow that fought earnestly and overcame, & when he was rich, suddenly fell again into poverty. And if thou list to consider of most special and chief examples, thou shalt perceive that while the Romans were poor, they were the conquerors of all nations, and then began to be vanquished when they waxed rich: so when riches came, victories and manhood departed, delights and wantonness also, which are companions to riches, entered in: so that the writers of those times did not without cause complain of the departing of the Roman poverty. poverty is a very good nurse of virtues, and wealth, of vices. Thou hopest of victory by means of thy treasure, but thou hast more cause to fear thereof: riches have made many dastardly and heartless, all proud and lofty, but none at all valiant.  joy. 
I have gathered together a great treasure.  Reason. 
Thou hast heaped up care and envy to thyself, provocation to thine enemies, unquietness to thieves.   

Of revenge. The. Ci. Dialogue.  JOY. 
Mine enemy is fallen into my hands, I have power now to be revenged.  Reason. 
Nay rather there is happened unto thee a trial of thyself, whether thou be slave to anger, or friend to mercy: which were uncertain, unless thou mightest be said to both. Many think themselves to be that they are not, which they do know when they have tried themselves what they are.  joy. 
Mine enemy is in my hands, I may be revenged.  Reason. 
The bounds of power are one thing, and of honesty, another: thou must not respect what thou canst do, but what is scenely for thee to do, lest if thou wouldst do as much as thou canst do, it were better thou couldst do nothing at al.  joy. 
I may be reveuged, and there is nothing more sweet than revengement.  Reason. 
There is nothing more bitter than anger, which I marvel why one said it was sweet: but if thou feel any sweetness in it, it is a savage sweetness, unmeet for a man, and proper to beasts, and that not of all kinds, but of the most bruitest and fiercest. There is nothing that less appertaineth to a man, than cruelty and wildness: and contrariwise, nothing that is more sitting for him then mercy and gentleness, unto which there is nothing more repugnant than revengement, and whatsoever sharpness and extremity one man showeth against another in hastiness of mind. But if the name of revengement be so sweet unto thee, I will tell thee how thou mayest use it with much glory: the most excellent kind of revengement, is to spare and be merciful.  joy. 
I may be revenged.  Reason. 
It is much more beaver and glorious to forget injuries, then to revenge them: there is no forgetfulness more honour able then of offences. This one thing the most excellent Orator, ascribed to the most excellent praise of a most excellent captain, to wit, That he used to forget nothing but injuries. And there is nothing forbiddeth but that one man's praise, not being taken from him, may also be ascribed unto many: This one commodity, the goods of the mind have especially above all other riches, when they are dispersed abroad, they do not decrease nor perish. Take thou therefore upon thee this most noble persuasion of Caesar's, which shall make thee far more renowned, then were Cinaeas and Tarmadas with their great memories: For the one cometh of nature, the other from virtue.  joy. 
I take pleasure in revenge.  Reason. 
The delight of revenge, is short: but of mercy, everlasting. And of two delectable things, that is to be preferred that continueth longest: Do thou that this day, whereof thou mayest receive perpetual delight. There is no delight greater nor more assured, then that which proceedeth from the pureness of a man's conscience, and the remembrance of things well done.  joy. 
It is honest to revenge.  Reason. 
But more honest to forgive: Mercy hath commended many, but revengement none: there is nothing among men so necessary, or so common, as forgiveness: for there is no man but offendeth, and no man but he hath need of mercy, which being denied, who shall take away so great abundance of faults & offences, or renew the broken league of human society? Men shall always strive one against another, & the wrath of God shall always strive against them: there shallbe no end of contention & punishment, neither shall weapons or lightnings cease. Spare therefore, be merciful, and moderate thy mind. Do thou so unto a man, as thou wouldst have another man, yea God himself, do unto thee. Impudent is he that desireth pardon of his lord and master, and denieth the same to his fellow servant. The Doctor Ecclesiasticus crieth out disdaynyngly, One man keepeth anger in store against another, and doth he seek for pardon at God's hands? He taketh no compassion upon a man that is like to himself, and yet he prayeth for his own sins.  joy. 
I do no injury, but revenge.  Reason. 
What skilleth it whether thou offend first or last: It is not indifferent to mislike that in another, which thou likest in thyself: Wilt thou use that cruelty, which thou condemnest in thine enemy, and be like him in manners, whom thou art vulyke in mind, and follow that thyself, which is worst in him:  joy. 
I will, and it is lawful for me to be revenged.  Reason. 
Thou oughtest neither to have a will, neither is it permitted by any law, for although defence be lawful, yet revengement is forbidden: it is written, He that will be revenged, shall find revengement from God. And again, as I said before, Vengeance is mine, and I will repay when I see good, saith the Lord. Tarry thou for that time, let him revenge thy quarrel, who is Lord both of the offender and the offended. It is common among one lords servants for one to know another: if thou have any spark of good nature in thee, if thou have any care to attain to perfection, rather wish than pray that he do not revenge, so shalt thou turn thine enemy's offence, to thine own commodity.  joy. 
I mind to be revenged.  Reason. 
give space to thine anger, give time to thy determination, bridle thine affection, put it of, defer the time, either it will slake, or wax cold. One short hour appeaseth the raging sea.  joy. 
I will be revenged.  Reason. 
By one deed thou shalt offend many: one injury hath oftentimes made innumerable enemies.  joy. 
I will be revenged.  Reason. 
Thou wilt hurt thyself more than thine enemy. Perhaps thou mayest destroy his body or riches, but thou shalt cast away thine own soul and estimation.  joy. 
I will be revenged.  Reason. 
How often hath an injury been doubled by study of revengement? Many times it hath been dangerous for him that hath been injured to dissemble his only remedy, yea many times to have made complaint, or but by a secret beck to pretend that he sustaineth injury.  joy. 
I may destroy mine enemy.  Reason. 
It is better to get a friend, then to take away an enemy, but to do both at once, is best, which is by no means more easily accomplished, then by forgiving when thou mayest be revenged. The fittest instrument to take away an enemy, is lenity: wherein if credit might have been given to the ancient and wise Herennius, neither had the late conquerous army of the Samnites abode the Roman yoke, nor the general Pontius with the residue first suffered the yoke, and afterward alone the axe.  joy. 
I am much provoked and moved to revenge.  Reason. 
Resist that provocation with godly thoughts, and all manner examples that may incline thy mind to lenity, and specially by recomptyng the shortness & frailty of this life, for it seemeth unto Seneca, with whom I agreed, the most effectual remedy, in his book of the appeasing of anger: with whom accordeth the Doctor of whom I spoke erewhile. For what meant he other, where he saith, Remember the last things, and leave of enmity? Doubtless this: for there is nothing that noorysheth enmity more, than forgetfulness of a man's state and condition. For this man, whose death thou so much thirstest, be assured that without doubt he shall die, and that quickly, perhaps to day, and peradventure although thou think it not, thou mayest die before him. Stay awhile, and moderate thyself, that shall come to pass which thou desirest, and that which thou fearest: Howbeit the death which thou preparest for thine enemy, is in making ready for him not by thy procurement. What availeth it to hasten the course of the swift destiny, and to imbrue thy hands, that shall die, with the blood of him that shall die? It is not only a wicked part, but also a needless matter, agreeing to thine ungodliness, to hasten the time that cometh apace, which if thou wouldst never so fain, thou canst by no means prolong or defer: how much more were it for thy quietness & honesty, that he whole & sound, thou dry and innocent, then that both of you bloody, & thou shouldest departed hence hurtful and wicked?  joy. 
I am much provoked to revenge.  Reason. 
Beware thou yield not, but set against this provocation the remembrance of such men as have been not only merciful unto their enemies, but also favourable and beneficial: and on the contrary side, lay them before thine eyes, who having hewed their enemies in pieces, and yet proceeding to farther outrage, have wreaked their cruelty upon senseless carcases. Then choose with thyself whom thou hadst rather be like, and confer not only their deeds, but their words also: For there resteth no small part of cruelty in the words. Cruel is the foot, more cruel the hand, but of all, most cruel is the tongue. Many times that cruelty of the mind which the hand could not match, the tongue hath surpassed: As of cruelty, so of mercifulness, the tongue is the best witness. Therefore let that saying of Hadriane, of whom I made mention not long since, and also of Tiberius, sound in thine ear: of whom it is written, that when he heard that one that was accused, called Carmilius, had prevented his own death, he cried out aloud, saying, Carmilius hath escaped my hands. O cruel voice, and if it may be so termed, more cruel than the author of the voice. What ordinary punishment did he look for at his hands, whom he escaped (being in prison) by procuring his own death with his own hands? Behold therefore two persons of one calling, but of divers minds, who used the self same word, but in sundry significations. The one said unto his enemy that was present, Thou hast escaped my hands: the other, of his enemy that was absent, Thou hast escaped my hands: The one pardoned his enemies life, the other envy his enemies death. Choose which of these twain thou will have reported of thee, either the merciful saying of that good Prince, or the bloody voice of that cruel butcher. And I am not ignorant, that it is an easier matter to command these things to be done, then to do them, and I know also what may be objected against them, to wit, That it is an harder matter to be mild in the injuries that are offered to himself, then to another: hard it is I confess, but good. And thou thyself canst not deny, but that every virtue consisteth in that which is good & difficult: unto them that love virtue, all things are easy.  joy. 
I am assuredly determined to be revenged.  Reason. 
The worse part hath gotten the victory, withstand it yet as long as thou canst, and take away the conquest from it, before it begin to use it, and raise up gentleness that lieth trodden underfoot, remember that thou art a man: many have repented them of their revenge, but none of their mercy.  joy. 
I am revenged.  Reason. 
It had been better for thee to have been overcome of thine enemy: wrath hath overcome him, that overcame his enemy.   

Of hope to Win. The. Cii. Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Hope for victory in War.  Reason. 
Hope in all things is deceitful, but in war most deceitful of all: Nothing is done upon premeditation, but all things at unwares. Most skilful and exercised in Martial affairs was he that is reported to have said, that events are never less answerable to expectation, than they are in war.  joy. 
I hope for victory.  Reason. 
It were better to have peace, which is said to have been a memorable speech of the same Captains, Assured peace is better and safer, than hoped victory.  joy. 
I shall be conqueror in battle.  Reason. 
What if thou be vanquished? This hope hath hastened many to destruction, without hope of victory. No man goeth willingly into battle.  joy. 
I shall have the upper hand in battle.  Reason. 
That is a word of the Future tense: For all hope is of that which is to come, and things to come are always doubtful.  joy. 
I shall return conqueror out of battle.  Reason. 
O foolish hope of men, perhaps thou shalt return, neither conqueror, nor conquered: but thou promisest thyself return, and a passage through thy foes to be made by the edge of the sword.  joy. 
I hope to be conqueror.  Reason. 
There is one that hopeth the contrary, and therefore it must needs be that both of you, or one of you, be deceived: For it may so chance, that one of the Captains, or both on each side, kill one another, which I think hath happened often at other times, and once, which now I call to remembrance, at Thebes, in the last conflict between the wicked brethren: and likewise at Rome in the beginning after the expulsion of the kings, it is written, the like event chanced, insomuch as Brutus the Consul, prosecuted the son of the proud king unto the grave. For when death cometh, there is no victory, which being deferred, notwithstanding thou knowest that some Armies have departed out of the field at even hand: And therefore it is evident, that both the Captains have been defrauded of their hope of victory. But that one of them is like to be deceived, it is so common a matter, and so daily found true by experience, as to go to the battle: and how knowest thou whether thou art he that shalt be defrauded of the victory, concerning which thou flatterest thyself?  joy. 
I shall have the upperhand in war.  Reason. 
As the victory is always doubtful, so is it often grievous and bloody. It is not gotten freely, which is won by peril of life: that is dearly bought, which is bought with blood, more dearly, which may cost death: as the conquering part may lose their Captain, so although thy side overcome, thou mayest be vanquished. What shall I say of the wickedness that follow victories? The vanquished fall not into so many miseries, as do the vanquishers into vices? But if there be nothing more miserable than sin and offences, then is not the vanquished, in that he is vanquished, more wretched than the vanquisher, but in this respect less wretched, in that he is subject to fewer mischiefs.  joy. 
I shall vanquish.  Reason. 
To make short, whether thou shalt vanquish or not, or when thou hast vanquished, whether it will prove more for thy commodity, or otherwise, it is doubtful.   

Of Victory. The. Ciii. Dialogue.  JOY. 
BUT I have gotten the Vpperhande.  Reason. 
Beware jest anger, pride, cruelty, rage, and madness, get the upper hand over thee. These are the companions of victory, and the invisible and horrible enemies of the victors, of whom oftentimes the most famous conquerors have been most shamefully vanquished. Fortune doth not yet call thee to account, there is between you a long and intricate reckoning, she is an hard and wilful creditor, with whom now thou hast great dealings, and it is her manner to require that which she hath lent, with great interest.  joy. 
I have gotten the upper hand in a great battle.  Reason. 
He that hath gotten the upper hand in a battle, hath often been vanquished in continuance of war.  joy. 
But I have won.  Reason. 
How often have the Garthagiens, how often the Frenchmen, how often other nations had the better, and how often have the Romans been put to the worst? But the events of things are to be considered, specially of such as altar, and can not stand still.  joy. 
Verily, I have gotten the victory.  Reason. 
Although the end of war were certain, yet the event is doubtful, and sorrow followeth mirth, and mirth followeth sorrow.  joy. 
I have gotten a great victory.  Reason. 
There is nothing so great, but may be distinguished from that which is too much: found it hath so fallen out, that the winning side hath been 〈◊〉 t● show most wounds, and most dead carcases. It thou wilt no● believe me, ask Xerxes, and Thermopilae.  joy. 
It was my chance to gain a great victory.  Reason. 
A great victory can not be gotten for a final price. Concerning the greatest war that ever was, whereof the greatest Historician that ever was entreateth, Fortune, saith he, was so wariable, and the conflict was so doubtful, that they were most in danger, that had the victory.  joy. 
I have fully conquered.  Reason. 
There is no complete victory, where there remaineth an armed enemy? howbeit if thou suppress one, other will rise up, and there be certain conquests, that may be termed the seed of war: so hatred cut down with a weapon, riseth up more thick than before, and soldiers return with more courage into the field: not in such sort perhaps as sometime a strong imagination brought unto Cassius the representation of an enemy which he had slain, even the very same day that he died, with so hideous a countenance, that the very resemblance of the dead man, put to flight that most valiant Captain, that was not afeard of him while he was alive: but rather so, that many being restored for one, with assured hands, do bear assured weapons, against those that seemed to have had the victory.  joy. 
I have gotten the victory, and now am I careless without an enemy.  Reason. 
Thou fool, as long as there shallbe men, so long there shallbe enemies. Thou readest how that after so many triumphs, & conquering of the whole world, the city of Rome wanted not enemies: & hopest thou then to be without? Perhaps if thou be quiet, thou mayest want foes, but never if thou fight.  joy. 
I am a conqueror.  Reason. 
Take heed thou be not so in vain: victory is profitable for them that know how to use it, to use it, I say, not as Maharbal gave counsel to Hannibal, but as Hanno that was a better man gave counsel to his Common wealth. For truly Peace is the best use and fruit of victory, neither are just wars taken in hand for any other end, then for peace.  joy. 
Victory is on my side.  Reason. 
Beware she flee not away, for she hath wings.   

Of the death of an Enemy. The. Ciiii Dialogue.  JOY. 
I AM glad of mine Enemies death.  Reason. 
To hope for any thing by the death of an enemy, and to rejoice in any man's death, perhaps is permitted to him that is immortal, if any such may be found: but to hope for the death of another man, which may first happen to thyself, or to rejoice that that is befallen to thine Enemy, which needs must happen to thyself, is a foolish hope, and a vain joy.  joy. 
I rejoice in mine Enemies death.  Reason. 
Some other ere it be long will rejoice in thine.  joy. 
I am glad that mine Enemy is dead.  Reason. 
If ye were mindful of your own estate, one man would never rejoice in the death of another. When, I pray thee, was it ever seen, that when two went together to execution, the one conceived any pleasure in the other's death, knowing that himself must go to the same pot: but doth not rather lament, beholding his own death in his fellow?  joy. 
I have conceived delight in mine Enemies death.  Reason. 
How often thinkest thou, have men's deaths that have been desired, grieved the desirers, and they have in vain begun to wish for their lives, who before wished not in vain for their deaths, when as they begin once to understand that they have wished to their own destruction? But your affections are hasty. Whatsoever ye wish to have, ye wish it vehemently, as it is written, julius Caesar said of Marcus Brutus, Yea, rather ye wish it too much, and your earnest desire can suffer no tarriance. And therefore whatsoever ye would have, ye will have it presently, whereof proceed not only ungodly wishes, but also poisonings, and murders, and whatsoever one man can imagine against another, being the most hurtful creature toward his own kind▪ You wish for many things, which if ye took advise of reason, ye would stand in fear of, when they are accomplished, and the varieve of your wishes, is an argument of your evil choice: neither doth your rashness return to that which is right, until your ●●olythe affections are checked with hapless success.  joy. 
I am glad of mine enemies death.  Reason. 
If thine enemy were but of small fame and reputation, to rejoice in his death is shameful, and to be sorry, superfluous: but if he were noble and famous, it is meet and decent to be sorry, though not for the man, yet for virtues sake, which every day hath fewer places to harbour in. Sodyd Metellus Macedonicus bewail the death of the younger Scipio Africane, and Caesar the death of Pompe●, and Alexander the death of Darius.  joy. 
I recioyce in the death of my Foe.  Reason. 
How canst thou rejoice in his death, whom thou art commanded to love, not as thine enemy, but as thy neighbour, being the work of the same workman?  joy. 
I am glad of mine enemies death.  Reason. 
Perhaps thou hearest not, or regardest not the most wholesome and known counsel of the wise man, Rejoice not, saith he, in the death of thine enemy, knowing that we shall all die: And will we notwithstanding be glad? Doubtless this counsel or precept is wholesome.   

Of hope of Peace. The. Cu. Dialogue.  HOPE. 
I Hope for Peace.  Reason. 
It is better to keep peace, then to hope for it. It is the part of a fool, to neglect things certain, and to embrace doubtful hope.  Hope. 
I hope for peace.  Reason. 
Thou shouldest have kept her more narrowly, neither suffered her to departed, whom thou now hopest for. What if thine impatience have brought thee unto this Hope, that thou mightest choose to be vexed with hoping, for that which thou mightest have used by enjoying?  Hope. 
I hope for peace.  Reason. 
Hope of peace hath destroyed many, and calamity unlooked for, following hoped peace, hath overcome and oppressed the unskilful & sleepy, whom it could not have harmed, if it had found expert.  Hope. 
I hope for peace.  Reason. 
Why dost thou hope so long for that, which is in thy hand to attain unto? It is seldom seen but they do find peace, that are in deed willing effectually to seek it: but those to whom the name of peace is sweet, peace itself is sour, and therefore they that seek for peace, withstand peace. Peace hath four enemies dwelling among you, to wit, covetousness, envy, anger, pride: these if you send away into everlasting exile, your peace shallbe everlasting.  Hope. 
I am in assured hope of peace.  Reason. 
Between hope of peace, & peace itself, many things do happen: a light word, and a small gesture, hath many times disturbed compounded peace, yea the very treaties and parlays of peace are often broken of by dent of sword, and hope of peace sharpeneth the minds, and aggravateth wars: even so may a man term the treaty of friendship which cometh to none effect, the whetstone and sharpening of hatred.  Hope. 
There is talk of peace, & there shallbe peace.  Reason. 
There is often talk of peace to no purpose: many times dangerously have the captains of the Frenchmen and Carthagiens entreated of peace, when as Camillus surprised the one, and Scipio the other.  Hope. 
After war is ended, peace shall be confirmed.  Reason. 
How much better were it, that it were confirmed before the beginning of war? how many mischiefs and loss of men's lives might be by seasonable peace prevented? But you, like wilful and truently children, can never learn wisdom without whipping: In peace, ye seek after war, and in war, ye seek after peace, and never begin to know or love peace, but when ye are afflicted with war, & then as ye lament that ye have lost peace, so anon when it is restored unto you, with like lightness ye contemn it, until that having lost it once or twice, ye are taught not to contemn your own commodities, and to covet your own harms, finally, not to be mad, nor foolish, whereof ye may be ashamed before ye have obtained it. You must have one thing told you often, and it sufficeth not to have heard, but ye must often see and try: I will speak more plainly, ye must be beaten often, before you can learn any thing.  Hope. 
Peace will follow war.  Reason. 
It had been better it had gone before, and stopped the course of war: there is no such madness, as in hope of remedy, willingly to receive a wound: Formentations are helps, and not causes of wounds. It is natural for him that is sick to wish for health, but for one that is whole to wish for sickness, in hope of health, is madness.  Hope. 
We shall have peace.  Reason. 
Peace many times procureth hurtful alterations to Cities & Countries, which although of itself it be an excellent good thing, yet is it accompanied with very evil companions, unjust laws, lascivious manners, secret hatred, open tyranny. Remember what sometime in the civil wars that Prognosticatour foresaid, and was not deceived, What availeth it to pray to the Gods for peace? This peace cometh with the owner thereof. But warlike liberty, is more acceptable to valiant men, then peaceable servitude.  Hope. 
I have peace.  Reason. 
In the mean while thou hast war also.   

Of peace and truce. The. Cvi. Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Have Peace.  Reason. 
An excellent good thing, if it were sincere and perpetual, but truly it is neither: For it is no new thing, but too common and daily accustomable, that war lurketh under the covert of peace, and though the peace were pure, yet the instability of minds will not suffer it to continued long, which contend every day among themselves, no less then with an enemy.  joy. 
I have obtained peace.  Reason. 
But wariness and warlike discipline are lost, and assured preservation of cities: but thou hast gotten idle slothfulness, and continual dangerous security, since in most respects peace is better than war, but in this one respect, war is better than peace, in that it is more wary, and full of experience. The Roman prowess had never decayed, if the Carthagien war had continued. The peace with the Carthagiens, was the destruction of the City of Rome, and an everlasting document to all other Cities, to show that peace is not always best for Nations and Empires: that which good Nasica will swear to be so, in that it was committed sometime to his charge, and all the learned will confess that he sayeth true.  joy. 
I have peace.  Reason. 
Use 〈◊〉 modestly. Proud and negligent peace, is more hurtful than any war. Many that have been in arms, have been safe among weapons, but so soon as they have been in peace, they have fallen among weapons, and too late have wished for war. What shall I speak of the ruin of Manners, and the utter overthrow of Humanit●● itself? How many that have been very good men in war, have by peace become very evil, as though laying down all virtue with their armour, they had put on all vices with their gown? Thus hath the inward affection been changed with the outward apparel. In confirmation whereof, although many thousand men might be brought to witness, yet two only shall suffice us, to wit, Sylla and Marius: of whom, the first, as it is written of him, no man is able sufficiently to praise or dispraise: for while he sought a●●●r conquests, he showed himself to the people of R●●●● to be S●●pio, but while he exercised cruelty, he represented him sel●● to b● Hannibal. The second, was a man; as it is also written of him, whose virtues if they be conferred with his vices, it is hard to say whether he were more valiant in war, then pestilent in peace: insomuch as the same Common wealth which he preserved being in arms, so soon as he put on his Gown and was in peace, he defiled with all kind of treachery, and lastly, overthrew like an enemy with forcible Arms.  joy. 
I rejoice, in that my Country is in peace.  Reason. 
What if peace some time extinguish that which is best in a man, and nourish that which is worst? Well known is the saying of the Satirical Poet, who when he had said much concerning the causes of the ancient Roman virtue and valiancy, among which is, and Hannibal near to the City, at the last he inferreth, But now we feel the discommodities of long peace. Wantonness and riot more cruel than Arms, do urge and take revenge upon the conquered City. Is there any peace, I pray thee, so much to be esteemed of, that is no odious to excellent personages, if it be accompanied with sensuality and riotousness? Truly unto him that shall deeply consider of the matter, though arms be laid down, yet can it not seem peace, where the minds are oppugned with domestical and most subtle war, that wanteth 〈…〉 good manners are exiled, pleasures bear rule, and virtues are trodden under foot.  joy. 
The peace is assured.  Reason. 
And so, as I have said, are the companions of peace, liberty, & licentiousness, with dangers no less in quality, or quantity, then are in war: These bring destruction unto the body, the other unto the soul, and many times unto the body also. And therefore unto many, the breastplate hath been more fortunate than the gown, & the field more safe than the chamber, and the Trumpet then the Pipe, and the Sun than the shadow. There hath been some that were never in more safety then in the wars, as thou hast heard julius Caesar report, concerning himself and his soldiers: as for peace, if it would come without vices, I confess it is an heavenly gift, and such a good thing as is inferior to none: but it seldom cometh without vices.  joy. 
But I have taken a truce.  Reason. 
Thou hast given thine enemy respite to recover his force, that he may strike more strongly than thou.  joy. 
I have truce.  Reason. 
Truce is cozen german to treason: Thou seest that through subtlety many things are done by the enemy, but thou readest of many more: so that the policies of war are never better executed, aid never more freely sought for, yea, truce hath made many invincible in war.  JOY. 
I have taken truce with mine enemies.  Reason. 
A loitering time, neither meery with peace, neither exercised in war, but doubtfully wavering between both, where pride hindereth peace, and fear detracteth war: and I know not whether it be more hurtful so to continued, or other wise to fall: For, to desire a time of breathing, is the part of one that is weighed, and the part of a wretched and mad man, to be able to abide neither peace nor war.   

Of the Popedom. The. Cvii. Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Have attained to the Popedom.  Reason. 
Men use commonly to fly out of a tempest into the Haven, but thou willingly thest out of the Haven into a tempest: thou art a wonderful mariner.  joy. 
I have ●●ten the Popedom.  Reason. 
A rare matter, I will not say difficult: Did the care over one soul seem so little grievous unto thee, but that thou must take the charge & burden of all upon thee: Thy shoulders are strong, or thine ambition is great, so far to prick thee forth where thou knowest thou shalt be in evil case.  joy. 
I am ascended to the Popedom.  Reason. 
By what meaves see thou. For there are two ways, both tending unto travail, but the one leading unto misery. Whichsoever of these thou followest, know that thou art in misery: or, if the best happen, that of a freeman thou art become a bondslave. So thou that art said to have ascended, art fallen down, being now become one of those to whom is sung that saying of the Prophet: They that go down into the Sea in ships, having business upon many waters: they that ascend up into heaven, and descend down to Hell, whose soul languishing within them by reason of the greatness and abundance of the storm, is troubled, and they stagger like a drunken man, and all their wisdom is consumed.  joy. 
I am ascended into the seat of the high popedom.  Reason. 
The deeper the sea is, the more it is subject to winds, and dangerous for tempests.  joy. 
I am made Pope of Rome.  Reason. 
Look how much Rome is bigger than other Cities, so much more toil remaineth for thee. Some will honour thee, some adore thee, some attend and stand about thee, some lay silken coverlets under thy feet, harness thy white Steeds with gold, prepare thee wine and banquets, and taste them unto thee, which is such a kind of service as the ancient Popes never heard of. contrariwise, some will let their own business alone, and fasten their eyes upon thee, thee will they note, of thee will they judge, but how justly GOD knoweth, some also will reprove thy manners, wrist thy words, tear thy fame, carp thy life, and whatsoever is any where done amiss, men will say it proceedeth from thee, as the only cause and fountain of evil, and thou shalt be called the beginner of all discords and mischiefs among the people: How, will they say, can the body of the church be whole, when the head is sick & ill at ease? I pray thee, is either a golden eup, or a silken bed, or a mitred head, so much to be esteemed, that it should be purchased with the loss of quietness & a good name?  joy. 
I am chosen Pope.  Reason. 
Govern thyself in this talling as well as thou canst, which is so greatly esteemed at this day, which truly is altogether vain or intolerable, insomuch that not without cause certain pope's being overweeryed with tediousness, have wished to their enemies none other punishment than that felicity. For to speak in few words, the popedom if it be rightly administered, is a great honour, a great burden, a great servitude, a great labour: But if it be ill governed, it is a great danger to the soul, a great evil, a great misery, a great shame, and in all respects a business full of peril.  joy. 
I hold now the seat of the popedom.  Reason. 
Thou shalt not hold it long. Man's life is short, Kings lives shorter, and Pope's lives shortest of all, for that by reason of the greatness of the cares and charge, the old days of the Pope are shortened, which are already weerled and worn before he attain to that dignity.  joy. 
I sit in the top of the Pope's seat.  Reason. 
The higher thou sittest, the greater is the fall, and men can scarcely come down from an high place without danger, or labour. Take heed thou descend soberly, lest thou be found to be one of those, of whom it is said, They are lifted up on high, to the end their fall may be the greater. There is no man doubteth but that men must descend from almortall advancement, but this is the difference, in that just and wise men do descend, and all other fall down headlong. And therefore the Carthagien Captain, who as it is reported of him, said when he was dying, The end of all that are advanced, is to fall down, spoke not improperly, as an unjust man.  joy. 
I govern the state of the Popedom.  Reason. 
The first Popes were wont to be called from that state to the honour of Martyrdom, but now a days they think that they are called to all kind of pleasures and delicacy, and for that cause men strive now for this place, and every man coveteth that preferment. For who is he that sueth or wisheth to be Pope of Rome, or Bishop of any other place, but only for increase of power and riches: Contrary to the precept of justice, men seek to govern, not to profit, and that moreover which is sacrilegious and shameful to be spoken, fat Benefices, & great Ecclesiastical preferments are bought with great rewards, yea they be bargained for, and promised before they fall. O most vile exchange of manners, in that men cannot be drawn from that, unto which in old time they were wont, and also aught to be enforced. And furious ambition is now so hot, that it seemeth to exceed the bounds of christian shamefastness and modesty, but rather, to be an Heathen desire and wilfulness: Whom, I mean the Heathen, we have heard say to have been so earnest that way in their petitions and suits, that it is read how that julius Caesar sued for the high Bishops or Prelate's office, not without most large and lascivious expense of money, wherein recounting the greatness of his debt when in the morning he went forth to the election, he kissed his mother, saying that he would never more return home, unless he were high Bishop: And he kept promise, for he returned high Bishop in deed. It appeareth with what vehemency (not request) he laboured for that preferment, insomuch that he determined to win it, or else to die for it, or to go into exile: which he might do both lawfully, who in his youth had purposed unto himself to reign: so that he thinketh himself injured, it there be any other governor in the world but Caesar▪ or any land that belongeth to twain. But how it may be lawful for a Christian to sue for the popedom, that hath proposed to him to serve and bear the yoke of his lord, I do not perceive, and to sue for it, not only by most lanish prodigality, but also, that is not much less vile, by flattery & lies, which are aries unmeet for men, but so common and usual now a days, that these are only the means to come to preferment.  joy. 
I am pope of Rome.  Reason. 
Thou shouldest say servant of servants: Take heed thou covet not to be Lord of Lords. Remember thy profession, remember thy duty, remember thy Lord, who will be wrath with none more for transgressing of duty, then with him that presumeth to be called his own Vicar.   

Of happiness. The. Cviii Dialogue.  JOY. 
I Am happy.  Reason. 
Thou thinkest to be made happy either by the popedom, or empire, or by some other kind of power, and also by riches: thou art deceived, these things make not a man happy or wretched, but they disclose and discover him, and if they made him any of the twain, they would make him rather wretched then happy, for they be full of dangers, which are the roots of human miseries.  joy. 
I am happy.  Reason. 
O wretch, that thinkest thyself happy in so many miseries?  joy. 
I am happy.  Reason. 
Perhaps in thine opinion, which because it is false, it addeth nothing unto felicity, but much unto misery. For, for a man not to know his howne misery, is the greatest misery of all.  joy. 
I am happy.  Reason. 
So much did Pompeius the great vaunt of himself among the swords of the slaughter men, which notwithstanding if it be deeply examined, he never was, not not when he was most happy in his most flourishing state.  joy. 
I am happy.  Reason. 
Thou art happy, and a strange wayfaring man, a wonderful runner, which in this stony and difficult path art happy, being tossed among so many thousand dangers, not knowing wherein thou art here happy, which as I suppose never any man was, nor never shallbe: for who was ever happy in misery? Therefore, there is none happy before he pass out of this vale of misery. Among all the men in the world, there are twain counted happy, of which the most especial is Quintus Metellus, both by writers and common report reputed happy. Nevertheless, although the name of happiness be very large and amply taken, I know it is taken from him by certain precise writers, by reason of most grievous injuries which he sustained, and to increase the grief, at the hands of a vile person. Now the false felicity of other is evident. Scylla was only called happy, notwithstanding, the heinousness of his life & death, do prove that he was unfortunate. Although Alexander of Macedon, and julius Caesar, had most prosperous fortune, yet their lives were ever unquiet and troublesome, and therefore were not happy, for they both had violent deaths: the one in middle course of his wars, the other after his conquest suddenly: the one perished by poison, the other by weapon. The Martial felicity of the Scipios, in the one, is by his unworthy exile, in the other, by his shameful and unrevenged death, diminished. It were overlong to recount every one's fortune, and therefore I come to the last. Only Augustus the Emperor seemed almost unto all men to be happy, both for the excellency of his Monarchy, continuance of peace, length of his life, and pleasant end thereof, and which exceedeth all, perpetual tranquillity of mind and manners: who will deny that he was most happy? But they that have applied themselves to search after the truth, will not grant that he was happy. For the inward state of his domestical life, hindered his outward glory, and the change of his fortune, much altered his want of natural and Male issue, the untimely death of his Adoptyves and Nephews, and the untowardness of some of them more worse than death: Moreover, the treason and secret practices of certain most vile persons, and often conspiracies of his own kinsfolk against him, the common whoredoms of his most dearly beloved and only daughter, & Niece: finally, an heir that was none of his own, and a successor that he liked not of, whom he chose rather of necessity then of judgement, being unworthy of such an Emperor and Empire. If than none of these were happy, either show me some other happy man, with whom thou mayest be happy, or else be thou happy alone, or else at length incline thine ear to the truer opinion, according to the purport whereof I say again, that there is no man happy before his death.  joy. 
I am happy in mind.  Reason. 
I know what felicity thou meanest: either therefore thou art happy in thine own error, as one saith, which happiness, as I have said, is misery, or else by the virtue of thy mind, which is no perfect felicity, although it be the way unto it. Last of all, when I examine every thing with myself, I cannot deny, but that I am enforced to wonder what manner of felicity it should be which some do dream of and promise unto others, being in many other matters very sharp and wise, but in this, most blind. For whether that there be required unto felicity an heap of all honours, and those never to fail, but to continued permanent, and how many things are wanting to a man that followeth this trade of life, every one can judge in himself, knowing those things which he hath, how uncertain and transitory they be, or whether, as other suppose, the same be accomplished in virtue: truly they that govern themselves according to virtue, whom these men accounted happy, and whom I also confess to come nearest to felicity, endure continually most cruel conflicts of temptations within themselves, lying always open unto many and grievous perils, & are never in security before their death: which whether they know, or know not, they are alike to be reputed wretched. For there is no felicity with error, and none without security.  joy. 
I seem unto myself to be happy.  Reason. 
Thou haft already an answer: for if error could make a man happy, most men should be happy: therefore thy felicity is false, and very short. It never happened unto any to rejoice long in an error, truth only is sound and substantial. As for error, it is a slender and vain thing, which between the hands of them that embrace it, fadeth away as a smoke or shadow. But a time will come, which shall drive away shadows, and discover false joys, and bring them to light, and make human felicity to be discerned from dreams. And therefore, make inquiry of all these men of whom I last made mention, which of them seemed happy to themselves or to other: and likewise where they be now, and in what state they remain, what also they think of that their short felicity? though themselves hold their peace, the truth will speak, and bear witness that they that were accounted happy, were in deed most wretched.   

Of good Hope. The. Cix. Dialogue.  Hope. 
How soever the world goeth, no man shall take hope fromme.  Reason. 
In deed no man is able to take it from thee, but she will take away herself by little and little, and wasteth away, being often deluded with unlooked for events.  Hope. 
I hope for many things.  Reason. 
Thou must needs also stand in fear of many things: for hope dwelleth no where without fear.  Hope. 
I hope for some good.  Reason. 
Then thou fearest some evil: for as hope is opposite to fear, so doth it spring out of a contrary fountain, and it must needs be, that look what thou beginnest to hope for, the contrary thou must (as necessarily) fear.  Hope. 
I hope for prosperous things.  Reason. 
But yet uncertain, in hope whereof to neglect the things that thou art assured of, is assured madness: for he that hopeth for that which he hath not, forgetteth that which he hath.  Hope. 
I am not forbidden to hope for the better.  Reason. 
What if thou hope for difficult & impossible matters, & that will never come to pass? What if those things which thou hopest for are bad, yea very evil, & thou imaginest them to be better than they are?  Hope. 
I delight to live in hope.  Reason. 
Say more truly, to die in hope: for while men think upon future things, the present pass away, & they that look a far of, see not what is under their eyes, & they that hope to live to morrow, live not to day: for that is not yet come, whose beginning is hoped for. So then, forasmuch as all hope, is the looking for a good thing that is absent, it followeth, that he that hopeth, in that respect that he hopeth, suffereth some evil.  Hope. 
It is a sweet thing to hope.  Reason. 
Truly, I hear many say so, but I can perceive no sweetness in it. For if it be sweet to hope, it is also sweet to lack that which a man would have, which who so will affirm to be true, doubtless he wanteth the sense of taste.  Hope. 
It is pleasant to hope.  Reason. 
Then to hung in doubt, to be affected, & vexed, is hope, & of long punishment, there is long hope: nothing so much weerieth the mind, nothing so much hasteneth old age. And therefore the wise man often termeth lost hope, vantage, and rejoiceth that he was delivered from infinite desires and expectations of vain things, whereby he was enforced to take delight in his own good things.  Hope. 
Let fortune look to the event, as for me, I rejoice in hope.  Reason. 
Take heed, jest hereafter thou be sorry in the thing itself, and it repent thee, that ever thou wishedst or hopedst, or enjoyedst thine hope. Many whom hope long tormented while they lived in doubt, when it came to effect which they hoped, were utterly overthrown: many have perished with the wished successes of their long hope, which were very tedious, but not late enough.  Hope. 
None shall take hope from me.  Reason. 
None shall take from thee werisomnesse & trouble of mind: thou hast heard the old proverb, It is a great pain to look or hope for any thing.  Hope. 
The hoping or looking for a good thing is pleasant.  Reason. 
But it is deceitful, and doubtful, and troublesome. If thou deny this, thou never hopedst for any thing: But the company is inestimable of those that deceive themselves, unto whom whatsoever offereth itself, there is nothing without some effect towards that they have in hand, they refuse nothing, they deny themselves to none, they are easily turned, and quick to give credit. I may say that it were a great argument of lightness and folly to embrace every hope that a man shall meet withal, and immediately to repose himself thereon as an assured good, whereunto all men of learning and experience are but slow.  Hope. 
In the mean while, I have a good hope.  Reason. 
In the mean while thou sayest, which will be unto such time as it hath deceived thee. For this is your custom, ye cast of hope against your will, and never forsake it, until it forsake you: Yea, many times when it forsaketh you, it is strange to say, how again and again ye willingly embrace it, when it returneth: and going forth to meet it, assoon as ye have laid hold on it, ye forget how before it deceived you, and retain it again furnished with new crafts, and lay it up in the secret closure of your hearts.  Hope. 
I will not forsake my good hope unto the last.  Reason. 
What if it forsake thee long before? Wilt thou call it back, or follow it, or carry till it return? But go to, hope a God's name, since there is nothing more pleasant unto thee then to be deceived. It is not my meaning to pluck thy hope from thee, which so earnestly thou enterteynest, only I admonish thee this much, that it is no good hope which thou supposest: It is no good hope that proposeth good to itself, but that purposeth well. The most wicked persons may, yea, and commonly do, hope for that which is good: and therefore that is good hope in deed, which is rightly conceived of the true good: he that hath this hope, let him hold it fast, and not let her departed from him in the end, but join her other sisters unto her, to wit, faith and charity. This hope is pleasant, sweet, true, and happy, which neither faileth nor confoundeth him that hopeth, but advanceth him unto that which is best, & in the mean while maketh the mind cheerful, with the remembrance of the good that is hoped for. But you, as hoping for the true good, which ye have ill deserved, or calling evil things by the name of good, are in conclusion deceived: and therefore your expectation is sorrowful before it come, and more sorrowful when it is come.  Hope. 
Mine understanding is human, and I speak of those things which men call good.  Reason. 
Heretofore there hath been long contention among the learned, about this name: which doth yet continued, and will do for ever, to the worlds end, some making but one good thing, and contrariwise other some many.  Hope. 
Let us leave these matters to the Philosophers, as for me, I hope for those things, which the common people call good.  Reason. 
Thou hopest then for thine own evil, which either will vex thee with deferring, or overpress thee with the desired burden. Admit that all things go well with thee appertaining to the body, & that thou hast prepared power against thine enemy, and as touching Fortune, that thou hast borne the yoke of an unconstant and unmild Lady, and that many of these things may be converted to the affliction and destruction of the mind, forasmuch as the things that delight the mind, do oftentimes hurt it.  Hope. 
I have cast the anchor of good hope, and I will not remove.  Reason. 
But Sailors use many times when a tempest riseth to cut their Cable, and loose their Anchor, if they can not weigh him up, and to departed without him: for it happeneth not always so, as in the calmness of the Sea, we read in the poet, The Anchor held fast the ships, with an assured tooth: so likewise, in great troubles and raginges of the Sea, wherein the Anchor doth not hold them fast, but rather stayeth them; and endangereth them often with casting away, none otherwise verily in the storms and tempests of worldly affairs, settled and tough hope hath drawn many into destruction, who if they had cut of, and cast away their hope, might have safely escaped Therefore, the Anchor of hope must be oftentimes weighed up, or if it hold too hard, be broken of. And if that can not be, it must even be quite cut away, and left behind under the waters and floods of affairs, to the end thou mayest safely conveyth the free bark of thy life, through the direction of foresight, into the haven of safety.  Hope. 
I hope well.  Reason. 
In well hoping, and ill having, man's life passeth away.   

Of expectation of Inheritance. The. Cx. Dialogue.  HOPE. 
I Look for the inheritance of an old man, that hath no children.  Reason. 
Thou saidst erewhile, that thou wast in quiet, take heed thou be not found contrary to thyself: for hoping or looking for any commodity & quietness of mind, can never devil together: there is no loathsomeness in this life more grievous than this expectation.  Hope. 
I expect the inheritance of an old man.  Reason. 
But thou knowest not what he also expecteth: for this is a general madness among men, that almost every man hopeth, not only to live longer than those that are of his own years, but also that are younger. Men are unwilling to think on their own death, but gladly on other men's, when as in deed it were more profitable for them to do the contrary.  Hope. 
I hope for an old man's inheritance.  Reason. 
How if he also hope for thine? One of you must needs be deceived. How many old men may there be found, that look for the death of young men: And truly, there is none so old, but he may live one year longer: and none so young, but he may die to day.  Hope. 
I hope for the inheritance of a childless old man.  Reason. 
Thy son may better hope for it. A more likely hope hath deceived a younger.  Hope. 
The inheritance of a childless old man shall fall unto me.  Reason. 
How knowest thou, whether thine shall fall unto him? Claudius' succeeded Caius, and Galba Nero, and Nerua Domitian, and Pertinax Commodus, and the life of a man is full of such successions.  Hope. 
I tarry for the inheritance of a childless old man.  Reason. 
Whom cannot he deceive, of them that are willing to be deceived, that hath deceived him, whom he would not willingly have deceived? Whom may not he suruine, that hath survived his own son?  Hope. 
A childless old man hath already in writing appointed me his heir.  Reason. 
Hath he engraven it in tables of Diamond, from whence thou canst not be blotted out? doest thou not know upon how light occasions old men do altar their wills? Many have misliked of that, at the very end of their lives, which before they liked well of all their life tyme.  Hope. 
A childless old man will have me be his heir.  Reason. 
But it may chance, that hereafter he will not: For, there is nothing that a rich childless old man taketh in worse part, then to see his goods loved, and himself not regarded: for then all is marred.  Hope. 
I am promised the inheritance of a childless old man.  Reason. 
I could wish, there were that uprightness and trust in men, that they would never promise' any thing, but that which is honest, and would also perform that, which they have promised. But now, there is neither measure in promising, nor regard of breach of promise, which men think they may most lawfully do, in inheritance and bestowing possessions. And for this cause, the laws call the wills of testators while they live, walking wills. I will not trouble thee with examples, the thing is well known. Thou hast read, I take it, unto whom in hath happened, that not only they were promised the inheritance of the living, but also received kisses, and rings, and the last embracings of the party which lay a dying, which unto them was an undoubted token of succession: when as in the mean while, there were other heirs appointed, and no mention at all made of them in the Will: thus bold is unfaithfulness, even in the mids of death. Dost thou think then, that thou art free from the deceits of them that are alive, when as thou readest in what sort, great and noble personages have been deluoed, by the crafts of them that have lain a dying? And not to stay upon many: The most honourable Gentleman Lucius Lucullus, suffered some time this kind of mock and reproach, and also a greater state than he was, Augustus the Emperor. An horrible, and most strange delight in deceiving, which will not forsake the miserable and wretched souls, not not in the very point of death: but this is your manner, and thou reposest thy trust upon a promised inheritance, whereof thou mayest be disappointed, both by the longer life, and shorter faith of the testator: although, if these do thee no harm, he may have most just cause to change his purpose, to wit, an heir of his own, and young issue borne to an old man. For Cato begat a child, when he was above fourscore years old, and Masinissa, when he was more near to ninety. The like also happeneth now adays unto your old men, who I would they were as like unto those ancient fathers in strength of mind, as they are to force of engendering: which being so, truly the lawful heir hindereth the intruder, and cutteth of his foolish hope.  Hope. 
I am named Heir in an old man's Testament.  Reason. 
But perhaps he is yet living, and like to live. As for the Testaments and wills, they are made in the life time, and confirmed in the death: thou thinkest upon the Carcase and Burial, and Wolf may be wearied with expectation and hunger.  Hope. 
An Inheritance shall come directly unto me.  Reason. 
As the testator, so also is the inheritance subject to casualties, that a man can not always have that heir which he would: and an inheritance many times is nothing but a vain name, yea, sundry times a small inheritance is very dearly bought, when a man maketh himself serviceable and subject to a tatter old fool, and useth flattering words, unmeet for a man. Surely, there is no commodity to be compared with the loss of honesty, and that which is decent.  Hope. 
The Inheritance shall fall unto me, without contradiction of Law or Fortune.  Reason. 
Whereby knowest thou that? seeing that saying of the most ancient and wise Father Marcus Cato is true: I have heard oftentimes, saith he, that many things may happen between the mouth and the morsel. But admitie nothing happen between, but that thine expected inheritance fall unto thee, it will not tarry with thee, but depart from thee, to others. Worldly goods, are roulling, and money, men say, is of purpose made round, that it may always be running. Thou hast gotten an inheritance for thy successor: thou being perhaps sad, for him that will rejoice: thou being careful, for him that is negligent: and look how thou hast hoped of another, so will other hope of thee.   

Of Alchemy. The. Cxi. Dialogue.  HOPE. 
I Hope for good success in Alchemy.  Reason. 
It is strange thou should est hope for that which never happened effectually to thyself, nor to any man else, & if report go that it ever happened to any man, that report was made by such as it was expedient to believe them.  Hope. 
I hope for good success in Alchemy.  Reason. 
What success meanest thou, other than smoke, ashes, sweat, sighs, words, deceit, and shame? These are the successes of Alchemy, wherely we never saw any poor man advanced to riches, but many rich men fall into poverty. And yet ye have no regard hereof, so sweet a thing it is to hope and be deceived, whereunto ye be pricked forth by covetousness, and driven headlong through madness, that ye think that to be true, which you hope for, and false, which you see. Thou hast seen some, that in other matters are wise, yet in this behalf to be mad: and some very rich men, utterly consumed with this vanity, and while they covet to become richer, and gape after filthy lucre, to consume their well gotten goods, and having spent all their revenue in unprofitable expenses, at length to have wanted very necessaries: and other some, forsaking the City wherein they dwelled, have passed forth the residue of their lives in sorrow and heaviness, being able to think upon nothing else, but bellows, Tongues, and Coals, and being able to abide to keep company with none, but of their own disposition and heresy, have at length become, as it were, wild people: many finally, that first by means of this exercise lost the eyes of their mind, have afterward also by the same, lost their bodily eyes.  Hope. 
I hope for gold, which my workman hath promised.  Reason. 
It is hehofefull to understand what every artificer in every art promiseth. There be some that can not be believed, whatsoever they promise, and so much the less, as they bind their promise the more with an oath. But, O you foolish men, is it not sufficient for you to be mad in true metals, which the earth bringeth forth, but that other minerals vex you with counterfeiting? Is it a small matter to have wandered from virtue, but that also loss be added to your error, and toil to your loss, and shame to your toil? He that promiseth thee his gold, will suddenly run away with thy gold. It is no new tale I tell thee, but a common custom, although the deceit that is committed by fire, is often also purged by fire, notwithstanding, when thou art deluded by the subtlety of thy deceiver, art nothing damnified by his punishment, but shalt be the better known and pointed at for a covetous and foolish person, consumed with blowing of Coals, singed with the fire, smutched with the smoke.  Hope. 
The Alchimiste promiseth me great matters.  Reason. 
Bid him first perform that for himself, which he promiseth to others, and that first he relieve his own poverty: For, for the most part they are a beggarly kind of people, and confessing themselves to be poor, they will enrich others, as though other men's need were more grievous unto them than their own: so that being wretched themselves, they use most impudently to say, that they take pity upon others, and do promise' great matters, some time to them that they know not O shameful promise, & O foolish belief?  Hope. 
I have learned the art of Alchemy, I shallbe rich.  Reason. 
Nay rather, if thou were rich, thou shalt wax poor: for I say, that this art whereof thou speakest, is none other, than the art of lying and deceiving. But go to, forasmuch as thy mind is so bend, follow it, and I tell thee before hand that thou shalt reap profit by this art, thy house shall swarm with strange gheastes, and wonderful kinds of implements, thou shalt have store of eaters and drinkers, and that by good reason, as being incensed with heat of the fire, and greediness of desire: there shallbe blowers, & deceivers, and mockers, every corner shall stand full of vessels, and pots, and basins, and pans, & glasses of stinking waters: moreover, strange heaths, and outlandy she salts, and sulphur, and stills, and furnaces, by means of all which, in the end thou shalt procure unto thyself vain cares, folly of mind, deformity of countenance, filthiness of body, dimness of sight, carefulness and poverty, and that which is worst of all, the name of a juggler or Sorcerer, & a life continually to be led in darkness, among the secret infamous lurking corners of thieves.  Hope. 
I hope to obtain the effect of my desire.  Reason. 
Perhaps thou mayest conceive matter to hope and be glad hereof, but not to rejoice.  Hope. 
I draw near to the end of my perpose.  Reason. 
Hast thou fixed Mercury? or brought any other vain conclusion to effect? Notwithstanding, thou art very far from thy purpose, thou shalt always lack some necessary matter, but never want deceit.   

Of the promises of wisemen, and Soothsayers. The. Cxii. Dialogue.  HOPE. 
DIuinours, and Soothsayers, promise' me many things.  Reason. 
Lo, thou hast found out another kind of men, to whom if thou give credit, thou shalt always hung in suspense, and live in Hope: for the things shall never come to pass which they promise', and thou shalt never lack promisers: so that on the one side, gaping after the runaway promised things, and on the other side, provoked by promises, thou shalt continually be tossed to and fro, after the manner of Ixion.  Hope. 
The Soothsayers put me in good hope.  Reason. 
It is as easy a matter to bring the credulous into hope, as the timorous into fear: as for constant minds, they are not easily moved unto either side.  Hope. 
Mathematicians promise' me many matters.  Reason. 
There is nothing more ready unto them that want honesty, then to abound with promises: but who so are ashamed to lie, are flow in promising.  Hope. 
The Mathematicians promise' me happy fortune.  Reason. 
Choose other avowers as a pledge, the kind of promises is brittle, a bore word is scarcely to be trusted.  Hope. 
Mathematicians promise' me many things.  Reason. 
Seek some that may fulfil those promises: it is sufficient for them to have put thee in hope, no one man can do all things.  Hope. 
I am awaked by the Soothsayers answers.  Reason. 
Thou shalt be brought a sleep by the events, for nothing shall happen that is promised thee.  Hope. 
I am willed to hope for great matters.  Reason. 
It is strange, that the mind of man that is stubborn to virtue, should be so much obedient to vanity. If virtue command any one thing, be it never so good, it is not regarded: but if vanity will any thing, although it be difficult and most vile, it is obeyed.  Hope. 
The Mathematicians promise' me happy fortune.  Reason. 
These be wonderful fellows, that know only what is to come, and are ignorant of that which is past, and present, and do so pronounce of things that are in heaven, as though they had been called to counsel among the gods, and were now come down from thence with a fresh memory, when as in the mean while they be ignorant what is done upon the earth, in their own country, in their house, and in their chamber: so that it is very true which thou readest in Tully, No man seeth what is before his feet, but they search the regions of heaven.  Hope. 
A certain notable and true Mathematician, telleth me of great matters.  Reason. 
The more notable the diviner is, the greater is his liberty of lying, and his credit more prove to a false tale. Truly I use often times to marvel, and our country man Tully not without cause marveled also, what new or unaccustomable accident is happened in this matter, that when as in all sorts of men many true matters are obscured by one notable lie, and the credit of the reporter is ever more afterward had in suspicion, it fareth otherwise in this kind of people, that one slender and casual true tale, as it were a veil being set against many fittens, notwithstanding purchaseth credit to a public lie, if it be found that he once told true, wherein there was never any so impudent a liar, but some time hath told truth, either against his will, or upon ignorance: but if any of those by chance do it upon the truth, then is the matter cock, he shallbe believed if he foretell that there shall fall a Star this day from heaven: finally, he may lie in all cases, without suspicion of lying, that could be once found out of a lie. And they stick most upon this one point, for that they can see into the things that are to come, being forgetful of that which is past, deceiving those that have affiance in them, by means of the favour and sight belief which they bear unto them.  Hope. 
I give credice unto diviners that foretell me good fortune.  Reason. 
To give credit to mad men, is madness. And truly although that Cicero seemeth herein to be of an other mind, yet I am of opinion that the name which the Grecians have given unto this thing, is more apt than that which is given by your countrymen. For the Latins have derived this word divination, a Divis, from the gods, or a Divinitate, from Divinity: but the Grecians fetch their word Mantice, a Furore, from madness: you perhaps more finely, but they more truly. The same art all the holy Doctors do by one content condemn, namely Ambrose, Augustine, with the residue, who, if it so happen at any time, as this pestilent custom hath prevailed among many, that among these brablers in disputation concerning the truth, they are had in suspicion for the very names sake of their profession, so that the professors of the true faith cannot be heard, with the free consent also of all other, who being innumerable are of the same opinion. And although the godly or virtuous men do condemn divination, what cause is there, or just occasion of suspicion, but that only one, and especially among many, the most excellent Cicero may be regarded and harkened unto: For truly he condemneth, mocketh, and despiseth this whole kind of illusions and deceits. And to be short, omitting those things which this place cannot hold, not only all godly religion, but also true Philosophy, and likewise Poetry, which directly imitateth the same, and not the holy men only, but also all the learned, do reject this vanity, except those only that live of it, or that being by them seduced, are fallen into their snares, upon whose losses and errors they found their Art, and raise their gain. In which Art, this is the chief and principal point, to cloak their fraud with obscurity, and so to give an ambiguous or doubtful answer, so that whatsoever happeneth, may seem to have been foretold, which is a common proviso among all that profess the knowledge of things to come, wherein not their Art, which is none, nor their wit, which without learning and knowledge in matters is naked, but their subtlety and boldness, and impudency, is wondered. So that, that which once the rough Cato spoke merrily, that he marveled that one soothsayer laughed not when he saw another, may be also fitly applied unto all air watchers, soothsayers, fortune readers, ghessers, chaldies, and Mathematicians, and the whole kind of divination, so uncertain it is whether their fraud be more filthy, or your madness more ridiculus: howbeit, it were an easy matter to answer their quiddities, and refute their reasons, but it would be overlong, and is so common a matter, and so notably handled by sundry excellent men, that the repetition thereof would not only be superfluous, but also foolish. And unto your most fond vanity, what may be said other, then that ye are worthy not only to be mocked by earthly men, but also by men made of clay, and that have none other knowledge, then by this means only to deceive fools, by pretending great skill, and abusing you with the name and colour of heaven.  Hope. 
I am persuaded that prosperous fortune is at hand, the expectation whereof is sweet, pleasant, and acceptable unto me.  Reason. 
Nay rather, bitter, sour, and troublesome: but you having lost your sense, do judge of the objects of the senses, whereunto I suppose you are easily persuaded. For it is an easy matter to persuade them that are willing: and some have no need of a persuader, for truly they are their own soothsayers, and take occasion to prognosticate happy events to themselves, both by the meeting of living creatures, and the flying and chattering of birds. But if thou recount with thyself how often these things have deceived thee, if thou ask counsel of thy neighbours concerning this matter, or they, being infected with the same error, ask thine advice, thou shalt easily perceive how far thou oughtest give credit to these follies, unless those three most notable and famous governors and Princes, Pumpeius, Crassus, and Caesar, will haply say otherwise upon their oath, unto whom, as it appeareth by a great witness, and best known of all men, Marcus Cicero, all the Chaldeys, and soothsayers promised, that they should all three of them end their lives most gloriously in their own country, in happy estate, and honourable old age: which how crew it was, perhaps thou attendest not to hear: but truly, they died all by the sword, two of them more miserably far of from Iralie or the City of Rome being slain, their honourable heads only, whereof sometime the whole world stood in fear and reverence, with shameful reproaches buried, but their bodies most pitifully thrown forth to be torn by wild beasts, bitten by fishes, and rend by fowls, cruelly mangled & dismembered, lay there as a most miserable spectacle of fortune. Go thy ways now, and say these soothsayers have no knowledge, that they give judgement so uncertainly.  Hope. 
I have observed an acceptable token of soothsaying.  Reason. 
O importunate madness: a wretched man hopeth to know the success of his affairs, of birds, when he hath none of himself: what folly is greater than this? King Deiotarus, a god's name, was delivered from present destruction by the sight of an Eagle: And Agrippa the Hebrew 〈◊〉 advertised of his delivery out of prison, the end of his adversity, and beginning of prosperity, by the sitting of an Owl upon his head, which otherwise is counted an infamous bird, whose song by Virgil's verse, is counted deadly and infortunate.  Hope. 
A good token and prognostication hath happened.  Reason. 
This word Omen, signifying a token, or an aboding, is derived from the word Homo. that signifieth a Man, and is an argument of men's madness, whereby your minds are not only evermore drawn into error by some external thing, but also by one thing or another that is within you, that there may be no part void of fancies and trifles: and therefore ye observe your servants neesynges, and draw your children's words, which they utter by chance, to that purpose, not to the purport of them, but to your own purposes, to wit, because the Centurion said, Here we shall remain best of all, the head of the world was not removed: or because the little girl told her father crying, when he was going forth to warfare, that Perses was dead, it was necessarily judged that the King of Macedon should be vanquished. O strange and sotted mind of man, with how small a force art thou driven into the pit of error?  Hope. 
Good fortune happened unto me while I was a sleep.  Reason. 
But thou shalt have sorrowful tidings when thou art awake.  Hope. 
I saw good hap in sleep.  Reason. 
But thou shalt find ill hap when thou awakest.  Hope. 
I was an happy man in my rest.  Reason. 
But thou shalt be wretched in thy travail. For many times dreams signify nothing, and many times the contrary.  Hope. 
True things are often seen in dreams.  Reason. 
But how more often false? The like judgement is to he given of this, and all such other kinds of vanities, one thing happening true by chance, purchaseth credit to a great many of false, and men's minds gaping after that which is to come, taketh no regard of that which is past.  Hope. 
The diviners promise me many things.  Reason. 
I do not much wonder at these impostors and deceivers, who according to their manner do live by their practice: but I marvel more at you, that you subject your lives, souls, and wits unto their bellies: and therefore take heed what persuasion thou holdest ●●r if thou wilt follow mine advice, thou shalt expect with a quiet and upright mind, not what the Stars, but what the Creator and governor of the Stars hath determined concerning thee, fervently working something every day, whereby thou mayst be found the more worthy of his love. Concerning the events, let it not once enter into thy mind to move any of them, unto whom the truth is less known then to thyself, Finally, thus persuade thyself, that it is an hard matter for men to know what it is to come, and that it is not lawful for them, if it were expedient, nor expedient, if it were lawful.   

Of glad tidings. The. Cxiii. Dialogue.  HOPE. 
I Have heard glad tidings.  Reason. 
Believe not fame, she is a liar.  Hope. 
Many tell me glad news.  Reason. 
It is better sometime to believe one, than many.  Hope. 
That cannot be altogether false, which so many messengers do report.  Reason. 
The manner of common report is well known, which is to mingle lies with truth. A great many of lies are seasoned with a few true tales: for no body will believe him that which all lies.  Hope. 
The first author of the rumour is a cred●●le person.  Reason. 
But there is no man contented to report only as much as he hath heard or seen. it is nothing worth unless that every one add some thing of his own to that which he hath heard or seen, which when many have done, a man shall perceive how one lie hath been heaped upon another, so that this mischief going from hand to hand, hath increased in men's hands as it was going, and which the most excellent poet sayeth, It floorisheth by moving, and getteth strength by going.  Hope. 
Hitherto the report is very joyful.  Reason. 
What if it flatter thee, that it may strike thee? Many times after joyful rumours, follow woeful massacres: this for the more part is the manner of fortune, to promise hope, that she may wound the deeper, and she anointeth her cruel weapon with the sweetness of some glad tidings, wherewith she purposeth to cut the throat of him that rejoiceth. Which thing, forasmuch as the learned and wise do understand, they are nothing moved with flattering reports, but remain unmovable, recounting with themselves either that it is contrary, or that this rumour that seemeth so acceptable, may be changed into the contrary.  Hope. 
I am delighted in a joyful rumour.  Reason. 
Stay a while till thou know whether it be certain, and if it so fall out, yet is it a shame for a manly courage to be moved with every small rumour, though they be true, but most shameful with those that are false. Many have been ashamed that they have rejoiced, and the remembrance of their false joy, hath augmented their true grief.   

Of expecting a man's son, or Farmer, or wife. The. Cxiiii. Dialogue.  Hope. 
I Hope for my sons return.  Reason. 
Thou hopest for a careful joy, and a near sorrow.  Hope. 
I hope to see my friend again.  Reason. 
Thou hopest for a sweet thing, but deceivable: men's affairs tremble upon a brittle foundation, perhaps he whom thou now lookest for is dead, which thou mayst prove if thou live. There are a thousand kinds of impedimens', & one that is common to all, that is, death.  Hope. 
I trust to enjoy the desired sight of my friend.  Reason. 
These two are almost always joined together, to wish, and to hope: but by sundry casualties they be daily separated. How many may we think were there in Rome, that with very desirous minds expected the return of the last Marcus Marcellus? But contrariwise his most cruel foe attended his coming in the mids of the way, whose furious savageness was more mighty than was the mercifulness of the conqueror that revoked his adversary from exile. And therefore Caesar at the request of the Senate could pardon Marcellus: but Marcellus Client could not sustain any greater grief, then that he should enjoy that benefit from Caesar.  Hope. 
I hope to see my friend, and I expect him, having no enemy to hinder his coming.  Reason. 
What man is he that hath not an enemy? and albeit he have no private enemy, yet is there any without public foes? I mean thieves and murderers, who moved with covetousness have proclaimed open war against mankind. But imagine there chanced some such good constellation, that this mischief were banished out of the world: notwithstanding who shall defend Wagons and Horses from overthrowing, rivers and streams from overflowing, brydges' and houses from falling, tempests on Sea and land from rising? Add moreover the incursion of fierce and wild beasts, and venomous vermin, by means of which, Dicaearchus a most curious searcher of such matters, showeth that not only certain particular men, but also whole generations of men, have been destroyed. And in sum, look how many chances there be in human affairs, whereof there is no certain number, so many enemies are there of mankind, which may, I say not slack thy hope, but extinguysh it. And though nothing else do happen, yet death, of whom I spoke erwhile, whether men go or stand, is always at their elbow, and perhaps more near to them that ride and travail upon the way, by how much their journey, and riding, and changing of place, seemeth to be subject to more kinds of casualties.  Hope. 
I hope for my friends return, after the prosperous dispatching of his business.  Reason. 
How gloriously & prosperously Drusus Nero, that was son in law to Augustus, behaved himself and accomplished his affairs, that he was beloved of his enemies that he had vanquished, so that they did almost adore him as a God, whose wonderful affection towards the memorial of him, even to this present day, I suppose thou mightest perceive, if ever thou were conversant among the states of Germany. Truly he achieved such exploits whereof he might worthily vaunt him, the which appeareth yet remaining to this day engraven in certain Roman stones, whereof some of the first syllables are defaced and thrown down by misfortune, in these verses, At the departing of the Rhine, I invaded the land and wasted the enemies country, while unto thee, O Rome, which art glorious and renowned with thine everlasting Monuments of victory, Hister followeth with a more calm stream. How thinkest thou, did the Emperor Augustus, Lord of all the world, expect the return of so noble a young Gentleman, whom in loving he had made his son? And how Livia Augusta, unto whom nature had made him beloved, but virtue more beloved, and his brother's cowardice, I suppose, most dearly beloved? How moreover his brother himself, how soever he was unto other, yet most loving of his most excellent brother? And last of all, how Rome itself, and the whole common wealth, which at that time depended so much upon no man? But what then? what was the end of so manifold expectations? Sudden death took away this long looked for Drusus, and that by natural sickness, and as some approved authors report, by adding thereunto the breaking of his thigh: so that he that was looked for to return a conqueror into his country, was brought back thither dead. What shall I speak of his son Germanicus? I think there was never greater expectation of any man. It was not his father nor yet Augustus that expected him, who were then both dead, but it was the whole city of Rome. & that with so wondered desire, as if the whole city had had but one mind, & had been a widow, and a mother that had but one child. And therefore, at the first report of his sickness, all the city was amazed, and cast into heaviness, and all men's countenances & apparel were changed, and there was sorrowful silence throughout the whole city. But after that better tidings, although by uncertain authors, reported that he was alive and recovered, immediately a most happy & loud noise was in every place raised, which also awaked Tiberius himself, and there was great concourse of people into the capitol ho●●e, to perform vows, and give thanks to the gods, insomuch that the doors of the Temples were almost borne away with the throng, the darkness of the night was overcome with 〈◊〉 a plenty of Torches and other lights, and silence broken with the voices of them that sung for joy, Rome is in safety, our country is in safety, Germanicus is in safety. But what at length was the end of this matter? Even that which is most common in human affairs: For there came a more certain messenger, which reported that Germanicus was dead: whereupon arose a public sorrow and lamentation, which could not be restrained by edicts, holidays, or any consolations. The history is well known, written in the fourth book of the Emperors.  Hope. 
I hope my young son will return.  Reason. 
Were not these young enough of whom I spoke erewhile? Then hear of a younger. Marcellinus, that was Nephew to the same Augustus on his sister's side, how much thinkest thou was he expected of his Uncle, who loved him so tenderly, that he could not hear, without tears, those most noble verses of Virgil, wherein that most excellent Poet celebrated the remembrance of that young Gentleman, being but almost a child, and when he was reading them, commanded the author to hold his peace? How much of his mother Octavia, who loved him so dearly, that she mourned for him continually unto the last day of her life, as though he had but then died, and did not only contemn, but also hate every one that enduoured to comfort her? What should a man say to these matters, and what thinkest thou other than all other men? He returned not, but was translated: and as for Drusus, he returned not to Rome as he went to Germany, neither did Antioch restore Germanicus, neither Baiana Marcellinus. There is a common destiny of your expectations, but thou fansiest unto thyself another, and perhaps that chance may happen which thou expectest, which peradventure when it is happened, thou wilt begin to hope and wish that it were gone again.  Hope. 
I hope for the return of my friend that is absent.  Reason. 
Who will marvel, if they that are living be looked for to come again, when some also that are dead, as report goeth, are expected? It is reported, that the Britain's look for the coming again of king Arthure. And some do dream that Nero the Emperor shall return, a little before the end of the world. Your whole life, from the beginning to the ending, is not only full of vain expectations, but itself is also a vain expectation. If thou perceive not that this is so, thou hast either lived too short time, or too long, or taken no regard what is done here.  Hope. 
I look for my Farmer, that should come out of the Country.  Reason. 
Peradventure either his House is burnt, or his Harvest withered away, or his Meadows overdried, or his Oxen dead, or his Vines hurt with the Hail, or his Trees overthrown with the whirlwind, or his Cornefieldes drowned with sudden waters, or his Bees flown away, or his Fruits eaten up with Caterpillars, or his Pigeon house destroyed by Crows, Mice, and other vermin, or his Poultry devoured by the Fox, or his Lambs spoiled by the Wolf: these for the most part, are the tumours that come out of the country.  Hope. 
I hope for my Wives coming.  Reason. 
If thou hope for that, then do I not know what thou fearest: yet is it so notwithstanding, for some look for their wines, and some for an ague.   

Of looking for better times. The. Cxu. Dialogue.  HOPE. 
I Look for better times.  Reason. 
All times are almost of a like goodness, for that the creator of times is evermore of a like goodness: but you do always abuse good times, and in this as all other things, ye impute your own faults to the things. If the men were good, the times would be good enough.  Hope. 
These times can not continued, but more joyful shall succeed.  Reason. 
No time continueth, all pass away, and when they are gone, they return no more: through virtue, and industry, and the study of good arts, they may be bridled, not but that they shall pass away, but that they do not perish: for there is nothing sweeter than the remembrance of time well spent. But you not knowing how to use any thing as it aught to be, when ye have bestowed all your life time either in sleep or idleness, or in carefulness, or unprofitable business, ye accuse the guiltless time. Do I lie, if I say that you consume your infancy and childhood in vain pastimes, your youth and man's state in lasciviousness and avarice, your old age, in complaints and lamentations? What fault is there here in the times? They pass away, I confess, for it is their nature so to do, and you neglect them while opportunity serveth, which is not your nature, but your fault. You accuse nature, and excuse your own fault, which is no new matter.  Hope. 
I hope for a better world.  Reason. 
The merriness, or sorrowfulness of the times, as I have said, resteth not in the times, but in your own selves. By this means thou shalt not only understand how to hope for prosperous times, but how to deem of the sorrowful, if thou look upon thine own age, which every day waxeth more heavy than other, as it is described by the Poet, and found in most old men. And truly, if thou cast thine eyes backward, and begin to recount and consider thine own years, thou wilt also therewithal begin to despair of that which thou hopest. There is no cause why thou shouldest hope for alteration of the course of the world. The times that follow are not better, but I fear me rather the worse. And what is the cause, I pray thee? but only because men wax worse and worse, which certain notable men have foretold should be so, and the effect plainly declareth? but that you men, upon good hope do evermore conceive some great opinion of your noble and modest youth, from which opinion I am far of, for my mind can not prognosticate nor foresee any good to ensue at all, every thing is so prove unto vice and untowardness.  Hope. 
The times are evil, but better shall ensue.  Reason. 
Every age hath complained of the manners that have been then, saith Seneca. And I add, that every age had cause in deed whereof to complain, & shall have hereafter, to the worlds end.  Hope. 
I hope for a better time.  Reason. 
There is one way unto that, whereby if thou attain to a better state, thou wilt then hope for no farther matter. Frame unto thyself a merrier mind, which thou canst not do without virtue, & when thou hast so done, all things shallbe merry & fortunate, and nothing unprosperous or sorrowful.  Hope. 
I look for a better tyme.  Reason. 
If it chance to come, which is doubtful, verily as that approacheth, thou drawest away. How much were it better to use well the time present, rather than carefully to expect that, which perchance either will not come at all, or thou shalt never live to see.   

Of the hoped coming of a Prince. The. Cxvi. Dialogue.  HOPE. 
I Hope for a Princes coming.  Reason. 
As many things are feared, which were rather to be wished: so many are wished, which were rather to be feared: on both sides there is great want of judgement.  Hope. 
I hope for the Prince's coming.  Reason. 
How much more seemly were it to hope for liberty: for truly, he that hopeth for a Lord or a Master, hopeth for his own servitude.  Hope. 
I hope that the Prince will come.  Reason. 
Thou hopest also for the common mischief which cometh with him. But the time hath been, when Princes have hoped for their kingdoms, and the people have hoped for their Prince: but now the kingdom is a burden to the Prince, and the Prince a plague to the people.  Hope. 
I and the common wealth, do hope that the Prince will come.  Reason. 
What thou alone doest hope for, thou knowest best thyself, wherein also thou mayest easily be deceived: but as for the hope of the Common wealth, it is but foolish. For what man, unless he were mad, would hope for, or desire that, which he hath so often times experimented to be hurtful?  Hope. 
I hope that the Prince will come.  Reason. 
And he will bring with him sundry stirs and tumults, alterations of Cities, hurtful novelties, famine, pestilence, wars, discord: all these at once, or every one of them severally, use commonly to come with Princes now a days. If thou like of these things, then hope for the Prince's coming: but if none of these be fearful, notwithstanding the very name of an Empire is full of reports and rumours, devoid of all goodness, and only founded upon the shadow of antiquity.  Hope. 
I hope that the Prince will come.  Reason. 
But I would have thee wise and circumspect, that as often as thou hearest of his coming, thou imagine that thou hearest the voice of some thunder that goeth before lightning, nor begin not to hope, but rather to fear, if so be one of them must needs fail. For to fear adversity, although it be repugnant to virtue, yet is it agreeable to nature: but to hope for evil, is contrary to nature and virtue.  Hope. 
I hope that the prince will be here shortly.  Reason. 
When thou seest him present, imagine that thou beholdest an unfortunate star to the Common wealth: and concerning this matter, take advice of thine own memory, or demand of thy Parents, or of thy Grandfathers, or great Grandfathers, and thou shalt find it to be so as I say, which thing, declare thou also to thy children & posterity, lest they also like fools, hope for the Prince's coming. I pray thee tell me, when did ever the small Beasts hope for the lions coming, or the lesser Fowls for the Eagles? Pardon me, if I tell that truth, Man is a most foolish creature, and always most desirous of his own harm: other have need of a bait to take them withal, and man is caught only with rumour of fame.   

Of hope of Fame after death. The. Cxvii. Dialogue.  HOPE. 
I Hope for Fame after my death, for my deserts.  Reason. 
Many hope that they deserve fame, when they rather deserve infamy: and like travelers that wander out of their way, when they think they go right forth, then go they backward.  Hope. 
I am famous in my life time, and I hope to be more famous after my death.  Reason. 
This is true, I confess, in some, insomuch as Anneus Seneca in a certain Epistle profecieth, that he should he beloved of posterity: and Statius Papinius saith, that he hath prepared a ready path for the present fame unto his work among posterity: and likewise the Poet Ovid foretold of the eternity of his name to come, and that he should be read by the mouth of the people, and live by fame throughout all ages: and truly none of these are deceived. But how many thinkest thou have there been, that have hoped the like, but their hope hath failed them? Many perhaps have thought as much, and have written, but have not found that which they promised to themselves.  Hope. 
If I be famous while I live, why should I not be more famous after my death?  Reason. 
For that it is an accustomable and common experience, that many that have been famous and noble in their life time, after their death have become obscure and unknown. doest thou wonder at it? The cause is manifest, which is a certain affability, neat & pleasant speech, a fawning countenance, a friendly look, gentle greeting, benefits bestowed upon neighbours, defending of clientes, hospitality towards strangers, courtesy towards all men. These, and such like, do purchase f●me to them that are living: but so soon as they are dead, they continued no longer, unless perhaps as long as they remain that knew them, which how short a time it is, thou seest: for how should things continued, that are not grounded upon a sure foundation? It is the course of nature, that the things that are weakly established, and slenderly increased, do soon decay. And therefore that thy fame may be durable, it must proceed either from thy holiness of life, or worthiness of thy deserts, or singularity of thy written works. A rare kind of honour, these prayers, and courteous kind of gowned Gentlemen, which walk in their Silks, and glitter in their precious Stones and jewels, and are pointed at by the people, are known no longer than they can speak, or a little longer. An hard case, that all this bravery and pomp, this show of knowledge, these thundering speeches, should so soodenly vanish away into a thin smoke: an hard case, I confess, but true it is in deed, for they have ministered none occasion of any testimony of their due praise, but only of ambition, lucre, or slothfulness.  Hope. 
I shall have fame after my death.  Reason. 
Fame never profited the dead, but hath oftentimes hurt the living. For what was it other that procured the destruction of Cicero and Demosthenes, than their surpassing fame of learning? The like also may be said of Socrates and Zeno, and infinite other, who are all known. For what was it that gave occasion to the Athenians to murder Androgeu●, that was son to king Gnosius, but only the fame of his wit and learning? What brought the chosen men, as they term them, of the great ship Argos, who in deed were very thieves, unto Oetes' king of Colchos, but only the fame of his riches? For what else may we think to be signified by that famous golden fleece of the Ram, but great riches diversly dispersed, wherewithal beastly rich men, and such as are destitute of the true riches, are plentifully endued, like as Sheep that are clad with their fleeces?  Hope. 
I shall be famous.  Reason. 
Admit thou be, what great matter conceivest thou thereof? Fame perhaps were somewhat, if knowledge were joined with it, as it often happeneth in the living: but will it avail thee any thing, to be praised of them which know thee not if they see thee? I pray thee tell me, if thou shouldest see Homer and Achilles, if Virgil and Augustus, should they not pass by unknown, although their names be never so well known, and famous? Believe me, your hopes are for the more part vain in two respects: the one, in that the things that ye hope for, come not to pass: the other, in that if they do come to pass, yet do they not perform that which they promised. For why, for the most, all human things consist more in hope, then in effect. Cast away therefore this vain hope, & fond desires, and contemning of earthly things, learn at length to wish and hope for heavenly things.   

Of Glory hoped for by building. The. Cxviii. Dialogue.  HOPE. 
I Hope for Glory by building.  Reason. 
I knew not so much before, that glory was won out of Lime, and Sande, and Timber, and Stone: but I supposed it had only been gotten by achieving of valiant deeds, and exercise of virtue.  Hope. 
I purchase Glory unto myself by building.  Reason. 
But it is a frail and transitory Glory. Whatsoever is made by man's hand, is either overthrown by man's hand, or faileth of itself in continuance of time. For long time, hath very long and strong hands, there is none of all your works that can withstand old age. Wherefore, when these things shall fall whereon this thy Glory is founded, it must needs be, that it fall also. If haply thou believe not, behold the things that are of antiquity, whereof thou canst not be ignorant. Where is now that proud tower of Ilium in Troy? Where is Byrsa of Carthage? Where are the tower and walls of Babylon? It is now an habitation of Serpents and wild beasts: I speak now of the ancient City of Babylon. As for the nearer and new Babylon, it standeth yet, and is in case to be soon destroyed, if you were men. To be short, where are those seven notable works, which the Greek writers have so much celebrated? And to come unto more later times, Where (I pray thee) is Nero's golden house, which how much it wearied the workmen, imagine thou, it weerieth now the readers of it: which house, with other outrages and follies in building, wherein he exceeded all other, brought him to poverty, and enforced him to rapine? Where are Dioclesian's warm Fountains, and Antonius Bayne, and Marius cymbrum, and Severus Septizonium, and also his Senerian warm Welles? And briefly to conclude, where is Augustus Market place, and the house of Mars the revenger, and of thundering jupiter in the Capitol, and the Temple of Apollo in the Palace? Where is also his Gallery, and Library, both Greek and Latin? likewise his other Gallery and large Treasance, which were builded and dedicated in the names of Gaius and Lucius his two Nephews? and the third Gallery of his wife Livia, and his Sister Octavia, and Marcellus Theatre? Where are all the notable pieces of work, which sundry noble men buy? dead in many places of the City with so great pain, and excessive charges, at the commandment and instance of the same Prince? Merius Philippus house of Hercules and the Muses. Lucius Cornificius house of Diana, and Asinius Pollioes' Court of Liberty, and Munacius Pancus house of Saturn, Cornelius Balbus Theatre, and Statilius Taurus amphitheatre? Over and above these, the innumerable works of Marcus Agrippa? And not to touch every thing, where are all the vain and overriotous Palaces of Princes and Emperors? Seek in books, and thou shalt find their names: but seek all the City of Rome over, and thou shalt either find nothing at all, or a few remnantes remaining of so many great works: and therefore thou knowest what thou mayest hope of thine own. Truly, unless that Augustus, who was chief of all, had left something behind him besides buildings, his glory had long since fallen to the ground: and not only the Temples of the Gods, which he prepared, fell down upon those that builded them, but other places also in the same City, at this day have some of them fallen down, some trembled and shaken, and now they can scarce stand alone and bear their own burden, except one only, which is the Temple of Pantheon made by Agrippa. Believe me, glory that must continued, requireth other foundations than are made of Stone.  Hope. 
I seek for glory by building.  Reason. 
Seek it where it is, thou shalt never find a thing where it is not: true glory consisteth not in walls nor stones. There are, I confess, commonly judgements and estimations of things given forth, in which respect glory is said to be gotten three ways: by doing some notable deed, so that good authors may condingly write of thee: or by writing some excellent work, which posterity may read and wonder at: or by building some singular piece of work: which if it be so, yet this last is the lest, and of the other the most transitory.  Hope. 
I leave behind me works of building, wherein I vaunt when I am dying, and hope to gain glory among posterity.  Reason. 
Augustus' the Emperor, of whom I spoke, vaunted that he had left the city of Marble, which he found of brick, which glory notwithstanding, unless it had been holpen with other things, whereunto it would have come, we see: and therefore if thou be wise, die in other travails, and embrace permanent hope. For these things whereof thou trustest, are both of no price, and also will shortly follow thee, and return to the earth from whence they came.  Hope. 
I have builded houses whereby I hope for praise.  Reason. 
Perhaps they will praise thee that shall dwell in them. A short and narrow praise: but they that do come after shall either not understand that it is due unto thee, or as men say commonly, give out that those works were builded by Pagans, and thy name shallbe unknown.   

Of glory hoped for by keeping Company. The. Cxix. Dialogue.  Hope. 
I Hope for glory by keeping company.  Reason. 
It skilleth much with whom thou keep company, for there are many, which I would it were not so, whose company is discredible and infamous.  HOPE. 
I know that there is no glory won but by good arts, or conversation with good men: I rest myself upon this last, and hope to be good either by the example of good men, or if that fail, I hope that the familiarity of good men will purchase me glory.  Reason. 
Truly in a young man this is a very good sign, who unless he had a good mind, would never wish to be joined with good men. For, of all friendshyppes and familiarities, a certain likeness is the cause and coupling together. Proceed therefore, and if thou canst match those whom thou doest imitate, it is well done: If not, yet if thou do thy best, thy good will shall not want the reward of glory. For the chief and greatest part of virtue is, to have a good mind unto virtue, and unless this go before, virtue will not follow.  Hope. 
I boast in my familiarity with good men.  Reason. 
verily, I prayle thee for it, from which let neither the hope of gain, nor of any other thing withdraw thee, and bend thou all thine industry unto this, that thou mayest be like them: otherwise, that which is done for glory only, deserveth not true glory.  Hope. 
I hope for glory by conversation with good men.  Reason. 
A great hope, and not discommendable, seeing it consisteth in observing and imitating of knowledge and eloquence, and other good arts of peace and war: For many have become noble, by conversation with noble men. But take heed of this, that through error thou choose not to thyself evil leaders in steed of good, or by means of the lamentable scarcity of good men, and penury of virtues in this age, thou attain not to that for which thou seekest.   

Of manifold hope. The Cxx. Dialogue.  HOPE. 
I Hope for many things.  Reason. 
In much hope there is much vanity, and great means left unto fortune to deceive.  Hope. 
I hope for many things.  Reason. 
Many things disappoint a manifold hope: Who so hopeth for little, hath left but a narrow way for casualties, but not utterly stopped it.  Hope. 
I hope for good health.  Reason. 
A forgetfulness of mortality.  Hope. 
I hope for long life.  Reason. 
A long prison, wherein thou shalt see much, and suffer much against thy liking.  Hope. 
Firm members.  Reason. 
Strong bands, but pleasant notwithstanding, from which thou art afraid to be loosed.  Hope. 
Surpassing beauty of the body.  Reason. 
Provocation unto pleasures.  Hope. 
Happy end of my years.  Reason. 
The matter of a shameful and sorrowful thing.  Hope. 
The covenanted death of my lover.  Reason. 
Some short and filthy matter, I know not what.  Hope. 
Liberty to offend.  Reason. 
A miserable joy, and long repentance.  Hope. 
Opportunity to revenge.  Reason. 
An entrance unto cruelty.  Hope. 
A nimble and strong body.  Reason. 
A stubborn and rebellious drudge.  Hope. 
Great riches.  Reason. 
An heavy burden of Burrs and briars.  Hope. 
ships to return from sundry Seas.  Reason. 
Fortune diversly dispersed, between the monsters of the Sea and the Rocks, beaten with the Surgies, drawn with ropes, and driven with the wind.  Hope. 
gain by the hoped merchandise.  Reason. 
A bait which will corment thee with continual carefulness, and by the hope of one small gain, drive thee headlong unadvisedly into many losses: A new Merchant is easy to believe, but he that is expert foreseeth many things.  Hope. 
Honest bestowing of my son, or daughter in marriage.  Reason. 
There is no hope almost, that is so often and so grievously deceived.  Hope. 
Great power.  Reason. 
An hateful misery, a rich poverty, a fearful pride.  Hope. 
A kingdom and empire.  Reason. 
A cragged headlong downfall, and tempestuous storms, and under a glittering diadem, a careful countenance, and heavy heart, an unfortunate life.  Hope. 
Honours of the court of pleas.  Reason. 
Dust, and clamour.  Hope. 
Wedlock, and children.  Reason. 
Contention, and cares.  Hope. 
Warfare for myself, and a son for my wife.  Reason. 
Travail to thyself, and pain to thy beloved.  Hope. 
The death of mine old wife, and that I may have a younger.  Reason. 
To be loosed from a worn string, and to be tied to a strong new Rope.  Hope. 
Wit, a tongue, and learning.  Reason. 
An Handuyle, an Hammer, and a piece of iron, whereby to break thyself and others of their sleep.  Hope. 
Commendation at my burial.  Reason. 
A nightingale to sing unto a deaf person.  Hope. 
A golden Pyramid.  Reason. 
A painted house for a blind man.  Hope. 
Glory after my death.  Reason. 
A prosperous gale of wind after shipwreck.  Hope. 
A name among posterity.  Reason. 
A testimony from unknown persons.  Hope. 
An heir for myself.  Reason. 
A friend to thy patrimony, and an argument to thyself that thou shalt not return.   

Of hoped quietness of mind. The. Cxxi. Dialogue.  HOPE. 
I Hope for quietness of mind.  Reason. 
Why hadst thou rather hope for, then have peace? Look how soon thou shalt begin thoroughly to seek it, thou shalt find it.  Hope. 
I hope for peace of mind,  Reason. 
To hope for peace, is the part of a warrior. Who maketh war against thy mind, but thyself only? that which thou hast taken away from thyself, impudently thou requirest and hopest of another.  Hope. 
I hope for peace of mind.  Reason. 
From whence, I pray thee? Or how canst thou hope for that which thou mayest give unto thyself, and so, as none can take it from thee, but thyself? Lay down the weapons of lust and wrath, and thou hast absolutely purchased peace for thy mind.  Hope. 
I hope for peace, and quietness of mind.  Reason. 
Why then is that which thou doest against peace? And why doest thou strive so much against peace? Men have scarce need to endeavour so much to be in safety as they take pains to seek their own destruction. Continual war and travail of mind, is bought more dearly than are peace and quietness: thus men's desires do strive against their studies, in such sort, as if one man had not the mind of one but of many, and all those repugnant one to another.  Hope. 
I hope for quietness.  Reason. 
I marvel from whence ye have this desire of hoping always, O ye mortal generation. For when ye have once obtained that which ye hoped for, then do ye again cast forth your hope abroad to another thing, and from thence to another, so that to morrow is always better then to day, and future things better liked then present. There are some unto whom nothing is more pleasant, then to live in hope, who would not have their hope of the things they hope for to be altered by any events: unto whom what should I wish other, then that putting of all things till to morrow and time to come, and in the mean while, spoiling themselves of all their goods, they may wax old among their vain hopes: whereby at length they may understand that they hoped to none effect, and looking backward into their forepast life, they may perceive that they sought for that elsewhere, which they had of themselves.  Hope. 
I hope for peace and quietness of mind.  Reason. 
A great part of human affairs are shadows: and a great part of men are fed with wind, and take pleasure in dreams. O, how many do go forth to everlasting labours, and wars with this hope?   

Of the hope of life everlasting. The. Cxxii. Dialogue.  HOPE. 
I Hope for the life everlasting.  Reason. 
There is no hope more excellent, more beautiful, more holy, so that it be not blind and headlong. For there be some men, who by always doing evil, do notwithstanding hope for good, than which nothing can be more foolish.  Hope. 
I hope for the everlasting life.  Reason. 
Such is the consanguinity and lynking together of virtues, as the Philosophers do dispute, that who so hath one virtue, must needs have all: whereof it followeth, that who so wanteth one virtue, wanteth all: which if it be true in the moral virtues, what may we judge of the Theological? And therefore if thou have hope, thou must needs also have faith and charity. But if one of these be wanting, it is no longer hope, but rash presumption.  Hope. 
I hope for the life everlasting.  Reason. 
Thou hopest for a good, or rather a most excellent thing: and therefore see thou, that that good which thou doest, thou do it well. There be some that do good things evil, and he is no less an upright deemer of things, that considereth as well how, as what shall be and is done, and doth as well weigh the adverbs, as the Nouns, and Verbs.  Hope. 
I hope for the everlasting life.  Reason. 
Not the heavenly Powers only, but also the earthly Lords do love to be hoped of: but by whom? truly by those of whom they know themselves to be beloved, or else perhaps that some time were odious and rebellious, and being desirous to be received into favour, have flyen unto mercy and forgiveness.  Hope. 
I hope for the life everlasting.  Reason. 
amend thy temporal life, for that leadeth to the eternal.  Hope. 
I hope for the everlasting life.  Reason. 
This is the only hope of all men, which if thou conceive a right, it will make, and already it doth make thee an happy man.  Hope. 
I hope for the life everlasting.  Reason. 
first thou must hope for mercy, and afterward for life, and soberly and modestly for both.  Hope. 
It is the everlasting life that I hope for.  Reason. 
O happy man, if this thy hope fail thee not.  
Deo gratiae.  
Thus endeth the first Book.    


The Epistolare Preface of Francis Petrarche, a most famous Poet and Orator, into the second book of his work of Physic against Fortune, wherein he disputeth of Adversity.  
OF all the things wherein I ever took delight, either in reading or hearing, there is nothing almost more firmly settled, or more deeply imprinted, or that more often cometh into my remembrance, than the saying of Heraclitus, That all things are made by disagreement. For in deed it is so: and almost all things in the world do testify that it is so. The Stars move against the swift firmament: the elements of contrary qualities strive one against another: the earth trembleth, the seas flow, the land shaketh, the fires crackle, and the winds be at perpetual conflict among themselves: on time contendeth against another time, every thing against another thing, and all things against us: the Spring is moist, the Summer dry, Harvest pleasant, and Winter sharp: and this which is called change and alteration, is in very deed, strife and disagreement. These things therefore upon which we devil, by which we live and are nourished, which flatter us with so many enticements, notwithstanding how terrible they are, when they begin once to be angry, the earthquakes, and most vehement whirlwinds, shipwreck, and burnings raging upon the earth, or in the air, do sufficiently declare. With what violence doth hail fall? What force is there in storms and tempests? What rattling of thunder, what rage of lightning, what fury and fervency of the waves, what bellowing of the Sea, what roaring of floods, what excursion of rivers, what course, recourse, and concourse of clouds? The sea itself, besides the manifest and forcible rage of winds, and secret swelling of the floods which come by uncertain turns, hath also certain and determined times of ebbs and floods, in many other places, but most evidently in the West. Which thing, whilst the secret cause of the manifest motion is sought after, hath raised no less contention in the schools of the Philosophers, than in the sea, of the floods. Yea, moreover, there is no living creature without war: Fishes, wild beasts, fowls, serpents, men: one kind of these persecuteth another, none of these are at quiet. The Lion followeth the wolf, the wolf the dog, the dog the Hare, with unquenchable hatred. There is also a more courageous kind of dogs, which useth not only to fight with wolves, but also to hunt Lions, Leopards, wild Boars, & such like cruel beasts. And of certain, their courage is so noble and valiant, & their stomach so haughty, that they contemn Bears & wild Boars, and vouchsafe to set upon only Elephants and Lions. The like whereof, there was one sent unto king Alexander, and for that he contemned such small game, & his other qualities not being known, was therefore not regarded, but, as we read, slain at his commandment. Then was there afterwards another sent unto him, who proved accordingly, whom the King loved entirely, and took exceeding delight in him. But touching the love of dogs towards men, unto whom they are reported to be most friendly, yet how great their love is in deed, unless hope of victuals do get their goodwill, besides their biting and unspeakable barking, not only the fable of Actaeon, but Euripides also, truly proveth their tearing and renting of men in pieces. The subtlety of the Fox, among many other beasts, is notable. Certain fishermen, carrying fish to the town, to the market, which in the summer time most willingly they do by night, upon a time found a fox lying in the high way, as if she had been dead: whom they taking up, meaning to uncase her at their leisure, to save the skin, threw her upon their rippes. Then the fox filling her belly with the fish, suddenly leapt away: and so to their great wonder & indignation, escaped them. How many other sleights of Foxes are there? what howling of wolves? what barking about the staules of cattle? what watching of crows and kites about pigeon houses, and broods of chickens? what natural and everlasting hatred between them, as some do report? The one goeth into the other's nest, and there breaking the eggs, destroyeth the hope of their brood. As for the Cuckoo, he hath not only one or two enemies, but all birds, in a manner, insult over him, as being a fugitive, and always complaining. Moreover, what continual wait do the Weasels lay for the Asps to entrap them? what assault of thieves is there against the privy chambers and closerts of rich men? what great watching & warding is there in every several kind, how great and diligent contention? who is able to declare the manifold labours and watchings of hunters, and haukers, their crafts and gins to take beasts & fowls, and of fishers, their hooks and nets to take fishes? or on the other side the subtlety of the wild beasts, fowls, and fish? All which things, what are they other than the instruments of contention? Moreover, what stings are there in wasps and hornets? and what battles and conflicts are there between these plagues and the poor neat? Neither are the dogs, or horses, or other kinds of four footed beasts at any more peace and quietness. What troubles have they with flies in the summer time, and how are they molested with snow in the winter, which some in jest do term, the white flies? what continual unquietness is there among rats, what insult of fleas by night, what contention of gnats by day, what battles between the storckes & the snakes and frogs, what wars between the Pygmies and the Cranes? What strange and wonderful conflicts doth the greedy thirst or desire of gold raise up between the people Arimaspi, and the Gryphs? So that it is not easy to judge whose wickedness is the greater, but that the one endeavour to steal, the other to keep: the one are pricked forth by covetousness, the other by nature. The like desire to keep and steal, I find likewise in the farthest parts of the world among the Indians: whilst certain Emotes, of incredible bigness, and wonderful cruelty, do semblably defend their gold against the like covetousness of that nation. The Basilisk frayeth all other serpents with his hissing, driveth them away with his presence, and killeth them with his look. The Dragon encloseth the Elephant within the folds and windings of his body: for they are doubtful and uncertain. Whereby it cometh to pass, that there is natural enmity between living things, as thirsting after warm blood in summer, which some do writ of, and the end of the battle maketh it credible enough, if it be true, that the one doth die dry and without blood, and the other having sucked the blood of his slain enemy, like as a conqueror in the battle, yet being himself overcome with his dainty delicates, and burst in sunder with over much drinking of blood, falleth down dead in the same place. Many other things likewise there be, that do grieve and offend this kind of beast, as the most sharp pain after the drinking of an horseleech, and the most fearful seeing or hearing of a silly mouse. It is a strange case, that so great a beast, and of so huge strength, should so much abhor the sight of so small an enemy. But thus dame Nature hath created nothing without strife and offence. The Lion himself, being a courageous and valiant beast, and contemning all weapons for the defence of his young ones, yet dareth not behold the turning, nor hear the rattling of running wheels, or empty carts and wagons: and moreover, whereat a man may the more wonder, he cannot abide the sight of the cocks comb, and much less his noise and crowing, but above all things, it is said, that he cannot away with the crackling of flaming fire. This strife therefore hath this beast proper unto himself, besides hunting, which is common unto all wild beasts. Tiger's also have their contention, who by wit and subtlety do hinder and frustrate the policies and purposes of their enemies that come to steal their whelps, and run away. As for the she wolves, they be ever at strife with hunger, husbandmen, and shepherds, I speak now of venomous, and wild beasts. But at what quietness are the tame flocks of cattle? with what force, and malice do the hogs contend among themselves? How do the leaders of the herds lie together by the ears? What bickerments are there between them? what flights? what pride is there in the conqueror? what sorrow in him that is conquered? what remembrance of injuries? what return to revenge? Who marketh not in reading, how the warlike bulls, & the buck goats that fight with their horns, have exercised the wits of the poets? What shall I say of other things? They have all one cause of disagreement: every thing dependeth upon contention. When was it seen, that a strange horse coming to a new stable, or a strange colt turned into an unaccustomed pasture, could eat his meat in quietness? Who hath not observed, that during the time that the hen sitteth, the heat is great, & the hartburning exceeding in so little a family? although this also be common unto all fowls. There is no living creature so gentle, whom the love of his young doth not exasperated. The roost cocks wound one another with their spurs, and by nature and desire of blood, pluck each other by the comb in their fight, with all the force of their body: so much envy, so much pride reigneth in their hearts, such is their desire to conquer, such is their shame to yield. Who seeth not the stubborness of the Ducks and Geese, how they thrust each other with their breasts, chide their adversary with their gaggling, beat him with their wings, and hang together by their bills? And as for the wild kinds, it is less marvel in them for it i● a common and usual thing among them, that the bigger fowls be a destruction and sepulchre to the lesser. The wild beast a wild beast, the foul a foul, the fish a fish, and one worm devoureth another: yea, the land fowls, & four footed water beasts do search, turmoil & ransack the sea, rivers, lakes and floods: so that of all things the water seemeth unto me to be most troublesome, both in respect of it own moving, and the continual tumults of the inhabitants thereof, as being a thing most fruitful of new creatures and strange monsters, whereof there is doubt, insomuch that in this point the learned do not reject the opinion of the common people, that look what ever creatures there be upon the land or in the air, the like in form there are within the waters, forasmucch as there are innumerable sorts of such whereof the air and earth have not the like: among all which, in a manner, either pray, or hatred breedeth contention. Yea, moreover, though these cease, yet disagreement ceaseth not. For let us see what hartburning there is in love, what disagreement in marriage, how many complaints, what suspicion among lovers, what sighs, what pains, what contention between masters and servants, who are nothing the less enemies one to another, for that they are household foes, between whom there is never any peace to be hoped for, but that which is procured either by death or poverty. I will not speak of contention between brethren, whose agreement to be very rare, the truth itself witnesseth by the mouth of that Famous Poet Ovid: neither of the disagreement between parents and their children, whereof the Poem of the same Poet maketh mention: But as touching the love of parents, whose good will is most tender towards their children, yet how great their indignation is, it is evident, whilst they love them that are good, and lament their case, that are evil: and thus in a manner they hate, while they love heartily. And as touching the most near and dear band of the name of brother and father, we see it sometime to be without love, and not seldom joined with hatred. I will come to the holy name of friendship, which being called in Latin Amicitia, is derived from the word Amo, which signifieth to Love, so that it can neither consist, neither be understood without love. Now, among friends, although there be agreement in the words and ends, yet in the way, and in their acts, what disagreement and contrariety of opinions and counsels is there? so that Cicero's definition can scarce stand upright. For, admit there be good will and love between friends, notwithstanding the consent of all divine and human things, wherewith he maketh his definition complete, is wanting. What then shall a man hope for in hatred? For there is hatred in love, and war in peace, and agreement in dissension, which I will prove to be so, by those things which are daily before our eyes. Behold the wild beasts, who being invincible by the sword, are tamed by almighty love. Incline thy mind, and mark with what noise and murmur the she Lions, Tigers, and she Bears do come unto that, which of themselves they do most willingly, and thou wilt think that they do it not with desire, but by compulsion. Some wild beasts, while they engender, do make a great noise and schritching, and some keep a stir with their swift and sharp talons. Now, if we will give credit unto that, which certain great men do writ of the nature of the viper, how much contrariety is there, how great discord, when as the male viper upon an unbridled (howbeit natural) sweetness & pleasure, putteth his head into the female viper's mouth, than she being provoked with a furious heat of lust, biteth it of? But when this widow viper, being by this means brought great with young, approacheth unto the time of her delivery, by the multitude of her heavy young ones, which now make haste to come forth, as it were to revenge their father's death, is by them torn in pieces. Thus the first coupling of these two worms, aswell by their generation, as bringing forth of young, is unfortunate unto the whole kind, and is found to be pestiferous and deadly: whilst the engendering slayeth the male vipers, and the bringing forth, the female. Consider the orders of Bees in their hives, what thronging together, what noise, what wars, not only with their neighbours, but among themselves, what domestical conflicts and discensions is there among them? Behold the nests and houses of Pigeons, that most simple bird, and as some writ, that hath no gall: with what battles and disquietness, with what clamour and outcries, I pray you, do they pass forth their life? thou wouldst think thou were in some barbarous and vninstructed camp, thou shalt perceive them to be so unquiet both day and night: I omit their invasions one of another, yea that very pair that have severally coupled themselves in the band of mutual society and pleasure, and for that cause are dedicated unto Venus, with what complaints are they carried forth unto their desire? how often doth the cock go about the hen? and oftentimes the lover forcibly persecuteth his lover with his wings and bill? I will refer thee unto the most safest kind, whereof as the matter is not less, so is it also less notorious, and less painful to be found. What craft and subtlety then, what wakeful diligence doth the spider use in taking of simple and poor flies in her copwebbe? what nets doth she set up for her deceit and rapine? what the Moth over the cloth, what the rot over the post, what the little worms, which day and night not without wearisomeness, and with a certain blunt and hollow noise do fret through the bowels of beams? especially of those in felling whereof, the diligent observation of the Moon and seasons hath not been observed? Which common discommodity, as it reigneth our the smoky cottagies of the simple husbandmen, so doth it also over the golden pendents of princes palaces, temples, churches, and altars: neither spareth it also the sacred richesse of Philosophers, the boards of books, parchementes, and papers. Whereunto also I will add this much, that unless there were provision made by pitch and tar, and a little burning withal, many times it is the cause of the danger of shipwreck, or of shipwreck itself: yea, they have entered into the sea, & eaten through the planks of ships, and have procured great troubles to the unadvised. Again, what doth the grasshopper unto herbs, the caterpillar unto corn, or the wild geese to the ripe fruits and grain, or the poor sparrow, or the crane that translateth his dwelling, and other importunate kinds of fowls? Whereof cometh that saying of the Poet Virgil in his Georgikes, whereat I was wont to marvel, but now I wonder nothing at all, how fowls are frayed by noise making. For now unto him that shall happen to devil in any place in the country in Italy, this one thing is begun to be one of the manifold summer annoyances. For so am I myself continually troubled from morning to night with the falling of fowls, the rattling of stones, and crying out of the husbandmen. Moreover, what doth the mildeawe to the vintage, the blast to the herbs, the canker to the leaves, and the mole to the roots? To be short, the weevill to the barns & floors? and the Emot which maketh provision against old age come, as the Poet saith, what toil and unrest is there in that poor little creature, that whilst she provideth for her own winter, she troubleth our summer? I should be very slow to believe other herein, but I myself know by experience, with how much not only wearisomeness, but loss also, that dusty swarm, and which by their hasty marching do evermore declare their fear, do not only spoil and forrey the fields, but also cheastes, chambers, and storehouses. And therefore I will now begin to believe, that in the Pisane confines there is a castle, which unto them that sail upon the sea, seemeth to be not far of, that is become desolate by means of swarms and abundance of Emotes. The like hereof also is reported to have happened in the Vincentine confines. And I am of opinion that it may be true in any of them both, or in any other place whatsoever: it hath so happened a late, that they have not only driven me out of my country house, but well nigh out of my house in the city, insomuch that I was feign to use the mean of fire and lime, and at last to run away. And now I very well believe Apuleius, where he saith, that there was a man eaten by them, although there want of honey: Neither do I deny, but that I do wonder, what should be the cause, that some have proposed the Emote to be the pattern of carefulness: concerning which matter, some have made long discourses, commending their sparingness and industry. Well then, if all carefulness be commendable, perhaps this were a meet example for thieves, and not for such as are willing to live upon their own, without doing injury to an other. It is a careful creature in deed, no man can deny it, but wicked, but unjust, living by rapine, industrious in nothing, but that which is evil, serving to no good use, but bringing manifold discommodities and wearisomues: why therefore they have proposed this example, and why they have commended this little beast? Again I say, I marvel, especially when they might have used the example of the Bee, which is a most industrious and provident beast, a creature that hurteth none, but is profitable unto many, succouring itself & others by it own natural art, and most noble travel. What should I now speak of the hurtful plenty, and rank increase of branches & leaves of trees, against which the wakeful husbandman giveth his diligent attendance, & lieth in wait, being armed with his sharp nails, & the hedge brusher with his crooked hook? what of the burrs & briers, and the yearly return of plants & roots, which minister perpetual matter of strife and toil? what of the furious rage of shewres of rain, and heaps of snow, and biting of frosts, and the sharpness and violence of ice, and the sudden violence of floods, & the uncertain increases of streams, which many times shake whole regions & great peoples: but especially the hedges and fences of the husbandmen, who among so many mischiefs can scarce pass forth this earthly life, wherein they are evermore bending down to the ground? And to say somewhat concerning the discommodities and toils of the delicate & rich sort: who hath not endured the mighty conflicts of birds? Also the crying of owls and schritches, and the bootless watching of dogs all night barking against the Moon, and cats making their meetings upon the tiles & tops of houses, and the quiet silence disturbed with horrible outcries, and troubling men with their hellish clamour, and whatsoever else maketh any grievous noise in the dark? Whereunto may be added, the croaking of frogs and toads in the night, and the lamenting and threatenings of the swallows in the morning: so that a man would think that Itys and Tereus himself were present. For as touching the quietness of birds by day, the squeaking grasshoppers, the arrogant crows, and braying asses do disturb it, and the bleating of cattle, and the bellowing of Oxen, and the unwitten cackling of hens without surceasing, who cell their small eggs for a great price. But above all things, is either the crying of swine, or the common clamour and laughter of fools, than which foolish thing, there is nothing more foolish, as saith Catullus: and the singing and merriments of drunkards, than which nothing is more grievous: and the complaints of such as are at variance, and the jangling and scolding of old wives: and sometime the battles, some time the lamentation of children: and of weddings, either their unquiet feasts, or their dancings: and the merry mournings of wives, who by craft do seem to lament the death of their husbands: and the unfeigned howlings of parents at the decease of their children: add hereunto the thronging and noise of the court of judgement, the altercations of Merchants, and such as buy and cell, at one side the small regard, on the other side the oaths of the sellers. adjoin hereunto the sorrowful singing of the workmen to assuage their painful travel: at the on side the unpleasant Music of such as beat & toose wool, & break it small with the teeth of the cards: on the other side, the hollow breathing of the smiths bellows, & the sharp sound of their hammers: whereunto may be added the winter night, which with these travels is divided into equal parts, so that there is no time free from unquietness & strife. And to touch some deal the kind of things insensible, what hath the loadstone to do with iron, or the diamond with the loadstone, the cause of whose disagreement, though it be secret, yet is their disagreement manifest. For the loadstone draweth iron, but lay a Diamond by it, and it will leave to draw, or let go hold, if it drew before. The virtue in them both is wonderful, either in that Nature hath given, as it were, hands and hooked nails unto an heavy and evil-favoured stone against a rough and stubborn metal, or whether she take them away unto herself by means of the other stone that lieth by, which is not the end of the first strife, but rather a new strife. Howbeit, many deny this last thing to be true, and as for me, hitherto I have wanted occasion & will to make experiment or proof thereof: and therefore I can affirm nothing. But as for the first, it is so well known, that there is no need to prove or avow it. Howbeit, having undertaken a great work, with a mighty courage, in to short a time, and to narrow a space, I do now easily perceive that I carry a greater desire than strength to the accomplishing thereof. Neither were it an easy matter for me or any man else that should take this matter in hand, sufficiently to discourse upon every point, whereby it may appear, that all things consist by disagreement, which whether they be great or small, are very wonderful and strange: although I have not yet touched that which is greatest, and to be accounted the most marvelous from the highest to the lowest of all Nature's miracles: but I will now touch it in few words. The Echinus, being but a small fish of half a foot long, stayeth a ship, be it never so great, when it is under sail upon the Sea, or driven forth by oars, being only able (of all fishes) to quail the force of the elements and men, by none other means than by cleaving to the timber of the ship, by none endeavour or strength in the world, but only by nature. Which thing, although it be written in the works of learned and famous authors, yet should it be counted in the number of things incredible, if so be perhaps it were written of the Indian, or Scythian Ocean, & had not rather happened that in our seas this wonder had been known to the Roman Emperors. The cause of the stay was found by this means, in that when an whole fleet of ships was setting forth, one of them stood still, as if she had lain at anchor, not stirring a whit out of her place. Then some that were expert, being let down into the sea, easily perceived the truth, and there was found cleaving fast to the bottom of the rudder, a little fish, like a snail, which was brought away, and presented to the prince, who disdained that so little a creature should be of so great power, but specially wondered at this one thing, that when it was received into the ship, it had no longer power to work that effect, which it did when it cleaved to the outside. But as touching that other kind of strange thing, truly I had rather keep silence, than absolutely to aver it, the fame whereof I know not how true it is, but surely it is new, and for that cause the more to be doubted of. The thing is this: That about the Indian sea, there is a certain bird of an incredible bigness, whom our countrymen call a roche, which is able and accustomed to take up, not only a man, but also an whole ship in her beak, and to fly away with it into the clouds, and so procureth a terrible death to the wretched people hanging in the air. See therefore how great the force of covetousness is, which not being able to deter the followers thereof from sailing, neither by many other perils, neither by this most cruel danger, maketh them a pray, that are so greedy of prey. And now also to bring some invisible things to my purpose, in what commixtion of contraries consisteth wished temperature, among which there is a conjoining of repugnant contraries for the bringing forth of the middle virtue: By means of which differences, and by what disagreement of voices do men attain unto true Musical concord? Finally, examine whatsoever there is, run through in thy mind all the heaven, the earth, the sea: there is like contention in the top of the sky and the bottom of the sea, and there is strife in the deep rifts of the earth, aswell as in the woods & fields, and aswell is there perpetual disagreement in the deserts of sands, as in the streets of cities. And now jest through variety of matter I wander from my purpose, I say nothing that at the very beginning of the world, there was a battle fought in the highest of heaven, between the ethereal spirits: and some are of opinion also, that they fight yet at this day, in this region of the dark and misty air. I say nothing, how that in the same heavenly conflict, the angels that were vanquished, being now become inferior to their conquerors, whilst they endeavour to be revenged upon us mortal men that inhabit the earth, they have procured unto us an immortal war of sundry temptations, with an hard and doubtful business. And, that I may gather together into one sum, all things whatsoever, having sense, or without sense, from the uppermost top of heaven, as I have said, unto the lowermost centre of the earth, and from the chiefest angel, to the basest and lest worm, I omit to speak, how there is continual and everlasting strife between them. Man himself, the lord & governor of all living creatures, who, only by the rule of reason, seemeth able to guide in tranquillity this course of life, and this swelling and troublesome sea, with what continual strife is he tossed, not only with other things, but also with himself, whereof I will speak anon? But now I will entreat of the first: for there is no mischief that one man worketh not against another, to admit that all other harms, by what means soever they happen, whether by nature, or fortune, yet, being compared with these, do seem but light discommodities. Which, if I would decipher at large, which I would not willingly do, and it is far from my purpose, both all the whole scene of human actions were to be opened, & all the history of life to be perused. But it shallbe sufficient for me to say thus much: for if there had been never any other wars in all the world, but the wars of the Romans, there had been wars & strife enough. Add moreover the disagreement of opinions, & the indissoluble knots and intrications of matters: who is able to reckon up the variety of sects, or contention of Philosophers. The wars of kings & nations are at rest, but the Philosophers are not at agreement, and they contend about a matter, that when it beginneth to be the ones, it surceasseth to be the others. These men contend for the truth, which every one of them cannot have on his side, & this strife neither could the majesty of the purchased verity, neither Carneades the Academike, a careful seeker after the Philosophical quietness, though in vain, ever be able to appease. Insomuch that Anneus Seneca seemeth unto me, not unfitly to have written, where he compareth the clocks & dials with Philosophers, for the like discord that is found among them. Which, how true it is, whosoever applieth his mind to Philosophers, & his ears to the clocks, may well perceive: neither is the doctrine of other Artisants in more tranquillity. what contentions are there among Grammarians not yet decided? what conflicts among Rhetoricians? what alterations among Logicians? Finally, what discord in all arts? what clamour among Lawyers? who, how well they agreed, the continuance of their causes doth show. Of the agreement of Physicians, let their patients be judge. For, that life which they have pronounced to be short, by their contentions they have made most short. Moreover, what deformity and what disagreement of opinions is there in the holy rites of the Church and Religion, not so much in the words of the learned, as in the weapons of the armed, and more often tried in the field, than discussed in the schools? Thus, being but one truth, in all matters, unto which as saith Aristotle, all things are agreeable: yet the opinion of them is very dissonant & contrary, that it troubleth the professors of the truth. What shall I say of the common life and affairs of men? That there are scarce two in a city that do agreed, both many things else, but especially the great diversity of their houses & apparel, doth declare. For whosoever succeeded any man in an house, were he never so rich and good an husband, that hath not nevertheless changed many things in it? so that look what one man had a desire to build, another hath a pleasure to pluck down: witness hereof may be, the often changing of windows, damning up of doors, and the scars, and new reparations that are done in old walls. Neither is this true in other things only, but we suffer it also in our own, whilst every man's opinion and judgement is contrary to himself, according to the saying of Horace the Poet, He plucketh down, and buildeth up, and changeth that which was square, into round. By which it may more manifestly appear, which of us it is than can agreed with another man, or with himself. Now the manner and fashion of our apparel, continueth three whole days in our cities: and likewise the acts and laws of certain Municipies or freedoms have been such, and of so small continuance, that they have perished with their authors. Again, what disagreement and contrariety is there among Captains about ordering a battle, and among Magistrates for making of laws, and among sailors for counsel, and taking advisement? And as for this that I spoke of last, I have learned to be true many times to my great danger, whilst the sea and heaven threatening death, the dark night and clouds overspreding the land and stars of the sky, the ship leaking and half full of water, the sailors in the most danger and midst of death, fell most obstinately at contention with contrary endeavours and opinions. Add hereunto, the contention which is without an adversary: what battles have Shriveners with parchment, with ink, with pens, with paper? what, smiths with hammers, with tongues, with the anduile? what, plowmen with their coulter, share, and the clods, furrows, and the oxen themselves? what, the soldiers, I say not with their enemy, but with their own horses and armour, when as the horses rebel and wax obstinate, and their armour troubleth them and weigheth them down? what business have they that speak, and those that writ at the mouth of another, whilst earnest intention constraineth the one to speak many things unperfect, and on the one side ignorance and unskilfulness, at the other side a flitting and unconstant wit, always thinking on some thing else than it hath in hand, hindereth them to conceive the things that are perfect? But what speak I of every several thing? There is no handicrast that is void of all difficulties. As for all other, as they have some known sweetness, so have they also great store of secret bitterness: and of all the things that do delight, there is none without strife. Now, what conflicts have infants with falls? what contention have children with their books and learning, most sourly sowing that, which they shall reap most sweetly? Moreover, what strife have young men with pleasures? yea, I will speak more truly, what wars have they with themselves, and what contention is there among their affections? There is altogether no strife with pleasures, but a consent and agreement, which is worse than any contention. I suppose and speak upon experience, that there is no kind of men, nor age that tasteth more strife, or that sustaineth more inextricable & painful trouble, no kind of men that seem more merry, and none in deed more miserable and sorrowful. And lastly, in what difficulty and great danger are women in their child bearing? What contention and wreastling have men continually with poverty and ambition? what great carking for more than is needful for living? And finally, what everlasting war have old men with old age & sicknesses when death draweth nigh, and all other things and persons with death also, and that which is more grievous than death itself, with the continual fear of death? I might dilate this discourse with a thousand arguments of sundry matters: but if, as it was thy pleasure in the first book, thou wilt now likewise have this epistle to stand in the stead of a preface, & to be part of this book, I well perceive now how much this preface exceedeth the measure of the book: and therefore my curiosity is to be bridled, and still to be stayed. And therefore to conclude, all things, but specially the whole life of man, is a certain kind of contention and strife. But in the mean while, omitting this external strife, whereof we entreated erewhile, which I would God it were less, & therefore less known to all men: how great is the internal contention, not only against an other, but as I have said, against our own kind, not against an other particular person, but against ourself, and that in this bodily outward covering, which is the most vile and base part of ourselves? and every one hath continual war with himself in the most secret closet of his mind. For as touching this our body, with how contrary humours it aboundeth and is troubled, inquire of those that are called natural Philosophers: but with how diverse and contrary affections the mind striveth against itself, let every one inquire of none other than himself, and answer himself, with how variable and uncertain motion of mind he is drawn sometime one way, some time an other: he is never whole, nor never one man, but always dissenting & divided in himself. For, to speak nothing of other motions, to will, to nill, to love, to hate, to flatter, to threaten, to mock, to deceive, to feign, to jest, to weep, to pity, to spare, to be angry, to be pleased, to slide, to be cast down, to be advanced, to stumble, to stand up, to go forward, to turn back, to begin, to leave of, to doubt, to err, to be deceived, to be ignorant, to learn, to forget, to remember, to envy, to contemn, to wonder, to loathe, to despise, and to have in admiration, and such like, than which truly there can be nothing imagined more uncertain, and with which the life of man ebbeth and floweth uncertainly, from the beginning to the ending without intermission. For what tempests and madness is there in these four passions, to wit, to hope or desire, and to rejoice, to fear and to be sorry, which trouble the poor and miserable mind, by driving him with sudden winds and gales, in course far from the haven into the mids of the dangerous rocks? Which passions, some one way, and some another, yea diversly diverse have expressed in less than in an whole verse. And as Saint Augustine writeth, the Poet Virgil hath comprised in a most known verity: of which passions truly I am not ignorant, that more and less may be said on both sides. As for me I have not much studied for shortness nor copy, but I have set down in writing such matter as in order hath offered itself to me, out of the common course of man's life, that I might not weary the Reader, either with scarcity or tediousness. And let not the name of Fortune grieve thee, which is repeated not only in the superscriptions and titles, but also in the work: For truly thou hast often heard mine opinion, concerning fortune. But when I foresaw that this Doctrine was most necessary, specially for such as were not furnished with learning, I have used in their behalf the common and known word, not being ignorant, what other men generally, & most briefly. S. Hierome thinketh of this matter, where he saith, that there is neither Fortune nor destiny, so that the common sort shall acknowledge and perceive here their manner of speaking: as for the learned, which are but scarce, they will understand what I mean, and shall not be troubled with the usual word. Of the one part of this twoofold work, concerning passions and fortune, we have said already, what we thought good, & of the other we will now speak, what we shall see convenient.   

Of deformity of the body. The first Dialogue.  Sorrow, and Reason. Sorrow. 
I Complain, that Nature hath dealt very hardly with me, in making me evil favoured.  Reason. 
O how many fire brands hath she quenched? how many flames hath she repressed?  Sorrow. 
Nature hath made me deformed.  Reason. 
She hath not given thee that which might delight thee: if she have given thee that which may profit thee, it is sufficient, and therefore leave thy complaints.  Sorrow. 
Nature hath not given me the grace of good favour.  Reason. 
she hath given thee nothing that sickness might deface, & old age take away: perhaps she hath given thee that, which death itself dareth not touch.  Sorrow. 
Nature hath denied me the favour of the body.  Reason. 
If she have given thee the good favour of the mind, thou art much beholden to her: contemn that repulse with a valiant mind, and comfort the offence of the looking glass, with the uprightness of thy conscience.  Sorrow. 
Nature hath envied me the favour of the body.  Reason. 
She hath not envied it thee, but she is ashamed to give thee that which is daily diminished and wasted. True liberality is perceived by a continuing gift. Rotten and transitory gifts covetous persons do give: good favour, which is a frail and transitory gift of Nature, is given unto few for their profit, unto many to their destruction, but unto none to their safety and true glory.  Sorrow. 
Bodily favour is denied unto me.  Reason. 
Excellent favour of the body, and honesty, do very seldom devil together under one roof. It is well with thee, if the worse being excluded, thou retain the better jest with thee.  Sorrow. 
I have no part of the comeliness of good favour.  Reason. 
Why art thou sorry for that, or, what holy or godly matter dost thou revolve in thy mind? For what cause dost thou think the good favour of the body to be necessary for thee, or not rather altogether burdensome and hindering? Good favour hath made many adulterers, but none chaste: Many hath it led through the slipperiness of pleasures unto an infamous death, who if they had been evil favoured, might have lived without shame and danger. What say I many? Yea it hath brought innumerable into trouble, but all well-nigh into blame.  Sorrow. 
Why hath nature made me deformed?  Reason. 
To the end thou shouldest adorn and make thyself well favoured, with that favour which may remain with thee in thine old age, in thy bed▪ in thy beer, in thy grave: and that which may be thine own commendation, not the praise of nature, nor of thy parents. It is more beautiful, to be made beautiful, than so to be borne: For the one cometh by chance, the other by study.  Sorrow. 
Much deformity of body oppresseth me.  Reason. 
This deformity of some is counted a part of unhappiness and misery, Believe thou me, the mind is not defiled by deformity of the body, but the body adorned by the beauty and favour of the mind. Then it is not this that oppresseth or dishonesteth thee, but it openeth the way, and layeth forth the matter and mean to honest the mind, and to rise aloft through virtue.  Sorrow. 
Nature hath brought me forth deformed into the world.  Reason. 
If she had brought forth Helen evil favoured: or, to speak of Men, if Paris had been borne without good favour, perhaps Troy had stood to this day.  Sorrow. 
I complain that I was borne evil favoured.  Reason. 
But few good men have loved the comeliness of the body, none have desired it, many have rejected it: for doing of which, that Tuscan youth is commended, who of his own accord mangled and deformed the excellent beauty of his well favoured face, which he perceived to be suspected of many, and enemy to his own good name, and hurtful to the honesty of other: far unlike unto thee, who wishest for that, whereof he despoiled himself, and which few did ever enjoy without hurt.  Sorrow. 
I want good favour.  Reason. 
It is more safe to want that, by means whereof thou mayest often fall into a doubtful and painful experiment of thyself. Comeliness & beauty hath hurt many, it ●●th troubled all, many a●●●r sundry conflicts it hath made effeminate, and made them easy to be overcome, and thrust them overthwartlie into blame and reproof.  Sorrow. 
My stature is deformed, and to low.  Reason. 
This discommodity is not, as thou supposest, to be complained of: the low stature is more comely, light, and nimble.  Sorrow. 
My stature is very short.  Reason. 
Who can gainsay, that as a big man dwelleth in a little house, so may a valiant courage in a small body?  Sorrow. 
My body is small.  Reason. 
Thou lamentest, for that thou art not a burden unto thyself, but light, and dapper, and active unto all things.  Sorrow. 
My body is very small.  Reason. 
Who ever complained of a small burden? Thou hast a just cause truly to be sorry, for that thou art not oppressed with the greatness of the body, but only hast a body, neither art a burden to thyself, but an usual necessary.  Sorrow. 
I am of a contemptible stature.  Reason. 
As nothing is glorious but virtue, so nothing is contemptible but vice. Virtue respecteth no stature.  Sorrow. 
The stature of my body is small.  Reason. 
Virtue requireth not the stature of the body, but of the mind. If this be long, right, large, magnifical or comely, whatsoever the other be, it skilleth not, not only not at home, but not so much as in the field at warfare, unless it seem to be more hurtful. Thou knowest how the most noble captain Marius, chose tough & strong (not tall) soldiers. Which thing how wisely, and with how fortunate success he attempted, his often and great conquests do testify. As for the height & tallenesse of the body, it carrieth more majesty with it, but less force.  Sorrow. 
My stature is short.  Reason. 
The same hindereth thee not, but that thou mayest notwithstanding be a good and valiant man: yea, if need were, and fortune so served, a King, or an Emperor. For although that Scipio Africane were tall of body, and julius Caesar of a lofty stature, notwithstanding Alexander King of Macedonia, and Augustus Caesar; ●ere but low, neither did their shortnessed 〈◊〉 body hinder their greatness of mind, nor detract any thing from their fame.  ●●●owe. 
I woul● 〈◊〉 ●●●r and greater.  Reason. 
Arise 〈…〉 ●●●e, and thou shalt be greater, and ●a●●er. 〈…〉 more profitable and easy increase.  Sorrow. 
I de●●e to be well favoured.  Reason. 
Learn to love and wish for that, which is better. It is a foolish part to love a man's own danger: and a folly to desire that, which by no means can be gotten. For, if thou endeavour to be well favoured contrary to the course of Nature, thou shalt profit no more, than to appear more deformed.  Sorrow. 
I travail in vain to be well favoured.  Reason. 
Endeavour to be good, and that shalt thou not do in vain. This virtue hath a special gift above the residue, that it may be gotten, and can not be taken away. And when other things stand at the courtesy of Fortune, and without her cannot be purchased, nor preserved: virtue only is free from her laws, and the more she striveth, the more brightly she shineth.   

Of weakness. The two. Dialogue.  Sorrow. 
NAture hath made me weak.  Reason. 
Like as a sword of steel is covered in a rotten skaberd: so, many times lieth there hid a valiant mind in a crazy body.  Sorrow. 
I am borne weak.  Reason. 
Thou art not meet to bear burdens, nor to dig and plough land, but for honest studies, and just superiorities: So, in a ship, the stronger sort are set to handle the axes, but the wiser to guide the helm. The life of Man being like a ship that ●●●ossed with the floods of affairs, and the de●●● Sea of the world, hath it peculiar oars, and helm: then seeing thou art repulsed from the viler functions, convert thyself to the more worthy.  Sorrow. 
Nature hath made me a weakling.  R●●son. 
What 〈…〉 ●●●ade thee passing strong? Is strength a thing tha● 〈…〉: cometh it not to pass, that the stronger the old age is, 〈◊〉 stronger is the sickness? And to let pass the innumerable chaun●●●h ●ich do suddenly enfeeble and weaken an whole man: the strength of the ●●●nde is to be wished for, which neither continuance, nor fortune can impair.  Sorrow. 
My body is weak.  Reason. 
Nourish and exercise thy mind, in her arts which thou doubtest not to be best, and of most continuance: as for the labour of the body, leave it unto husbandmen, sailors, and smiths.  Sorrow. 
I had no strength from the beginning.  Reason. 
But it is more tolerable never to have had it, than to loose it: For if thou had hadst strength, it would not have continued, insomuch as Miloes' strength waxed old, and so would Hercules have done if he had lived. But so did not the strength of Socrates, nor of Solon, nor of Nestor, nor of Cato. Exercise the better: Nothing can delight a great mind, that doth not continued.  Sorrow. 
This poor carcase of mine is weak.  Reason. 
If this instrument or vessel be sufficient for the soul or mind that dwelleth within, then is there strength enough: For that the body was by Nature ordained to serve the mind, there is no man so much a servant to the body that is ignorant, if so be it do it own duty: what dost thou accuse, or what dost thou desire more? For they that are strong of body, and weak of wit, are most like unto beasts, and many times, which is a miserable case, are servants unto other: and many times also, which is most miserable, and the very sum of human misery, they enforce their mind to be slave to their body, and to serve it in most filthy servitude.  Sorrow. 
I have a weak body.  Reason. 
The true and notable strength of Man, is in his mind: As for the body, it is as a man should say, a certain house of the mind, which, how strong or weak it is, appertaineth not to the geastes, especially like to sojourn there but a few days, so that it fall not down: for then necessity constraineth them to remove into another, which is an everlasting house, when they are driven out of the first. I would say more, if thou couldst conceive more, and were not altogether become deaf by the common noise, to wit, that the body is not the house, but the prison of the mind, not his friend, but his domestical foe, for whose frailty thou oughtest to pray, whereby thou mightest the sooner be made free, and a conqueror.  Sorrow. 
I have no strength.  Reason. 
While thou art in health thou wantest none: but if thou be otherwise, than hast thou other cause to complain. Thou meanest not then that thou hast no strength at all, but thou wouldst say, thou hast little strength. Thou art not as strong and sturdy, as was thy coequal, nor he, as was another, neither that other as strong as an exe or an Elephant: there is a measure in every man's strength: dame Nature hath most bountifully distributed unto every one that which is sufficient, and is more loving toward her children, than any man is toward his own. You cannot complain of want, but ye complain of inequality. You troublesome and complaining generation, if this should be taken away, the beauty of the world must needs perish. Thus that which is best, ye can least abide.   

Of sickness, The three Dialogue.  Sorrow. 
But I am sickly.  Reason. 
I hear that which I look for, for these complaints go always together. But if the flesh be enemy to the spirit, & one of them strive against another, which thing the great friend of truth, having felt within himself, hath pronounced it truly in all men, it followeth, that that which hindereth one, helpeth another. But if the spirit be better and more noble than the flesh, which then we aught most specially to favour, thou seest, and perhaps understandest thy state of body, which thou sayest to be feeble, to be in deed most prosperous.  Sorrow. 
I am sickly.  Reason. 
But sparingness is an earnest exhorter, and a dehorter from licentiousness, and a mistress of modesty.  Sorrow. 
I am sick.  Reason. 
If thy bodily health be good, lay away carefulness, whatsoever happeneth to the body, thou art in safety.  Sorrow. 
My body is sick and weak.  Reason. 
Sickness of the body, hath been available unto the welfare of the mind in many. That excellent man, who from a low degree, from the water, and his fishing nets, was advanced to the skies, and made key keeper of the gates of heaven, whose only shadow drove away the sicknesses and infirmities of the body, being demanded sometime why he suffered his own daughter to be molested with a grievous sickness, answered: It is profitable for her it be so. How knowest thou then, whether it be also profitable for thee or not?  Sorrow. 
I have been long thus sick in body.  Reason. 
The same man of whom I speak, knew that his daughter might soon & safely be made whole, and he made her whole, and made her able also to heal others. See thou likewise that thy health seem certain and undoubted unto thee, and perhaps thou shalt be healed. Finally, as much as in thee lieth, cure thou thine own soul, and commit the cure of him unto the heavenly Physician. In sum, this one thing will I say boldly: If not for that which shall delight, yet at leastwise hope for that which is expedient.  Sorrow. 
My bodily state is painful.  Reason. 
Then hast thou that, which will drive away forgetfulness and sleep, & expel slothfulness.  Sorrow. 
I am weak.  Reason. 
Boast in thine infirmities, and accomplish virtue: these two thou hast learned at the mouth of one and the self same master.  Sorrow. 
The state of my bodily health is miserable.  Reason. 
An unpleasant companion, but faithful, which will often put thee in mind, point thee the way, and admonish thee of thine estate, & which is best in dangers, a faithful admonisher.  Sorrow. 
The estate of my bodily health is extreme without remedy.  Reason. 
Hold thy peace & rejoice, that thou art enclosed in a ruinous prison, out of which thou mayst departed soon, and easily.   

Of a base Country. The iiii. Dialogue.  Sorrow. 
I Dwell in a base country.  Reason. 
Be thou noble: for there is nothing letteth thee, seeing thy country's nobility hath nothing to do with thine.  Sorrow. 
I dwell in a small city.  Reason. 
Great cities have also small citizens, & for the most part consist of such: & small cities in times past, have had great citizens. Yea, Romulus, that was laid forth & nourished in the woods, builded the city of Rome, that was queen of all cities, which Catiline being borne in the same great city, went about to overthrow.  Sorrow. 
I was borne in a small country.  Reason. 
Study thou to advance it: there is nothing that so much commendeth cities, as the virtue & glory of the citizens, Who so thinketh that this may better be done by the building, or fruitfulness, or riches, is deceived. As it is in every particular man, so is it also in cities & kingdoms, & Empires, whom not antiquity, not towers & walls, not streets, not palaces & churches of marble, not statues, not gold, not precious stones, not camps full of armed garizons, & havens replenished with fleets of ships, not martes & pawns stored with outlandish merchandise, and every sea round about cut & turmoiled for desire of gain: lastly, not the beauty, or number of the inhabitants, not the plenty of all things, & the markets flowing with meat, not the sumptuous apparel of the men, & costly making & fashion thereof, not stateliness, not delights, not pleasures, but virtue only maketh noble, & the fame of valiant exploits, which men do purchase, not walls.  Sorrow. 
I am a citizen of a small freedom.  Reason. 
Knowest thou not that Bias was a Prienian borne, Pythagoras a Samian, Anacharsis a Scythian, Democritus an Abderite, Aristotle a Stagyrite, Theophrastus a Lesbian, and Tully an Arpinate? Chous, which is but a small Island in the Egeum sea, brought forth Philitis, who was no base Poet, and also the father of Physicians, & the primes of carvers and painters, namely, Hypocrates, & Phidias & Apelles: that it may be understood, how that the littleness & narrowness of places, is no hindrance to the greatness & excellency of wits.  Sorrow. 
My country is unnoble.  Reason. 
Endeavour thou as much as in thee lieth, to make it noble, which thou mayest do, if thou list, forasmuch as it cannot make thee noble. For the baseness of their country was neither a bar unto Numa Pompilius, to keep him from the Roman kingdom, neither Septimus Severus from the Empire. Although Augustus, the most excellent of all men, came of later time of a Roman generation, for that he was borne in the palace, notwithstanding the more ancient descent his family was from the city Velitrae. Caius' country was Anthium, & Vespasians Reatinun, an obscure village. But contrariwise, Achilles advanced the Lacissean fame: And the Pelean name, which had been base and obscure many hundred years before, which was renowned by Philip, Alexander advanced to the skies. It is not enough that the obscureness of the country hurt not the inhabitants, unless the worthiness of the inhabitants do good to the country. Rome was a base sanctuary, and a thing builded by shepherds, and never become famous, until it began to be renowned for valiant exploits, and excellent virtue of the citizens.  Sorrow. 
I am bound to an obscure country.  Reason. 
Lighten the candle of virtue, whereby thou mayst shine in the dark, wherein at the leastwise thou shalt gain this commodity, that at leastwise thou shalt shine very much with a small light, & so shall it either make thee noble, or thou it.  Sorrow. 
I dwell in a base country.  Reason. 
Be thou likewise lowly and humble, and let the mind that dwelleth within thee, be lowly. Thou hast an example of a public mother, extend not thyself broader in thy nest, than by those wings which virtue hath given thee: These it is lawful for thee to use, and that many have used them with good success, I declared erewhile. And therefore so long as thou shalt be a mortal man, at leastwise hold fast this bridle of insolency. Some men are proud only upon the nobility of their native country: but those are a foolish kind of people.   

Of baseness of stock. The u Dialogue.  Sorrow. 
I Am borne of base and obscure parents.  Reason. 
Thy state perhaps is not so odious, as thou supposest: I cannot tell whether it were a wished matter to be borne obscure: consider thou bathe ways of life. For whether thou determine to follow pleasures, and the common way, which the vulgar sort do ensue, the error shallbe the more excusable which wanteth domestical leaders, and then shall cease that most bitter impropriety of such as degenerate from their noble parents, in that thou hast no nobility at home which thou mayst make obscure. Or, if thou choose rather with singular steps to follow the paths of virtue, thou shalt by so much become the more noble, the greater the darkness is, out of which thou art risen, wherewith before thou were oppressed & compassed round about, and so the whole nobility shallbe thine, and there shallbe none partaker thereof with thee. Imitation shall take from thee no part of thy glory: thy parents shall defraud thee of none, neither thy grandfathers nor great grandfathers, thy counsellors nor masters: whatsoever thou hast done well, thou shalt reap the glory thereof alone, thou only shalt be commended for it, and shalt be called the beginner and first founder of thy family, which could not be, if thou were borne noble. Dost thou see then what occasion thou hast offered unto thereof new praise: to wit, to become noble of thyself, and to g●●e nobility unto others, not to receive it? Thou shalt purchase this unto thy posterity, that they shallbe borne noble, which thy parents gave not unto thee. It is a great deal better to found nobility, than to find it founded by others.  Sorrow. 
My beginning is new and rude.  Reason. 
Howbeit, that shepheardlie founder of the city of Rome was accounted more noble, for that he builded his fort in the woods, and covered his small and base palace with poor thatch, than so many princes and Emperors that came afterward, and erected their huge city walls, their vaults and roughes of their houses of marble and gold: so great always is the commendation of famous newness, and a great beginning.  Sorrow. 
I am borne of a base beginning.  Reason. 
Study then, that thine end may be noble. About the beginnings is travel, and in the end cometh the fruit, which if it be gathered before it be ripe, it cannot long continued.  Sorrow. 
Vnnoblenesse hath cut of the root of my glory.  Reason. 
Nay, it hath not cut it of, but it hath digged it deeper about, that it may rise more strongly, though more lately, Howbeit, I can recite unto thee out of all sorts of men, some not unnoble only, but unknown also, who through virtue and diligence become most noble. And truly if virtue make a man noble in deed, I do not perceive what should let any man that is willing to be made noble, or what thing is so easy to make other noble, as to make a man's self so.  Sorrow. 
I descend from unnoble parents.  Reason. 
What sayst thou to Socrates, Euripides, Demosthenes? Whereof the first had a Marbler to his father, the second a midwife to his Mother: the last was not only borne of base parents, but also of uncertain. As for your countreiman Virgil, he descended of rude and homely parents of the Country: neither was Horace ashamed that his father had been sometime a bondman, and was made free, and also a common crier: notwithstanding they came both unto great glory, and obtained the favour of a great Emperor, in such sort, that he unto whom all Kings had submitted themselves, at whose hands all great things were sued for, and from whom the hope of all men, in a manner, throughout the whole world, but specially of the nobility, did depend, and finally, whose familiar acquaintance was reputed a great matter, yea among the greatest men, even he, I say, would require in sweet and flattering Epistles, as if it had been some great matter, the friendship and company of these two unnoble persons, whom the Mantuan & Venusine Countries had sent to Rome. And how many noble men were there, as we may judge, at that time in the Palace (as for the most part there were plenty, that were unprofitable & unlearned,) unto whom the nobility of these noble men did not seem worthily unnoble and to be envied at?  Sorrow. 
I come of obscure parents.  Reason. 
These examples move not thy mind: I will therefore use higher. Marcus Cicero, as it is written of him, being borne of the family and race of knights, from a low beginning by notable acts and honest degrees, came to the Consulship, them whose time of Consulship, I can not tell whether there were ever any more profitable to the common wealth.  Sorrow. 
I come of a rustic and unknown race of ancestors.  Reason. 
These are little worth I perceive: thou aspirest now higher. Truly Marius was also a rusticane of the country, but a man in deed, as saith his countryman Cicero, & had been of long time an husbandman among the people called Marsi, who was afterward seven times Consul of Rome, with so great glory, that his said countryman, although he were his friend, said truly, That he twice delivered Italy from besieging, and fear of servitude. And Marcus Cato, a man of mean beginning, being long time an obscure inhabitant of a small Town, and afterward a most famous stranger in the greatest City, shortly after, of an excellent citizen, was made Consul and Censor. But if this be not enough, and perhaps thou hopest for a kingdom: truly, neither doth the baseness of a man's beginning forbid him to hope for the same by sentence of desert: Herein call to remembrance the third, and the fift, and the sixth of the Roman Kings. Tullus Hostilius, as approved authors do writ, although other some do report no such matter of him, being an infant, was brought up in a poor cotrage, and in his youth was a shepherd. Tarqvinius Priscus had to father a stranger Merchant, neither came of any Italian family. Servius Tullus, was borne of a servile or bond woman, although as some say, she was a captive, and as other affirm, a noble woman, and by means of his virtue, deserved the kingdom of Rome. Neither wilt thou marvel, if thou understoodest the saying of Plato: That there is no King, but he came of bond men, and no bondmen, but he descended of kings. Thus the affairs of men, and thus long continuance and Fortune hath confounded all things. I say nothing of the kings of other Nations, and of those, who from the flocks of cattle, and the exercise of most vile acts, have been advanced sode inly unto a kingdom. Alexander the king of Macedon, made a gardener a king in Asia: and this was not one of the lest commendable acts which he did. And on the other side, I say nothing of them that have fallen from the top of a kingdom unto the bottom of servitude. Thus Fortune governeth her affairs, notwithstanding virtue may do much: for by her, men rise safely unto the highest degrees, whose paths being forsaken, let princes know, that they stand in tickle state, and that not only their decay is at hand, but also their ruin.  
What calamity then, that I may return again unto thee, of birth is this from which neither hope of reigning, neither the effect is taken away?  Sorrow. 
I am sprung from a base root.  Reason. 
Every root is obscure and evil favoured, from which nevertheless fair and flourishing branches do spring forth: it is not so much demanded from whence a thing cometh, as what manner of thing it is.  Sorrow. 
I am descended of base parents.  Reason. 
I perceive that thou revokest my style unto the highest empire. Septimus Severus, of whom I spoke before, sprung from the degree of knights. Helius Pertinax, being also the son of a bondman made free, and a base traficquer in the trade of buying & selling of wood, did both of them govern the Roman Empire: as also did Philip the father and the son, being Arabians, of very base condition and birth, and Maximinius and Maximus likewise, whereof the first was borne of most obscure and barbarous parentage, and were both ashamed when they had taken upon them the government of the Empire: and for the latter, whether his father were a smith or a carpenter, it is uncertain. Verily, Vespasian, who is reckoned among the good Emperors, from no noble stock, becoming most noble, both governed the common wealth worthily, and also left two sons behind him, one succeeding another, to be his successors in the Empire, and the one of his virtue: howbeit, what do I stay upon these small matters, since there is much ambiguity about the original and birth of Augustus Caesar himself? To be brief, certain it is, that the course of Man's fortune, is not prevented by birth: a man may rise by any means, whether Fortune reach him her hand, or virtue.  Sorrow. 
My stock is to low and base.  Reason. 
As much as concerneth the degree of human power, we have set down examples, above which we cannot possibly go higher: yet there resteth one, not for kingdom or Empire, but in respect of another certain majesty, very memorable. Ventidius Bassus, an Esculane, being borne of a base mother, and an unknown father, his country being taken, and he a young man, was in the triumph of Cneius Pompeius Strabo, who was father unto Pompeius the great, brought away among other prisoners: the same man afterward, fortune changing her countenance, being made general over the people of Rome, fought with most prosperous success, against the Parthian King, that was become proud by reason of his ancient power and late conquest, and having slain the kings son, and discomfited the power of the enemy, which thing the destinies had granted before that time unto none of the Roman captains, taking revenge on that famous slaughter of the Romans, & most magnificently requiting the death of the Crassis, himself being a conqueror and triumphing, beautified that Capitol with his own charets, wherein being a captive, he had sometime furnished the triumphant charets of another, and filled the Roman prison with the army of this captive enemies. And that this spectacle might be the more acceptable, and the conquest more wonderful, it was gotten the same day, as the course of the years came about, upon which the most terrible slaughter was received at Carras. Who is so ambitious, and greedy of a kingdom, that he had not rather have this glory without a kingdom, than a kingdom without this glory? And what, I pray thee, hindered Ventidius from attaining to felicity and great honour, although he were borne of base stock, and in the first part of his life were at low ebb, and in misery? Truly that man whom Esculum did contemn, Rome did regard, and matched that obscure name of a stranger with the famous names of her noble Citizens. These are the steps to rise by, these are the degrees unto virtue, whereby men are advanced, not only unto glory and higher fortune, by endeavouring, hoping, watching, but also enthronized within heaven. And therefore thou that art meanly borne, endeavour to rise, resting thy first and last step within the entry unto virtue, not declining any whither, nor staying.  Sorrow. 
My beginning is low.  Reason. 
That is now past, think upon the things that do follow: neither am I ignorant, that as the first and last days of a man's life have seemed unto some principally to govern the state of human affairs, or as they speak, to comprehend and contain it: verily I will easily agreed unto the first, although unto the second I cannot so willingly consent. For although, as they affirm, it skilleth much, with what good luck a thing be begun: although the Satiricke Poet thinking upon such matters, hath thus written, whereas he speaketh of Ventidius: For it availeth much, what constellation receive a man when he beginneth to yield forth his first noise, and cometh away red from his mother's womb. Notwithstanding we deny these things, and these prosperous significations, and this so great force of the stars we renounce, ascribing all things unto the most glorious Creator of the stars, among whose creatures we seclude none from this path of virtue, felicity, and glory.  Sorrow. 
The baseness of my stock is very great.  Reason. 
And what sayst thou to that? Wouldst thou rather have thy pride be much? Or what hereby doest thou think to be wanting unto thee, unless thou wouldst also fain declare thy madness, by the smoky images, and mangled statues that must be erected in thy courts and galleryes, and as it were charnel house of thy predecessors and family, standing full of rotten titles for a gazing stock to them that shall pass by, whereby thou mayest fabulously discourse with a proud look in the open streets, of those whom thou never knewest?  Sorrow. 
I am borne unnoble.  Reason. 
Not only to be borne unnoble, but so to live also, have seemed felicity unto some. Hast thou not read at leastwise in the Tusculane which Cicero hath erected, the Anapaestus of the most mighty King, praising an old man and calling him fortunate, in that he was ingloryous, and like to continued unnoble and obscure unto his lives end?   

Of a shameful birth. The vi. Dialogue.  SORROW. 
MY birth is not only base, but also shameful.  Reason. 
There is one only true and great shamefulness of the mind: if thou take that away, all things are fair.  Sorrow. 
I am ill borne.  Reason. 
He that liveth well, is borne well, and dieth well: But he that liveth ill, cannot be well borne. For, what skilleth it in how bright a path a blind man walk? Or what availeth it from whence a man come, if he come into misery and reproach?  Sorrow. 
I was borne in sin.  Reason. 
The most excellent man bewaileth this matter, and truly every man is borne in sin. But beware that you heap not more grievous sins one upon another, although there be also means to cleanse them: Howbeit that first deformity many times at the first entrance into this life, is washed away in the sacred fountain of Baptism, and the soul by cleansing made as white as Snow.  Sorrow. 
My parents ill beget me.  Reason. 
What belongeth it unto thee who have begotten well, so thou be well borne, unless thou join thy wickedness unto the wickedness of another.  Sorrow. 
I am ashamed of my filthy beginning.  Reason. 
Then do I not marvel that you be proud of that which is another's, and also that you be ashamed of that which is not your own: and generally ye repose your good and evil things in any place or person, rather than in yourselves, which notwithstanding can be in none other than yourselves. And unless thou thyself hast committed some vile and shameful deed, what fault is there in thee, or what rebuke, to have hard a dishonest father? Beware then, that thou be not heir unto thy father in his lewdness, but study in that behalf to be far unlike him. He that begat thee, thou not being privy thereof, could not imprynt his spots upon thee against thy will within thee, and from thee it must needs come, that shall make thee obscure or noble.  Sorrow. 
I am borne into the world by dishonest parents.  Reason. 
All parents aught to seem honest unto their children, but as they are to be feared, so are they not all to be followed of their children: for some time I would give them counsel to forsake them. Thus must thou otherwhile take a contrary course, and if he be a natural father, he will be content to be forsaken, and will desire to have himself loved, but not his faults. This is only the devised way, by which to suppress and tread underfoot their parent's name is a glorious and honest deed in the children, to live otherwise then they did, that is to say, more continently, and holily. Let the child's tongue conceal the parent's dishonesty, let not his unlikeness of life, manners, and deeds, be silent. It is a great commendation to the son, when it shallbe said behind his back, O how much is this young man more modest than the old man his father: and contrariwise, there is no blemish more grievous in the wantonness of old men, then to compare it with the continency of youth. And truly, if the honour of the parents be burdensome to the children that live ill, with how great a weight doth the praise of the children's honesty, press down the infamy of the ill living parents?  Sorrow. 
I was begotten in unlawful and condemned lust.  Reason. 
But it were better for thee to have a desire to be, and so to be reputed the honest son of an unhonest father, rather than the unhonest son of an honest father. For in all praise or dispraise, those things are most chief to be regarded, which are a man's own. There is no man justly reproved or praised for that which is another's: although as I have said, whatsoever is in you, it will be the more evident, if it be set by his contrary. For, as every one is worthily praised or dispraised, so is the very and proper cause of praise or dispraise within himself. But as one man is slain with another's sword, and one man's goods burned by another man's fire, so happeneth it not that one man's good name perisheth by another man's fault, for that the goods of the mind are more permanent than the goods of the body, or of fortune, so that they cannot be hurt or taken away against the will of the owner.  Sorrow. 
I was begotten against right, and law.  Reason. 
Thou hast done nothing against the law, but thy parents have, and therefore henceforward do every thing according to the law. In this respect thou hast committed none offence at all concerning thy birth hour, but of thine own manners thou thyself shalt yield an account. And although in revenge of wandering venery the force of the civil laws is extended unto the innocent children, notwithstanding GOD measureth every one within his own bounds, neither imputeth the child's offence unto the father, neither the fathers unto the child. And that Philosophy judgeth otherwise of this matter then do the laws, thou hast learned of the Philosophers themselves. Being then beaten down by the laws, and erected again by the judgement of GOD, and the Philosophers, thou hast wherewith to comfort thy mind: neither as thou art restrained from a private patrimony, so art thou barred from the public inheritance of virtue. For the one of these descendeth by the ordinance of man, the other is given by desert: and before thou were borne, as thou deservedst no glory, so truly didst thou merit none infamy.  Sorrow. 
Mine Original is unlawful and incestous.  Reason. 
What may be borne of incest, or what of adultery, for proof be Romulus and Alcides. Perses was King of Macedon, and lugurtha King of Numidia, and both of them expulsed their lawful brethren out of their kingdoms, by evil usage, and most vile means, but they expulsed them notwithstanding. Alexander King of Macedon, that was called Philip'S son, yet whose in deed he was supposed to be, thou hast heard, and also how Philip, towards the latter end of his life, was wont sometime to say, that Alexander was not his son. Which thing his wife Olympias of her own accord confessed unto him, and for that cause he was divorced from her, as some authors have written. Constantius himself, being borne of a noble Concubine, was advanced unto the Empire before his brethren that were lawfully begotten. Unto these would I add King Arthure, unless that to mingle Fables with Histories, were nothing else then to dimyshe the credit of the truth with lies. To be short, there is no cause why thy birth should discourage thee: howsoever men are borne, if virtue advance them, they have glory enough.  Sorrow. 
I am ill borne.  Reason. 
Live well, and die well: howsoever thou were borne, it belongeth not to thee, neither canst thou remember it: neither inquire much after that which belongeth not unto thee, unless it be to make thee more humble and mecke, but not more sorrowful.  Sorrow. 
I was borne filthily.  Reason. 
Courteous behayour, and an honest life, do not only take away all blemyshes, but all remembrance of a shameful birth. Use this remedy while thou mayest, for believe me, thou hast none other.  Sorrow. 
I am ashamed of my parent's infamy.  Reason. 
Put away this shame, for there is one father of all men, which is GOD: and one mother of all men, which is the earth.   

Of Bondage. The seven. Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Entered a bondman into this life.  Reason. 
Be not sorry, thou shalt departed a free man, if thou wilt thyself, as many have done, who contrariwise have entered free, and departed bond.  Sorrow. 
I was seruylely borne.  Reason. 
Live freely, there is nothing letteth thee, for the better part of thee, to be free. There is one most grievous kind of bondage, which is sin, that is not able notwithstanding to oppress men against their wills: cast of that, and thou shalt be free.  Sorrow. 
Fortune would needs make me a bondman.  Reason. 
Thy own will may make thee otherwise, for although she use her old custom, nevertheless thou knowest what to hope for. Thou knowest what a monster she is, thou knowest her toys and pastimes, it lieth in thee not only to become a free man, but also Lord over thy master: although what she will or will not, it skilleth not, and albeit she be inexorable, as some time she is, nevertheless she hath no power over the mind: and in every conflict against her, we must require aid of her enemy. Many times whom fortune hath made bond, virtue hath made free.  Sorrow. 
I am oppressed with grievous servitude.  Reason. 
Who so willingly beareth the yoke, maketh it light. I will tell thee a special comfort and an everlasting stay, which when thou art exempted from the controlment of thy mighty master, will make thee a free man, and richer than thy master himself: apply the study of wisdom, and she will set thee at liberty. It is the saying of Cato, confirmed by Cicero, That only the wise man is free, namely, by that liberty, than which there is none more assured.  Sorrow. 
I lead my life under most hard masters.  Reason. 
They shallbe made gentle by no means more, then by faithfulness and diligence, and perhaps in such sort, which hath happened unto many, that therehence thou shalt gain liberty, where now thou bewailest thy bondage, and peradventure by some other means, and from some other place. For some one is made free by his temporal master, and some by the Eternal. Thou knowest, with how great danger Malchus escaped the threatenings of his master that persecuted him, but nevertheless he escaped him: In the mean while think thus of thy master, that he maintaineth thee, and hath taken upon him all the care over thee, which carefulness to lose a man's liberty, what is it to be called other than a profitable discommodity? Unto many, their liberty hath been bond, and their bondage free. The yoke of men is not so grievous, as the yoke of cares: who so can shake of the one, may indifferently bear the other. Unto this man art thou a servant, unto him art thou only bound, yea he is bound unto thee, he is thy master, or rather thy steward. Thou shalt not be advanced unto public preferments, neither shalt thou sustain public charges, nor counterfeit a careful mind to the common wealth, thou shalt not be tossed with troubles and suits of Court and controversies, neither be turmoiled with the uncertainty of advisements, and counsels: no slowness of sailing, no barrenness of f●eides, not dearth of victuals shall molest thee: These troubles leave unto thy master, and many times thou shalt sleep far more sound then be.  Sorrow. 
I have a froward and imperious Lord.  Reason. 
Think with thyself, that he was allotted unto thee not without cause. Therefore, whatsoever tust thing he commandeth, think that God himself commandeth it. But if he command any unjust thing, it behoveth thee to think upon the great Lord, who as he suffereth thee to be a servant unto honest though painful affairs, so will he have thee be free from dishonest: wherein this would I have thee to understand, that there is one that would have the servants of the most glorious princes of the earth, and of the true religion, to be obedient unto their carnal masters in all things: and another that commandeth them to be subject unto them in all fear, adding this moreover, that they yield it not only unto good and modest masters, but also unto the wicked, for it is not meet for the servant to judge of his master, but to bear with his manners whatsoever they be. For the more outrageous the master is, the more appeareth the servants patience, and this is the cause, that the one of them maketh mention of this matter: but as they must suffer their manners, so aught they not always obey their commandments. For there are some things that may most justly be refused to be done, if they be repugnant to the pleasure of the heavenly Lord and master: with whom if this thine earthly master be compared, he is no longer thy master, but thy fellow servant, and so aught to be reputed. Thus therefore, let servants obey their masters in all things that they command that are just, let no pain nor difficulty stay them, no labour hinder them, nor discourtesy nor reward denied, or which is the most bitter thing of all, no punishment inflicted. Let them obey them in all things, so that injury and dishonesty be away: otherwise stubbornness and liberty, and the breast and throat must be set against their unjust and dishonest commandments, and that must be kept in remembrance, which another of the promysers sayeth, who when he had commanded that servants should obey their masters in all things, he addeth, Not serving to the eye as men pleasers, but in singleness of heart, fearing the Lord. Hereby thou seest, what is the state of thy degree: he is not altogether a servant, that cannot be compelled to obey wicked beheastes.  Sorrow. 
I serve a proud Lord.  Reason. 
How knowest thou whether he serve the highest Lord: Perhaps he is servant to his wife, perhaps to his Harlot, perhaps to those that are under his government: how many see we daily that are servants unto their underlings: Last, which is the most grievous bondage of all, perhaps he is servant to himself, that is to say, to his own vices, and passions, and violent affections. What shall I say: In truth there are but few free, and those that are free, the more painful their life is, the higher it is. It is much more prompt and easy to accomplish the duty of a righteous king, then of a faithful servant. It is an excellent saying of Diocletian while he was a private person and judged of that which was past, and had learned much by experience, That there is nothing more hard, then to govern an Empire: for which it may be thought he refused longer to be Emperor. Therefore embrace thou thy calling gladly, which I confess to be base and low, but easy and quiet, unless thou think it an happier matter to stand panting in open sight, then to lie and rest in a chamber.  Sorrow. 
My Fortune hath enforced me into bondage.  Reason. 
Do that willingly, which thou must needs do: that counsel also is well known, and most fit for human necessities, Desire that, which thou must needs, and so thou shalt frustrate the force of necessity: bear the burden of Fortune patiently, which some have done of their own accord, and have chosen to be bond themselves, to deliver other from bondage. Among which sort, most famous is the name of Paulinus Bishop of Nola, whose voluntary servitude, as it aught, had happy success. Certayne have sold themselves for a small price, to the intent that being made bond, they might redeem their masters from the bands of sin, and bring them into true liberty, for which deed one Serapion an Egyptian Eremite, is much renowned: These examples shall do thee more good, then monynges. Attempt thou some such like matter, by means whereof thy servitude may be profitable to others, or at leastwise to thyself. Not to wish for that which thou hast not, but to use well that which thou hast, is the part of a wise man. The one of these happeneth unto all men, the other but to few.  Sorrow. 
I being a mortal man, am servant to a mortal Master.  Reason. 
Begin to serve the immortal Lord: he promiseth thee liberty and a kingdom, although also while thou continuest in this state, thou art not restrained from exercising good arts, and hoping for better: and Terence also was a servant, and learned with no servile disposition, and wrote Comedies with no servile style, whereby he deserved liberty, and to be numbered among the chief poets. By what means then is it possible, that service should be any impediment unto virtue, which is an absolute good of the mind, since it can neither hinder external studies, nor outward glory? Plato himself was carried into bondage, and yet it is written, that the Philosopher was greater than he that bought him: truly a worthy profession, that maketh the servant greater than his Master. And doubtless a learned servant, is in this respect greater than his unlearned Master, by how much the mind is greater than any Fortune: and many times a bond mind dwelleth in a free body, and a free mind in a bond body. Bondage may be a let unto the affairs of the judicial court, but not of the mind. The court refuseth a servant: but virtue, diligence, and trustiness do not refuse him. Tiro was servant unto Cicero, but by this means obtaining his liberty, he left unto posterity an excellent Book of his masters jests and merriments. A servant can not be a General of an Army, nor a Senator, but he may be a Philosopher, an Orator, a good man, yea, and also some time casting of his servitude, he may be a King and an Emperor: and we have known some advanced from this degree, not only to a Kyngdowe and Empire, but also unto Heaven itself. A bondman can not serve in warfare under man, but he may serve GOD, the wages of whose service in warfare, is to reign. The servant of GOD is King over all men, fellow with Angels, a terror to devils. The servant of GOD may also be servant to man: and thus worldly service is no hunderaunce to the heavenly felicity.  Sorrow. 
I am a Servant.  Reason. 
If thou hast always been so, custom may assuage thy grief: If not, hope that thou mayest one day not be that, which some time thou wast not.  Sorrow. 
I am a servant.  Reason. 
If thou hope for an end of thy misery, let thy hope diminish thy sorrow. But if thou despair, let patience mitigate it, and heap not one mischief upon another, neither vex thyself to no purpose willingly and wittingly, which were the greatest point of folly that is incident to the life of man. But a man must not despair, for when all things be wanting, death will come at the length, who in despite of thy Master, will lose thee, and set thee at liberty.   

Of poverty. The viii Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Am oppressed with poverty, that I can not rise.  Reason. 
poverty hath many times persuaded modesty to an unwilling mind, and that which Philosophy hath attempted in vain, this hath brought to pass.  Sorrow. 
poverty besiegeth mine entry.  Reason. 
she besiegeth it not, but keepeth it, neither is this a strange and unaccustomable thing, for in times past she preserved the City of Rome many hundred years. For among the tents of sober and careful poverty, slothful wantonness, sluggish sleep, and weak and effeminate vices do entre.  Sorrow. 
poverty hath invaded my house.  Reason. 
I advertise thee to meet her willingly, receiving and embracing her with unfolded arms, and a cheerful countenance. And though at the first encounter she appear some deal sharp and bitter, and not without cause to be compared unto a wayfaring man, and one that is armed at all points, for that her coming is speedy and threatening: notwithstanding, when she is once received into familiarity, she will be a gheast nothing sumptuous, but quiet and gentle.  Sorrow. 
poverty rappeth at my door.  Reason. 
Open then unto her speedily, before that by sudden force she break the bars, and plucking the door from the hooks, she enter in like a conqueror: For, as she is very grievous unto those that withstand her, so is she very pleasant unto them that give her place.  Sorrow. 
poverty hath broken up my house.  Reason. 
she is a passing diligent watcher against thieves, and Pleasures, which are worse than thieves, against the girds and absurd judgements of the common people, and also against the infamy of covetousness or prodigality, which seldom sitteth in any other place then the entries of the rich: From these evils can thy house by no means be better preserved, then if poverty guard it. And even as if a man be frank, yet if he reserve any thing to himself, he is commonly termed covetous: so if he be poor, he shall be counted greedy to have. It is the manner of near neighbours to envy at wealth, & to pity poverty. The one they desire and dispraise, the other they commend and abhor.  Sorrow. 
poverty hath possessed my house.  Reason. 
Now shall there be no place with thee for pride, nor for envy, nor for notable losses, nor for the fear of losses, nor for a thousand kinds of suspicions, nor for deceit, nor for surfect and loathsomeness, nor for the Gout that is a gheast among the rich: all which being shut out of doors, rest, quietness, and virtue, shall have larger entertainment with thee, who shall have the more roomth, the less that thy wealth is.  Sorrow. 
Hard poverty hath entered my house.  Reason. 
I know what thou meanest: riches should have entered more pleasantly, but poverty more safely. There are no riches, before whom security is not to be preferred. For when all things whatsoever men do or desire, are directed unto felicity: surely it may consist without riches, but not without security.  Sorrow. 
I have been long time oppressed with importunate poverty.  Reason. 
As no importable thing can long be borne, so is there no short thing difficult. But thou wilt say this is hard: examine it with riches, dost thou make more account of gold then of virtue? Hast thou not learned among the Paradoxes of the Sto●kes, That only a wise man is rich? Or perhaps hast thou read it, and not regarded it? Which thing most readers do, to the end to talk more finely, not to live more virtuously, applying nothing unto honesty, but referring all to knowledge and eloquence, than which nothing is more vain.   

Of Damage sustained. The ix Dialogue.  SORROW. 
Cruel Fortune hath bereft me of all my riches.  Reason. 
she hath done thee no injury, for she hath taken but her own: but this is an ancient and common unthankfulness, to forget what was given you, and to remember what is taken away. And therefore your thanks are few and cold, and your complaints many and fervent.  Sorrow. 
Fierce Fortune hath taken also away the things that are necessary for living.  Reason. 
No man can take away the things that are necessary, forasmuch as nothing is cruelly to be called necessary, without which a man may live well. I say, live well, not voluptuously, not insolently, or gorgeously, but wisely, but soberly, but honestly: wherein Fortune, be she never so proud, shall confess that she hath no right. And truly, although desire of having, is not satisfied with all the gold that is in the world, and all the pomp of precious stones, and plenty of all manner of things, notwithstanding, natural necessity is contented with very little, that may be gotten by some light means of the tongue, or exercise of the hand: thus virtue is pleased with a very little, & vice with nothing.  Sorrow. 
Covetous Fortune denieth me necessary food and apparel.  Reason. 
Thou must get it then some where else. Virtue is more liberal than Fortune, for she denieth a man nothing, but which will hurt if it be granted, and do good, if it be forbidden: she taketh away nothing, but which will hurt to have it, and is profitable to lose it: she deferreth nothing, she commandeth nothing, she plucketh not back her hand, she frowneth not, she looketh not strangely, she despiseth no man, she forsaketh no man, she deceiveth no man, she chafeth not, she rageth not, she changeth not, she is always one, and every where, but that the more she is tasted of, the sweeter she seemeth, and the nearer she is beholden, the fairer every day than other she appeareth. That thou mayest therefore be rich in deed, let nothing carry thee away from this affliction, or repel thee, although it do exercise and molest thee: the first entrance unto it is hard, as for the residue, it is ready, pleasant, and easy. For when thou art once come unto it, thou shalt not feel poverty.  Sorrow. 
Fortune hath spoiled me of all my goods.  Reason. 
Thou supposest amiss, this mischief is common to all men: for truly she hath not spoiled thee of any goods, or if they were goods, they were none of thine, but which perhaps, after the common account, thou thoughtest to be thine: and I marvel if thou know not yet that they were another's.  Sorrow. 
Fortune hath left me bore and needy.  Reason. 
Virtue will apparel thee, unless thou refuse her, and also enrytche thee, unless perhaps thou esteem more of Gold and Purple, then of honesty, and the furniture of a valiant mind: which if thou dost, then would I say that thou were very poor and bore in deed.  Sorrow. 
There is no means sufficient to save me against the assault of Fortune, and troubles of poverty.  Reason. 
Why marueylest thou? All thy cunning, and thy weapons wherewith thou thinkest to defend thyself, are in thine enemies hand. she holdeth fast the handle, the point is turned towards thee. If thou seek for advice, set these things aside, and do some thing else, and apply thy mind unto those studies wherein Fortune hath nothing to do. Virtue is not gotten by riches, but riches by Virtue. Only Virtue is the most sovereign art against all fortunes and poverty. Thou hast read, how that the Philosopher Aristippus, being cast up by shipwreck upon the Rhodian shore, being bore and destitute of all those things which Fortune can either give or take away, and delighted with the strangeness of the place, as it happeneth often times, glancing his eyes about, had by chance fastened them upon certain Geometrical descriptions, crying then out aloud, he comforted his companions, and bid them be of good cheer, for that they had not fallen upon any desert or forlorn Country, for that he beheld there the foot steps and tokens of men: from thence entering into the City, he got him directly unto the Schools, and places of exercise of learning: where, by means of his disputations among the Philosophers, he first won admiration, and afterward gained the friendship and rewards of the greatest personages, whereby he provided meat and drink, and apparel, and other necessaries for travail, not only for himself, but also for his company. Who when they were departing, demanding of him what they should say to any of his friends when they came home, notably bid them say this one thing: that they should prepare those riches for their children, which can not perish by shipwreck, which neither tempest by Sea, in civil or martial affairs can take away.  Sorrow. 
I am destitute both of goods, and mind.  Reason. 
This first maketh thee light, the second, poor in deed and wretched. But I suppose thou hast read the saying of Theophrastus, aswell as the counsel of Aristippus: but what availeth it thee to have read a thing only, unless thou also remember it, and put it in practice?  Sorrow. 
Being spoiled of my house, family, necessaries, and all mine ornaments, what shall I do, or whither shall I turn myself?  Reason. 
Unto those riches whereof thou canst not be spoiled, which accompanying thee whither so ever thou goest, will make thee rich and well furnished. And for that me thinketh I had need to help thy memory, this is the saying of Theophrastus, whereof I made mention erewhile, That among all sorts of men, a learned man only is no stranger when he cometh into a foreign Country, neither is destitute of friends when he hath lost his Familiars and Kinsfolk, but is a Citizen in every City, and can valiantly contemn the chances of Fortune without fear: but he should think himself to be defended not by the guard of learning, but of felicity, that he walketh upon slippery, not stable steps, but wreastleth with a feeble life.  Sorrow. 
I had an inheritance from my Father, which I have lost, What shall I now do?  Reason. 
There descend two inheritances from the Father: the one of transitory goods, which is governed by Fortune, the other of Virtue and learning, which is so far reposed in safety out of the kingdom of Fortune, that she can not hurt it. This is that inheritance which most loving fathers do specially leave unto their children, which unless they do refuse it, doth adorn the possessors thereof in the end, and after the end of their life, continuing with them not only so long as the other, but also much more comfortably and durably. Which thing well knowing the City of Athens, the famous mother of Nurture, Eloquence, and Laws, when as the law of all the other Cities of Greece, without exception, compelled the children to secure and relieve their parents, she ordained, that those parents only should be relieved, that had caused their children to be brought up in learning, for that they only should leave an assured and permanent inheritance unto their children.  Sorrow. 
I want many things to live withal.  Reason. 
To whom a few things may be sufficient, how he should want many, I can not see. But you say ye want that to live withal, which is wanting to your covetousness, whereby it cometh to pass, that ye want not only many things, but all things, as well that ye have, as that ye desire, in that ye dare not touch the one, neither can attain to the other, and in either respect, is like misery or poverty.  Sorrow. 
I live in too poor estate.  Reason. 
Comfort thy heart, with thy great and famous companions: Valerius Publicola, one of the authors of the Roman liberty, Menenius Agrippa, purchaser of the Roman tranquillity, because they had nothing wherewithal to bury them of their own, had it out of the common treasury. Paulus Aemilius conqueror of the Macedonian kings, and destroyer of that most famous and ancient kingdom, being so rich in glory as he was, was so poor in money, that unless this most valiant man's Lands had been sold, his wives Dower could not have been restored. Attilius Regulus, Cueus Scipio, Quintius Cincinnatus, defenders of the Roman Empire, were so poor, yea in household provision, that the first of them achieving great exploits in Africa, the second in Spain, the one of them because of the death of his Farmer, the other for the Dower of his Daughter, were both constrained to make suit to be discharged from the Senate, which they had obtained, but that the Senate providing better for the state of the Common wealth, did relieve the poverty of those most excellent Citizens. Unto Quintius, while he was earring his poor four Acres of Land, by decree of the Senate and people of Rome, in the time of extremity, the whole government of the state was committed. Unto these may be added Curius, who was rich by his Garden, and Fabritius that was mighty with a little, who contemning proffered riches, and having nothing but rich weapons, right hands, and most rich minds, vanquished the King of Greece, and the most valiant people of Italy. They were aswell invincible with gold, as with iron. But what speak I of certain Citizens, when as the whole people of Rome, being the fountain and example of a notable History, was good so long, as I began to say, as it was a poor people? But Nero being drowned in lasciviousness and reproaches, was not able to measure or reckon his goods. But Varius Heliogabalus the most effeminate and filthy beast that ever lived, and the shame of your Empire, a shameful thing to speak or hear, would vouchsafe to have the loathsome ordu●● and burden of his belly to be received into none other vessel then of gold: a thing not to be overslypped, if it were but to set forth the irksome and outrageous desire of mortal men: When as he well remembered, that not only the meals and daily diet of such men as the above named are, but also the sacrifices of the Gods were wont to be served and celebrated in earthen vessels. O miserable City in continuance of time by destiny fallen unto so filthy hands: But rather O gold the extreme desire of covetousness: O hope that art the last and end of human travails, thou that art the wonder unto eyes, and the amazing unto minds, to what uses wast thou converted? I would commend the deed, or at leastwise not reprove it, for that there is no mockery more meet for so shameful error of man, if so be it had proceeded from a man of sound judgement, and perfect reason: but now who dareth deny, but that goods are excellent, and to be wished, which men do in such sort seek after with sword and wickedness, while neglecting the best, they abound with the worst?  Sorrow. 
I pass forth a poor life in travel.  Reason. 
Cleantes was constrained by need to draw water to water herbs in a garden withal, and Plautus to lift up sacks & corn upon a hand querne. How great a Philosopher was the one, and the other a Poet? and again, how poor a gardener was the first, and the other a baker? Who both after their work was done, the residue of the night wherein they should have taken their rest, such was the courage of their mind, the one applied his time unto the study of Philosophy, the other to the writing of Comedies, that he might cell them for money. Lactancius Firmianus, a man of great learning, and rare eloquence among his compeers, being also schoolmaster unto the son of a great Prince, led his life in great poverty of all things, yea of common necessaries. Horace was borne poor, Pacunius lived poorly, Statius was poor: both of them sold their Comedies, and thereby got their living. To be short, Virgil also was sometime a poor man, until contrary to the common custom, riches happened unto his wit. There be many such examples in all degrees of men: and I omit these, because there are very many, who for the desire they had unto heavenly riches, have not only with indifferent minds, but gladly and willingly, chosen not only poverty, but also hunger, thirst, nakedness, and all kinds of miseries upon the earth. If that by these as it were humble and earthly examples thou art not moved, the Lord of heaven himself was here in poor estate, that he might teach by his example, that this poverty is the way whereby men attain unto great riches. He, I say, by whom Kings do reign, was borne in poverty, lived in poverty, died naked, whom in the mean while all the Elements obeyed: and thou sellie wretch dost grievously bear the state of thy Lord and master, and art not ashamed of thy foolish insolency. Certainly, who so thinking on him, shall arm himself with virtue, being very rich in poverty and needing nothing, will not desire a Kings riches.  Sorrow. 
I have no store of riches.  Reason. 
As no riches are sufficient for a needy and base mind, so unto a rich and frank courage no poverty cometh amiss: as for the first, he leaneth unto that which is another's, but he of whom I spoke last, trusteth unto his own: to build upon another man's ground is a loss, but to build upon his own is a vantage.  Sorrow. 
I am very poor.  Reason. 
If thou obey necessities, thou canst never be poor: but if thou be subject to lusts, thou shalt never be rich.  Sorrow. 
Hitherto I have been poor, yea I am a very beggar.  Reason. 
men's fortune and state doth not continued: for as from great riches unto extreme poverty, so from extreme poverty unto great riches, there is often exchange. I suppose thou hast read in Quintus Curtius the Historian, how one, called Abdolominus, at the commandment or rather permission of King Alexander, from a poor gardener was advanced unto the kingdom of Sidon, and by contemning the kingdom, is reputed greater than the kingdom. Truly, which thou canst not choose but have read, Romulus, from a shepherds cottage becoming the founder of so great a city, was the first that took upon him the Roman Crown, and the sixth King ascended unto the Kingly dignity, from a very base, and as some have thought, from a servile degree: neither more wealthy was the rising of Alexander son to King Priamus, nor of Cyrus the most famous of all the Persian Kings, neither were their beginnings much other than was that of Romulus. Gaius Marius, who had been, and should have been often Consul of Rome, before he attained unto any of these degrees of honour, being an hireling ploughman, spent the first years of his life in the fields, and at length after so many victories and triumphs, and between those seven times that he was Consul, besides his hiding of himself in the Fens, and his imprisonment, he begged also a little piece of bread. julius Caesar, that should afterward be Lord of all the world, and by his Testament dispose it unto his heirs that should be Lords of all the world after him, was poor when he was a young man. Thou having the company and fellowship of such worthy men, canst thou not either hope for riches, or contemn them?  Sorrow. 
I am waxen poorer than I was.  Reason. 
It is well: thou shalt also be more humble, light, and at liberty, than thou wast. They that go on a dangerous journey, love to go light. Thou shalt want thine accustomed riches, and thy mice, and thy thieves, and thy stubborn Servants, and all other things that follow wealth, feigned friends, following and catching Parasites, and all the whole household flock of those that will laugh with thee to thy face, but will mock and bite thee behind thy back. To be short, if thou compare thy lost riches with the troubles that thou hast lost also with them, thou wilt call it again. Surely to speak nothing of security, humility, sobriety, quietness, modesty, which are the companions of poverty, if she brought none other commodity with her, then that she delivereth a man from the troops of deceitful flatterers, and from the tyranny of proud servants, there were cause sufficient not only to suffer her, but also to wish for her, yea, to seek after poverty. But let this suffice thee: for thou complainest more than need is, whereat I would wonder in thee, unless I had observed it of long time in all men, that there is nothing whereof they do more grievously, and more often complain: so that there is nothing among men better, nothing more hateful than poverty.  Sorrow. 
I am poorer in life.  Reason. 
Thou shalt be gladder in death. There was never any man living so poor, but when he was dying, could have been contented to have lived poorer.   

Of thin Fare. The x. Dialogue.  SORROW. 
MY fare is thin.  Reason. 
Then is thy pleasure thin, and thy sobriety cleanly. Wouldst thou, upon desire to glut thy lust, and to satisfy thy dainty mouth, wish the contrary?  Sorrow. 
I far hardly.  Reason. 
Take it in good part that thou wantest the provocations of appetite, seeing thou hast in a readiness those that are sweeter, and easier both to be gotten, and to be kept: For virtue hath also her enticements. I use now Tully's word. When thou shalt once begin to chaw and taste of these, thou wilt not much pass for the other.  Sorrow. 
My fare is hard.  Reason. 
Hardness is friend unto virtue, and delicie unto vice. How many excellent men willingly abandoning pleasures, have chosen this kind of fare which thou myslykest? Whereof some when they might have fared deyntyly, took pleasure rather in feasting with bread and water? Shall we judge any man to be so wedded to pleasure, that would not extremely hate her, if he could behold with his eyes the sh●me that is wyned with her? But sweetness is a pernicious thing, a deadly enemy unto virtue, and a beastly tickling, which who so pursueth, may be a man in show, but in deed is a bruit beast. Moreover, the familiarity which is contracted with vices, and the accustoming unto them which is very hurtful, casteth a mist before men's eyesight, that they are not able to discern how fair that is which grieveth them, and how foul that which delighted them.  Sorrow. 
My fare is to short.  Reason. 
Nay rather it is to sumptuous, and thy throat is to wide. The same to see to, is but a narrow way, and in deed but one way, notwithstanding it is a wide open way for all vices to run in by unto the foul. By this way the flame of lusts, the dullness of the wit, the rage and fury of anger and chiding do enter in, and so doth also imperious desire to have, which commandeth you to suffer and do all things, so that you think them necessary, when as in deed they be hurtful, and you call that the stay of your life, which is the overthrow thereof. By this way enter in the firebrands of envy, and the implacable emulation, with disdaining minds, vaunting that there be other that serve their throat and belly aswell as you, seeking for praise there, where as shame were to be feared. To be short, by this way entereth pride, whilst the swelling belly that cannot receive itself, communicateth his swelling unto the mind, and persuadeth him that he is of some greater calling than a man, for that he hath been fed with Ambrosia and Nectar, the meat and drink of the Gods. Thus thou seest how one vice is the entry unto all, and yet if it can be shut by none other means, thou art not willing that it be made fast with the bars of poverty. O amiable poverty, that takest upon thee the office of continency: it is profitable for thee to be compelled unto that, which thou oughtest to do of thine own accord.  Sorrow. 
My slender diet maketh me leave.  Reason. 
Hadst thou rather than to swell? This leavenesse will drive the Gout out of thy bounds, it will take away the head ache, and the giddiness of the brain, and vomiting, and the hycket, and the loathsomeness of the stomach, and sweeting, and weerysomnesse of thyself, the sudden alteration of colour from paleness to redness, it will also help the strong smell of the breath, and of the whole body that is noisome unto thyself, and others. Moreover, it will moderate and repress the unstableness of thy feet, the trembling of thy hands, the shaking of thy head, and which is chief of all, it will stay thy mind itself. Wherefore then dost thou complain, since that thou hast gotten so many commodities of the body and mind, by wanting of meat, and the small discommodity of the sense of tasting, being worthy to lose them, and to be bondslave unto taste only.  Sorrow. 
Thynne diet weeryeth me.  Reason. 
The contrary would make thee weighed, unless perhaps thou call pain an ease, Hast thou not read, that the weerysomnesse of the delicate life is great, insomuch that it could not be abidden the space of five days together by men of temperate diet, and such as aspire unto higher matters than are the throat and the belly?  Sorrow. 
My fare is thine above measure.  Reason. 
There was an age, when as there was here, and yet is, a nation, among whom was most gallant fare, but when the world was waxen worse, you endeavoured also to be worst of all, being always the authors of the public decay and ruin: so that you that were the best of all other, now turning your footsteps contrariwise, are become worst of all men, and among the vices of time and places possess the highest degree.  Sorrow. 
My thine diet pleaseth me not.  Reason. 
The lovers and patrons both of virtue and pleasure, do commend a thine diet: what false opinion thou hast embraced, I do not know. Plato condemneth the Syracusian feasts, and banquets, and saith that he liketh not to have the belly filled twice in a day. Epicurus setteth his pleasure and delight in his Herbs and salads, and this diet which thou mislykest, he alloweth in words and deed: Finally, as Cicero sayeth, there was never man said more of the thine diet. If thou regard not the most famous ryngleaders of two sects, what remaineth, but that through the heat of thine error, thou follow loathsome gormandize, which is enemy unto virtue, and not friend to pleasure, which is a filthy end rather of a beast then of a man: and moreover, which I speak with disdain and grief, beasts truly devour much, but it is according to the receipt of their bellies: but you only, that are the Lords over all living creatures, both know not your own proportion, and also exceed it. Neither is it for nought that many do marvel, why in the remembrance of our fathers and grandfathers there were far fewer Vineyards than be now, but as many men or rather more, and yet notwithstanding Wines were then sold better cheap: the reason is, the thirst of the drunken sort hath every day since increased more and more.  Sorrow. 
From great fare I am fallen to small.  Reason. 
It is fortuned well, that penury hath fulfilled that, which modesty neglected. It is best for a man to do that willingly which he aught to do, and the next to do it, though it were constrainedly.   

Of Original Poverty. The xi Dialogue.  SORROW. 
YEA, I was borne in poverty.  Reason. 
Who cometh not naked out of his mother's womb? In this matter kings have no pre-eminence.  Sorrow. 
I was poor before I was borne.  Reason. 
Thou hast a good memory if thou do remember it, and a most delicate feeling if thou didst perceive it.  Sorrow. 
I was begotten in poverty.  Reason. 
Doth this complaint any thing avail thee? It was not long of thee, but of thy parents.  Sorrow. 
I was borne in poverty.  Reason. 
And shalt likewise die in poverty: thy end shallbe like thy beginning, unless perhaps thou think that the gold which thou hast in the bottom of thy chest, will cure thy sicknesses when thou liest a dying.  Sorrow. 
The beginning of my life was in poverty.  Reason. 
The middle many times possesseth false riches, but the beginning & ending are very poverty: to be borne naked, & to die naked, is the necessity of human condition. For what, I pray you, availeth the chamber hung with purple, & the funeral bed gilden, and whatsoever other pride the ambition of mankind hath devised, when a man is departing out of this world? What have these things to do, or what appertain they to the Ague, or to death itself whereof we speak, or the nakedness of them that die? Is it so, that as trappings & gallant furniture pleaseth an Horse, so do the costly hangings delight the walls? These things may please the eyes of the beholders? In things that lack sense, there may be some what that may delight others, but themselves can take no pleasure in any thing.  Sorrow. 
I was borne naked and poor.  Reason. 
Variety of fortune doth altar almost all worldly things: the same also maketh many of them equal and of like degree, whereby she may bring comfort unto the inequality of the residue: the greatest and chiefest whereof, is this equality of birth, and death. Many and sundry are the sorts of apparel which the living do wear, but nakedness only belongeth unto them that are borne, and die, but that the first sort do find out many things upon ignorance, and the other forsake all things wittingly, so that the knowledge of transitory things, aught to qualyfie the sense of so small a loss.  Sorrow. 
Naked did I enter into this wretched life.  Reason. 
While thou thinkest on that, thou shalt departed naked with a more indifferent mind.   

Of the heavy burden of many children. The xii Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Am overburdened with many children.  Reason. 
With gold and silver also weak shoulders may be overlayed, howbeit no man will complain of it, but will be glad to be so burdened. But as for children, they are accounted among the chiefest gifts of your felicity. doest thou say then that thou art overburdened, and not rather lightened by them?  Sorrow. 
I am a poor man among many children.  Reason. 
Nay rather, thy children are thy riches: then how thou canst be poor in the mids of riches, see thou. For this happeneth but only unto covetous men, and those that are unthankful for their goods.  Sorrow. 
Among a company of children; I live in beggarly need.  Reason. 
Children are not a toil, but an ease unto their Parents, an appeasing to their griefs, and a comfort in all fortunes, if they be good: otherwise there is no complaining of their number, but of their manners.  Sorrow. 
I am hemmed in with an army of Children.  Reason. 
And why not rather accompanied, defended, and beautified? Truly not Father's only, but Mothers also do term children their jewels. Hast thou not heard, how Cornelia that was daughter unto African the great, when as a very rich Gentlewoman of Campania, who by chance lodged in her house, womanlyshly glorying showed her her most precious and fair jewels, provoking Cornelia as it were unto emulation, of very purpose prolonged that talk, until such time as her children should return from School, who then were but little boys, but afterward proved excellent men: Whom when their mother beheld, turning herself towards her gheast, These, quoth she, are my jewels. Notably well said truly, and as it become the daughter of so worthy a father: but these thy ornaments, thou termest impediments.  Sorrow. 
Who is able to feed so many children.  Reason. 
He that feedeth thee from thy youth unto thine old age, who feedeth not only Men, but also fishes, and Beasts, and Foules.  Sorrow. 
But who is able to clothe the bodies of so many children.  Reason. 
He that apparrelleth not only living creatures, but also the Fields with Grass, and Flowers, and the Woods with leaves, and Branches. And how know we yet, whether these thy children perhaps shall not only feed and cloth thee, but also defend and honour thee. Of human affairs, as some that begin with pleasure, do end with sorrow and care: even so contrariwise, some that have a bitter beginning, do end pleasantly: such as for the most part is the event of all virtuous actions, which are grievous at the first entrance, but in process delectable.  Sorrow. 
I am poor, and have many children.  Reason. 
Thou marueylest, as though thou hadst not read of the plentiful poverty of men. There are sundry kinds of Trades, and divers gifts of Fortune: they happen not all unto one man: unto some wandering Merchandise, to some the rough Earth, to some dead metal, and unto thee living riches, which are Children, are allotted. And shall we reckon Oxen, and Sheep, and Asses, and camels, and flitting Bees, and Pigeons, and Poultry, and Peacocks, and likewise manservants and Women-servants, in the number of riches, and exclude Children only?  Sorrow. 
O, how many Children have I?  Reason. 
O, how many more have other had? Priamus had fifty, Orodes king of the Parthians had thirty, Artaxerxes king of the Persians had an hundred & fifteen, Erothinius king of the Arabians seven hundred, in trust and confidence of whom, invading the confines of his enemies, with several inroads he wasted the lands of Egypt and Syria. And truly it is a kind of power and force, to have many Children. But I know what thou wilt say: These whom thou hast named were all of them mighty Kings, and my state is far otherwise. Was Appius Claudius a King? Not, he was not so much as a Rich man, in that ancient time, when as it was a reproach to be counted rich, and blindness was joined with his poverty, and old age with his blindness, and yet notwithstanding Tully writing of him, Four Sons, sayeth he, and five Daughters, so great an house, and so great resort of Suitors did Appius govern, being both blind and old. Neither is it marvel that he governed well his private affairs, when as, being troubled with these discommodities, he governed also the whole Common wealth. The greater part of human defects, consisteth in the manners, not in the things. Appius' estate was not like a King, neither did he desire it, but being contented with his own calling, decked up his small house not with costly furniture, but with virtues, and maintained his family with a slender diet. And that which many Kings do unwillingly and camplayning, that did he with an indifferent mind: For he sought not for riches, but conformed his appetite to his ability. Appius had not the like wealth to king Croesus, nor to his fellow citizen Crassus, but he was happier than either of them, although his riches were less: neither did he live after a greater revenue, but as all good men do, after his own. Neither truly do I require of thee, that thou live after any other proportion, for thyself and thine, then after thine own, nor that thou feed and clothe thy family with princely meat and apparel. Prince's children feed daintily, and are bravely appareled: but they live not better, nor longer, nor pleasanter, nor, as it is well known, more safely, nor more honestly, nor more virtuously. In the steed of all these, they have one thing wherein they excel, they live more pompously, that is to say, foolyshlie. Every one hath his own manner of living and measure, but not therefore the better, because the greater: whereby it cometh to pass, that oftentimes a man shall see some merry in a Cottage, and other sad in the Court. There is one only Fountain of grace, but all are not of like capacity: that Fountain I mean, unto whom it is said, Thou openest thine hand, and fillest every living thing with thy blessing. What maketh to purpose the greatness or smallness of the vessels, when they be all of a like fullness? But poor folk lack many things: but how much more do kings want, seeing that saying of Horace is most true and approved, that, Many things are wanting to them that ask many things.  Sorrow. 
It is a grievous thing to beget many children.  Reason. 
What canst thou recite unto me under heaven, that is not painful and grievous, pleasure only excepted? then which notwithstanding, there is nothing more painful in the end, nothing that leaveth so many stings in the mind. Hast thou not read in Horace, how, This life hath given nothing unto mortalmen without great travail? Dost thou not also hear what another Poet hath written aptly touching the same matter? For when all the godly confess with one consent, that all good things are given us freely from above, he sayeth that they are not given, but sold, and the price appointed, which is labour. For thus he sayeth, The Gods cell unto us all good things for labour.  Sorrow. 
The carefulness for so many children, is troublesome unto me.  Reason. 
Is not this sentence to be numbered among the true sayings, That there can no man's life be found, that is without vexation and trouble? And likewise this, That all the whole course of life, is a torment? What have the children deserved, which if they be lacking, yet other cares will arise? Believe me, which way so ever thou turnest thyself, and whatsoever trade of fortune thou assay, troubles, and molestations, and difficulties of life will be present: and therefore what need vain lamentations?  Sorrow. 
I am oppressed with many children.  Reason. 
If thou say that thou art oppressed as it were with thine own felicity, and thou take it in evil part that the things which men do first and especially desire, have abundantly happened unto thee, this is a strange kind of impatience.  Sorrow. 
What shall I do with so many Daughters? Who shall give me so many Dowries for them?  Reason. 
There is one GOD of the Females and Males, he feedeth his sons and daughters: And as he will give them wit and arts to live by, so will he also endue them with his gifts and Dowries. Wherefore, it is so written, Trust in him, and be will do it: that which lieth in thee to do shallbe the best kind of Dowry, namely, so to bring up thy Daughters, that they may be well liked and loved by upright judgement without a Dowry. Faustina had the Roman Empire to her Dowry: and yet how many women thinkest thou have there been without Dowries, that have been more chaste & fortunate than she? It is not the Dowry that maketh the happy marriage, but the virtue. Endeavour if thou canst, that thy Daughter's money be not desired, but their honesty, but their modesty, but their integrity, but their patience, humbleness, faithfulness, and obedience: with these precious stones thy Daughters being adorned, with this gold laded, with these handmaidens accompanied, let them go into their husbands houses that are not rich men, but honest, where oftentimes shamefastness is safer, and the life sweeter, then in the Bedchambers and Courts of Princes.   

Of money lost. The xiii Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Have lost Money.  Reason. 
And with it many cares, and continual danger.  Sorrow. 
I have lost money.  Reason. 
And also the pain of keeping it, and the fear of losing it. Thus by losing thy money, thou hast found two good things, and both of them better than that which thou hast lost, to wit, carelessness, & quietness.  Sorrow. 
I have lost money.  Reason. 
It is well that it hath not lost thee, which it hath done many owners thereof: For the form of money is hurtful, the brightness thereof pestilent and venomous. And therefore like a Serpent that hath golden scales, delighting, she pleaseth the eyes, & striketh the Soul. So then, if thou be glad that thou art safely delivered from her, rejoice that that is taken away whereby thou mightest be infected, and recount also with mirth and admiration, that thou hast passed unhurt through dangers. But if thou were infected, know now, that the cause of the mischief is rooted out, whereby thou mayest return the more easily unto health.  Sorrow. 
I have lost Gold and Silver.  Reason. 
What hath an heavenly mind to do, with earthly dross? They that follow the more manly Philosophy, do not reckon gold and silver among goods: but they that profess the more effeminate learning, do call them goods, but not of the mind. Which so ever of these thou follow, these things either were not good, either were not thine, so that thou hast no cause for to complain. And if thou wilt needs have them called goods, which thing many excellent men do deny, notwithstanding thou shalt be enforced to term them Fortunes goods, and not thine. So then, neither haste thou lost any thing of thine own, neither she any thing that was hers, but only hath otherwise disposed them.  Sorrow. 
I have lost money.  Reason. 
As thou couldst not have lost it, if it had been thine, so couldst thou not lose it, not being thine: but in deed it was not thine, but his whom it hath followed, nay rather it was not his, but Fortunes, as I have said, who dareth it where she seeth cause, for some short time of occupying, for a great interest. And therefore learn now at length, to know thine own from other folks.  Sorrow. 
I have lost money.  Reason. 
If other men's losses also and not thine own only do grieve thee, & are vexed that any thing that is an others should be taken from thee, learn to get those things that are thine own for ever, which are won with more ease, and possessed with more honour and assurance. If thou wouldst seek after virtue, thou shouldest not loose her: but you are become despisers of virtue, and seekers and lovers of money: ye seem to be waxed deaf unto wholesome admonition and counsel, whatsoever hath been said by virtuous and learned men, specially against this point of human madness. Thou hast heard your Satyrike Poet protesting, For he that would be rich, and soon be rich: and unto these words he addeth, But what reverence of laws, what fear or shame is there ever in the covetous man, that desireth hastily to be rich? This saying the wise man among the Hebrews compriseth in few words: Who so, saith he, maketh haste to be rich, can not be without blame. Thou hast heard also another Countryman of yours, whether he were a Satirical, or Lyrical Poet, saying, It is neither house, nor land, not heaps of silver nor gold, that are able to expel Fevers out of the owners diseysed body, nor cares out of his mind. The self same thing, this strange wise man comprehended in few words, saying, Richesse do not help in the day of vengeance. But he told moreover what would help, Righteousness, saith he, shall deliver a man from death. Since therefore the money which thou lamentest to be lost, in time of greatest necessity can not profit the body nor mind, I marvel, either why it should so much be wished for when it is gone, or loved when it is present? With these and such other things, your Orator being moved, There is no sign so evident of a base and vile mind, saith he, as to love riches. But the ecclesiastic Orator, There is nothing, saith he, more wicked, than a covetous person: nothing more unjust, then to love money. And the authority of very many that agreed in this matter, from which there is almost none that dissent, is of such multitude and gravity, that the common people's error striveth to no purpose against the judgement of the wise. And therefore, as there is none more unjust, so is there no desire more ardent than the desire of money, as being a thing upon which men are persuaded that all things depend that can be wished for. But contrariwise, the voices of the best learned men cry out, experience and truth crieth out, the multitude of ancient and new examples crieth out, that great masses of money are profitable to none, but have been pernicious to many, are gotten with sin and toil, kept with fear and carefulness, and lost with complaint and heaviness. Let the lovers of money declare, either what falsehood is in these words, or goodness in their riches? And to the end that a thing so much commended may be uprightly considered, let every man call unto his remembrance, whatsoever he hath seen or read perfectly and sincerely concerning this matter, setting apart all regard of the common people's clamour, and the glittering of the metals. And for that all men have not had the like occasion to see and try, let those things be called to mind which are set down in writing by famous auctors, which the learned might always read and hear at their pleasure. And is it not well known, that money brought in new and unaccustomed manners, and that effeminate richesse, by means of hateful riotousness, did pervert whose ages, that before lived most commendably? And that richesse adjoined with covetousness and overflowing pleasures, through sensuality and lasciviousness, brought in the desire to overthrow and destroy all, which both by writing and effect hath often been found to be true, That the covetous man is always in need. That iron is hurtful, but gold more hurtful. That the wicked thirst of gold d th' enforce men's minds unto any mischief, and that the spirits are weakened only with the sight of money. Is not gold able to pass through a garrison of armed men, and to break stones more forcibly than a thunderbolt? and doth not hereof spring treason, both against honesty and life? By a golden shower of rain Danaès virginity was expugned, and likewise there was one cause of the overthrow of the Greek Poet Amphiareus, and his covetous wife, to wit, the fatal gold, which being well contemned, by Argia Eriphila ill wished for, and ill gotten, broke up his house, and began the occasion of horrible wickedness. Is it not most truly and properly said, that false and transitory riches can neither perform that which they promise', neither quench the thirst of the mind, but increase it, neither drive away cares, but bring them, nor relieve necessities, but increase them? And that, The love of money increaseth, as much as the money itself increaseth? And likewise this saying may be added, Money maketh no man rich, but rather contrariwise, there is no man in whom it hath not engendered a greater desire of it. And no less this, Care followeth money as it increaseth, and greater hunger of it. And again, To them that ask many things, many things are wanting: and likewise, They that possess much, do lack much. Finally, that whatsoever they be, they are not permanent and continuing, as being reposed in the hands of Fortune, subject evermore unto variable chances, and at leastwise to be lost by death. For when the rich man sleepeth, he shall carry nothing away with him: if he open his eyes, he shall find nothing, and yet he can not leave that nothing to whom he would: for why? Man passeth away in an Image, and vainly troubling himself, he heapeth up riches together, and knoweth not for whom he shall gather them. While these, and a thousand such like sayings of wise and learned men do in such sort sound about our ears, notwithstanding infinite desire to have, hath made you deaf, so that the rich men of this world are in vain admonished, not to be too highly wise nor to trust in the uncertainty of riches, but in the living GOD, who giveth all thing plenteously, to enjoy them to do good, and to become rich in good works: for they that would be rich, namely in these riches that are commonly wished for, fall into temptation and snares of the devil, and many unprofitable and hurtful lusts, that drench men in death and destruction: For covetousness is the root of all mischiefs. This counselor will they more hearken unto, than they will hear him that sayeth, Trust not in wickedness, neither covet after rapine: if riches do abound, set not thy heart upon them. Neither him more than his son, saying, Whoso trusteth in his riches, shall come to destruction. And again, not more than all these, him that is above all, whose heavenly doctrine can not be contemned but of mad and frantic persons, who truly calleth riches, and the companions of riches, pleasures, and cares, by the name of thorns, which choke the seed of wholesome words: this spoke he, in whose mouth was found no guile. The lively truth, I say, spoke this: and doest thou think that he found any faith upon the earth? Surely none at all, or but very little. And that which he termeth thorns, the world calleth chief sweetness and pleasure. And where as one saith, that pearls and precious stones, and unprofitable gold, are the matter of all mischief, they think them to be the cause of all goodness, and do all avie seek after them as the chiefest good, and above all other things. And now therefore in the streets of cities and towns, proclamation is made not mockingly. O Citizens, citizens, ye must first seek for money, and for virtue after money. And this saying also of another, Cell thy soul for gain, traffic and peruse over all parts of the world. Thus the great gift of God, that is not yet understood, but poverty that is the great reproach sent of GOD, commandeth to do, and to suffer whatsoever a man lust. And that is every day found true which another saith, You riches, which are the most vile thing of all other, you have raised a contention. For who is he, I pray you, at this day, that for a reward at convenient opportunity being laid before him, will not violate all equity, behead Polydorus, and by force enjoy his gold? Bring loving brethren, or friendly friends together, to an assembly, feast, or any manner of meeting, and shortly after let discord cast among them, I say not an whole, but a piece of a golden Apple: for with these weapons she was wont to try the quarrel, but now with swords, serious and trifling matters are debated. And like as there is nothing gotten with more wickedness than gold, so to speak to my purpose, there is nothing lost with more heaviness. For sin, which is a present destruction to the soul, is contemned, and the next to that, which is loss of good name, is not regarded, and loss of time is esteemed as a light matter. The loss of brethren is slenderly lamented, of parents more slenderly, and of wives most slenderly, and many times is taken most joyfully: only the loss of riches most grievously. And this saying is very true, Lost money is bewailed with true tears. But we have said much of that, whereof we can never say enough, but never a little, or always to little is said: for by talking with obstinate minds, concerning the love of money, there is nothing else purchased by teaching of them, but hatred and contempt: for whatsoever gainsayeth the common errors, is reputed mad or counterfeit.  Sorrow. 
I have lost money.  Reason. 
Thou art awaked, thou didst but dream only that thou waste rich.  Sorrow. 
My money which I loved is gone.  Reason. 
It is neither the love nor hatred of money that I commend, but the study of good husbandry, and the eschewing of covetousness: For as it is the part of a base mind to love it, so not to be able to sustain it, is the imperfection of a weak spirit, that hath small stay in itself, and is afraid to be subject unto money. Valiant is he, sayeth Anneus Seneca. that useth earthen vessels as he would do silver: and no less courageous is be that useth silver as he would do earthen vessels: that thou mayest understand, that whether it be vice or virtue, it is not in the things, but in the minds. It is not the hater nor lover of money, but the contemner of it when it is absent, and the good Steward and user of it when it is present, whom thou must count to be a worthy parsonage. This saying did Tully write from my mouth: For when he had said that the love of riches apparteyned unto a vile and base mind, he added, And there is nothing more honest and magnifical, then to contemn money if thou have it not, and if thou have it, to use it beneficially and liberally. In a plain matter I use evident witnesses, and I would to GOD that I and they could be beleeeved: then should not mankind in each respect, and in all matters, be so deaf and unbelieving. The unsatiable toiling of men, their greediness to seek, and their searching through all lands and Seas, do prove that covetousness, and the love and desire of riches, have proclaimed open war, not only against virtues, but also against life.  Sorrow. 
I have lost a great sum of money.  Reason. 
A great, and hard, and grievous weight, and also the office of a Keeper, as I said before: for the proud desire to have, of Lords and owners, hath made you Keepers, commanding you to do and suffer all things, only to the end that money may be gotten and hoardward up. And so that which was first invented to serve men's uses and necessities, is converted to their fear and carefulness. To be grieved, and vexed, and with dread to behold the burning of other men's houses, to stand in doubt of the treachery of thieves, and the running away of servants, neither to do good unto a man's self, nor to other, but only to hung your noses over your gold, which serveth you to no purpose, these be your riches.  Sorrow. 
Some body, I know not who, hath taken away my money, which I had at home.  Reason. 
Truly, it is vile, transitory, and not a man's own, which may be stolen, or taken away by force.  Sorrow. 
I cannot find my money, which I sealed up in my bags.  Reason. 
I will tell thee a story that is not very old. There was, not long since in Italy, a certain noble and worthy Gentleman, rich in ancient possessions, but richer in virtues, howbeit not so in money, who in such sort governed his money which he had, as one that had learned to be the Lord and disposer, not the keeper thereof: he had a son, that was his eldest, who was very apt and industrious in affairs appertaining to the judicial Court, and civil controversies, insomuch that through diligence and sparing, he had gotten together great riches, and an huge mass of gold: and it was a strange matter to behold in the ancient father youthly bountifulness, and in the young son aged niggishnesse: His father often times exhorted him not to defraud himself of that which was his own, not to forget to have regard of godliness, and of his estimation, neither that in respect of gold he should be careless of his honour and honesty, of his duty and right, which nature required at his hand: and finally, that he would so dispose and conform himself, that with his riches he might at last help himself, his old mother, his young brethren and kinsfolk, and the poor, to which end riches were gotten, and not to be watched and warded, and as it were to be a continual punishment to the owners. Thus spoke his father oftentimes unto him. But the old proverb is true, It is a vain labour to tell a tale to one that is deaf, or a covetous person. Now it happened, not long time after, that this young man was sent abroad about affairs of the common wealth, and with certain special and choice men travailed about business unto the Pope of Rome, and when he was departed, his father immediately taking the occasion, making new keys unto the doors of his chamber and chest, entered in, and took away the Treasure out of that lurking Den whereas it lay and profited no body, and very bravely appareled himself therewith, and his wife, and his children, and all his family: He bought himself also goodly Horses, Place, and gorgeous household stuff, and lastly a very fair house and large, but nothing trim, which he enlarged with new buildings; and furnished it with most beautiful pictures, and all other implements, which a gentleman's estate, and a plentiful life required: & moreover he gave much a way to the poor. And as for the bags in which his sons gold had been, he filled them full of sand and gravel of the river, and sealing them up safely, left them where he found them, and made every thing fast, and so departed. All these things were done in short time, for that the good old man had a willing mind, and the money also was in a readiness. Now when the son was returned home, his brethren went forth to meet him: at the sight of whom he was suddenly amazed, wondering at their apparel, and other furniture, which was far altered from that is was wont to be: Whereupon he demanded of them where they had so fair garments, and those goodly Horses: Who joyfully, and in childish simplicity, answered, that all was my Lord their fathers, and that he had many more fair Horses at home in his Stable: And moreover that their father and mother were sumptuously appareled, and had great store of Princely garments. Wherefore he began more and more to wonder at every thing. From thence proceeding, when he came within his father's house, he scarce knew his Parents, nor so much as the very walls of the house: whereat being not in a simple admiration, but rather distracted in mind, and as it were in a trance, he went hastily unto his Coffer, where when he saw nothing changed unto outward appearance, he some deal contented his mind for that present. And because that the presence and haste which his Collegenesse made to departed, would not permit him to make farther delay, he suddenly opened his Coffer, wherein beholding his bags fast shut, and stuffed full as they were wont to be, he forced no more, but so departed. Shortly after, when as his public function was finished, he came home, and going into his chamber, shut the door unto him, and opened his Coffer, and searched his bags, and finding his gold to be turned into sand, he made a loud outcry. His father came running hastily, and, What is the matter, son, quoth he, that thou criest out and weepest? O father, saith he, I have lost my money, which with so much watching, labour, and travail, I had gotten together and laid up in these bags, and I am rob thereof even in your house. How art thou rob, answered his father? Do I not see thy bags strutting full? But, O father, said he, weeping, it is sand, and not money: and with that he opened the bags, and showed it unto his father. Then answered the old man, with a countenance nothing changed, What skilleth it, son, to thee, whether they be full of sand or money? A notable saying truly, and proceeding from a singular judgement: For unto many, money is unprofitable and without use, and doth them none other good, but filleth a room, and occupieth their minds, and among most men it is wickedly used, and but among very few employed to good purposes.  Sorrow. 
I have lost my money which I loved.  Reason. 
Thou art released of a filthy love: For the love of money is covetousness: The less thou lovest it, the less thou shalt desire it. For the saying of the Satiryke Poet is found by experience to be true, That he wisheth lest for money, that hath lest money: and the loss of that is to be wished, yea, if it were some great good thing, unto which a greater mischief is inseparably joined.  Sorrow. 
I have lost my sweet succour and stay of my life.  Reason. 
How knowest thou whether it would have been a bitter destruction or not? Many more have perished by means of riches, then of poverty.   

Of Suretishyp. The xiiii Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I AM molested with Suretishyppe.  Reason. 
Thou complaynedst erewhile of the loss of thy money, and now thou complainest of the casting of it away. Hast thou not by willing entering into bands, thrown away thy money? This is a common madness among the greater sort of people, by means whereof a man may soon lose both his money and his friend.  Sorrow. 
I have given my faith and troth for another.  Reason. 
Thou shalt break it for thyself, and to thine own hindrance and loss shalt learn, how pleasant a thing it is to own nothing, and live out of prison and fetters.  Sorrow. 
I have given my word in assurance for my friend.  Reason. 
Hence forth give unto thy poor friends, gold, silver, Wine, Oil, Corn, Cloth, Houses, Farms, counsel and comfort, finally divide all that thou hast among them, only keep unto thyself thy sweet liberty, which thou shalt never give to nor for any other.  Sorrow. 
I have given my word for another: and the day of payment is come.  Reason. 
didst thou not know that it would come? or didst thou not hope to live so long, or at lest thine heir, whom thou hast wrapped in voluntary bands? But it happeneth well, that the punishment of the error, falleth upon his pate that committed the error. But I know that it was the deferring that deceived thee. The mean time between the day of promise and the day of payment, you measure vainly in your mind, which as other times do, do seem long, but when they be once past, appear to have been very short: For away fly the hours, the days, the nights, weeks, months, years, cyrcuites of seven years, ages, and whatsoever seemeth to be farthest of, is even at hand: insomuch as that which you now behold amazed, within the compass of a few months, if your eyes were open, you should clearly discern through many ages: but you, as if you had the time at your commandment, and it were not governed by it own nature, imagine that your prefixed time will never come, nor the days pass away: and in this hope, as it were, with closed eyes passing over the headlong downfall, ye seem unto yourselves to be pleasant and courteous in words, undertaking for others, as though these words and private promises would not soon come abroad to light, and bring great trouble and hurly burly with them.  Sorrow. 
I am become Surety for my friend.  Reason. 
Thou knowest that a man's friends want, if his friend have wherewithal, must be with present supply relieved. But do not thou encumber thyself, neither promise any thing against to morrow: which thing I would not speak, if there could none other shift be made then by promising. For to what purpose is it to promise? If thou canst not perform, thou doest foolishly: if thou canst, thou doest superfluously. But you are most covetous of the things, and most lavish of your promises, as though in deed those promises did not require the things themselves. But if thou answer me, that at that present thou hadst not wherewithal to help him, and waste in hope thou shouldest have shortly after, whereof thou wast deceived: then hadst thou not learned sufficiently, that hope is the most deceitful thing in the world. You shall find nothing that deceiveth you so often, and yet is there nothing that you believe so willingly, she is so crafty and flattering, so sweetly and setretly she insinuateth herself, and is hardly pulled from you.  Sorrow. 
I am become a surety.  Reason. 
I think thou hadst forgotten the notable precept of Thales Milesius, It is a loss to enter into Suretyship: and also that which the wise man said, which I suppose not unprofitable to be recited, which being translated into Latin by the poet Ausonius, soundeth after this manner, Become surety, saith he, and thou art near a shrewd turn. I could recite a thousand examples, to prove that promisers, undertakers, & sureties, are worthy to taste of repentance, but I will touch none by name. Let every man certify himself of the truth, & recount with himself, what great loss hath happened unto many by means of suretishyppe.  Sorrow. 
I have done amiss by voluntary binding myself.  Reason. 
This trespass shall not need the fire of Purgatory after thy decease, it shallbe purged where it was committed: For it is of the kind of offences that carry their Purgatory with them.  Sorrow. 
I have bound myself by my promise.  Reason. 
Release thyself then by payment, and let the hand discharge him whom his tongue hath wrapped in bands: and it shall do thee good to have been bound, for when thou hast once escaped, thou wilt always the more abhor hamperinges.   

Of loss of time. The xu Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Lament the loss of my tyme.  Reason. 
This complaint were more just, then that is which goeth before, for that the loss of money is of smaller account than is the loss of time, forasmuch as money is not so necessary unto well living, and when it is lost it may be recovered, but time is necessary and can never be recalled, but only that money is taken from men against their wills, and they suffer their time to run away willingly. And therefore although I confess that those losses are the greater which the fault of him that sustaineth them doth increase and make greater: notwithstanding I deny that there is just cause of complaint, where he that suffereth any thing, suffereth it willingly.  Sorrow. 
I lose my time unwillingly.  Reason. 
Who shall constrain one that is unwilling, but only covetousness, that is mother unto business? This vice only saith Terence, doth old age bring unto men: we are all the sort of us more near and covetous than reason requireth. Herein he toucheth old men: And truly in this niggyshnesse, all are become old men. For covetousness hath invaded all ages, all states, all sexes, and shorteneth the time, and abrydgeth the miserable days of wretched mortal men. While you be busy about this one thing, ye consume your whole life, being unmindful, in a manner, both of yourselves, and your pleasures: which plague if it infected men against their wills, than might time also be taken from a man against his will, and the complaint were reasonable for the loss of so precious a thing.  Sorrow. 
It is not covetousness that snatcheth away my time, but necessity.  Reason. 
What necessity, I pray thee is this, which is able to take that from thee, which is only thine own? I speak this, for that riches, honour, power, authority, sovereignty, and such like, Fortune giveth and taketh away at her pleasure, but time she can not take from any, contrary to their liking, but it slideth away by little and little, though a man employ it not, and by small and small consumeth quite away: Neither do you attend it, until it be gone, than your complaints do resound, but too late and to no purpose, then lament ye the loss of your time, but you say nothing of your own fault.  Sorrow. 
Only necessity constrained me to lose my tyme.  Reason. 
I demand again of thee, what urgent necessity was it, unless that while thou wast busied about thy Lords and masters afayres, thou neglectedst thine own, as though covetousness and unsatiable desire of gain were not the only matter that enforced thee thereunto? Lay aside thine own desires, and thou shalt no longer obey thy Lords and masters desires. But this incurable poison is so dispersed throughout your Veins, and crept into the principal parts of your bodies, that it dulleth your senses, and stealeth from you not your time only, but also your liberty and life, while you perceive no such matter. But if haply thou hast not bestowed thy time in pursuing of thine own covetousness, or of others, but in the honest affairs of thy Common wealth, this is no losing of time, but a commendable employing of the most precious thing, upon the most dearest thing that is in all the world, wherein thou hast discharged the duty of a good man, and of a notable Citizen: Although I am not ignorant, that the common sore of men do call that time lost, which is not bestowed upon covetousness, when as in truth that is the lost time which is bestowed upon it: and how know we, whether thou mean the loss of thy time after the common manner of speaking? Which if I thought to be so, leaving of the salving of so incurable a sore, I would confess that it is not thy time, but thou thyself that art utterly lost and cast away. But if so be, as I could rather wish, thou wouldst, I say not give, but tender thy time unto thy GOD, which thou canst not do without true godliness, know then, that this were a great and inestimable lucre: For, by the expense of a little time, thou shouldest gain immortality: And what Merchant is he, that ever happened upon the like fortunate exchange?  Sorrow. 
The cause of my losing of my time is far other.  Reason. 
I understand not what cause thou meanest: for if thou thinkest that thou wast constrained thereunto by means of anger, or sorrow, or love, or any other passion of the mind, thou art deceived. For there is the like reason in them, and in covetousness, whereof I spoke erewhile, they be all voluntary, and none of them constrained. For that is evident unto common sense, and by Tulliè disputed in many places, and very often repeated. If none of these be the cause, what is it other than sl●uth and idleness? And so we come to that which Seneca sayeth, Most shameful is that loss, which cometh through negligence.  Sorrow. 
Woeful necessity constrained me to lose my tyme.  Reason. 
Yet I understand not the matter: For, if thine enemy have thee in hold, if death be at hand, these things I confess may hinder good actions, but not virtuous and godly thoughts, which in that state are most eminent, and apparent. In which cares and cogitations truly the time is not lost, I know not whether less in any other thing: which cogitations truly may either go into Regulus barrel, or Phalaris Bull, or go up upon Theodorus Cyrenensis Gallows, and no body let them. Thus which way foever thou turnest thyself, the blame of losing thy time, shall be returned upon thyself. Howbeit you, according to your custom, accusing nature for making the time transitory, although here be nothing eternal, acquit yourselves of every thing, when as in deed ye be guilty of all. For all of you, for the most part, do lose your time, or rather cast it away, and contemn it as a vile thing, and nothing worth, which I would God you would bestow in seeking after virtue and glory, and not always in infamy and everlasting reproach, although to speak truly, whatsoever is not converted to the use that it was ordained for, may be said to be lost. To this end it is evident that man was borne, and had the benefice of time given him, that he might honour and love his Creator, and think upon him: and whatsoever is done beside this, is doubtless lost, and cast away.   

Of unfortunate playing at Tables. The xuj. Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Have lost at Table playing.  Reason. 
Did I not tell thee when thou wonnest, that it was but uzurie, and not gain?  Sorrow. 
I am drawn dry with gaming.  Reason. 
This game is of the same quality that Physicians be, by ministering of a lule, to draw forth a great deal: but believe me, thou hast more cause now to rejoice, then when thou triumphedst with false joy. Better is sharp chastisement, then deceitful flattery. The little vantage which thou gottest then, did bring thee unto the whirlpool of gaming now, and this loss will reclaim thee thence again. It is better to go the right way with a foul bridle, then to be driven into a pit out of the way with a golden pair of reigns.  Sorrow. 
I have lost at tables.  Reason. 
But thou hast won at the game of manners, if what thou hast done thou mark diligently: otherwise good medicines were in vain gathered together for an incurable disease, if neither loss nor shame could revoke thee from this bottomless pit of destruction: for when as experience bringeth no profit, there is it in vain to seek to do good with words.   

Of her unto whom one was assured, judged unto another. The xvii Dialogue.  SORROW. 
THe judges sentence have taken from me her, to whom I was assured.  Reason. 
Sentences of judges have been against some deceitful, against some plainly wrongful.  Sorrow. 
I have lost her, to whom I was assured, by a verdict of Court.  Reason. 
Some by craft, and some by sword, and which is a means of all other most shameful, some have lost their wives by gold. A man hath nothing that is his own: at the one side is theft, on the other deceit, than rapine, next prayers, than money, and last of all, death. By this wheel, the government of temporal goods is turned up and down, and that which was one's, becometh another's, and anon shall pass to the third: which if it be to be borne withal in profitable things, in hurtful and noisome things it is to be rejoiced at. And what marvel is it, if human things be turned up and down, seeing man himself is turned, and standeth not still, but as it is written, cometh forth as a Flower, and is trodden down, and flieth away like a shadow, and never continueth in one state: Thou complainest that thou hast lost her, to whom thou wast assured, who in passing away, & every day decreasing, doest continually lose thyself.  Sorrow. 
I have lost in judgement her, to whom I was assured.  Reason. 
Some contend in the field: but it is safer to contend in law then in war, with sedules then with swords. Thou hast read in Virgil, what strife and contention there was between Laviniaès suitors, and what was the end of the war? The wife followeth the conqueror, and death followeth him that is conquered: thou hast lost thy spouse, and saved thy life.  Sorrow. 
The judge hath bereft me of my spouse.  Reason. 
An Adulter or a Thief perhaps would have taken her away. It is a lighter matter to lose her whom a man is assured unto, then to lose his true wife: For in the one, hope only is lost: in the other, a thing certain. Less is the loss of a thing hoped for, than a thing in possession, and to speak the same otherwise, of hope, then of an effect.  Sorrow. 
In judgement have I lost my beloved spouse.  Reason. 
Thou hast not lost her, but hast learned that she was not thine.  Sorrow. 
I have lost her, unto whom I was betrothed.  Reason. 
He that looseth his wife, is delivered of many cares, but he that looseth his spouse, is preserved: both of these are good, but the second is the better. And why should it not be the better, forasmuch as it is the next thing, either not to have any wound at all, or to have a present remedy to cure it. But you being carried forth by the force of your mind, and led along by great and blind desire, do wish for marriage, which when you be entered into, then do your vex you selves with continual grief and complaints, and then repent you of the deed, when it can not be undone, and when your repentance is unprofitable, and cometh too late.  Sorrow. 
I have lost her, unto whom I was assured, and the hope which I had of children.  Reason. 
mingle not together lamentations of sundry kinds: for that whereof thou spakest last, is another part of the rash desire of mortal men. For this it is, ye desire to be married, and to have issue by your wives: but the gods do not grant always unto men that which shall please them, but that which shall profit them. Thou remember'st in Apuleius Madaurensis, how that the poor Maiden, that was fallen into the thieves hands, with the reigns of her bridle turned the miserable Ass, upon which she road, into that part of the three ways in which there was most danger, but he forced to go the contrary, whereas it was the safest way, and covertly reproved the foolish wench that hasted forward to her own hindrance: But in the mean while that they were thus striving, the thieves, whom they thought they had escaped, came rushing upon them, by whom the Maiden, who so carefully contended for her own destruction, was carried away into woeful captivity. Not much unlike to this is the contention between the providence of GOD, and the folly of man, concerning the journeying and passing forth of this life: For the providence of GOD, which is of things that are to come, driveth you thither, where all things are pleasant and without danger, against which striveth your blind foolishness, which favoureth her own wretchedness, in obeying and giving credit unto such mischiefs as might well be avoided, until sudden miseries catch you by the backs.  Sorrow. 
I am overthrown in the Law, and have lost her, unto whom I was made sure.  Reason. 
Thou art worthy to have won: for when two strive for one woman, he that hath her, looseth, and he that hath won her, is overcome, and he that is overcome, is a conqueror, and a free man at his own liberty.   

Of the loss of a man's wife. The xviii Dialogue.  SORROW. 
ALas, I have lost my wife.  Reason. 
O froward disposition, and strange nature of a man, that weepest at the burial of thy wife, and dauncedst when thou wast married unto her?  Sorrow. 
I have lost my wife.  Reason. 
O mad man, sing the bridal song: It is now time to wear Crowns and Garlands, and to be decked with special Flowers and Nosegays, dispatch, and make an end. Thou hast gotten the upper hand in a dangerous conflict, and art delivered from a long besieging.  Sorrow. 
I have lost my wife.  Reason. 
Thou meanest that thou hast lost her, in that signification, that men say they have lost an Ague, or a bile, or Scabs. And sometime it is a kind of gain, to lose.  Sorrow. 
I have lost my wife.  Reason. 
Perhaps thou never gaynedst more upon one day: out of what fetters art thou escaped? From what shipwreck hast thou swum to shore?  Sorrow. 
But I have lost a good wife.  Reason. 
All men use to say so, yea they that know the contrary: and although a good wife, or rather a good woman, be a rare and strange creature upon the earth, notwithstanding to avoid altercation, I will grant thee that thou hast lost such a wife as thou speakest of: neither will I therefore answer thee, as once I answered in Seneca, while this same question was handled, to wit, That if thou madest her good, thou mayest make another good: and if thou foundest her good, thou mayest find another good. But I change mine opinion, for I would not have thee often to assay so dangerous a matter, which although it have once happily chanced, yet were it folly to adventure it many times: An evil woman shall sooner find an hundred, than a good woman find one like to herself. And therefore, who so hath had an evil wife, let him be afeard of such another: and he that hath had a good one, let him not hope for the like: but let both of them take heed, the one, that he increase not his misery, the other, that he impair not his felicity. Thus every way, it is best to abstain from second marriage. And therefore now, if thou have lost a good wife, as thou sayest, rejoice rather for that which is past, then conceive hope for that which is to come, neither commit thy ship often to the wind, because thou hast often arrived safe at the shore.  Sorrow. 
Death hath loosed the band of wedlock, wherewith I was bounden.  Reason. 
Bind not thyself again: think with thyself how excellent and incomparable a thing liberty is, and embrace the counsel of Cicero, who when he had an old wife, of heart of oak, of whose death there was no hope to be conceived, he sued a divorce, and was dismissed from her: But when his friends exhorted him to marry another, he answered, That he could not attend both a wife, and also the study of wisdom.  Sorrow. 
I have lost a good wife.  Reason. 
How if this be no loss, but a gain, and an avoiding of great danger? For as a man may haply find a good wife, so where shall he seek for a constant wife? Well known is the saying of the worthy Poet, Women be always divers, and changeable.  Sorrow. 
I have lost a good wife, and in her flooryshing years.  Reason. 
Art thou not then sufficiently acquainted with the manners of women? How many chaste young women do we see to become wanton old wives? For when the heat of lechery once taketh hold in the bones of an old jade, it burneth the more violently, as it were fire in dry wood. And now thou hast avoided the alteration of life that was at hand, or else to the end thou wouldst be out of danger, thou hast made provision to eschew the burden and tediousness of old age approaching. The yoke of marriage is grievous unto young men, but most grievous, hard, and importable unto old men.  Sorrow. 
I have lost a young wife.  Reason. 
Whether issue be sought for by marriage, or else pleasure, whereof the one belongeth unto an husband, the other to a lascivious person, youth is aptest unto them both: but whether thou rceivedst the first of these of thy wife, or the second, thou wast desirous she should come to that age in which she should be unmeet for them both: or whether thou hopedst that she that was by nature become unfit for these matters, could be amended by old age: which truly was but a vain expectation, and a foolish hope.  Sorrow. 
Having lost my sweet wife, I am now alone.  Reason. 
It is a good solitariness, to be without evil company. There is nothing softer than an empty bed, nor harder, than when it is filled with twain, specially unto a busied mind, and him that loveth sweet sleeps, and resteth in the contemplation of some great and excellent matter in his mind: for there is nothing more enemy unto notable attempts, than the company of a woman. But I am not ignorant, what is wont to be said against this, by such as take pleasure in their own misery, They that know not marriage, say they, condemn marriage: and as it is said in the common Proverb, Batchelars wives shall be beaten, and well taught: but I say contrary, that there are none that use to complain of marriage, as far as ever I heard, but such as have borne the burden of marriage.  Sorrow. 
I have lost a very good wife.  Reason. 
And even those that seem to be best and most loving to their husbands, sometime will burn with jealousy and suspicion more fervently than any other, by means whereof, domestical peace must needs become on fire. To what end therefore is thy complaint? Thou hast lost thy wife, and found thy liberty, a single life, peace, sleep, quietness: Now shalt thou pass forth the night without brawling.  Sorrow. 
I am without a wife.  Reason. 
And also without an adversaris: Now shalt thou begin to be Lord and Master, both of thyself, and thine. Thou mayest arise in the morning, and go forth when thou wilt, and come home again at night as late as thou lust: thou mayest be alone all the day, or keep company with whom thou please, and there shallbe none to control thee.  Sorrow. 
I have lost my wife.  Reason. 
Thou mayest now revoke thy liberty and quietness into thy chamber, which of late thou hadst lost and exiled, that shallbe unto thee a companion more profitable than any wife.  Sorrow. 
I have lost a good and a fair wife.  Reason. 
It is the part of a fool to love his fetters, yea, though they were made of gold.   

Of a shrewyshe wife. The xix Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Have a shrewyshe wife.  Reason. 
It were better for thee thou hadst lost her: and even now thou complaynedst that thou hadst lost her in deed.  Sorrow. 
I have an unquiet wife.  Reason. 
For the first trouble that a man cometh into, perhaps he is to be pardoned or pitied, but for the second time he is to be blamed: and he that is not sufficiently plagued with one wife, is worthy to have many.  Sorrow. 
I have a shrewd wife.  Reason. 
In other matters thou mayst some deal blame fortune, but in choice of a wife, specially of a second wife, thou canst blame none but thyself, for thou hast procured this mischief unto thyself.  Sorrow. 
I suffer a malapert wife.  Reason. 
Set on fire wet chaff, break thy tiles, and for other matters thou art provided for: thus shalt thou have sufficient means to drive thee out of thy doors, to wit, smoke, rain, & thy shrewyshe wife.  Sorrow. 
I have an untrusty wife.  Reason. 
Then art thou not without danger: The wives of Agamemnon and Scipio Affricane made away with their husbands, that in the mean while I may speak nothing of Amphiareus, of Deiphobus, and of Samson, with others, overlong and many to be recited. But as for the other sort, they are innumeble, whose wives neither constrained their husbands to die, nor suffered them to live.  Sorrow. 
Thou tellest me of mischiefs that are very well known, but I seek for remedy.  Reason. 
There be some that in this race would give thee counsel to chastise her, and by correction to bring her manners from worse to better, and in that only to apply thy diligence: but what is mine opinion herein? Truly to chastise her, if chastisement will avail, but if it be in vain, then to arm thyself with patience, to endeavour thyself to love her, and that which thou art constrained to do, to do it willingly. Vacro hath written a Satire▪ which they call Menippea, concerning the duty of an husband, there shalt thou read the short, but effectual counsel of that learned man concerning this matter, expressed in these words, The wives fault must either be taken away, that is to say, corrected, or suffered. And this reason of the saying, though short, yet sine, is likewise alleged, He that taketh away the fault, saith he, maketh his wife more tolerable, but be that suffereth it, maketh himself the better. Which saying some other writers have thus interpreted: That this fault in a man's wife if it cannot be corrected, must be borne withal, which a man may well do with honesty enough, for that an inconvenience is better than a mischief: and this they say was only Varroes' meaning.  Sorrow. 
My wife is malapert and unquiet.  Reason. 
Suffer her manners if they can be changed, and how thou shalt live abroad, learn at home with Socrates. And since that he endured twain at once, and other have abidden more together, do not thou fall to the ground under one burden.  Sorrow. 
I have an unquiet wife.  Reason. 
Unto whom may it not happen to have an unquiet wife, unless it be to him that altogether abstaineth from marriage? since that Hadriane the Emperor, and the most excellent and courteous Prince Augustus, the one having to wife Sabina, the other Scribonia, were both troubled with crabbed and unquiet pieces, and of very rough behaviour, well deserving to be divorced: and Cato likewise, surnamed Censorius, being a man of so severe and invincible a mind as he was, happened to marry with one called Paula, a fierce and proud woman, and, that thou mayest marvel the more at the matter, descended of a base and obscure family: which I do note the rather, to the intent that no man may hope that he can escape the troubles of marriage either by matching with a wife of a base stock, or poor calling, other wise then by keeping himself always unmarried: but those which he cannot escape, set him learn to bear them with patience, and not vex himself with kicking and striving against them, and boastyngly sha●pen that yoke which he hath willingly undertaken.  Sorrow. 
I suffer an importunate, and an untamed wife.  Reason. 
Thou doest well, for that must be borne which cannot be laid down, yea, although it do wring.  Sorrow. 
I have a most unquiet wife.  Reason. 
Thou hast an occasion whereby to win the commendation of patience, whereby to wish for quietness, whereby to love to travail from home, and to be loathe to return, where both thy tongue and thy stick must needs be walking.   

Of the stealing away of a man's wife. The twenty Dialogue.  SORROW. 
MY wife is stolen away.  Reason. 
All violence, I confess, is grievous unto him that suffereth it: but if thou consider of this matter indifferently, I pray thee what cause of grief bringeth it? forasmuch as if thy wife were an unquiet woman, the losing of her is the releasing from a painful hurden.  Sorrow. 
My wife is stolen away.  Reason. 
If he be rewarded that cureth some grief of the body, what is he worthy to have that relieveth the troubles of the mind? If a Physician should free thee of a Tertian Fever, thou wouldst give him both thanks and money: and what wilt thou now give him that hath rid thee of a Cotidian?  Sorrow. 
My wife is taken from me.  Reason. 
Thou knowest not how much thou art beholden to him that hath taken her away, great care, and perpetual brawling, and perhaps also no small danger, is with thy wife departed out of thy doors. Many have been destroyed, who doubtless had lived, if that by stealing or otherwise they had lost their wives: among the mischiefs of this life, there is none worse than domestical disagreement.  Sorrow. 
My wife is stolen away, and gone.  Reason. 
If she be forcibly carried away, forgive her: but if she be gone willingly, by one deed thou art doubly revenged: For the Harlot is gone to her Knave, and he hath carried that, which annoyed thee, into his own house. For what manner of woman may her sweet heart hope that she will be unto him, that hath showed herself so loving and trusty to her husband?  Sorrow. 
My wife is gone willingly with him that carried her away.  Reason. 
Let him alone awhile: it will not be long before he be weighed of that which troubled thee. If men would consider with themselves, what they go about before they commit any wicked deed, they would not throw themselves down headlong so hastily into offences: But now the repentance that followeth them, condemneth their fervent appetites. You see nothing but that which is done, your eyes are in your back, your face is blind.  Sorrow. 
My wife is stolen from me.  Reason. 
This kind of miurie not so much as kings could escape: for Masinissa stole away Syphax wife, and so did Herode Philips.  Sorrow. 
My wife is stolen away.  Reason. 
That which hath once happened unto thee, happened twice unto Menelaus.   

Of an unchaste wife. The xxi Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Have an unchaste wife at home.  Reason. 
It were better that she were stolen away, or were a shrew, and of rough manners, rather than of wanton and dishonest behaviour: Notwithstanding, who so is of a lively spirit, and valiant courage, and contemneth all mortal things, must endure whatsoever may happen. men's miseries are innumerable, against all which only virtue is opposed.  Sorrow. 
I have a dishonest wife.  Reason. 
Notable and excellent chastity, hath made certain matrons to arrogant. She feareth nothing, who is guilty to herself of nothing. And therefore that discommodity bringeth this benefit with it, that she will begin now hereafter to be less saucy and insolent: For a guilty conscience abateth the swelling pride of a woman's mind, and commonly she that knoweth that she hath trod her shoe awry, willbe afterward the more serviceable to her husband.  Sorrow. 
I have a wanton wife.  Reason. 
Thou must not wonder at that if she be fair, & if she be foul thou needest not care for it.  Sorrow. 
My wife is incontinent.  Reason. 
When a man bringeth a fair wife into his house, he aught also to remember the saying of the Satiryke Poet, Beauty and honesty do seldom dwell to gather: but if she be a foul slut, and do so abuse herself, thou mayest rejoice that thou hast found so just a cause to be divorced from her.  Sorrow. 
My wife hath committed adultery.  Reason. 
Adultery many times happeneth upon overhasty desire of marriage, and often times also it is the punishment of another man's adultery, and the more just if it be of many. Recount with thyself, whether thou ever didst that unto another, whereby thou mayest think this worthily done unto thee. It is an unjust and an unreasonable complaint, to be grieved to suffer that, which thyself hast done: and the moral law willeth to look for that at another man's hands, which thou hast done to another: and to do that unto another, which thou wouldst have him do unto thee: truly, it is so excellent a law, that the Heathen have commended it, being led thereunto by the indifferency and gravity of the saying. But the licentiousness of human wantonness, being the repealer of all wholesome laws, doth utterly confound all right and wrong. And thus then it happeneth, that adulterers sometime do meet together, who when they have defiled their neighbours wives, yet can they not abide their own wives so much as once to be seen in open street: and if they perceive that any man doth but look upon them, they will immediately be ready to run mad for iclousie: So severe unto others, so partial unto himself, so undiscrete a considerer of matters is every particular man.  Sorrow. 
My wife hath broken her wifely fidelity towards me.  Reason. 
See that thou break not the same, not only unto other married men, but also unto thine own wife. For there be some that require that of their wives, which they themselves do not perform, excusing their wantonness under the title of dalliance, & punishing the same in others most severely as a most grievous offence, who in giving all liberty to themselves, deny all things unto other. Most unequal judges, who being themselves unchaste, do give sentence against incontinency in others, and themselves will do what they lust without controlment, and are carried away after uncertain and wandering venery, as if they were subject to no law. If the poor wife do but look a little awry, she is strait ways accused of whoredom: as though their husbands were their masters, and not their husbands, and they not their wives and fellows in the house and family both of GOD and man, but were rather their handmaidens taken prisoners in battle, or bought for money: and as though thy wife aught thee more service, or fidelity, than thou her: for there aught to be like duty, equal love, and mutual fidelity in marriage. I excuse not wives, but I accuse husbands, and put them in the greatest part of the blame. And many times the husband is an example, and procurer of his wife unto folly, and many times there hath risen the beginning of the mischief, where aught to have been the remedy: although shamefastness be the proper ornament of a woman, and wisdom and constancy the peculiar commendation of a man. And therefore all folly and lightness of mind, is by so much the more foul in aman then in a woman, by how much gravity is the more required in a man.  Sorrow. 
I am heavy for my wives whoredom.  Reason. 
A common sorrow, an ancient injury, and no less frequented. For (alas I speak it with bitter grief) Marriage is not more commonly used, then is whoredom: and to speak in few words, it is a thing, as one sayeth, which can neither be suffered, nor prohibited, for that honesty forbiddeth the one, 
The author speaketh of his abominable country.  and lechery the other. doest thou look then to have thine only woman wholly to thyself, which thing could never happen, not not to the most cruel Tyrants that ever were, nor to the most mighty Princes that ever reigned, not in thine age only, but in any heretofore? I omit late examples, lest haply I offend some that are living at this present, it were better to strike Hercules, than a Clown of the Country: neither will I touch all ancient examples, but spare the good name and estimation of the most dread and noble men. But thou knowest them well, and although they say nothing, yet repress thou thy mourning, or else peruse the City, search near hand among thy neighbours, and at each hand thou shalt found plenty, that either lament the loss of their good name, and the abandoned fidelity of their marriage bed, or that, contrary to their opinion, are laughed to scorn of the common people. These things are ordinary, not only to be heard with ears, but also to be seen with eyes, whereof thou shalt not miss in what part soever of the world thou travailest. Howbeit the greater the examples be, the greater is the comfort. Think upon those Kings and Lords of the world, whom thou hast seen, and then call to mind those of whom thou hast read, or heard of by report. Look upon the fable of King Arthure, and the Hitories of other: consider of Olympias that was wife unto Philip, and Cleopatra to Ptolomeê, and Clytaemnestra to Agamemnon, and Helen to Menelaus, and Pasiphè to Minos, & Phaedra to Theseus: neither would I have thee to think that the city of Rome, which in old time was as it were the Temple of shamefastness and honesty, is free from this mischief. Cal to mind Metella, which was wife to that Sylla, who if he had known of his wife's whoredom, which was commonly spoken of, not only at Rome and over all Italy, but also at Athens and over all Greece, verily I suppose he would not have usurped the name of happy, which apparteyned nothing unto him. Next unto her think upon julia the wife of Agrippa, whom on the one side the worthiness of her husband, on the other the Majesty of her father, aught to have stayed from wickedness: and also her daughter, nothing unlike the mother either in name or lasciviousness: and lykemyse julia the wife of Severus, who followed their steps both in life and fortune: an unlucky name (I think) for the preservation of honesty. What shall I say of Domicia, the wife of Domician? What of Herculanilla the wife of Claudius? Or forasmuch as this emperors fortune was to have Whores to his wives, what shall I say of Messalina, that was a most foul blemish and reproach to the whole Empire? Who leaving the bed of her lazy and wearied husband the Emperor, used to go about to the Stews and brothel houses, committing that there, which were shameful to report? To what end should I briefly touch these, or any other? or what brothel house were not to little to receive all the strumpettes that were emperors wives? the rehearsing of whose names, I confess were neither honest, neither in any part extenuateth the offence of adultery, but maketh it rather more grievous? Nevertheless, the likeness that men do perceive in the miseries and troubles of others unto their own, carrieth with it no small efficacy of comfort: not that any man is so spiteful to rejoice at other men's harms, but rather that it might be meeryly said to be an intolerable deintienesse, or pride, for a man of mean calling to take that impatiently, which he knoweth that the Lords of all the world have so often suffered. Every man must take his own fortune in good part. Which that they aught to tolerate with more indifferency than a common chance, it is well known unto all men, aswell to the smallest as the greatest, as also who so were most overthwart to grant a verity. And therefore thou seest, how not only women that are married unto husbands, but also virgins that are vowed unto God, do fall sometime into this crime, and, alas there while, neither the reverence of their so mighty a spouse, is able to bridle their unhappy and headlong soul. For, whom will unrestrained and frantic lechery spare, which standeth not in fear of revenge from God? or from whom will it abstain, which leaveth not the bodies, which are consecrated to God, undefiled? Which so great and heinous monsters of most filthy lust and lasciviousness, are not seen only in this our age, although in indifferent judgement there were never any more shameful, or that deserved the revengement of greater offence, but also in that age, in which wickedness was as geason, as virtue is now, and in which it was punished more extremely then at any time before or since. Yea, the vestal Virgins themselves, unto whose most pure chastity, the Tribunitian and Cenforian authority refused not to give place, whom also we find to have been taken up into the Charrettes of them that road in triumph, lest that their triumph should haply be hindered by any, & to be short, who we read to have savod from punishment such offenders as they met going unto execution, and to have revoked the force of the laws, and sentence of death, only in reverence and regard of their Virginity: in whom on the other side, not only a filthy deed, but also light gesture, apparel, or speech, was not suffered, without sharp punishment and infamy: nevertheless some of them, unmindful both of their honour and honesty, and of the terror ensuing thereof, and of the most horrible crime of adultery, or rather incest, have been buried quick in the earth, as it appeareth in histories. Go thy ways now, and being overwhelmed with so many, and so notable, and so holy examples, in so great a ruin and overthrow of honesty, to the great reproach of so many noble personages, bewail thou the crazed fidelity of a mean and inferior bed.  Sorrow. 
My wife is an adulteress.  Reason. 
The same hath been an occasion unto some men of changing their life to the better, who being discharged of the fetters of matrimony, and casting of that heavy burden, have clymbed up to an higher degree. And what shall let thee, to make this thy wives filthiness, the first step unto thine advancement to a life of more liberty? Some time a burden, and many times a companion have stayed the feet that would have gone apace. If thou go alone and without carriage, thou shalt go the faster whither soever thou pretendest to go.  Sorrow. 
I am defamed through my wives dishonesty.  Reason. 
By another man's offence a man may sustain loss and sorrow, but not infamy: as of another man's virtue, he may conceive joy, but can win no glory: it is thine own virtue or vice only, that can make thee glorious or infamous.  Sorrow. 
I am touched with my wives infamy  Reason. 
Either hold thy peace, or flee from it, or revenge it. The middle of these did that holy man follow, who won a surname by his simplicity. And truly touching the first of these, it is too gentle, and the third, too hard: as for the middle, it seemeth more commendable, and agreeable with the nature of a man, specially such men whose calling is of the middle degree. For it were in vain to go about to make a law over the proud mighty sort: will, lust, anger, pangs, these are the laws of mighty insolency. They are of opinion, that every wound should be cut away with any instrument: but in deed there be many that need no instrument of inc sion, but may be cured only by plasters, and fomentations.  Sorrow. 
My wife is dishonest.  Reason. 
If thou canst be content to suffer, perhaps continuance of time, and trouble, and toiling, and children, and poverty, will reclaim her: yea, very shame hath been a profitable bridle unto many.  Sorrow. 
My wife is gone away with infamy.  Reason. 
Pray that she return no more, for to wish that she were not gone, is now too late.  Sorrow. 
My wife is gone away after her adulterer.  Reason. 
Hadst thou rather that she had brought him into thy chamber? This shame and regard of estimation hath moved the unchaste woman at lest wise to lead her filthy life far of from thee, she hath avoided thy sight, and was ashamed to abide in thy presence: and therefore thou hast to accuse her dishonesty, and not her flight.  Sorrow. 
My filthy wife is gone.  Reason. 
If thou be sorry for that, thou art worthy that she had carried with thee, and that she soon returned unto thee.   

Of a barren Wife. The xxij Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Have a barren Wife.  Reason. 
Barrenness is one remedy of the inconveniences of marriage, for it maketh women obedient and humble. She that bringeth many children, thinketh herself no longer to be a wife, but a Lady: but she that is barren, weary, and holdeth her peace. doest thou not remember Helcana?  Sorrow. 
I have happened upon a barren wife.  Reason. 
Thou complaynedst erewhile of thy wives incontinency, and now thou findest fault with her barrenness: But if thy first complaint were just, then is this thy second unjust. It is expedient for an incontinent man to have a barren wife, for than shall he not keep an other man's children, which is a more odious and grievous thing, than any the wives injury or filthiness whatsoever: if it be a woeful case to have an adulterous wife, it is more miserable to have a fruitful wife.  Sorrow. 
My wife is barren.  Reason. 
See that thou do not that which many a one doth, object thine own fault to another. Many women being married unto some one man, have seemed barren, which when they have been married unto other men have had children.  Sorrow. 
My wife is barren.  Reason. 
How knowest thou what manner of son she would bear thee, if she were fruitful? The births of some women have made their fruitfulness hateful, and therefore to have been wished that they had been barren. The Empire of Rome had not suffered and abidden those cruel monsters of men, Caius, Caligula, Nero, Commodus, Bassianus, if that Germanicus, of Domitius, if Marcus Antonius. if Septimus Severus, had had no wives at all, or else if they had been barren.   

Of an unchaste Daughter. The twenty-three. Dialogue.  SORROW. 
MY Daughter is too nice.  Reason. 
It is reported, how that Augustus the Emperor was wont to say, that he had two delicate and nice Daughters, whom both notwithstanding he must suffer, to wit, the Common wealth, and his daughter julia. But as for his daughter julia, he said that he knew that she was of a pleasant disposition and merry, even unto the resemblance of incontinency, but was assured that she was free from any dishonest deed doing. Howbeit the most wise prince, in so thinking, was deceived in them both: For the Common wealth had then begun to degenerate from the ancient virtue and integrity thereof, and his daughter wast not only nice, and wanton, but also shamefully reported of, and her good name blemished with reproaches, which the father only never heard of, and at length, though too late first, broke forth into the light: notwithstanding according to this signification, thy Daughter may be nice, but honest enough. Which thing though I grant thee, nevertheless it can not be denied, but that niceness & delicateness are the ready way unto woorishnesse.  Sorrow. 
My Daughter beginneth to wax wanton.  Reason. 
Look unto her at the beginning: hard things require an instument of iron to take them away, but tender things are plucked away with a man's fingers. Who so is desirous to have an habit, or the perfect use of any thing, let him begin in his youth to practise it, whether it be in himself, or another. Young things are easily fashioned, and turned which way soever a man list.  Sorrow. 
My Daughter waxeth lascivious.  Reason. 
Withdraw her dainty fare, take from her, her soft & brave apparel, her Rings, and Bracelets, and other jewels, and what ever she hath else, wherein either she taketh delight herself, or endeavoureth to please other. Lay upon her other care of household, stint her at sewing and spynning, or whatsoever work thou canst devise to make hard her soft and delicate hands. Restrain her from common shows, and resort of people. Keep her within doors upon Holidays, leave her no time to think upon vain and unprofitable matters. Business, and labour, and homely apparel, and hard fare, and solitariness, and continual bending of the mind upon one thing, moreover a beloved and feared witness, often warnings, gentle threatenings, and if need require, some time sharper: these be the doors and bars of chastity against dishonesty, and that keep of invading and assaulting passions from entering into an idle mind, and abandon them if they be entered.  Sorrow. 
My Daughter is dishonest.  Reason. 
This is the counsel of Ecclesiasticus, Take diligent heed over thy dishonest Daughter, jest that she chance to bring thee to shame. Although there be nothing that thou couldst suffer more grievous than this, nevertheless if thou leave no part of thy fatherly duty undone, thou hast wherewithal to comfort thy sorrow: For the grief may be thine, but neither the shame, nor the fault, forasmuch as it is a very hard matter to bridle the mind that is prove unto lust and viciousness, and a thing that is impossible for man to do, unless that GOD set to his helping hand. For the force of the affection is so great and disordinate, that many times the father in vain, in vain the brethren, in vain the husband also striveth against it. And no marvel, since it is written, I am not able to live continent, unless GOD give me the grace. Howbeit, this is no excuse for dishonesty, for GOD granteth it unto as many as require it at his hands with a pure faith, and which endeavour of themselves what in them lieth, acknowledging whose gift it is, and esteeming truly of it, and of the author thereof.  Sorrow. 
My Daughter is an Harlot.  Reason. 
If she be married, then is thy son in law partaker of thy sorrow: thou hast also Augustus the Emperor, both to be unto thee a companion of the injury, and an example of the revengement.   

Of shame coming from another. The xxiiij Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Am slandered for an other man's offence.  Reason. 
I told thee erewhile, and true it is, that the grief of another man's offence may touch thee, but so can not the infamy. I tell thee true. And if it be a false infamy, though for the time it be grievous, yet is it not durable, and to make infamy or glory durable; thou must look into thine own field, and prune the vine of thy mind with thine own sickle.  Sorrow. 
I am sorry for another man's fault.  Reason. 
Truly I believe thee. But rejoice then in thine own innocency, unless thou grieve more at other men's matters, then at thine own, for the inheritance of fame descendeth not as doth the inheritance of a patrimony, for if it were so, it might sometime be refused. No man is constrained to take upon him a burdensome and infamous inheritance: for as I said before, it descendeth not by succession of name: there is no degree of kindred expected in this matter. whether thou desire to have a glorious or obscure name, it must come from thyself, and not from another, and therein thine own deserts are necessary. There is a time when as another man's deeds can neither defame thee, nor commend thee. To what purpose doest thou expect the Carrier, or the Post, or the testator? or repose any trust in thy most loving and noble ancestors, thy Father or Grandfather? or to what end art thou afeard of any of them, to become infamous or obscure, by any of their means? Truly by neither sort of them cometh either estimation, or discredit. Fame is not bequeathed, but won.  Sorrow. 
I am overburdened with the infamy of my friends.  Reason. 
It is rather thine own fancy that oppresseth thee, which is one of the chiefest roots of human misery. Cast of that, and thou shalt lighten thyself of a false burden.  Sorrow. 
I am defamed with the offences of my friends.  Reason. 
I deny that it is possible to be so, howbeit I confess, that it were better for thee to be defamed for other men's crimes, then that other men should be for thine: For more heavy is the weight of offence, than infamy, for where offence is, there is perfect misery. And contrariwise, false infamy hath no part of perfect and true misery, as hath false glory, although the one vex the minds of the common multitude, and the other delight them.  Sorrow. 
I can not choose, but be grieved & touched with the infamy of my friends.  Reason. 
To be touched is charitable, to be discomforted is wretched. And therefore, while there are some remnants of hope remaining, be careful for the good name of thy friends, and have respect unto the unquietness and trouble which thou hast conceived. If all hope be gone, my counsel is, laying them aside, to put of all grief and vexation: for to endeavour in vain, and seek for matter of sorrowfulness, is a like madness.  Sorrow. 
I am blamed for my servants crimes.  Reason. 
Thou art worthily punished for thy patience, and too much suffering, when thou mightest have avoided that ignominy, by punishing and correcting the authors of the mischief.  Sorrow. 
But I am molested with reproaches, which are due unto them that can not easily be corrected, nor put away.  Reason. 
Who be they, I pray thee? For, as touching the correction of the parents, it is in no wise permitted to the children. And therefore by that means there can grow no infamy, but rather in upright judgement, there will spring up unto thee as it were a certain brightness out of the dark: for since unto virtue difficulty is proper, it is much more harder to keep the right way under conduct of obscure, then famous leaders, and Captains. But if it be thy wives, what in that case thou oughtest to do, and whose remedy to remember, I have already declared. If of thy children, note what men what manner of children they have had, as Fabius Maximus, and Scipio Africanè, and Pompeius the great: for I follow not now the order of Empire and riches, but of age and glory: and what manner one Vespasians last was, or Aurelius Antoninus only, or Severus eldest son? What manner ones also, though in another kind, had Hortensius and Cicero? And lastly what a daughter Augustus the Emperor had, or what a son Germanicus? and thou shalt see great darkness to have spring out of great light, and thou shalt also perceive, how this evil fortune in children, I know not by what chance, doth most accustomably creep into the most honourable families, and that every one hath that way one grief and imperfection or another, either unknown to the next neighbours, or not regarded. There are not lacking also examples of Brethrens, and Nephews. Only I have set down those, whose shame may seem most grievous unto a man, and to touch him nearest. The order and reason is like in all, that the blemishes of another person what so ever he be, can not hung or be fastened upon any man against his will.   

Of Infamy. The xxv Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Am oppressed with mine own Infamy.  Reason. 
I was afeared lest thou were oppressed with thine own conscience.  Sorrow. 
I am grieved with shameful infamy.  Reason. 
If it be deserved, lament not the infamy, but the cause of the infamy: but if it be undeserved, contemn the errors of men with a valiant courage, and comfort thyself with the testimony of a good conscience.  Sorrow. 
I sustain great infamy.  Reason. 
Thou gronest under a burden of wind: thus naturally the weakness of the bearer, maketh a light burden heavy.  Sorrow. 
There is great infamy risen upon my name.  Reason. 
It skilleth much upon what roots it is sprung up: if upon truth, it will continued, and increase: otherwise it will whither and fall away quickly.  Sorrow. 
There is great slander grown unto me.  Reason. 
Thou sayest well, if thou speak of the blowing of it abroad: For fame is but a blast, yea that fame is but the breath of an impure mouth oftentimes, which doth so much shake you, and make you afeard. But vehement infamy in deed, hath been unto many the beginning of great fame and renown: For the common multitude hath been often ashamed of their own doings, and that after their old custom and manner they might heap one error upon another, and exclude all mean and measure from every thing, have at length obscured a small infamy, with immoderate praises.  Sorrow. 
On every side I am sorely slandered.  Reason. 
While the winds ruffle round about thee, return thou into the Haven, and from the storms of thine ears, withdraw thyself into the closet of thine heart, which if it retain it own tranquillity, than hast thou a place where to rest thyself from the wearisomeness of chiding and brawling, and as the common saying is, Rejoice in thine own bosom.  Sorrow. 
My fame is blemished, but my conscience is clear.  Reason. 
Hadst thou rather then, that thy fame and estimation were renowned, and thy conscience foul and blemished? And is that saying of Horace altogether true, False honour delighteth, and living infamy maketh men afeard? O most vain vanity. True things in deed may delight men, or make them afeard, but to dread shadows is not the part of a man.  Sorrow. 
The burden of infamy is heavy.  Reason. 
If it be gathered by wickedness, I confess it is heavy, if it come by chance, it is but light, but if it happen through any honest endeavour, it is glorious: For that infamy which is purchased by honest means, is a praise. Let fools insult over thee, but rejoice thou in so noble a gain, to wit, in virtue, which is a most rare and dainty merchandise, although thou hast won it, paying therefore a great price, which is the loss of thy good name. He is the true lover and pursuer of virtue, who in the following after her, thinketh upon nothing but her only. And although contempt in other things be famous, yet most famous is the neglecting and despising of fame in the study of virtue, although I confess that unto valiant and noble minds, fame is not only dearer than gold, but much more precious than life itself. Who so therefore neclecteth fame for the love of virtue, contemneth this, it may be thought that he will contemn any thing, which I would have thee well know to be an excellent, but a very rare thing, forasmuch as the most part of them that would seem to follow the study of virtue, when they have once taken hold of the fame of it, do immediately wax so cold in the action thereof, that it may easily be perceived, that they sought nothing else but only that whereof they have taken holdfast.  Sorrow. 
Many do grievously diffame me.  Reason. 
More in old time spoke evil of Eabius, and many more grievously of Scipio African, which turned to their great glory. That this fortune is common unto thee with such worthy personages, leave of to complain, for it hath happened unto very few, never in any respect to be touched with infamy. A man's good name is a very dainty thing, and is blemished many times upon small occasions. And to be short, as there is nothing more clear than good fame, so is there nothing more apt to be obscured, or ready to receive external blemishes.  Sorrow. 
I am stained with grievous infamy.  Reason. 
This plague is most hurtful unto dread and reverend names, it hath not spared also the most holy & virtuous persons, whose Lord and master was void of all manner of crime, notwithstanding in that he was slandered and defamed by the wicked, it is an argument that men must not hope to escape from that, which happened unto God himself.  Sorrow. 
I am molested with sharp infamy.  Reason. 
For virtue not to be assaulted with envy, it is almost impossible: it is sufficient if she be not therewith overthrown: and if glory be beaten against slander, if so be it be pure and sound glory, it waxeth the brighter for the rubbing.  Sorrow. 
I am vexed with bitter slander.  Reason. 
Common report being driven with the whirlewyndes of blind ignorance, striketh the very tops of the highest things, but if it shaketh not them, or if it shake them, it overthroweth them not. Take this for a certain token of excellency in thee, in that thou art fallen among the tongues of the common people, as if it were among so many dangerous rocks. For base names, and such as in a manner creep low by the ground, do neither receive the light of notable praise, nor yet the darkness of great infamy: most commonly that which is contemned, is at quiet.  Sorrow. 
The common people give me an ill report.  Reason. 
It is well that thou art so rife in their tongues, and not in their pens: the speech of the common people is sharp, but not permanent: things that rise upon small or false causes, must needs be short, and when men have barked enough, they will then hold their peace: they that begin so fiercely, are commonly the sooner wearied.  Sorrow. 
I am troubled with the tongues of the common people.  Reason. 
How if thou hadst happened to light upon the style of some notable Orator, or Poet? as many have done in times past, whom we see to be left infamous unto posterity, through the eloquence of their enemy, as the noble sigh of king Alexander, who envied at Achilles that he happened upon so noble a Poet as Homer was: so fearful was this most excellent prince to incur the displeasure of learned & eloquent men, lest haply they should write any thing sharply against him: although a man aught not to be quailed at the speeches of slanderous writers, but rather their slander is to be refelled, either with like sharpness of style, as did Cicero against Sallust, and Demosthenes against Aeschines, and Cato against innumerable, or else to be resisted with notable boldness and courage of mind, more than ever Actor expressed upon the Theatre: and the like must be said unto that which Vatinius answered unto calvus, when he had finished his pleading, I am not condemned, because he is eloquent. Howbeit now there is no danger, since that the common people for the more part do continually prattle of some one matter or other, but long it is not ere they leave of, being thereunto moved either by will, or constraint. For a day will come, that shall put to silence these charming and chyrping Grasshoppers, and make them glad to live at rest.  Sorrow. 
I am defamed among the common people.  Reason. 
Endeavour that thou mayest retain a good name with thyself, and a perpetual and true good fame among the better sort: As for this whereof thou now complainest, it will vanish away. You vain and fearful generation of mortal men, what doth this short and blind murmur of flatterers and slanderers touch you? There shall come some hereafter, that will judge more freely and indifferently: And who are those judges, perhaps thou wilt ask me? Ye can not know them, but they shall know you: I mean them that shallbe borne after you, who shall neither be moved with hate or malice towards thee, nor be borne away with love, or hope, or fear of thee: If you would have upright judgement given upon your doings, then tarry and expect those judges: The time of their staying will not be long: they come a pace, and lo, they will be here anon.  Sorrow. 
I have incurred infamy by my notable deeds and virtue.  Reason. 
There is a time wherein the love of loss is nourished, and increaseth by travail, and, which is a strange matter to be spoken, gathereth deep roots in a bitter and mischievous soil: whereby it cometh to pass, that a man shall see those to be most desirous of factions, who have some time been most grievously punished for the like: and this is a matter to to common and usual in your cities. And therefore there is none that more loveth justice or truth, than he that hath offered himself unto torments and death for the same. Do thou therefore love virtue also, and embrace it more and more, for which thou hast lost thy good name, than which there is nothing more beautiful and precious, for the which also thou susteynest infamy, which is no small punishment, and contemning and refusing all other things, see thou embrace virtue only, which no man is ever able to take from thee, and say thus unto her, All these things, O Queen, do I willingly sustain for thy sake, thou shalt restore me again into my perfect estate, or truly at leastwise thou only shalt be unto me in steed of all things, thou only nourish me in thy sacred bosom, & so shall I not only not feel the loss of my good name, but not so much as the discommodities of my life.  Sorrow. 
I am commonly evil spoken of, yea in every corner.  Reason. 
Take it well a worth: The common multitude will make thee known, thy virtue will make thee famous, and thy conscience careless.   

Of shame procured by means of unworthy commendation. The xxvi. Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Am reproved for praising an unworthy person.  Reason. 
That which is evil, many times springeth from a good roter and good and innocent persons, judge others to be such as they are themselves. Hereof than it proceedeth, that they are more ready to praise other, than reason requireth: and although I confess it be evil to praise an unworthy person, yet to dispraise a virtuous man, is far more worse.  Sorrow. 
I have praised one that was unworthy.  Reason. 
If thou didst it wittingly, thou art blame worthy: but if through ignorance, thou art to be excused. It is not so evil to be deceived, as to deceive: for, to be deceived, belongeth to a man, but to deceive, is the peculiar fault of the deceiver.  Sorrow. 
Another man's praise redoundeth to mine infamy.  Reason. 
Nay rather it was either thy fault, or thine ignorance: For, as there cometh no praise, so cometh there also no infamy from another.  Sorrow. 
I am very sorry that I commended an unworthy person.  Reason. 
Take heed also that thou be not sorry for this often: Be not overhasty to set thyself forth to praise or dispraise rashly, for men are commonly greedy unto both: and to speak properly, this is a disease and a certain tickling of the tongue, which is always clacking, and can never stand still: the brydeling and refraining whereof, is reckoned amongst the works of singular perfection, according to the saying of the Scripture, Whoso offendeth not in word, be is a perfect man: In which thing ye are to to often deceived. And alas therewhyle, that saying of the same Apostle is to much verified, That no man tan tame the tongue, being an unquiet mischief. Wherefore, it thrusteth you forth headlong daily unto lying, whom afterward your own sway pricketh forward, and next after that, a false opinion of the things draweth you farther. For there be some who with their very look or speech do cover the viciousness of their manners: which thing we have heard of in Alcibiades, and have seen in many. There be some also that cloak their virtues with a contrary veil, whether it be by the nature of their countenance, or the proper austerity of their usual speech, or by some art or study purposely employed, contrary unto that which the multitude commonly desireth. For as there are many that have feigned themselves good, so have there likewise been some found who have counterfeited themselves to be evil, whereby they might either avoid the pestilent air of human favour, or escape the hateful burden of temporal goods: which thing we read of S. Ambrose. Hereunto are adjoined love and hatred, anger and envy, hope and fear, with sundry other secret affections of the mind, & among these many that are altogether unknown unto us: which are always enemies unto true judgement. Add hereunto moreover, that the praise of the living, by the express word of God, through the inconstancy of this mortal life, is hindered of continuance, how much more than discommendation? Hereafter therefore, become slow to praise, but more slow to dispraise: for since each of them, as I have said, is an evil error, yet is the last worst.  Sorrow. 
I have erred in commending one unworthy.  Reason. 
By erring men do learn, and often times one error withstandeth many errors, and while men are ashamed to have erred once, then do they take heed, that the like error take not hold of them. Thou hast praised unadvisedly, refrain thy tongue: let this commodity at leastwise follow this mischief.  Sorrow. 
I am ashamed and repent me, that I have praised an unworthy person.  Reason. 
Shame, and repentance, and sorrow, are certain ladders and degrees unto amendment and salvation. There are few that can attain into the right way, but by wandering through many buy ways, and therefore we have seen many who in their youth were servants unto voluptuousness, in their old age to become friends unto virtue.   

Of unfaithful friends. The xxvij Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Complain of friends.  Reason. 
What will he do of his foes, that complaineth of his friends.  Sorrow. 
I try my friends to be unfaithful.  Reason. 
Thou speakest of an impossible matter. But to think that they were thy friends that were not in deed, is not only not impossible, but a common matter.  Sorrow. 
My friends are unfaithful.  Reason. 
All the world is full of such complaints: and as for friendship and infidelity, they cannot agreed. Who so beginneth to be unfaithful, leaveth of to be a friend, or rather, which I would sooner believe, was never any. And forasmuch as all virtues are immortal, and all feigning transitory, faith is not taken away, but feygning.  Sorrow. 
I find untrusty friends.  Reason. 
These that are falsely counted thy friends, if now they first begin to disclose their traitorous hearts, then mayest thou rejoice to behold the end of thine error, but take heed in the mean while that the infection of the disease take not hold on thee: but whatsoever they be, preserve thou the faith of friendship, and although not in respect of the undeserved, yet for thine own sake that hast deserved, be not infected with that plague, which thou shalt do the more willingly, if thou do narrowly examine thyself how much thou art grieved with their unfaithfulness. And many times the hatred of vice, hath been an earnest provocation unto virtue.  Sorrow. 
Undeservedly have I purchased the evil will of my friends.  Reason. 
Citizens are odious, fellows odious, coosyns' odious, wives and husbands odious, brothers and sisters are odious, and finally, the children are odious unto their parents, and the parents to their children. And to be short, there is no kindred nor degree of friendship which cannot be infected with hatred: Only sincere friendship is free from this mischief. And between this and the other, this is the difference, that all the other, although they have hatred accompanying them, do notwithstanding continued, and retain their names: but if hatred be joined unto this, or if love depart from it, it can continued no longer under the name of friendship, for a friend can no more be hateful, than love can be odious.  Sorrow. 
I suffer false friends.  Reason. 
If there be any hope of them, suffer them, until such time as they become trusty, and love them heartily: For many with their luke warm love have utterly quenched friendship, or by small trusting, have taught other distrustinesse. But if so be thou do not profit, and all hope be laid a water, then use Cato's advice, who in those friendeshyppes whereof a man hath no liking, willeth him by little and little to rip them, and not suddenly to break them of, lest that a double great mischief befall thereof, in that thou hast lost thy friends, and purchased enemies: unless peradventure some more urgent cause, which will suffer no tarriaunce, do not permit thee to follow this discrete counsel: which if it happen, it is to be counted among the greatest troubles of friendship, but it must be borne with a valiant mind, as all other chances, and place must be given unto necessity, and the time oveyed: but this chance is scarce known unto true friendship.   

Of unthankful persons. The xxviij Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I find many unthankful, which is a great vice.  Reason. 
To dispraise ingratitude were a needless matter: for all men's speech do condemn it. There need no travail be taken in persuading that, whereof all men are persuaded, and the opinion thereof most firmly grafted in them. Some man placeth the chief felicity, and some whole felicity in virtue only, and some in neither, but in pleasure, the enemy of virtue. There be some also which hold opinion, that chastity is the most beautiful ornament of this life. Other some there be that contemn this in themselves, and in others they account it ridiculus, or truly very hard, and extreme painful: which S. Augustine, so excellent a man as he proved afterward, perceived in himself, where as he saith, that S. Ambrose single life seemed painful unto him, which unto some other hath not only seemed a tedious, but also a damnable state of life. Hereof cometh that example of Plato. who when he had long time lived a single and chaste life, at the last it is read how that he sacrificed unto nature to make an atonement with her, whom he thought he had grievously offended by living in such order. It is strange, that so learned a man should be of that opinion: but that he was so, it is out of all doubt. There be some also that count fortitude to be the most excellent and sovereign virtue: to receive wounds with bend breast, to stain the field with gore blood, and finally, to go unto death with a bold courage. Some there be that ascribe all these things unto extreme madness, and judge nothing better than quiet and dastardly idleness. There shall some come also that will esteem justice to be the governor of human affairs, & the mother of virtues: who shall believe that religion is the way unto everlasting life, and the ladder to climb up by unto heaven. There shall other some come likewise on the contrary side, that shall count justice, cowardice, and religion, madness and superstition: these are they of whom it is written, They are able to do every thing, who affirm that all things appertain unto violent men. And not only in this kind of violent men, and ravenous persons, but also among the multitude of learned men, home great adversaries justice hath, it may easily be perceived in the books of Cicero, which he wrote of a common wealth. There be some that with great and deserved commendations do extol the keeping of faith and promises. There be othersome also that say it is no deceit to break faith, but that it proceedeth from more knowledge, and a better wit. Which although it be the common opinion and saying of the most part of men at this present, in Lactantius it is namely ascribed unto Mercury, saying, as he reporteth it, That it is no fraud to deceive, but craftiness: this is that worthy god of wise doom and eloquence. To be short, there is no virtue so commendable, but it shall find some dispraisers: as for thankfulness, there is no nation so barbarus, no manners so savage, which do not commend it, and no man ever that did not dispraise unthankfulness. For admit a man be a thief, a murderer, a traitor, an unthankful person, he shall not dare excuse his fault, but deny it: which although it be so, nevertheless there are innumerable unthankful persons. Neither is there almost any one vice by so many condemned in word, which likewise is by so many embraced in deed. What shall I conclude? Truly that it aught to be condemned, not only in word, but chiefly in mind and judgement, and of every good maneschewed in himself, and borne withal in another, as other things whereof mankind hath plenty, wherewith the wicked do abound, and the good are molested Suffer therefore, & chose rather to tolerate an unthankful person, than thyself to be one.  Sorrow. 
I find many unthankful.  Reason. 
Take heed there be no fault in thyself. For there are many, that while they will seem to be liberal, they become boasters, and fault finders, which are an hateful kind of men, whose good turns do a man more hurt then help him. And that is nothing else then to procure hatred by expense, which is a mad kind of merchandise.  Sorrow. 
Having deserved well, I suffer many that are unmindful and unthankful.  Reason. 
Dost thou grieve thereat? and wouldst thou change condition with them? Do not so I pray thee, where so ever the fault lie, let virtue be on thy side.  Sorrow. 
I have many that are unthankful.  Reason. 
What wouldst thou have me say to thee, that thou shouldest leave to do well, and hinder thyself for another man's fault? Nay rather, do thou contrary, and where as thou hast many, provide that thou mayst have more, which thou shalt have if thou do good unto many. For there are always many unthankful, but most at this day, and I fear me lest that shortly it wi●be a monster to find a thankful person: In such fort daily all things impair, and go back ward: Such is the importunacy of those that require them, and the forgetfulness and pride of those that own them, and yet notwithstanding, men must not therefore leave of, neither must we scratch out our eyes because the blind can not see, but rather the blindness of other aught to make us love our eyes the more dearly.  Sorrow. 
I have found many unthankful.  Reason. 
Think with thyself, whether thou hast been so unto many. One unthankfulness punisheth another, as also in other things, for oftentimes one sin is punishment to another.  Sorrow. 
I have done good unto many unthankful persons.  Reason. 
It is better to do good unto many unworthy, then to be wanting unto one worthy person. Go forward therefore, and lay not aside thy good manners in respect of hatred toward the wicked, neither surcease to do good unto others, for that of some it is not accordingly accepted: Perhaps hereafter they shall know thee better, but if they do not, it shall suffice thee to know God and thyself. It is no true virtue which is not sufficed with the reward of it own conscience.  Sorrow. 
I have had evil luck by doing good to many.  Reason. 
Take heed that one man's fault hurt not another's, and which is more grievous, annoy not thee. Try others, and perhaps it will fall out more fortunately. Moreover, some that have been a long time unthankful, at length when shame hath touched their minds, have become most thankful, and the lost hope of them hath been returned with great vantage. And further, that which a debtor hath many times denied being required, one that hath been no debtor, hath willingly offered: there was never any good deed lost. Who so doth wet, let him think most of his own estate. Only virtue doth good unto many, but the greatest and chiefest part of virtue, returneth upon the worker thereof. And therefore, although all men be evil and unthankful, a good man must not cease to do well: for those things which he disperseth among many, he heapeth upon many, and is at leastwise beneficial to himself, for not being an unthankful person.  Sorrow. 
I have cast away benefits upon unthankful persons.  Reason. 
A covetous person will not stick to give sometime frankly: but liberality is the greater, the less there is hope of recompense.   

Of evil servants. The xxix Dialogue,  SORROW. 
I Am besieged with evil servants.  Reason. 
Now sayest thou truly that thou art besieged, for before time thou seemedst to thyself to be furnished and adorned with them, but in very deed thou wast besieged, not only with an army of thy familiars, but also of thine enemies.  Sorrow. 
I am oppressed with unruly servants.  Reason. 
Thy own army fighteth against thee, which is an unpleasant matter.  Sorrow. 
I am besieged with proud servants.  Reason. 
And yet thou art constrained to feed them that besiege thee, which is an extreme necessity.  Sorrow. 
I am besieged with very evil, ravening, thievish, lying, and unchaste servants.  Reason. 
What needest thou to roll in so many terms of thy servants? Call them servants, and then thou hast said al.  Sorrow. 
I am besieged with servants, and what counsel dost thou give me?  Reason. 
What counsel should I give thee, or what else should I say unto thee, but the saying of Terence? Those things which have neither reason nor measure in them, thou canst never govern by advice. Notwithstanding, Senecas counsel is well known concerning this matter: he willeth a man to live familiarly, gently, & courteously with his servants. But with what servants? To wit, with those, with whom to live in familiarity will not engender contempt. He addeth moreover, that correction, not of words, but of stripes, must be ministered, namely unto such as are deaf and sluggish, and with a slow pace contemn their masters gentleness. Moreover, that a master aught to admit them unto conference and company with him in talk, in counsel, in feeding. But whom I pray you? Forsooth the saucy, foolish, drunken, untrusty, insolent, which neither can well utter their mind, neither can give any good advice, and which behave themselves slovenly at meat, such as are careless of their masters health & life, living and good name, but are very diligent pursuers of their own gluttony & sensuality. But he peradventure gave this counsel for this cause, for that he supposeth that to be true in a servant, which before he had spoken of a friend, If thou trust him, thou shalt make him faithful. I suppose that thou dost not think, that friends are made of the best sort of men, and servants of the worst. Truly, if thou shouldest think a thousand year that a wolf were a lamb, yet should he be a lamb never the sooner.  Sorrow. 
I am besieged with servants, what counsel wouldst thou give me?  Reason. 
Never seek for that else where, which is in thyself. Thou shalt not be besieged longer than thou wilt thyself: neither should they now besiege thee, but only as it happeneth in evil governed and unquiet cities, that one part of the mind, like a faction of seditious citizens, favoureth the besiegers. Wouldst thou be delivered of this evil? Purge the state of thine own mind. Chastise thy servants thou canst not, neither by this advice of Seneca, neither by any others. If thou list to amend thyself, no man can forbid thee. Abandon pomp, cast of pride, and so shalt thou either drive away the hateful troop of thy servants, or else abate it.  Sorrow. 
I am besieged with many servants.  Reason. 
It is well, if noise and vain glory be only expected: but if serviceableness or pleasure, there is nothing worse. Servants although they be good, which a man may account a strange thing, yet there be few of them that do good service: They fall together by the eats amongst themselves, they murmur, they contend, one of them looking to an others hands: & in the mean while, some one of them sitting idly, foldeth and rubbeth his hands, thinking it a great worship to bear the countenance of a master, and promising all things, thinketh nothing better than to be idle. Of such we speak now, who through a false profession pursuing the delight of their idle belly, do embase themselves unto humble service, not only voluntarily, but also importunately. They are an innumerable company, but of a vile condition, who, being so many arts and occupations as there are, have betaken themselves to the basest: namely such, whom not their own will, but the force of another, and their own chance and service hath drawn forth. And contrariwise, as of the other sort the number is smaller, so is there virtue more plentiful, & their trustiness more approved. For it is one thing to serve willingly, another thing to be constrained. These therefore being mindful of their calling, to the intent they may bear themselves indifferently in all estates, neither loose their virtue together with their liberty, that which they do unwillingly, sometime they do it faithfully, which they are never able to do, whom sleep, their belly, their throat, and greedy desire, being evil guides, have led forth to service, wherein it is no marvel if they follow and obey their leaders, and do that which while they ensued, they have taken upon them the base title of servitude. But contrariwise, they that have had no such thing to follow, ensuing the steps of nature and fortune, do many times, being servants, make resemblance as if they were free men. And if he meant those speeches of such, perhaps I might hearken unto Seneca, with unoffended ears.  Sorrow. 
Many servants possess my house.  Reason. 
Then hast thou much strife, much contention, and many conflicts in every matter. New faults shallbe every day objected and purged, and thou must sit as a judge between them. Of a master being made a judge, thou shalt never a whit be the more able to expel contention out of thine house, howbeit thou mayest the contenders.  Sorrow. 
I am besieged with servants, without whom I cannot live, and what shall I then do?  Reason. 
If the matter be so far proceeded with thee, that thou darest not remain alone without thine enemies, provide for thyself by the scarcity and baseness of them. Abandon the fairer, the braver, and craftier sort of them: abandon such from thy retinne, as delight themselves in their beauty, wit, or family. Among few, and those dull and rude, thou shalt live more safely, not for that they be better, but for that they be not so bold, whom like as serpents in winter, the restrained plenty of their poison, and the drooping of their vile slothfulness, hath overcome and repressed Finally, this is the conclusion, that that which is only or especially to be expected in a servant, is faith and trustiness. If in this respect thou prefer him any deal, believe me, thou shalt buy that small pleasure, whatsoever it be, with great increase and vantage of other vices, for that faithfulness is very rare to be found: but the next kind of remedy is fewness of them, of which I have spoken, and also their baseness, which is not much better than the other, but bringeth less boldness.   

Of fugitive servants, The xxx Dialogue.  SORROW. 
MY servants are gone.  Reason. 
Whose presence was grievous, their departure aught to be acceptable. There is nothing almost that displeaseth a man, whose contrary doth not delight him.  Sorrow. 
My servants are gone.  Reason. 
O that they would return, and that thou couldst behold with thine eyes, that which thou hast seen in thy mind, how many vices hang upon them, how many kinds of wickedness, of deceits, of lying arts, of mischiefs, of ravines, and thefts? And what shouldest thou do other than abhor their company, shut thy doors against them, and heartily rejoice that thy house is so happily rid of so heavy burdens?  Sorrow. 
My servants are gone away altogether.  Reason. 
And together with them all grievous cares, troublesome heaviness, and perpetual fear. Think with thyself how many bellies thou hadst to fill, how many backs to cloth, how many wandering feet to shoe, how many limie fingers to wash, and then thou wilt say that thou art delivered of a great charge.  Sorrow. 
My servants are run away.  Reason. 
And with them also hatred against their master, and contempt, and grudging, and complaints, moreover cursings, and secret banings of thine undeserved life: whose service, who is so ambitious, but will judge it rather a gain, than a loss, to be without.  Sorrow. 
My servants are fled.  Reason. 
Who ever complained of the flight of his enemies? julius Caesar is accounted proud, for that he was sorry to behold his enemy fly, whom he thought to have intercepted: and unto modest conquerors it sufficeth to see their enemies turn the back upon them: and also the same Caesar at an other time commanded that his enemies should be spared in the chase when they fled, contenting himself only with their flight. Do thou the like. And although these thine enemies have deserved a more grievous punishment, let it suffice thee that they be fled, and by their flight measure thou thy victory, and learn that there is taken from thee the necessity of proceeding from farther punishing them,  Sorrow. 
My servants are fled.  Reason. 
Can them thanks that they have done that willingly, and of their own accord, whereunto thou oughtest to have enforced them: the pain of expulsing cruel beasts is taken from thee, and yet thou complainest, that they be run away, who unless they had done so, thou must needs have fled thyself. They are fled, who either must have been fled from or been driven away: now thou remainest a freeman, now thou art out of care, and master of thine own house.  Sorrow 
My servants are run away.  Reason. 
The master hath authority to be judge over his run away servants: dissemble now thyself to be a master, and use not thine authority. If they had been good, they would not have run away, and to lose them, since they are evil, is no loss, but a gain. It is more safe to avoid venomous beasts, then to take them.  Sorrow. 
My servants have left me alone.  Reason. 
Thou art verily alone, and verily poor, if because thou wouldst not be alone thou hast need of retinue of servants, as though thou hadst no friend, not not thyself. But how chanceth it, that thy servants are desirous to be without thee, and thou canst not be without them? Beware that in this respect thou be not more miserable than thy servants. But if perhaps thy mind be not so much upon thy servants, as upon their price and value, it is not thy fond desire, but filthy avarice that aught to be chastised, whereof we have already entreated sufficiently, whereas we spoke of the loss of money.   

Of importunate Neighbours. The xxxi Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Have importunate neighbours.  Reason. 
Beware that thou be not more importunate unto them.  Sorrow. 
I suffer troublesome neighbours.  Reason. 
Opinion beareth a great sway in all matters: magine in thy mind, that they are tolerable, and they are so.  Sorrow. 
I have evil neighbours.  Reason. 
Many impute their own faults unto their neighbours: Other men's offences are more sharply surveyed, more exactly discussed, more severely judged: there is no man that is not a friendly and gentle judge over his own doings.  Sorrow. 
I suffer sharp and bitter neighbours.  Reason. 
In taste perhaps, and not in effect, for unto those that are proud and disdainful, sweet things seem bitter.  Sorrow. 
I complain that my neighbours are hard and proud.  Reason. 
Every man beareth much with himself, but nothing with another: hereof springeth great error, and continual cause of offences. And many times where the fault is, there first beginneth the complaint. How know we now, whether thou seem hard, and froward, and intractable unto them, of whose hardness thou complainest?  Sorrow. 
I suffer hard neighbours.  Reason. 
Thou hast a double remedy: patience, and flight. The first I allow of, for that all hardness may be mollified by the art of suffering.  Sorrow. 
I cannot suffer so evil neighbours.  Reason. 
If by this means thou take no profit, who shall hold thee? get thee away out of hand, for as they are grievous unto thee, so will they not follow thee: cast from thee the burden which thou canst not bear, and that enemy whom by fighting thou canst not sustain, seek by flying to eschew: what skilleth it by what path thou escape into safety? There is no way to be judged hard, whereby a man may travail unto tranquillity of mind. And if thou have often attempted it, and art never the near, know this, that it is thine own fault, and perhaps also part of another's. The greater sort of common contentions, hath on either side one accusing another, among whom although the one be more faulty, yet is neither of them without blame. For although that man be termed a civil and sociable creature, yet if the truth be diligently examined, there is none less so: and this saying of the Satyrike Poet is true, That there is greater agreement among serpents and wild beasts, then among men. For Bears, wild Boars, Tigers, and Lions, yea, Vipers, and Asps, and Crocodilles, and to be short, all living creatures, are sometime at rest and quietness in their own kinds, man only excepted, who is never at quiet. For one man always oppresseth and vexeth another, and by continual strife and contention procureth a restless life unto himself and his neighbour. For so it happeneth many times, that where is most plenty of near neighbours, there a man may see greatest distance of minds and goodwill. Neighbours are seldom without scolding and hatred, There is none of you, unless I be much deceived, that spiteth at the kings of Arabia or India. Spite is blear eyed, she can not see far of.  Sorrow. 
I am beset with noisome neighbours.  Reason. 
If thou wilt be thoroughly discharged of this mischief, go hide thyself up in the wilderness.   

Of Enemies. The xxxij. Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Have enemies.  Reason. 
See that thou be friend unto justice, a greater defence than which, there is none. True virtue treadeth underfoot, and despiseth the Threats of fortune.  Sorrow. 
I have enmities.  Reason. 
Then wilt thou be the more circumspect, and the better known. Enmities have made many famous, who should have remained obscure, if they had wanted enemies.  Sorrow. 
I am beset round about with enemies.  Reason. 
They will be a bar, that pleasures which are the invincible enemies of the mind, take no vantage of thee. Fortune hath not so much given thee enemies, as keepers, one mischief is driven away by another.  Sorrow. 
I am oppressed with enemies on every side.  Reason. 
They likewise are oppressed with their own affections: and there is among them a revenger of thine, and that not one only: on thy side stand wrath, fear, hatred, unquietness, and they have not yet made an end, but take revenge on the trespass. Thus many times revenge goeth before the offence, and perhaps there followeth none at all: they shallbe armed, they shall labour, sweat, be hot, pant, quiver, and peradventure none of all these shall touch thee. For many often times by their extreme hatred, have hurt themselves, and not other's.  Sorrow. 
I am at contention with mine enemies.  Reason. 
And they also among themselves: and many times it is more safe to strive against enemies, then against vices. He that hateth another man, first giveth a wound to his own soul, and next many times unto his own body. For, to much greediness to hurt and strike others, hath laid forth many unadvised and naked unto their enemies. Thus evermore the first part of all mischiefs turneth upon the authors thereof, and some time the last part, when many times he remaineth unhurt, against whom the mischief was first prepared.  Sorrow. 
Wars rise against me on every side.  Reason. 
The people of Rome was never more famous and holy, then when they were busied in many and great wars: Their peace was the beginning of their mischief, for with it entered flattering lasciviousness, a pestilent enemy unto virtue.  Sorrow. 
I have great enmity.  Reason. 
Great enmity many times hath been the beginning of great friendship.  Sorrow. 
I have enemies.  Reason. 
Have also trustiness and mercifulness, as for other matters whatsoever shall happen, provide that thou be their superiors in courtesy and virtue: There is also right & justice to be used with a man's enemies, with whom so behave thyself, that thou doubt not but that thou mayest be reconciled into friendship with them. And know that this is more wholesome counsel than was Biants, who willeth a man so to love his friends, that he remember also that they may become his enemies: which saying although it be commended of others, yet neither I, nor Tully do like of it. For in deed it is a very poison in friendship: wherefore in hatred a man aught to think on love, & not in love to think on hatred: and truly Aristotle's counsel in his Rethorickes is far to be preferred before Bias advice: A man should not, as men commonly speak, love as though he should hate, but rather hate as though be should love. Whereof Arislotle writing, reproveth Bias himself, and also his subtile and malicious counsel.  Sorrow. 
I have enmities.  Reason. 
But have them against thy will, & let a loving heart of peace devil always in thine armed breast, and so go to war that thou mayst seem to be constrained thereunto, lest haply humanity give place unto hatred, or lest thou study more for revenge, then for glory or health. Thou knowest that Hannibal was more hateful to the Romans then was Pyrrhus, when as both of them were enmities, and Pyrrhus first invaded Italy, but not to the intent to destroy it utterly, as did Hannibal, but only to require it. We must conquer by all the means we can, that in every action true virtue may appear, so that it may seem that nothing else is sought for by war, then honest peace.   

Of occasion lost to revenge. The xxxiij Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Have lost my wished occasion to revenge.  Reason. 
From whom sin is taken, nothing is taken, but much is added: for certain things which men have, to be taken from them, is a gain, but to withstand them, that they may not be had at all, is a greater vantage.  Sorrow. 
I have lost the means to be revenged.  Reason. 
An happy loss, to lose that which may hurt thee.  Sorrow. 
I am prohibited of my hoped and wished revenge.  Reason. 
The chiefest point is to have a mind not to do evil, the next to be prohibited.  Sorrow. 
I must of necessity lose occasion of revengement.  Reason. 
If it be a notable kind of revenge, not to have a will to revenge, it is an excellent necessity, not to be suffered to revenge. It is the chiefest point willingly to embrace virtue, the next, to be constrained thereunto.  Sorrow. 
I am sorry that revenge is taken from me.  Reason. 
The time will come peechaunce shortly when thou mayest rejoice, and that thou wouldst not wish that it had happened otherwise: Many when they come by occasion unto any thing, at length they begin to have will unto it, and to love it, and their liking groweth upon necessity, and when it beginneth to be a will, it surceasseth to be a necessity.  Sorrow. 
I thought I could have been revenged, but I could not.  Reason. 
Not to be able to do evil, is a great power, & this quality is proper unto the almighty.  Sorrow. 
Present revenge is fallen away from me.  Reason. 
Think that thou hast let fall a snake out of thy hand, & take heed that he creep not into thine hand again. There is nothing so contrary unto a man, as ungentleness. By this he surceasseth to be a man, which to be so, the name itself declareth: there is no sickness so contrary, not not death itself: For death happeneth by the course of nature, but this, far contrariwise: To show cruelty unto a man, is contrary unto the nature of a man, although it were deserved: a man aught not to follow the motion of a wounded mind, and by the remembrance of a private grief, to forgeat the instinct of the common nature.  Sorrow. 
I shall be sorry for ever, that I was restrained from revenge.  Reason. 
Perhaps thou shalt rejoice for ever: How often, thinkest thou, after enmity laid a part, and friendship concluded, have some abhorred their friends in the midst of their embracings, thus thinking with themselves: this man I wished at the devil, and I lacked but little of bringing my wicked desire to effect? O happy chance, to how good a part hast thou converted my cruel meaning?  Sorrow. 
I cannot be suffered to wreak my just wrath.  Reason. 
A man shall scarce find just anger: forasmuch as it is written, Man's anger worketh not the righteousness of God: and again, it is said by an other, Anger is a short madness: It is best therefore not to be angry at all: and next, not to revenge, but to bridle anger, that it carry not away the mind whither as it is not seemly: the third is, not to be able to revenge, if thou wouldst.  Sorrow. 
I have lost notable occasion to be revenged.  Reason. 
Pardon, which is more notable is left unto thee, and also forgetfulness, which is most notable of all. The same made julius Caefar renowned among all Princes. Great & innumerable were this worthy emperors conquests, his triumphs most glorious, his excellency in chivalry incomparable, his wit most excellent, his eloquence notable, the nobility of his progeny, the beauty of his parsonage, the valour of his invincible mind, surpassing: but when thou hast heaped together all his commendations, thou shalt find nothing in him more excellent than his mercifulness, and forgetfulness of offences: which although it procured unto him the cause of his death, so that the saying of Pacunius was justly sung at his burial, It was my fortune to save some, that there might some live to destroy me: nevertheless since that he must of necessity die, in such a cause death was in a manner to be wished.   

Of the people's hatred. The xxxiiij Dialogue.  SORROW. 
THe people hate me.  Reason. 
Then hast thou the end of the multitudes favour, whereof I forewarned thee, to wit, hatred for love.  Sorrow. 
The people hate me without a cause.  Reason. 
Thou woondrest that they hate thee without a cause, who before loved thee without discretion, whereof this followeth, that whereas modesty is banished, there sovereignty must needs reign.  Sorrow. 
The people hate me.  Reason. 
This beast is prompt to injury, and flow to duty: the commons love is light, and their hatred heavy.  Sorrow. 
The people is angry with me.  Reason. 
If they love thee, they will applaud thee, but if they be angry, they will seek thy destruction, wherein are two unequal things, danger and hope.  Sorrow. 
I am odious unto the people.  Reason. 
There is nothing more forcible than the multitude of fools, whereas public fury pricketh forth the rage of every private person, and the rage of every private person kindleth the public franticness, and one of them enforceth another. And there is nothing more dangerous then to fall into their hands, whose will standeth for justice, & headlong outrage for discretion.  Sorrow. 
The people hate me.  Reason. 
I would they had not loved thee, not not known thee. The love of evil persons endeth with hatred: Both which are uncertain, and only ignorance safe.  Sorrow. 
I am hated of the people.  Reason. 
A malicious people aught either to be appeased, or forsaken.   

Of envy, passively. The xxxv Dialogue.  SORROW. 
MAny do envy me.  Reason. 
It is better to be envied, then pitied.  Sorrow. 
I am troubled with the envy of my ilwillers.  Reason. 
And who ever was friend unto virtue, that wanted that kind of exercise? Run over in thy thought all lands, all ages, peruse all histories, and thou shalt scarce find a man of any excellency free from this pestilence. I mean not now to enter any discourse, the which may lead us far away from our purpose, but if thou remember any thing that ever thou hast read, thou canst not be ignorant of many by whose fellowship thou mayest not only conceive comfort, but also vaunt thyself.  Sorrow. 
I am spited at.  Reason. 
Forsake honours and public functions, leave of the occasion to be spoken of among the people for thy stately pace, and proud retinue: Sequester thyself as much as thou canst from the eyes of many that are envious, neither give occasion unto them to point at thee with the finger, either for thy look, word, or gesture. The common people and malice devil together in the streets, and so for the most part doth all wickedness: Certain enemies are by no means better escaped, then by flight, & seeking corners.  Sorrow. 
Malice followeth after me, although I fly and hide myself.  Reason. 
Take away the cause of evil, and thou shalt take away all evil itself. Be measurable in thy riches, and whatsoever thou hast, that by the excellent beauty and show thereof may inflame the minds of men and set their teeth one edge, either cast it of, or keep it out of sight. If thou have any thing which thou wilt not or canst not want, use it modestly: that envy which pride hath provoked, humility will assuage. There are also certain effectual remedies which do soon extinguish it, but they are worse than the disease itself, to wit, misery, and an infamous life: Concerning one of which I have said already, that misery only is without envy. And unto the other appertaineth the saying of Socrates: For when on a time Alcibiades demanded by what means he might escape envy, Socrates answered, Live said he, as did Thersites, whose life if thou know not, thou mayst read it in the Iliads of Homer. Truly a scoffing and perfect Socratical answer: for there is no wisdom to forsake virtue to eschew envy, and better it were to be Achilles with envy, than Thersites without it: although it be also well known, that certain excellent men, to the intent to live at quiet, have for a time dissembled both their virtue, & wisdom.  Sorrow. 
Many do envy me.  Reason. 
Thou canst scarce escape envy but by cowardice or misery, & if thou escape it by any of these means, thou shalt fall into contempt, both which to be free from, were a very hard matter.  Sorrow. 
I am overborne with the hatred of many.  Reason. 
There is, as some say, another means and way to tread envy underfoot, to wit, by excellent glory, but this path is but little tracted, so that many that begin to walk forward therein, do slip into that which they would eschew.   

Of Contempt. The xxxuj Dialogue.  SORROW. 
But I am contemned.  Reason. 
If it be justly, thou hast cause, I confess, to be sorry, notwithstanding thou must suffer it: but other wise, thou mayest laugh at it. For there is nothing more ridiculus, nor that happeneth more commonly, then for a wise man to be contemned of mad men.  Sorrow. 
I am contemned.  Reason. 
Touching this one word, some have said that four good things are signified thereby: to contemn the world, to contemn no man, for a man to contemn himself, and that he is contemned of other: of this last thou hast need.  Sorrow. 
I am contemned of many.  Reason. 
If it be of thy elders, suffer it: if of thine equals, bear with it: The first do use their authority, for, for the most part less things are contemned of the greater: The other expose themselves to be contemned, & seeing by none other means they can become thy superiors, they think to win it by this means. As for thine inferiors let them alone, let them rage, and regard not their contempt, which shall redound unto their infamy, and thy glory. Thersites contemned Achilles of whom we spoke before, and so did Zoilus Homer, and Antonius Augustus, and Euangelus Virgil, and calvus Cicero. And, as we have learned in the Gospel, that which is greatest of all, Herode, being a most vile and miserable man of all other, contemned Christ our Saviour. But what did this contempt either hurt the contemned, or avail the contemners?  Sorrow. 
I am contemned and scorned.  Reason. 
I know not what these laughing games are, or what conceit is in the minds of common jesters, and so much the more, for that the cunnynger have need of the less cunning, and the one of them scorneth at another.  Sorrow. 
I am contemned of others.  Reason. 
Examine thyself, whether thou do or hast contemned other: This is the manner of you men, to contemn and be contemned, and one to prosecute another with mutual hatred and contempt, and yet you would be reverenced of other, and yourselves reverence no body: you go about to please GOD, whose works do none of them please you, as they aught to please: concerning which thing, our countryman Cicero hath spoken right nobly, if any thing may be spoken nobly in the name of the Gods, It can not stand with reason, saith he, forasmuch as one of us contemneth and despiseth another, that we should require of the Gods that they would love us, and be friendly unto us. But much more excellent is the saying of the Prophet Malachi, Have we not all one father? hath not one GOD created us? Why then doth every one of you despise his brother?  Sorrow. 
It grieveth me that I am contemned.  Reason. 
Although no man would be despised, and many would fain be feared, yet is it much more safe to be despised, then feared. And therefore that which Anneus Seneca saith in a certain Epistle, It is as ill to be contemned, as suspected. I do not allow. But I suppose rather that he said better in an other place. That it is more dangerous to be feared, then contemned. And therefore learn by the ancient saying of the wise, that these three things are to be avoided, of which we have entreated in so many continual discourses, which although they be all evil, yet out of all doubt this last is the lest, although the vilest of them, and yet every one hath his peculiar remedy. Hatred is appeased by courtesy, envy by modesty, contempt by the friendship of great personages, and also by honest practices and virtue. There was none more contemptible at Rome then was Brutus at the beginning, but afterward no man more highly esteemed of. achieve then also some good and great enterprise, by means whereof thou mayest not be contemned.   

Of long expecting a promised reward. The xxxvii Dialogue.  SORROW. 
THe promises made unto me, be late in performance.  Reason. 
Why dost thou complain of this alone, which is common with all men? Nothing more debaseth a gift, than an hard grant, and a slow performance. But this is your manner, you would receive quickly, and give at leisure, unto the one you be nimble, unto the other unwilling, hasty unto the one, and to the other heavy. Here is a double root of ingratitude, and a double cause of complaints, while some are grieved with tarience, and other with to much speed.  Sorrow. 
There be many things promised me, but nothing performed.  Reason. 
Great promisers aught to be smally trusted. men's vanity is known, their flattery known, their lying known. Hath one man promised thee many things? it is sufficient that he hath promised thee, go seek another to perform them, one man cannot do all things: this promiser hath provided that in the mean while thou shouldest love him.  Sorrow. 
That is not performed which was promised me.  Reason. 
Of two sorts of covetousness, more mighty is that which holdeth fast, then that which craveth.  Sorrow. 
O, how many promises did such a man make unto me?  Reason. 
Either he mocked thee, or he was desirous to be beloved for a time, as I said erewhile: and perhaps while he promised thee many things, he required some one thing of thee, which he thought to be well gotten for the price of a great lie: for this understand, that they which are rich in words, are many times poor in deeds.  Sorrow. 
O how many things are promised me?  Reason. 
If thou wilt credit me, such as promise' many things thou shalt not credit.   

Of Repulses. The xxxviii. Dialogu. e  SORROW. 
I Take it grievously that I have suffered a repulse.  Reason. 
Wouldst thou then obtain whatsoever thou desirest, so that nothing should be denied thee? take heed that this desire of thine proceed not of intolerable pride. It behoved thee to have thought on Pompeius the great, a worthier then whom I know not if ever there were any, of whom notwithstanding it is written, that he would have those things given him, which also might be denied him. How many things do we know to have been denied to Emperors, being most valiant and of high renown? and dost thou take a repulse or twain so heavily? To be short, how many things doth God require daily at man's hand, yet lacketh God nothing, neither doth he entreat us for any thing.  Sorrow. 
I cannot quietly take a repulse.  Reason. 
Why dost thou arrogate to thyself the liberty of asking, and takest from other authority of denying? Is it because, as often times it chanceth, that an unreasonable request, giveth occasion of a reasonable denial? Or is it because the repulse oftentimes was profitable to him that craved, to whom otherwise it would have been hurtful if he had obtained?  Sorrow. 
I suffer a repulse wrongfully.  Reason. 
If thy repulse be wrongful, thy request was right and just, rejoice then that the fault is an other man's, rather than thine.  Sorrow. 
I have a repulse where I deserved it not.  Reason. 
There are many that think they have deserved much, when in very deed they have deserved nothing: From hence cometh the grief of a repulse, from hence proceed all complaints, wherewith all the world and the whole life of man is filled.  Sorrow. 
I suffer a shameful repulse.  Reason. 
There is nothing shameful but a fault: For what shame could that bring unto thee, that was not in thy power to perform?  Sorrow. 
I have a repulse where I thought to have had none.  Reason. 
Thought is uncertain, but things are certain, and to be unable to deny that which is asked, belongeth not to a free man, but to a bond slave: and to be unable to abide a repulse, is not the part of a citizen, but of a Tyrant.  Sorrow. 
I have a repulse of that thing which I desired and hoped for.  Reason. 
If men should obtain whatsoever they hope for or desire, they should be all gods: but thou, to the end thou mayest avoid all displeasures and griefs taken by repulses, learn to desire possible and honest things, and not to have a mind to obtain whatsoever thy unsatiable or foolish desire lusteth for, or vain hope shall put in thy mind.  Sorrow. 
I was not only repulsed, but an unwoorthier was preferred before me.  Reason. 
How often do we see the unworthy to be preferred before the worthy, and oftentimes the unworthy to be judged of as unworthy as themselves, being severe judges in other men's matters, but in their own case very favourable? There are many that will say they are unworthy, but there are few which think so in deed.  Sorrow. 
I have a repulse of a small thing.  Reason. 
We do often times see small things denied, and great things willingly offered. If the gifts of fortune shallbe recompensed with repulses, the balance will hung even, but you increase those by indignation, and diminish the other by forgetfulness and dissimulation.  Sorrow 
I was worthy, as I suppose, not to be repulsed.  Reason. 
I grant it be so, but dost thou think that all things are granted or denied, according to the worthiness of men? I would it were so, that the hope of reward might make many more good men, and the fear of punishment make the fewer evil. But the case standeth not so, for love, hatred, hope, desire, & secret affection, have mingled together & disordered all things. Wouldst thou have fortune to change her common condition to wards thee only, and not thou thyself to bend to wards the common course of man's nature?  Sorrow. 
How far unwoorthier than I am, is my cosuter preferred?  Reason. 
And Lucius Flaminius, who for a notable crime had deserved present judgement to be deposed from the order and dignity of a Senator, was preferred before Scipio Nasica, a man accounted to be most worthy, aswell by the judgement of the Senate, as also by the whole voice of the common people? How was Vasinius preferred before Cato, an obscure man, before a most commendable senator, and that not only by the verdict of the people, his friends, and his enemies also, but also in the whole volume that Cicero wrote: what sayst thou in this case, even that they are grievous, & not new things that thou sufferest.  Sorrow. 
I hoped for much, I deserve not a little.  Reason. 
I told thee even now, that thou shouldest deserve much, and yet all things are not given through deserts. Do we not see, that to whom a thing is once denied, yet the same perhaps is granted within a while after to the self same man? which thing happened to the same Scipio of whom I speak: For constant virtue many times breaketh the force of repulses. To this bear witness Emilius Paulus, Metellus Macedonicus, Lucius Numius, who took all of them a repulse for the consulship, and the self same men afterward were adorned with most noble dignity, and triumphs: and of whom before they were had in contempt, to the same citizens afterward they were a spectable: and surely they had never attained unto those honours, if they had endeavoured to lament with grief the repulses of the people, rather than to overcome the same with valiantness of virtue. Although Lucius Sylla, who in the end being stirred up to evil dissension, stained his name with open cruelty, but nevertheless was a most noble and renowned Citizen, had taken the repulse, not only of the consulship, but also of the Pretorshyp, afterward he attained to the highest dignity in the common wealth, insomuch that he could not only himself procure the Pretorshyps, Consulshyps, and Empires, but also bestow them on other. A repulse aught not to take away hope, but to give it, to stir up careful diligence and virtue, which be it never so sharp a thing, yet it assuageth it, and if it happen that it doth not so, yet it is not therefore to be forsaken, lest it should seem that it is embraced only for it own sake, and it own end. To be short, these men have valiantly sustained their repulses, but Pub. Rutilius, hearing of his brother's repulse which he had sustained in suing for the consulship, suddenly fell down dead. Choose thee now, whether of these thou hadst rather follow.   

Of an unjust Lord. The xxxix Dialogue.  SOROW. 
THe common wealth suffereth an unjust lord.  Reason. 
Perhaps it hath deserved it, and that kind of mischief is a due punishment for the other: and we see severe judges exercise justice, as well in hell, as else where, and although it standeth for a reason, yet sometimes it maketh haste: & that is verified which is written, There is a God that judgeth men on earth. There be some of opinion, that devils are made of men, thorough their daily licentious offending, and liberty in sinning: which thing is tollerablye spoken, for that the likelihood of wicked dispositions doth 'cause it, wherein a wicked man, and such a one as continually persevereth in wickedness, is almost equal with the devil. To which opinion, if it be allowed, this saying will well agreed. That thorough god's justice, one devil oppresseth an other. In which case of all other this is most miserable, that it happeneth often times, that the guiltless are punished among the wicked. And that saying of Flaccus falleth out many times to true, and to often, That many times the opportunity that is necglectd in punishing the adulterer, doth bring the innocent into danger: which thing without doubt, although unknown to us, yet is it done not without the secret justice of God.  Sorrow. 
We suffer a cruel Lord  Reason. 
Cruelty truly is an evil thing, and quite against the nature of man, but it is profitable against vice, and unto the unbridled people abrydel, and fear proceeding from all sides: and it is more expedient for them to fear, that know not how to love, how soever the case stand. There is no lord so cruel, but that pleasure, the companion and daughter of prosperity, is more cruel than he. Nothing can be worse for evil doers, than carelessness and liberty. He that feareth nothing, is nighest to destruction.  Sorrow. 
The unfortunate people suffereth an unjust lord.  Reason. 
Believe me, there is no man amongst all the common people, more miserable than a Tyrant: Which thing if thou doubt of, behold Dionysius. he being a wicked man, yet not unlearned, what opinion he had of himself and of his own tyranny, the hanging up of the sword, with the point thereof over his friends head, doth openly declare. The history is commonly known. The people standeth in fear of the tyrant, and the tyrant of the people, and in such sort one standeth in fear of the other, to their great grief. In this point it differeth, that the misery of the people doth appear, but of the tyrant lieth closely hidden. Notwithstanding the wound that is covered with a purple robe, pincheth even as sore. Neither do fetters of gold grieve a man any less, than fetters of Iron. And as his misery may consist in filthiness, and smokynesse, so even in bravery and banketring it is included. The garment of a tyrant, on the outside is gold, but if thou turn it, thou shalt find all the inner side full of sharp prickelles. So thou mayest perceive that Tyrants do not altogether in their raging escape scot-free, or that the oppression of the people is unrevenged.  Sorrow. 
We have a very unmerciful lord.  Reason. 
lords would not be so plentiful, neither rule & rage so wide abroad, unless the people were mad, and that every citizen did not regard their private, more than the common wealth, pleasure more than glory, money more than liberty, life more than virtue.  Sorrow. 
Our servile country suffereth one lord.  Reason. 
Not one lord, but thirty lords at once, did that noble mother of laws, Athens, suffer, which was the second light of all Greece.  Sorrow. 
Our country hath one lord.  Reason. 
Yea, but Room had many: For who hath not heard of the Caligulas, the nero's, and Domitian's, the Commodoes', Heliogabales, Bascianes, and Calienes? and that I may not reckon up all the shames of the Emvire, the Maximini, and the haters of all godliness, the Iulian●, and Deci●. Assiria suffered Sardanapalus, Persis Syrus, Greece Menander, and Asia suffered some that were called kings, who were in deed very cruel tyrants, and unmerciful Dionisians. Sicilia suffered Phalaris, Lacedaemon abode Cleomenis, Agathocles and Nanides, whom also the Argi did suffer, and therewith also the womanyshe covetousness of his wife, who surpassing her husband inscraping together, showed great tyranny in her kind, after a strange sort. But whither do I proceed? who is able to reckon up either the new, or the old tyrants? who in these days are so many in number, and have taken so deep root, that what with their riches and power of the people of the one side, and their manners and mad bedlemnes on the other side, they can neither be numbered nor rooted out. Neither need you to think that servitude is turned into nature any less with you, than it was with the Egyptians & Medes, who had all their liberty suppressed and quite buried: insomuch that the greater part of the people, if they have not a tyrant, they will sue earnestly to have one, or else seek to buy one: so that it seemeth your fathers were ashamed to be such one's as they were borne to be. For you all, for the most part, being borne and brought up in servitude, as you have cause to complain of the old grief, so have you no cause to found fault with any new.  Sorrow. 
We are oppressed with the heavy yoke of a mighty lord.  Reason. 
The fable of Aristophanes the Poet is very profitable, which warneth us not to nourish up a Lion within cities, but if he be once nourished up, that then we aught to obey him: for the mischief which cometh of Tyranny by nature, is not to be augmented by impatience, neither that power, which thou thyself hast let up, by thee to be violated: For seldom hath it been seen, that a Tyrant hath risen up among the people, without the fault of the citizens. For it is an old saying, Eat that which thou hast nourished.  Sorrow. 
We suffer an importunate lord.  Reason. 
If all power come from God, whether it be for the exercise of the good, or punishment of the wicked, it is meet that thou shouldest think thyself subject to the power of God, & not of man: whose minister if he seem to be severe, it may come to pass that thorough patience he may wax gentle. For there is scarce any mind so cruel, but that thorough obedience & serviceableness it will be calmed. To be short, whatsoever it be that oppresseth, it aught to be either suffered, or quite laid out of mind: For there is no mean beside impatience, which, as I said, doth not diminish griefs, but increase them.  Sorrow. 
We have an evil lord.  Reason. 
You all have one enemy whom ye know well, & he being but one, hath many which he knoweth not, & therefore is in more dangerous state.  Sorrow. 
We have a very evil lord.  Reason. 
But he will not continued long, if the philosophers judged aright, who said, That no violent thing can continued long. And truly, if thy country have but one good citizen, it shall not very long have an evil lord.   

Of an unlearned Schoolmaster. The xl Dialogue.  SOROW. 
I Have an unlearned Schoolmaster.  Reason. 
Although the unlearned cannot make a man learned, and that the common saying be true, That it is in a skilful man, to be able to teach: Yet a man may become learned under an unlearned teacher, either by his own means, or else, which seemeth more true, through celestical influence and inspiration. And that I may use the words of Cicero, by divine instinte, without the which we aught not to believe that any can be either learned or good▪ And this point is not only grounded upon true religion, but also is agreeable unto the authorities of gentle philosophy.  Sorrow. 
I hear an unlearned Schoolmaster, against my will.  Reason. 
But hear the heavenly Schoolmaster willingly, who hath given thee ears, not these only which we see, but invisible ones within the mind. Here him, who teacheth man wisdom, as it is written. Who moreover, if he hold his peace, what ever mortal Schoolmaster he be, be he never so well learned, he loseth his labour.  Sorrow. 
I suffer impatiently an unlearned Schoolmaster.  Reason. 
Either fly from him, and seek an other, or else return to thyself. And remember though Cicero do many times scorn at Epicurus, Senica notwithstanding counteth him a notable fellow, who had not only not an unlearned Schoolmaster, but none at all, as he himself boastingly doth often repeat. Remember also what Saint Augustine writeth of himself, whom it were a sin not to believe in all matters, who as the same author writeth, understood Aristotle's predicaments, which are accounted amongst the most hardest things: and also the liberal sciences, any one whereof to learn perfectly of a Schoolmaster is counted a hard matter. These I say did he understand, and no man taught him. And last of all think upon Saint Bernarde, a most excellent man for learning and holiness, who got all his knowledge, wherein he excelled all other of his time, in the woods and fields, not by the instruction of man, but by contemplation and prayer: neither had he ever any other Schoolmasters (as he witnesseth of himself) than Okes and Beeches. If these things have been done: Why may they not be done again? which unless it had been so, what should the first men have done, who neither had any Schoolmaster, neither could find any? Therefore by wondering, by thinking, by lifting up of the mind, and sharpening the wit, did they find out those things which you with all your Schoolmasters do scarcely understand. Do thou also some great matter, and distrust not to intermeddle thyself with great exploits: And if thou want a mortal, thou shalt have an heavenly schoolmaster, on whom all other Schoolmasters do depend: He it is that hath made all things, both wits, and sciences, and masters.   

Of an unapt and proud Scholar. The xlj Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Have an unapt Scholar.  Reason. 
Thou losest thy labour, thou plowest the sea sand, thou castest away thy seed, nature is not altered.  Sorrow. 
Fortune hath brought me a dull scholar.  Reason. 
Thou tillest a barren soil, unyoke thine Oxen, why dost thou weighed thyself? Spare him and thyself, and since there are so many labours necessary, and which cannot be avoided, to seek after needless travails it is a folly.  Sorrow. 
I have a scholar unapt to learning.  Reason. 
If he be apt to learn virtue, hold him to that, and so hast thou taught him the best arts: But if he be capable of neither, let him alone, and pour no liquor into a leaking Cask, which will not remain therein, and so consume thyself with perpetual weariness: and thus persuade thyself, that all that are, or that have been, or ever shallbe excellent in virtue or learning, are not able to stir up one wit, unless there be some sparks within the mind, which being kindled and holpen by the Schoolmasters industry, do conceive the commendable nooryshment of discipline: for otherwise thou shalt but puff and blow the ashes in vain.  Sorrow. 
I have an unruly and proud scholar.  Reason. 
Pride is an enemy unto wit, and whilst an insolent scholar disdaineth to be holden under, and careth not to be taught, he will hardly yield his hand to the Ferula, his mind to instruction, his ear to reprehension, and his neck to the yoke.  Sorrow. 
I have a scholar puffed up with prosperity.  Reason. 
As swelling of the eyes hurteth the eye sight, so swelling of the mind troubleth the wit, that there can be no entrance unto learning: all pride aught to be repressed. Thou knowest how Alexander King of Macedon, when on a time he applied his mind to the study of the Mathematques, & there were laid before him certain obscure Geometrical rules: being offended with the difficulty of them, he commanded his schoolmaster to teach him the same more plainly. But what answered he? These things, said he, are a like difficult unto all men: which he spoke to this end, to beat from him all hope of his Princes prerogative. And truly it is so in deed, for as concerning the disposition of man's wit, fortune hath nothing to deal therein, and who so desireth to be learned and wise, let him quite forgeat that he is of power and authority.  Sorrow. 
I have an ignorant, and a high minded scholar.  Reason. 
Thou sailest against the wind and the tide, hale in the sails and go to shore.  Sorrow. 
I have an obstinate and a froward scholar.  Reason. 
Thou doest not only dig the sand, but also nooryshest up a Serpent, and tyllest a venomous plant, yea, and teachest an enemy.  Sorrow. 
I teach a slyffenecked scholar.  Reason. 
Thou syngest in a deaf man's ear, but so the world goeth, and some are delighted in great noises, and some in quiet silence: The greatest sway in all doings doth custom always bear? Mark how still the fisher is, and how loud the Hunter, and the Schoolmaster louder than he, yea then the Ranger of a Foreste.  Sorrow. 
I have gotten an hard hearted scholar.  Reason. 
Thou mayest oftentimes reclaim the head of a Bear, sooner than of a Man. What wouldst thou more? It is set down in a fable how that the Wooolfe & the Fox went to school together, and the Elephants have been learned: it is no old wives tale, but a natural history. And so it may chance that this thy scholar by study may altar & mollify nature. In my judgement the life of a shepherd and of a schoolmaster seemeth almost all one, & it is marvel but that both of them will be mannered according to their living: The one of them guideth beasts, the other boys.   

Of a Stepdame. The xlij Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Have a Stepdame.  Reason. 
Then thou hast a father also. Thus goeth the course of man's life, that meery things are mixed with sorrowful, sour with sweet: and I wish that sweet and sour, being thus equally mixed together, dwelled not here amongst us.  Sorrow. 
I have an unjust stepdame.  Reason. 
Thou usest Virgil's term very aptly: but how much the more unjust she is to thee, so much the more labour thou to be juster than she.  Sorrow. 
I have a very proud stepdame.  Reason. 
It is the property of a woman to be proud, and therefore of a stepdame: if two causes do engender one effect, there is no cause why thou should & be amazed, but that thou shouldest suffer, and therein thou shalt show thine own self both a good natural son, and also a good son in law.  Sorrow. 
I have a very proud stepdame.  Reason. 
Pride is overcome by no means better than by lowliness.  Sorrow. 
I cannot abide my stepdame.  Reason. 
But thou must suffer thy father: If thou love him well, thou shalt the better abide her.  Sorrow. 
I have a wicked, & an importunate stepdame.  Reason. 
Be thou dutiful & patient towards her: thou owest love unto thy father, patience towards a woman, reverence to thy stepdame.  Sorrow. 
I have a malapert stepdame.  Reason. 
Do not commit, that her malapertness be greater than thy dutifulness: There is nothing hard, nothing difficult unto dutifulness, the same advanceth men unto God, & plucketh down god unto men. As often as thy stepdame shallbe in her outrage, think not on her, but on thy father.  Sorrow. 
I have an injurious stepdame.  Reason. 
women's injuries are better requited with contempt, then with revenge.  Sorrow. 
I suffer a grievous stepdame.  Reason. 
Thou sayest well, I suffer: For to faint, and not to be able to suffer a foolish simple woman, is not the part of a man.  Sorrow. 
My stepdame hateth me.  Reason. 
Love thou her, and it is God's commandment, that we should love our enemies: but to love, that thou shouldest be loved again, is the counsel of the Heathen Philosophers.  Sorrow. 
My stepdame hateth me.  Reason. 
It may suffice thee if she love thy father, and it is not the duty of a son to hate her that loveth his father: but if she hate him, whom doth she not hate? For and if she love another man more than her husband, see that thou be not he.  Sorrow. 
My stepdame hateth me over much.  Reason. 
Perhaps the hate of thy stepdame is less hurtful than her exceeding love: doest thou know the History of Phaedra and Hippolytus? Truly that hatred which thou oughtest not to revenge, aught either to be pacified, or avoided, or suffered, for there is none other means. Complaints oftentimes do increase hatred.   

Of the hardness of a Father. The xliij Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Suffer an hard father.  Reason. 
The hardness of a father, is many times profitable for the son: cockling is always to be condemned▪ and the tongue is not only to be used, but also there must be no spare of the rod, as the learned have given counsel: And by these twain, is all the direction of young wits ordered, which if they be used in vain, then to greater griefs we must give stronger medicines, as banishment, and imprisonment, yea and moreover, according to the order of the old Romans. extreme punishment, and death, which not only Consuls & Captains, unto whom public authority gave jurisdiction over all men, but also those private ancient & severe fathers, unto whom only their country gave them power over their children, have most extremely executed, as we read in histories, among whom the severity of Cassius & Fuluius is most specially renowned. Go thou thy ways now, and call thy father, that is to gentle, an hard father.  Sorrow. 
I suffer an hard father.  Reason. 
What manner of son thinkest thou did he suffer of thee when thou wast a child, and likewise afterwards when thou wast a young man? This is an hard thing to persuade them in, that do very much please themselves: But believe me, there is nothing more painful then to suffer the unruly manners of that age.  Sorrow. 
I suffer an hard father.  Reason. 
What if thou be an hard son? Hard things by hard things are more effectuously mollified, and often times the scar of a gentle Surgeon is more evil favoured.  Sorrow. 
I have an hard father.  Reason. 
If he be a true father in deed he loveth thee, and if he love thee, he thinketh upon the things that may profit thee, and not flatter thee.  Sorrow. 
I have an extreme hard father.  Reason. 
Those things that seem very hard unto thee, perhaps seem profitable unto him, whose judgement is more certain, and affection more incorrupt. Youth measureth nothing but that which lieth before their eyes, riper age foreseeth many things.  Sorrow. 
I have a very hard father.  Reason. 
See that thou be not hard unto him, so that whilst he resisteth thy shame, thou disquiet his life with thine unthrifcie demeanour.  Sorrow. 
My father is very hard.  Reason. 
He that neclecteth the good estate of his son, the same is to be counted an hard father, although in show he appear very gentle: but he that by advice and counsel draweth his son the right way, provoking him forward also, some times by word, and some times by deed, or else when he seeth him backward blameth him, or unwilling compelleth him, and although in outward show he seemeth somewhat sharp, yet is he not a hard father. The severity of a father is commonly more profitable for the son then his gentleness.  Sorrow. 
My father is hard.  Reason. 
Zeal, sorrow, fear, and age, do excuse a father's frowning.  Sorrow. 
I do painfully abide an hard father.  Reason. 
What if that happen unto thee which hath worthily happened unto many of thy mind, to wit, that thou be constrained to abide the hardness of another? What if it should chance thee thyself to begin to be the father of a stubborn son? Then shouldest thou know how pleasant a thing the yoke of a father were, and how right is his authority: Now understandest thou but only one thing that delighteth thee, and in the same one thing thy judgement hath no delight of the mind, but is deceived with the delight of the senses.  Sorrow. 
I have an hard father.  Reason. 
Admit he be hard, nature hath made him thy judge, and not thee his: which order the Civyl law followeth, and is ashamed to see the sun to correct and chasten the father? Thou oughtest to be ashamed to enterprise that which the law is ashamed to licence any son to do: suffer thou, and let him judge of thee that begat thee, and brought thee up, commit thou the judgement of him to other, and if thy father have not deserved true praise, yet at the leastwise reverence him with dutiful silence.  Sorrow. 
My father useth hard behaviour.  Reason. 
The behaviour of thy father is not to be blamed, but to be borne with: There is no greater reproach to Alexander, then that he would seem to attempt, I will not say to speak evil of his father, but envy his father's commendations: Thou oughtest either to speak worshipfully of thy father, or else to hold thy peace altogether.  Sorrow. 
I have an hard father.  Reason. 
Thou hast a mean to show thy love, to show thy honesty, to show thy patience, and to show thine obedience. In all the world there is none more just than the empire of a father, no service more honest then of a son. There is nothing so much a man's own, as the son is the fathers, there can nothing be more unjustly taken from him than his son: But you with a headlong and intemperate desire, being borne to be subject, desire to be Sovereign, and thus you both withdraw yourselves from your father, and also usurp the government which your fathers aught to have over you, wherein is a double mischief: Whereby it cometh to pass, that the rashness of youth disturbeth the duties of all things. Now hereof it proceedeth, that when perhaps you be restrained from this, than you complain of the sharpness of your father, being worthy yourselves, in your own judgement, that it should be lawful for you to do all things, only in this respect, for that you be sons: and ye have learned also to please yourselves at looking Glasses, which you shall then at length perceive, when ye begin to perceive how shamefully you have wished for it before your tyme.  Sorrow. 
I have a rough father.  Reason. 
What if his roughness be fatherly? For the father oweth a rough carefulness unto his son, and the son a reverent dutifulness, obedience, and humbleness unto his father. Concerning Manlius Torquatus thou hast read in Histories, and also in Marcus Tullius, that as he was very loving unto his father, so was he bitterly severe unto his son, perhaps worthily blamed by judgement of the common people for the one, but highly commended by upright deemers for them both: such diversity is there in men's opinions.  Sorrow. 
I have an hard father.  Reason. 
To late it is or ever you know your good, O ye mortal men. But when you begin to know it, then do you acknowledge it to much: and thus ye loathe the things that be present, and lament for them when they be lost. The one of these tasteth of to much pride, the other of over much humility, both where ye aught to give thanks, and where you should give example of patience, but in both ye complain, and in neither bear yourselves indifferent: is this your thankfulness towards God and men?  Sorrow. 
I have an hard father.  Reason. 
The time will come when thou shalt sigh and wish for this thy father, and shalt call him, and he will not answer thee. And he that now seemeth unto thee more hard than stone, shall then seem unto thee that he was more soft than down.  Sorrow. 
I have an hard father.  Reason. 
Thou knowest not what it is to have a father, as long as thou hast him.   

Of a stubborn son. The xliiij Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Have a stubborn son.  Reason. 
It is meet, that thou that couldst not bear with thy father, shouldest suffer thy son, as being the heavier burden: For one sharp word of the son irreverently spoken by him that is proud, doth more vex and grieve the mind, than whatsoever hardness of a severe father. For the son offereth the injury in so doing, but the father doth but that which is right.  Sorrow. 
I have a rebellious son.  Reason. 
Impudently doth he complain of the rebellion of his youngers, that before time despised the just authority of his elders.  Sorrow. 
I have a stubborn son.  Reason. 
At length perhaps thou dost now understand, what it was that thou thoughtest of thy father that seemed so hard unto thee.  Sorrow. 
I suffer an insolent son.  Reason. 
If the fault be in his age, it will we are away with it. The unbridled youth of many, in precesse of time, by strange increase, hath been converted unto thriftiness.  Sorrow. 
I have a rebellious son.  Reason. 
Thou art not alone: For David, and Mithridates that was King of Pontus, & Severus the Emperor of Rome, had all rebellious sons, and also many hundred years after, the seditious mind of a young Prince, who stirred a rebellion against the king his father, disturbed the common quiet of the Realm of Britain, as the common bruit goeth: but every man bewaileth his own mischances, and none the discommodities of an other, or the common calamity.  Sorrow. 
I have an ungodly and rebellious son.  Reason. 
A great part of the grief of a father is taken from thee, if thou fear thy sons death.  Sorrow. 
I have a stouthful and a dastardly son.  Reason. 
Knowest thou not, how that the worthy Scipio Africanus had a son very unlike unto him, which also did degenerate, notwithstanding he loved him tenderly? And truly we aught to bear more affection, I will not say love, unto him whom nature doth less help. He hath need of nothing that is rich in virtue, the want whereof maketh men very wretches, and so in consequent very needy of mercifulness: and therefore thou for thy part, if virtue be not in thy son, yet love him, because he is thy son: if not for that cause, then for that he is a man: Lastly, if there be no cause at all why thou shouldest love him, them pity him. As severity belongeth to a father, even so doth compassion.  Sorrow. 
I have a son of a most wicked life.  Reason. 
An unlucky burden, and so much the heavier, that as long as it is to be suffered, it cannot be quite cast away: suffer, and as thou mayst amend it, so shalt thou either cure thy son, or at the lest play the part of a father, but this thou oughtest to do of duty, and wish the other.  Sorrow. 
My son is very ungodly, uncourteous, and unreasonable.  Reason. 
If wantonness and pleasure be once grown unto knavery and mischief, then is there a venomous beast to be driven out a doors, neither must we regard where, but what is borne and sprung up: for you nourish up birds bread in the wild woods, and ye kill scorpions brought up at home in the house.  Sorrow. 
I have a very wicked son.  Reason. 
It is the part of a wise man to put a way dangerous things before they do any harm at al. Let not the shadow of godliness deceive thee, no godliness is due unto an ungodly person. A man may sometime find where it is a kind of cruelty to be godly, but while there remaineth the lest spark of hope, always incline thyself unto mercy and remember that thou art a father, and not a judge, and see thou forget not here that notable saying of Terence, For a great fault, a little punishment is sufficient of a father.   

Of a contentious brother. The xlv Dilalogue.  SOROW. 
I Have a contentious brother.  Reason. 
And what of him? then hath he not thee an agreeing brother, for brotherly agreement, which aught of twain to make but one, is divided in twain, so that you are made not divers only, but quite contraries: a grievous mischief surely, but an ancient, which both the world and the head of the world had in the beginning: For the infamy of the city of Rome is ancient, but that of the world is of more antiquity, to wit, that it was imbrued with the blood of brethren. Therefore that which thou seest between all couples of brethren, yea when there was but one couple only in the world, hast no cause to be amazed at it now among so many thousands.  Sorrow. 
I have a very contentious brother at home.  Reason. 
Dost thou marvel that to be in a great house, which hath been in the narrow room of one mother's womb? where as in time past (which was a shadow of a greater misery) we read of brothers that were not only among themselves contentious, but also together by the ears? Is it any strange thing then that men, being armed, should do that which they that are unborn are wont to do?  Sorrow. 
I find no favour with my brother.  Reason. 
Thou oughtest rather to have learned this long before in the schools, than to have found it true in effect at home: things that are foreseen, are neither complained of, nor wondered at.  Sorrow. 
I have an odious and contentious brother.  Reason. 
As for the most part there is no love more tender than the love of brethren, so when it beginneth, there is no hatred more vehement, no envy more unquenchable. Thus equality inciteth and inflameth their minds, when as the shame of giving place, and the desire of superiority, is by so much the more fervent, the more that the remembrance of their infancy together, or what so ever else may seem to engender goodwill, when as they be once digressed from the right way, may procure hatred and disliking between them: in this respect therefore, the heart burning of a rebellious nature, may be very well reclaimed, namely by courtesy & gentleness. For there is no nature almost so rough and uncivil, whom at length true & continual humility in words, and unfeigned and gentle dealing in all matters, will not overcome and mollify. If thou find this to be void and without force, or that peradventure thou thyself canst not enforce thy mind hereunto, whereby he may be honestly and profitably constrained, then before that the matter break forth unto utter destruction, thou must use the last and extreme remedy, the root of the mischief must be plucked up, and comunitie removed, which is the mother of discord: wherein thou must demean thyself so courteously, that look how much thou yieldest of thy right, so much thou shalt perceive to be added unto thy virtue and fame. The sharp pricks of impious & proud desire, are by nothing better rebated, then by virtuous and courteous liberality. That gold is good, whereby the peace of family, and brotherly love is purchased. It is a very ancient, and no less true saying, That these two pronownes, mine and thine, are great cause of wars and disagreement, which if they were taken away from out of the life of man, out of doubt men should live much more quietly.   

Of the loss of a father. The xlvi Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Have last my father.  Reason. 
It is meet, that him whom thou complainedst of while he was present with thee, thou seek him when he is absent, and yet not find him. There is nothing more just, then in vain to wish for the authority which thou hast contemned.  Sorrow. 
I have lost a good father.  Reason. 
It is well that he hath left a good son behind him: rejoice for the good old man's sake, unto whom at length that hath happened which he always wished for: who leaving thee in safety, is departed himself out of this world.  Sorrow. 
I have lost a loving father.  Reason. 
A good son standeth in dread of the chances of fortune for none other cause, then that any calamity befalling unto him, might strike his father's mind with sorrowfulness: but now thou shalt live more at quiet at thine own peril only, he shall not any more be grieved with rumours of thee, thine adversity shall not break him, thy sickness shall not weaken him, thy death shall not kill him.  Sorrow. 
I have lost a most loving father.  Reason. 
Thou must now begin to care for other, for he that was wont to care for thee is gone. That tenderness that was showed over thee, repay thou unto another, it is seldom repaid unto whom it is due.  Sorrow. 
Poor wretch I have lost a loving father.  Reason. 
If thou know the reason and nature of love & tenderness, comfort thy chance by remembrance of the time past: Thou didst reverence thy father, and as long as thou couldst, thou show'dst thyself always dutiful unto him: thy father is departed, but thy dutifulness liveth: otherwise. I confess, thou hadst 'cause to be heavy continually.  Sorrow. 
My father by dying hath forsaken me.  Reason. 
Take in good part the common course of nature, he is first gone that first came into the world, neither hath he forsaken thee, but is gone before thee.  Sorrow. 
I have lost my father.  Reason. 
Thou knowest not what it is to lose a father, unless thou hadst had a son.   

Of the loss of a mother. The xlvii. Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Have lost my mother.  Reason. 
Thou hast yet another mother whom thou canst not lose if thou wouldst, from the first thou camest, and unto this thou shalt return. The first gave thee houséromth the space of a few months, the other shall give thee lodging the space of many years. The one of these gave thee thy body, the other shall take it away.  Sorrow. 
My most mild mother is dead.  Reason. 
But a most hard mother remaineth, who will keep thee and thy mother whom thou bewailest in one bosom, in whose womb she shall rest with thee, and as we believe, bring you both forth again at the last day.  Sorrow. 
My good mother hath forsaken me.  Reason. 
She made haste, fearing to be forsaken, and likely it is, that her death was acceptable unto her, because she would not see thine, providing for her security in that which always she most feared.  Sorrow. 
My good mother is dead.  Reason. 
She is happily dead, thou being a live, which being otherwise, such are the affections of women, she would have died in sorrowful lamentation.  Sorrow. 
My mother is dead.  Reason. 
she must have died, and thou also, neither canst thou complain of death, nor of the order thereof.   

Of the loss of a son. The xlviii. Dialogue.  SOROW. 
BUt I have lost my son.  Reason. 
Say rather and better, I have sent him before me, for thou shalt follow him quickly, and perhaps to day, and how know we whether this same hour? There is no trust in life, since there is so great certainty in death: shalt follow him said I? Nay rather thou dost follow him I would have said, for thou followest him continually: it is not permitted unto a man at any time to stay his course in this life, but evermore he steppeth forth one step unto death: a strange matter to be spoken, whether he be bound or at liberty, sick or whole, walking or sitting, awake or sleeping, he is carried forth toward his end, much after the manner of them that sail in a ship, or sit and ride in a waggon, and are carried forth a pace.  Sorrow. 
I am grieved with the lack of my son whom I have lost.  Reason. 
Qivet thy mind, for thou shalt find him whom thou desirest ere it be long: not to be able to suffer the want of a short time, is the part of a child, or a woman: for unto a man there is no short thing difficult. Thou knowest, I think, by what words Socrates in Plato, and Cato and Lelius in Cicero. do comfort such desires and wants. Although men surpass in virtue and glory, yet in this hope do some far surpass other. Thou knowest moreover of what mind Paulus Emilius, Cato himself, Pericles, and Zenophon, that was scholar unto Socrates, and scholefelowe with Plato, and his equal, and other innumerable, were for the death of their children: neither art thou ignorant how he that was both a prophet and a king, wept for his child while it was sick, but not when it was dead, thinking, that to lament and weep for things unrecoverable, is rather a point of vain madness, then of true affection. Among the number of which manly examples the Spartan woman shuffeleth herself, whose name is not set down by writers, nor her saying semblably commended, who hearing that her son was slain in battle, therefore, said she, did I bear him, that he should not be afraid to die for his country. The virtue of Linia, and the elder Cornelia, is nothing inferior unto this, but their names much more famous, of whom the first laid down her mourning so soon as her son, of most honourable birth, and that was like to have aspired unto the highest degree of Empire, was once laid into the ground, but never left of the remembrance of him: The other, having lost many children, yea all that she had, whereof some she beheld slain by the people, and lying abroad unburied, when as other women, according to the manner of that sex, rued her state, and pitifully weeping bewaled her woeful case, she answered, that she was not infortunate, but happy, for that she had borne such sons. A worthy woman, that was not surprised with the present misery, but counted herself happy for that which was past, who contrary to the common opinion and custom of them that are in misery, comforted herself with her forepast felicity, and the remembrance of her prosperity wherein she had sometime lived, and took it indifferently, although she had then lost it, & for that cause only was worthy to have bad good children. Now she, being a woman, remained wholly not once touched with the grievous and sharp wounds of fortune: and thou, being a man, art overthrown by one only, dost thou lament so childishly?  Sorrow. 
I have lost my son.  Reason. 
If he were a dutiful son, there is no cause to fear his estate, for he is well: But if he were wicked, thou art rid of one that counted upon thy death, and increased the infirmities of thine old age.  Sorrow. 
I have lost my son.  Reason. 
If he were virtuous, rejoice that thou hadst him: but if he were unthrifty, be glad that thou hast lost him, and in either case acknowledge the benefit of nature, either for giving thee such a one, or for taking him a way.  Sorrow. 
Death hath taken away my son before his tyme.  Reason. 
That is not done before due time, which may be done at all times. Death hath direct entrances into all ages, but into youth innumerable.  Sorrow. 
I have remained without a son.  Reason. 
And without trouble and fear. Now hast thou none, for whose cause thou shalt spend the nights without sleep, and the days in care, for whose sake thou shalt enter into long and inextricable hope, that shall think upon thy hoary hears, and wrinkles, examine thy living, find fault with thine expenses, and blame the staying of thy death, thou art in security and quietness on every side, both which are a great commodity, although it be made more bitter by the name of death.  Sorrow. 
I am cast down by the geevous death of my son.  Reason. 
Hast thou not heard what Anaragoras saith? Hast thou forgotten that thou begattest a mortal creature? Or dost thou perhaps lament, that he is gone before, that should have followed? And although the life of man in many other things be disordinate and out of course, yet death keepeth his ordinary custom, crooked old men stagger, and young men make haste, and children run headlong, & infants at their first entrance into life are drawn to their end: one man more slowly, another more speedily, one more ripely, another more untimely, but every man must die: this is the conclusion of al. And in whatsoever age of this life a man die, be it gently or sharply, he hasteth unto death.  Sorrow. 
I weep for the death of my son.  Reason. 
If thou wouldst have wept at his death, thou shouldest also have wept at his birth, for than he began to die, but now he hath done. But do not thou lament for thine own and his most excellent estate: he left behind him a perilous way to pass, but thou having him always before thine eyes, who now is in security, hast no farther regard of thy sweet burden, as Virgil speaketh, or of any other.  Sorrow. 
Albina my delight to live, is extinguished.  Reason. 
A good son, I confess, is a great comfort unto his father, but notwithstanding careful & grievous. And many times the sweetest things do offend us, and the dearest do hinder us, and the most precious do oppress us. And perhaps this thy son was some let unto thy mind, that would have aspired unto greater matters. And now although thou art become more heavy, yet since thou art at more liberty, be of good cheer: to gather good out of evil, is the part of a wise man.  Sorrow. 
The death of my lonne hath made me heavy.  Reason. 
But spend the residue of thy life that remaineth, in jollity: thou didst live for him, now live for thyself.   

Of the miserable fall of a young child. The xlix Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Lament the miserable fall of my young child.  Reason. 
A man aught to lament for nothing that may happen unto mankind: all things should be premeditated before, if they have not happened already: lament not thy child's fall, but thine own unskylfulnesse, & the forgetfulness of thine own condition.  Sorrow. 
I complain of the miserable death of my young child.  Reason. 
There is no death miserable, which the death of the soul doth not follow, from which danger thy young child is free.  Sorrow. 
My child is dead by breaking his neck.  Reason. 
What skilleth it after what sort a man die, so that he die not dishonourably, & he can not die dishonourably, that dieth without offences.  Sorrow. 
My child is perished by breaking his neck.  Reason. 
But Archemorus by the biting of a serpent, other some by sucking milk of a nurse being with child, other by sickness, the which for the more part happen more commonly then, than in old age.  Sorrow. 
My young child is perished by breaking his neck.  Reason. 
Sudden death is to be wished of the innocent, and to be feared of the guilty.  Sorrow. 
My child is dead of a fall from an high.  Reason. 
Unto them that die languishingly, death often times seemeth the sharper, & the pangs the longer: for all pain, the shorter it is, the more tolerable it is.  Sorrow. 
My child is dead by breaking his neck.  Reason. 
To stumble and fall, is proper to that age. Thy child hath done that which all do, although all perish not by casualty: but do thou suffer him to perish, for he must needs perish one day, and he is the more happily dealt withal, for that he hath perished before he was entangled in the evils of this life, which how manifold they be, those that have proved, and diligently observed, can tell. There is none that proveth not in part, and they that observe them not, lead forth their lives as it were in a dream, which so soon as they awake, they have forgotten: Thine, infant died an innocent, who perhaps, if he had lived, had died a very hurtful person. Lament not that he is safe, he hath escaped all the threats of fortune, and hath prevented death, which being deferred, would have prevented him.  Sorrow. 
A wolf hath devoured my child.  Reason. 
This now is the worms complaint.  Sorrow. 
A wolf hath carried away the body of my poor child into his den.  Reason. 
But the angels have carried up his blessed soul into heaven.   

Of a son that is found to be another man's. The l Dialogue.  SORROW. 
ANd moreover (that which is more grievous than death) he whom I thought had been my son, is another man's.  Reason. 
If you had a respect to the common father, then would you by the counsel of the Comical Poet, think that there is no human thing but may happen unto you.  Sorrow. 
I have fostered another man's child a great while for mine own.  Reason. 
Nature willeth a man to foster his own, and charity, to foster another man's, so that thou repent thee not after the deed, but delight in it.  Sorrow. 
He that was counted my child, appeareth to be another man's.  Reason. 
There is opened unto thee a way unto a great and singular merit, if, as thou hast hitherto done, so thou continued hereafter, to keep him as thine own. Truly that were a very gracious and acceptable deed before God. For children are wont for the more part to contemn the maintenance of their parents, as a thing due unto them by right: and moreover, it were a point of wickedness to love thy child that is borne of thee, and not to love man that is created of God. Thus every way, both before God and men, thou shalt purchase unto thyself singular commendation and virtue, through another man's wickedness.  Sorrow. 
I have nourished one for my child that was not so.  Reason. 
Thou nooryshedst him as thy child, and so nourish him still, if not as thy child, yet as thy brother: For of all the people that are, or ever shallbe, or have been heretofore, there is one father, and one governor. Do not dissemble through insolency, or through envy and hatred break of the sacred bond of nature: for you be brethren one to another.  Sorrow. 
He whom I thought to have been, as I hear, is not my son.  Reason. 
Take heed of whom thou hearest it, and whom thou trustest. For many, being pricked forth by wicked provocations, do of set purpose devise false rumours: and other some by a certain slypprynesse and unbridled affection of the tongue, do aswell babble forth the things that they know, as that they know not, and with like impudency utter whatsoever cometh in their mind: Howbeit, to determine precisely of a man's child, whether it be his own or not, is an hard case.  Sorrow. 
I hear say that he that was called my son, is another man's.  Reason. 
Why doest thou herein believe other rather than thine own wife, since none knoweth it more certainly than she? Truly she hath given thee a child, whom other go about to take from thee. Thou hast heard, I think, how that within the remembrance of our fathers there was a certain noble man, who had to wife a gentlewoman of equal beauty and parentage, but of whose honesty the report seemed some what to doubt: By her he had one moste beautiful son, whom when his mother upon a time held in her lap, and perceiving that her husband sighed and was careful, she demanded of him what was the cause of his heaviness? Then he sighing again, I had rather, said he, than the one half of my lands, that I were as sure that this boy were mine, as thou art that he is thine. Whereunto she answered, neither in countenance nor mind any whit moved: Truly, said she, the matter shall not cost so great a price: but give me an hundred acres of pasture, whereon I may feed my cattle, and I myself will resolve thee in this matter. Then he answered, that it was impossible. But she sending for such Noble men and Gentlemen as dwelled near hand, and causing him to give his word for the performance of his promise, held up her young son in her arms, and, Is this my child in deed, mine said she? And when they all answered, yea: she stretched forth her arms, and delivered him unto her husband, and here, said she, take him, I give him thee freely: and now be assured that he is thine. Then all that stood by, broke forth in laughter, and gave judgement on the woman's side, and condemned the husband by all their verdictes. Such contentions and lamentations are thereto often among men, they be hasty to marriage, yea slippery and headlong: you think you shall never see the day wherein you shallbe husbands, that is to say, men, as though otherwise you should never be men. Then being resolved in joys, or to speak more truly, in madness, the first days of your marriage you spend in revel rout, feasting and dancing, among your wedding solemnities, with pastimes, and songs, and minstrels: and the residue of your life you spend in suspicion and brawling. In both, you are to blame: For neither aught you in such sort to love so doubtful a thing, neither to abhor so inseparable a thing, nor to hate so lovely a thing, and by deceitful conjectures so to confound the most sacred laws of the divine and human house, and dissolve the most entire bonds of this life.  Sorrow. 
Yea, my wife herself hath confessed that he is none of mine.  Reason. 
Thou tellest me this, as if it were some singular matter, but it is common: some confess so much while they are living, and some when they lie a dying, among whom some have willed to have it imparted unto their husbands after their departure.  Sorrow. 
Mine own wife hath confessed unto me, that he is 〈…〉 my son.  Reason. 
Olimpias that was wife unto the renowned king Philip of Macedon, confessed as much unto her husband, which might have tended unto the destruction of her valiant son: and yet we read neither of tears, nor sighs, nor complaints among them all. Now hearken to a meery tale, but not unfit for our purpose. Not far from the Ocean Sea shore, which lieth right over against Britain, not very many years ago, report goeth that there was a certain poor woman, fair and well favoured, but a notable Harlot, who had twelve small children, by as many several men, one of them but a year elder than other. But being sick, when she perceived that the hour of her death was come, she caused her husband to be called unto her, and, this is no time, said she, now to dissemble any longer, there is none of all these children thine, but the eldest only: for the first year that we were married I lived honestly. It chanced that at the same time, all the children sat on the ground about the fire eating, according to the manner of the country. At which words the good man was amazed, and the children also that heard their mother's communication, whose fathers she reckoned all by name as they were in order of years: Which thing the youngest of them all hearing, who was then but three years old, immediately laid down his bread which was in his right hand, and the Rape root which he had in his left, upon the ground beside him, and trembling with fear, and holding up his hands after the manner of them that pray, Now good mother, quoth he, give me a good father: And when in the end of her speech she had told who was father to the youngest, to wit, a certain famous rich man: taking up his bread and meat again in his hand, That is well, said he, I have a good father.   

Of the loss of a brother. The. Lj. Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Have lost my brother.  Reason. 
Yet I hear no cause why thou shouldest be very sorry. For Ovid saith to true, that there is seldom agreement between brethren.  Sorrow. 
I have lost my brother.  Reason. 
It may be that thou hast at once lost both a brother, and an household enemy. Lo, see then what thou hast lost, an ill thing covered with a good name.  Sorrow. 
I have lost a brother.  Reason. 
Perhaps thou hast lost him that hath wished thee lost, and that always resisted thine attempts. Brother's hatred hath hindered many from the entrance unto great commendation.  Sorrow. 
I have lost a brother.  Reason. 
Thou hast lost peradventure an heavy yoke, as oftentimes we have seen it fall out, unto the tender years of thy children, thou hast lost also the enuier of thy life, the hynderer of thy glory, and also, which is evident, the partner of thy patrimony.  Sorrow. 
But I have lost a virtuous and loving brother.  Reason. 
But a mortal one. Virtue is no defence to the body, but an ornament to the mind, and a procurer of immortal glory, but as for the body she cannot exempt it from the power of death, but rather thrusteth it forward many times thereunto before due time: but if he be left unto nature, good and had do perish a like, and most commonly we see the best men weakest, and the worst long lived, but none immortal.  Sorrow. 
I have lost a good and glorious brother.  Reason. 
If thy brother be dead, the glory, virtue, & soul remaineth in safety, which only excepted, death consumeth and destroyeth all other worldly things with like violence. These therefore embrace thou, as if they were so many sons of thy brother, & with these immortal good things, requited the mortal evil: but if he have sons living, unfeigned dutifulness shall make them thine.  Sorrow. 
I have lost a good brother.  Reason. 
Thou shouldest have employed him diligently, which if thou didst negligently, his death is not to be blamed, but thine own slothfulness. Death hath exercised his power, but thou hast slacked thine opportunity.  Sorrow. 
Death hath deceived me, for I thought not that he would have died so soon.  Reason. 
All things that happen unto them that are unwilling, seem to come quickly, but if they be wished for, they come but slowly.  Sorrow. 
I scarce thought that he could have died.  Reason. 
Vehement love beareth with itself in all things, and promiseth itself every thing, unpleasant thoughts, & whatsoever is noisome unto cast it escheweth: insomuch as whosoever is in love, imagineth unto himself that his pleasures are in a manner everlasting: thou, since thou knewest that thy brother was borne, oughtest also to know that he was mortal, and therefore if thou bewail his timely death as some sudden matter, thou art much deceived, but if as it were untimely, thou wast in a wrong opinion.  Sorrow. 
I knew that he was mortal, but I thought not upon his death.  Reason. 
unwisely done, but this is your dissimulation: being mortal ye think never to die, when as you may chance to die every day, and needs you must die one day: Yea rather it is the unchangeable necessity of the law of your nature, that you can never be other than such as must oye, which necessity must continually remain with you: but you dying every day, turn away your senses from the things that are present, and your mind from the end that will ensue. This is a common mischief, which what is it other then willingly to shut your eyes that they behold not the beams of the Sun, as though it were hurtful aswell to the light as it is to the eyes not to behold it, and that that were as evident which you see not, and that as true which you know not. Who is so blind that seeth not this, or so blockish that understandeth it not? The infirmity of the senses or understanding, withdraweth nothing at all from the truth of things. As for you, ye are neither weak nor dull, but, wherein you cannot be excused, egregius dissemblers, and very wise to deceive yourselves, who with so great diligence learn unprofitable things, and endeavour to be ignorant of necessary matters, but all in vain: for they steal upon you though your eyes be shut, and invade your minds that are desirous to be ignorant, and disquiet your memories that are willing to forget, and many things arise daily in the life of man, which constrain you to think upon them when you would not, and which do awake your dissimulations, either by your private or foreign arguments: but I confess, that death only at full confuteth all the follies of mortal creatures.  Sorrow. 
I knew that my brother was mortal and should die, nevertheless I weep for his death.  Reason. 
The greater part of human actions is superfluous: Why weepest thou for his death? What doth this weeping avail him, or thyself, or any other? Admit death be evil, which the learned deny, truly no man will deny but that weeping is in vain, for that which cannot be recovered. And verily, if any thing might be termed wretched beside the vice of the mind, if there be any thing in all the world to be wept for, it aught rather be lamented while it is coming at hand, then when it is past: which that King conceyned right well, of whom I spoke not long before.  Sorrow. 
I am grieved for the death of my good brother.  Reason. 
There is no affection more tender than a fathers, and therefore that which is said of the death of a son, apply it thou to the death of thy brother, and that which may be said of them both, is proficable in the death of a man's friend, which loss although it be matched with the greatest, it must be abidden, as of all other things: for all such things as appear unto us grievous, are to be suffered by one and like courage of mind, although a man would think that they would quite oppress him.  Sorrow. 
I have lost a most loving brother.  Reason. 
It had been worse if thou hadst lost a most hateful brother: For the love of the one, and the remembrance of the other, is very pleasant.  Sorrow. 
I have lost a companion most pleasant unto me even from his tender youth, I am now left alone.  Reason. 
He is not alone with whom virtue and honesty do remain, between which twain death hath not forbidden the Image of thy brother to be fastened hard unto thy hartstringes: so neither thy brother is lost, nor thou alone.   

Of the death of a friend. The. Lij. Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Have lost a friend.  Reason. 
If thou hast loved virtue in thy friend as thou oughtest, truly she is not lost nor dead: and therefore it is said, that true friend ship is immortal, for that it is never broken, either by the falling out of friends, or else by death itself: and thus virtue overcometh discord and all vice, but she herself is never overcome by any thing.  Sorrow. 
I have lost a friend.  Reason. 
All other things when thou hast lost them, thou hast them not, but when thou thinkest thou hast lost thy friends and thy best beloved, than hast thou them most assuredly: For things which are present be delicate, I will not say weerysome, yea and many times arrogant, and offended with very small trifles, but the remembrance of friends is pleasant and sweet, having in it nothing that is bitter or contrary to delight.  Sorrow. 
I have lost a very good friend by death.  Reason. 
If thou complain of the loss of commodities, thou makest account of profit, and not of friendship. If thou complain of thy daily conversation with him, remember how short time friends remain together, and how much time we spend in cares, how much in sickness, how much in sleep and pleasure, how much is spent in intercourse with strangers; how many heaps of cares: Finally, what business, what studies, what leisure, and what troubles sometimes of another man's, and sometimes of a man's own, and also the continual and invincible necessity of manifold matters, from which no prosperity is exempt, do withdraw some thing from our desired conversation: how many seldom meetings, how short and careful abydynges, how sorrowful departynges, how late returnynges, what stays, what impediments, what deceipts? With this and such like difficulties of life, & fetters of friendship, which may easily be brought into a man's remembrance, thou mayst understand how great a matter it is which death hath taken from thee. For if thou may this alone in friendship, which is the only perpetual and stable foundation thereof, truly death could there take nothing away. Thou hast heard in Marcus Tully, of Lelius comforting himself, how his friend Scipio liveth yet to him, how fresh he is in his mind, & that neither the fame nor the virtue of his friend any time dieth. What forbiddeth, but that thy friend Scipio liveth now unto thee? But you, because ye cannot be Scipio's or Lelies, ye be not men neither, & for that ye cannot attain to the highest, ye despair of the mean, or contemn it, as though as in Poetry, so in virtue, neither men nor the gods could aspire unto a mediocrity.  Sorrow. 
Death hath taken away my friend from me.  Reason. 
Death is able to take away thy friends body, but as for friendship and friend he is not able: For they are of the kind of things that are not subject to death nor fortune, but to virtue, the which among human things is free only, & is able to give freedom unto whatsoever is subject unto her: and as for a friend, he should not be of so great price if he could be so easily lost.  Sorrow. 
I have remained without a friend.  Reason. 
If thou do rightly honour friendship, thou shalt never lack old friends, nor be destitute of new, yea such is the opinion hereof, that it will purchase thee friends of thine enemies. There was nothing that more reconciled Augustus the Emperor unto Herode, then for that he professed that he was most friendly affected unto Augustus' enemy, and that by means of him he hated Augustus most extremely, for which cause Augustus judged him worthy of his friendship, who with so great trustiness had honoured the friendship of his enemy: so great is the beauty of virtue and friendship, that we are delighted therewith even in our enemies, and enforceth a man to love him of whom he knoweth himself to be hated.  Sorrow. 
My most faithful friend is dead.  Reason. 
Thou must bury him in thy remembrance, where he may secretly remain with thee, and never die altogether: Whom if thou hast lost by any other means then by death, than hast thou not lost a friend, but a false opinion of friendship.   

Of the absence of friends. The. Liij. Dialogue  SORROW. 
I Am grieved for the absence of my friends.  Reason. 
It happeneth so many times: but he that hath learned to take indifferently the death of his friend, may somewhat more moderately bear his absence, neither can the absence of a friend overthrow him, whom the death of a friend could not overthrow.  Sorrow. 
My most dear friend is absent, my right hand, and my right eye.  Reason. 
Though he were so absent that he would never return, yet would I say that there is nothing but a man aught to take it indifferently: but he will come a gain, and thine integrity shallbe restored unto thee.  Sorrow. 
My friend is absent, the one moiety of myself.  Reason. 
Horace the poet termeth Virgil the one half of his soul, which phrayse being afterward used of many, is now grown into a proverb. But if a friend be not naturally only, but civilly also had in possession, wherein doth absence hurt friendship, but that wheresoever thou be, he may sit, walk, talk, and confer with thee in pleasant and serious matters? For if ye saw nothing else but what lieth before your eyes, and only the things that are present delighted you, than should your sight be very short and narrow.  Sorrow. 
I am sorry for the absence of my sweet friend.  Reason. 
But you use rather to be sorry for the absence of beloved, then sweet things. Hearken now unto that which will scarce enter in the common people's ears. It is a strange case, how ticklish and loathsome sometime is the presence yea of men's dearest friends: many times men are offended at a small matter, and those whom they love berry well, or whose presence they earnestly desire, not only their friends, but also their brethren or children, for that perhaps they are some hindrance unto their studies and business, they had rather sometime that they were absent. In their absence there is nothing bitter, nothing that grieveth our desire, but that they are away, which notwithstanding thou canst not deny to be pleasant.  Sorrow. 
The absence of my beloved friend grieveth me.  Reason. 
This is a common thing, I confess, among women & such as love after a womanish manner, whose whole delight consisteth in the senses. Notwithstanding, of these the poet spoke where he saith, He that is absent, heareth and seeth another that is absent. Which if it be so, why should not also a friend see and hear his friend that is absent, unless peradventure your eyes be more bright and clear to behold the visions of lasciviousness then of virtue, or else there is more honour to be ascribed unto mad then chaste love, which besides honest and quick thoughts, which no distance of place, nor necessity of force can restrain to wander, and be conversant where soever it pleaseth them, there is a provision made by the benefit of sending letters, than which I know not whether there be any presence more acceptable. Marcus Cicero was in Rome, whiles writing unto his brother. Quintus Cicero who as deputy governed the country of Asia, when I read thy letters, saith be, me thinks I hear thee speak, and when I write unto thee, me thinks, I talk with thee. And anon exhorting him unto the excellency of glory, he saith, that he hath found it very effectuous, in all his works and deeds to imagine unto himself that his brother was present with him. I cannot tell whether he were at Athens, or in some other place where Epicurus was present, whiles writing unto his friend, So behave thyself in all matters, saith he, as if Epicurus himself beheld thee. Truly Anneus Seneca was in Campania, whiles by his letters communing with his friend that sojourned in Sicilia, he exhorteth him to study, to dine, and walk with him, which he could not do but in mind only, and thereunto wanted neither the assistance of the eyes, nor of the ears, nor of the hands, nor of the feet.  Sorrow. 
Mine eyes do greedily require mine absent friend:  Reason. 
I cannot deny, but that by absence there is some delight taken from the eyes, but nothing from the mind, neither from the eyes in a manner, as I said before, if it be true friendship. From hence it cometh, that in the same Poet we read & commend this saying, Pallas, Enander, they all stand before his eyes. And Cicero himself also in a certain epistle, saith, that he beareth not only in his mind his friend Balbus, who served under Caesar in France, but also in his eyes.  Sorrow. 
My friend is absent.  Reason. 
Sometime a friend is not known, unless he be absent. As in all other things, so likewise in friendship, great plenty dulleth the sense, and scarcity sharpeneth it. And if the schoolmaster of love saith, that intermission of love is profitable unto lovers, whose universal pleasures consist in presence, why should not the same also be avail able unto friends, whose whole delight is reposed in virtue, and feeleth no discommodity in absence, since it is present in every place? Do not therefore give over unto desire, but embrace thy friend in thy remembrance, whom neither departure nor death itself can take from thee.  Sorrow. 
I suffer grievously the absence of my sweet friend.  Reason. 
Suffer it only, and confirm the softer parts of thy mind with present virtue. For this bitter absence, which thou now bewailest, perhaps in time shall make thy friend more dear unto thee, and his presence more acceptable.   

Of grievous shipwreck. The liv. Dialogue.  SOROW. 
I Have been tossed in a grievous shipwreck.  Reason. 
Thou tellest me of the shipwreck on the sea, but as for the wrack of the mind thou speakest nothing of it, as though there were any more grievous, or common. There is the tempest of desires and affections, as if it were of contrary blustering winds, which when the sails of your concupiscences and hope are hoist and spread, bearing away the helm of the mind, and losing the anchors of constancy in the deep sea, driveth you about unto all coasts, and over all seas: that wrack it was that drove thee into this. Take away desire, and thou shalt take away this sailing for the most part, or at leastwise the danger thereof: the same driveth men not only into ships, but miserably upon rocks, and death itself. And therefore, for the most part all that by their own seeking perish in the sea, have first perished in the mind, and were first overwhelmed by the waves of covetousness, before that they were drenched in the surgies of the sea. For desire cometh seldom without headlong hastiness, and that which it will have, it will have it presently, all tarriance and the companions thereof costliness it hateth, the same is the ready way unto destruction, and the first cause of often shipwreck.  Sorrow. 
I am discomforted by a great shipwreck.  Reason. 
Thou hast learned to pray unto God, to make vows, and promise' many things, of which although fear was the cause, yet since thou art arrived again on the land, acknowledge thou that faith was the cause: God is not mocked skot free, he hateth the breakers of their faithful promises.  Sorrow. 
I have suffered a foul shipwreck.  Reason. 
None complain of shipwreck, but they that have escaped it. Rejoice therefore that thou art safe, and more expert. The remembrance of dangers past, is commonly delectable, as contrariwise the memory of forepast prosperity is grievous. But how much wouldst thou have esteemed in foretymes to have seen the Triton gods of the sea, and the mountains of water foaming, & the waves up to heaven swelling, & the monsters of the sea swimming? Thou hast now some fearful tales to tell in the winter nights by the fire side, to make folk a feared withal, and to hold thine amazed family in admiration. Now therefore thou knowest what is a poetical tempest, and that fear which thou wouldst scarce believe, is certainly known unto thee, which thou hast now well gained, either by the fear of death, or loss of goods.  Sorrow. 
I have been in a dangerous shipwreck.  Reason. 
There is nothing learned without travail, this if thou be wise, shallbe a perpetual lesson unto thee, that hereafter thou never persuade thyself to commit thy life unto the winds.  Sorrow. 
I have suffered a woeful shipwreck.  Reason. 
If this be the first, take heed thou fall not into the second: if it be the second, then hold thy peace. For proper is the saying of Publius the writer of scoffs: He wickedly accuseth Neptune, that committeth shipwreck the second tyme.  Sorrow. 
I have scarce escaped in a terrible shipwreck.  Reason. 
I can not see why it should be more terrible to die in the sea, then upon the land, seeing men must needs die upon the one of them, or why it were better to feed worms, then to be bait for fishes: but forasmuch as thou hast escaped, beware that thou commit not again thy life to a broken oar, or a rotten board. Since thou art an earthly creature, learn to keep the earth, and rather to affect heaven then the sea.   

Of Burning. The lu Dialogue.  SOROW. 
I Have scarce escaped out of a burning fire.  Reason. 
Dost thou then draw it unto the injury of fortune, that thou hast escaped? Let Alcibiades be moved, who could not escape out of the hot burning of his enemies: howbeit although thou have prevented the earthly, yet who is able to gainstand the burnings that come from heaven? Let the Roman king Tullus Hostilius, and the Roman Emperor Charus, answer me, whereof the one was consumed with fire from heaven in the palace at Rome, and the other in his tents near unto the river Tigris, if we may credit common histories.  Sorrow. 
Having lost all my goods, I have escaped naked out of the fire.  Reason. 
Whom I pray thee, would either Kias, as all men say, or Stilbon, as Seneca will have it, have spoken such a word? who when his country was on fire, being demanded, or rather reproved, for that he conveyed none of his goods out of the flame, as other of his neighbours did, answered in this manner? Albina my goods, said he, I carry with me. Worthily, truly, whether it were the one or both of them that spoke it: although such kind of speeches do always sound most excellently out of the mouth of the first author of them: but omitting the author, the truth of the saying is commonly perceived. For the true goods in deed remain within, and cannot be taken from the owner while he liveth, neither when he is dead. For they cleave fast to the soul, whither as neither the right hand of fortune, nor of death is able to reach. Thou being safe and sound, lamentest that thou hast lost certain things, which if they had been thine in deed, out of doubt they had been safe with thee this day. For believe me, true goods do not perish. Gold is not more precious than virtue, nor so good as it, although it be not consumed, but purged by the fire.  Sorrow. 
A great fire hath blasted me.  Reason. 
There was one Caeculus, I know not who, that sought the fame of divinity by fire. In Virgil, a flame of fire taking hold of julus hair, gave the first hope to their doubtful health. And for that servius head burned light with fire, it was no poetical, but an historical aboding of a kingdom. It is well known that the founders of the Empire of Rome, escaped out of the flame of Troy. To be short, the scriptures declare that Helias died by fire, and that the Lord himself appeared in a flame of fire: so that it is not for naught that bonfires are a token of mirth and rejoicing in your cities, which now is a cause of thy heaviness.  Sorrow. 
My house is suddenly consumed with fire.  Reason. 
Yea, the temple of Diana at Ephesus was in old time set on fire, a goodlier piece of work than which, that age never saw. And also the temple of Jerusalem, that was dedicated unto the lord of heaven, was burnt, the very enemies pitying it that set it on fire: & likewise in this our age the laterane castle, for beauty the flower of the world, was twice consumed with fire, an evident & plain token of God's wrath, in my judgement: no strange matter I confess, but terrible. And last of all, to say nothing of little cities, fire hath often touched Saguntum, and Numantia, and Corinth, and other innumerable, yea and Rome itself was brought almost unto utter destruction: And Carthage once, and Troy was twice destroyed with fire. Cities have been burned, and we believe that the whole world shallbe one day brought to naught by fire. And dost thou then complain that it dare take hold on thy house, that shall consume both heaven and earth?  Sorrow. 
I had much a do to escape out of the fire.  Reason. 
Thou hast escaped then, and art thou sorry for it? unless thou hadst escaped, thou hadst held thy peace, but now being a live and ashes, thou lamentest that ashes is extinguished.   

Of great labour and travail. The lvi Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Am wearied with great labour.  Reason. 
There is no glory without difficulty. All virtue dwelleth on high, not easily to be attained, the passage thereunto is cragged, rough, and full of stones.  Sorrow. 
I am overweerie with travail.  Reason. 
travail is the ground of virtue, and rest of pleasures: there is nothing commendable, nothing excellent, without travail: and therefore labour was the foundation of Hercules praise. By nothing is Ulysses better known then by travail: how wise soever he be feigned, if his wisdom had been idle, it had been unknown. Labour advanced the Roman captains, the Scipios and Camillus, labour the Fabi● and Curij, labour Fabricius and the Metelli, labour also Pompeius the great, labour Hannibal, and labour also advanced julius Caesar unto honour: Labour made the Cato's and Marius' famous, & painful warfare ennobled Papyrius Cursor, and Possennius niger. To omit philosophers & poets, whose whole life what is it other than a famous and pleasant travail? what shall I say of artificers, whose glory what soever it is, by what travail they get it thou knowest, with what diligence, as watching late, and rising early, they gain it: of which matter we read how that Demosthenes was wont to complain, which truly may be no small provocation unto them that deal in great matters, since that small things do so stir up and sharpen the mind. And therefore peruse over all sorts of men, and whereas there is much fame, there is also plenty of travail, and always labour is beloved of the lovers of virtue, without which they cannot attain unto glory, which they love and seek after.  Sorrow. 
I am continually exercised in labour.  Reason. 
Great labour availeth not, unless it be continual: for why? the glory that is won by labour, unless it be continual, will not seem great.  Sorrow. 
I am vexed with to continual labour.  Reason. 
To much and to little are taken in respect of the sufferers: unto a slothful person all labour is to much, but none to much to the industrius.  Sorrow. 
Many labours grieve me.  Reason. 
They should not grieve thee, if thou were a man, but rather sharpen and quicken thee. Wouldst thou know what difference there is between labour and pleasure? compare than Sardanapalus with Hercules, Sergius Orata with Attilius Regulus, Apicius with Caius Marius.  Sorrow. 
Continual labour maketh me lean.  Reason. 
Labour in that respect hath been a remedy unto many, & hath cleared and abated those whom rest had infected & deformed: for it is evident that labour cureth the mind, withstandeth the springing of vices, and plucketh then up by the roots. To be short, among the causes of the excellency of ancient virtue and prowess tofore in elder times, are reckoned by writers on the one side labour, and on the other poverty: and those troubles of the body are to be wished, which cure the troubles of the mind.  Sorrow. 
My labour is painful.  Reason. 
Virtue and labour are painful, pleasure and idleness easy: things that are like remain well together, but between contraries there is disagreement.  Sorrow. 
My chance is to painful.  Reason. 
Thou takest thy travail in toil a part. Knowest thou not that whiles the godly in times past have risen out of their beds at midnight, in the cold, watching and occupying themselves in prayer unto almighty God, the whoremongers in the mean while, have accomplished their filthy pleasures? And likewise while the soldier keepeth watch and ward in the camp for the defence of his country, and the captain in his tent for the enlarging of the bounds thereof, and the student among his books, for the beautifying of the same, the infamous bawd taketh his rest in his lodging among the thickest of his graceless trulls: but which of these are in best case, there is none that hath in him any spark of honesty; that will make any doubt soon to define.  Sorrow. 
I am urged with very painful labour.  Reason. 
Be of good cheer, if so be the cause only of thy labour be honest, thy labour is honest also, by means whereof thou shalt be reckoned among famous men. All that endeavour to rise unto glory, must pass through a painful and narrow path, but to dishonour, the way is down hill, and easy to be travailed. To be short, whosoever is borne, is borne to labour and travail, neither do I except herein the sons of kings. Labour and virtue are your arts, not idleness and pleasure, unto which who so apply themselves, do degenerate from the nature of men, and transform themselves into beasts  Sorrow. 
I am worn with grievous labour.  Reason. 
That labour which is grievous unto them that yield unto it, is easy unto them that endeavour earnestly against it. Only endure it with a valiant mind, and arise against it, and compare the end with the present pain. Labour hath advanced many, and industry many, but never any become glorious through slothfulness.   

Of a painful journey. The lvii. Dialogue.  SOROW. 
I Go a painful journey on my feet.  Reason. 
Hadst thou rather than go upon the feet of another? But ye will not work with the hands, nor see with the eyes, nor hear with the ears, nor taste with the mouth, nor smell with the nose of another: What special matter is this then, that only you take a pleasure to go with the feet of another?  Sorrow. 
I go on foot.  Reason. 
Camest thou on horse back into the world, or thinkest thou so to departed? Why then should it grieve thee so to continued in the world? But needs thou must ride a cockhorse? O how simple was thy beginning, and how poor will be thy end, and how proud are the times that are between, and in so short a course how great forgetfulness of both extremities? neither do you remember from whence you come, nor whither you shall.  Sorrow. 
I am constrained to go a great journey on foot.  Reason. 
To be constrained, I confess, is an hard case, but he that is willing, cannot be constrained: disdain and repining increase the weight of necessity, by patience and agreeableness of mind, the sharpness of fortune's dart is rebated. Wilt thou not be constrained? then do that willingly which thou art compelled to do. Wouldst thou have thy long journey made shorter? then go with a good will.  Sorrow. 
I would willingly ride, but I go on foot.  Reason. 
Is it not a great madness for one four-footed beasts sake, the use whereof thou knowest not how long fortune will lend thee, to forget the benefit of nature? As many have done and still do, who upon the confidence which they have in a vile, and unruly, and transitory horse, forget to go on their own feet: unto these sorts of men what might one wish better than the rich gout, that is to say, unprofitable feet, and many horses?  Sorrow. 
I will go a great journey on foot.  Reason. 
Thou shalt go at thy pleasure, none shall carry thee beyond thy prefixed place, none shall stay thee, none shall trouble thee, none shall shake thee, none shall throw thee down, or jostle thee, thou hast but one labour upon the way, thy pain is only to go, thou hast no business nor trouble with thy bearer. Thou shalt not be constrained to bridle and rain thy horse, to spur and beat him, to water and litter him, to walk and rub him, to feed him, to curry him, to anoint his sore back, or to feel his dry hooves, or handle with thy fingers the dangerous nails, or with staves to departed their nightly conflicts, and to awake them out of their sleep, and always to be careful and circumspect how these licentious cattle use themselves towards their neighbours, at leastwise thou shalt take thy rest in the night season, for they that ride, do travail, and are troubled also in the night.  Sorrow. 
I go a long journey on foot.  Reason. 
Perhaps in shoes. For the holy fathers walked about the wilderness upon their bore feet. The apostles, which were the messengers of Almighty God, walked throughout all parts of the world, one into the East, another into the West, another into the North, & another into the South, sometime they went by water, & that but seldom, only when as the situation of the place was such as they could not otherwise choose: but which of them, I pray thee, hast thou heard to have ridden on horseback, except S. john only? Neither road he ever more than once, and that but a little way, which was as Clemens writeth, & the Ecclesiastical history maketh mention, when as he was stirred forth with a godly haste, to recover the soul of a lost & desperate young man. And how should they ride, whose Lord and Master went on foot? He scarce road once himself upon a poor Ass, which was not long before he was hanged upon the cross. But if these examples do over-burden thee with incomparable holiness, yet is it known well enough that the Roman armies, which vanquished the whole world, were for the most part of them footmen, who not only carried their armour and weapon on foot, but also as much victual as should serve them many days, moreover a kind of munition, whereby, when once they were entered within their enemies bounds, they defended their camp in the day times, and their tents in the night, against the invasion of their enemies: whereupon our cuntreiman Cicero, in a certain place excellently disputing of the Roman soldiers, when he had said that unto valiant men of other nations their armour was no impediment, but in the manner of a garment, yet this commendation he gave them above all other, saying, that unto the Roman soldiers only their armour & weapons were not a garment, but stood them in steed of their arms & shoulders. And when they had once put on those warlike burdens whereof I spoke, than they thought themselves in deed to be appareled. And lest haply any man be deceived by the common custom of speech, let it be known unto them, that by the name of soldiers or servitors, footmen are only signified, and that in many places of the Roman history it may be gathered, that by this name they are distinguished from horse men, although they do both sorts of them serve in the wars. Wherefore, the remembrance of their labour and travail may breed thee no small ease & comfort, not only being unarmed, and light, and travailing on an hard, though a safe journey, but also if thou were armed and heavily laden, and faring on foot in a dangerous path. For there is nothing more effectual unto the beareing of adversity, then to think that many have borne the same with valiant minds. And a lofty mind will be ashamed that he only cannot do that which in numerable could do before him. Which thought hath not only been profitable in labours of difficulty, but also in those pains and torments of the body which seem to be most miserable, & specially in death itself.  Sorrow. 
A long & painful journey do I sorrowfully pass forth on foot.  Reason. 
There is nothing that so much easeth a painful journey, and comforteth an heavy mind, as noble and sweet cares, which cannot harbour within the heart, and keep company all the way long, unless it be with some good and learned man. Hereunto if by chance there happen the pleasant society of some meery and eloquent companion, the journey shall not only seem light, but short also. Many have been so delighted with pleasant communication upon the way, that they have felt no tediousness at all of the travail, and although the journey were long indeed, yet have they complained of the shortness thereof, supposing themselves not to have gone, but rather to have been carried. This is also common among the wr●tie sayings of Publius. A pleasant companion upon the way, is as good as a Wagon.   

Of one years barrenness. The. Lviij. Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Am oppressed with the barrenness of one year.  Reason. 
Plenty then will be the better welcome unto thee: every thing is best known by comparing it with the contrary.  Sorrow. 
My land hath deceived mine expectation.  Reason. 
It is not thy land that hath deceived thee, but thy wickedness and greediness of mind: you promise yourselves every thing to fall out as you would have them, like proud fools, being worthy in your own opinion that nature herself should be at your commandment. Who if she dare receive her right, and fail once to satisfy the deep and bottomless whyrlpoole of your covetous minds, which nothing is able to fill, then seemeth she unto you strange, and covetous, & injurious. This is no righteous nor modest hope, but the imaginations of an immoderate desire: ye feign that those things shall come to pass which you would have, and if you miss aught thereof, you call it a loss: thy land keepeth it old custom, and thou thine. For the barrenness and fruitfulness of the earth come by course, but your covetousness is continual: You, being most partial interpreters of all things, when as you aught to take the first thankfully and soberly, and the second patiently and valiantly, the one you contemn, the other you bewail, the one maketh you proud, the other plaintiff.  Sorrow. 
My land which promised me better success, hath deceived me.  Reason. 
You weighed the earth with your oxen and ploughs, and heaven with your vows and prayers. The blowing of the winds, the opportunity of shewres, the comeliness of the springing trees, the beauty of the fields, the Winters dust, the Spring's dirt, the Summer Sun, the ripeness of harvest, all these do draw your covetous minds into hope. And like as every flame setteth on fire the dry stubble, and every wind bloweth abroad the lose dust: even so every gain engendereth hope to the covetous mind, and the lest loss, not of substance only, but also of hope, quite confoundeth him. But O you wretches, moderate your unseemly motions, restrain your unmeasurable covetousness, and chasten your crebulus hope, which hath been frustrated by a thousand successes: to what end do you look upon heaven and earth? Plentifulness cometh from God only. O ye mortal men, suffer him to work his pleasure, & behold you what is done, & praise it. Let the workman work, & deny not unto God that reverence which aught to be given to a man that is skilful in any science. Let vessels of earth be ashamed to control the heavenly potter, but in voice and mind give thanks unto him for all thing, who being privy of your necessities, and not ignorant of your desires, relieveth the one, and frustrateth the other: in both he is merciful, and terrible in counsel over the sons of men, insomuch as it is written of him, Put your trust now at length, not in your fields, but in the Lord, work righteousness, and inhabit the earth, and feed on his riches, and take pleasure in the Lord, and he shall grant you your hearts desire: which, when you have once begun to take delight in him, cannot be covetous nor unjust. Lay forth your ways before him, and trust in him, and he will bring it to pass. Cast your cares upon the Lord, and he will nourish you. Why do you think upon & love nothing but the earth. O ye that were fashioned by the hand of God? Do not contemn these sacred speeches as you were wont to do, pray not for rain, or shining, or any other weather agreeable to your appetite, put not your confidence in the earth, but only in him that beholdeth the earth, and maketh it to tremble, who draweth the moist streams out of the hardest rocks, who, to be brief, hath suffered thee to be deceived by the field, to the end thou shouldest put thy trust in him that never deceiveth.  Sorrow. 
I have lost much of my accustomed plenty.  Reason. 
That is only withholden, which either the years going before did give overmuch, or the years following shall give hereafter. A little moderation is sufficient. Covetousness increaseth by gain, and the more it hath, the poorer it is. Plenty is a great mother, a great nurse and favourer of vices: Suffer somewhat to be diminished from thy evils, the less plenty thou hast, the less shallbe thy pride, & the less thy licentiousness. Add hereunto moreover, that this the default of thy land would be counted beneficial & plenty among some, and thou thyself, if thou were accustomed unto scarcity, wouldst judge this to be plenty: so great a sway doth custom always bear in discerning matters, and hath so great a force. What marvel then is it now, if they contemn moderate things, which are accustomed unto superfluous? then which there is no storm greater to the overthrow of modesty.  Sorrow. 
I am grieved with unaccustomed barrenness.  Reason. 
Often times the plague of barrenness bringeth forth the more valiant men, and the blessing of plenty more effeminate, and not only bringeth them forth, but maketh them such, and hardeneth or softeneth them that are borne else where. Thus did Asia first mollify the French men immediately after the Romans, and Babylon vanquished Alexander, and Capuariannes' hardened the nature of the Romans, and sharpened it as it had been a Whetstone. Since plenty than hath softened thee, let scarcity harden thee: Let thy land teach thee sobriety, and let thy barren ground persuade thee unto that, whereunto thy plentiful books cannot. There is no man that aught to be despised that professeth himself a teacher of profitable doctrine. Learn to live well: Learn, I say, though thou be old, though thou be unwilling, yea though thou disdain at it.   

Of an evil and proud Bailiff. The. Lix. Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Suffer a proud Bailiff.  Reason. 
If he be proud only, and not a thief also, it is well with thee.  Sorrow. 
I have an evil Bailiff.  Reason. 
Bear him indifferently, for unless he be very evil, he is a good Baylyffe.  Sorrow. 
I am grieved at my rude Bailiff.  Reason. 
Thou wouldst be more grieved at him, if he were soft and delicate: Roughness and rudeness are terms proper for Clowns, for they toil with the rough oxen, with rough ploughs and harrows, with rough spades and rakes, and lastly with the rough earth itself, and what then should they be other then rude and rough themselves? If he have no other fault but that he is rude, he is Bailiff good enough.  Sorrow. 
I cannot abide an importunate Clown.  Reason. 
But thou must either abide thy Bailiff, or else be Bailiff thyself, and determine to go dwell in the rude country where all things are hard and rough.  Sorrow. 
I have an unruly husbandman, and without all civility.  Reason. 
None of these aught to be unthought upon of thee. So soon as thou hadst land, thou shouldest have foreseen the manifold toils belonging thereto, barkynges, and thy Bailiffs disdaynefulnesse. At what time thou vauntedst thyself of thy fruitful land, I told thee that husbandmen were the last of all people whom justice departed from, when she forsook the earth. If ever mankind should be revived again, I suppose, that they be the last that shall find her. Thus they be gone before them whom they followed, and are become of all evil men, the most wicked.  Sorrow. 
I have a very sharp Bailiff.  Reason. 
Where as the truth himself said, that the earth should bring forth unto man thorns and briars, that is to be understood of husbandmen, who are sharper than any briars.  Sorrow. 
I have a very wicked Farmer.  Reason. 
Either learn to suffer the wickedness of thy Farmer, or else starve for hunger: For to change thy Farmer it shall not avail thee, seeing they be all in a manner of one quality, saving that always the worst cometh last.  Sorrow. 
My Bailiff is a Thief.  Reason. 
Now thou hast spoken that which I looked for all this while: For they are so addicted to stealing, that the little which they get that way is more sweet unto them, than whatsoever they gain by their true labour. But this must also be borne withal, neither aught one to complain of that which is common to all men. And truly although the Poet set down, that the Hinds of the Country were last of all forsaken of justice, as I have said twice before: Notwithstanding it is well known, that the first man that was begotten amongst you of the seed of man, was both an husbandman, and a murderer of his own brother, that they may seem always to have been the worst kind of people, over whom whiles thou thinkest, thou needest not to marvel that they be thieves also.  Sorrow. 
Through the fault of my Bailiff, my Farm is destroyed, and untilled.  Reason. 
The like happeneth every day unto greater personages than thou: and in old time unto Anaxagoras, and Architas, who were both, I think, sorry for it, but neither of them angry.   

Of Theft. The. Lx. Dialogue  SORROW. 
THat little which remaineth, I can scarce defend from thieves.  Reason. 
Thy Bailiff in the country hath taught thee how to take this evil with patience, which thou must show also in the cities.  Sorrow. 
thieves do trouble me.  Reason. 
Against this mischief complaints do not avail, but punishments are needful: In the mean while, diligent watchings doth good, to him that is circumspect. There be some that keep nothing, & accuse thieves, when as the old Proverb saith, that occasion maketh a thief.  Sorrow. 
thieves do besiege my entry.  Reason. 
Shut to thy doors, lock them fast, open thine eyes, and look about thee, if thou be negligent in so doing, then blame thyself. A thief seldom hurteth the circumspect. They may more justly complain that have no houses, such as are certain people under the South and North poles, & therefore among the Scythians. as thou seest, it is written, there is no offence more grievous than theft. And the reason is this, that if men there might rob freely among the woods, what should remain to the owner?  Sorrow. 
thieves steal my goods.  Reason. 
They would have them be theirs, and thou forbiddest not, think therefore that thy negligence is punished, and that by this loss thou art taught to keep thine own: profitable matters are not taught for nought.  Sorrow. 
thieves do very much trouble me.  Reason. 
Truly they are an importunate kind of men, worthily hated of all that are virtuous, not only as pestilent, but also as vile persons. And know this, that it proceedeth of none other than a great baseness of mind, that any man is drawn unto so vile a wickedness. And therefore not without good cause Aurelius Alexander, who was a young, but a virtuous Prince, fell so much in hatred of thieves, that as Helius Lampridius writeth of him, if he had seen any such, he had his finger ready to pluck out one of his eyes. Such was his hatred against those that were infamous for Thievery, that if by chance he saw any of them, his spirit was so invaded against them, that immediately he was provoked to vomit out choler, his face being so inflamed, that he could not speak a word. Truly a notable disdain of a valiant mind, and a shameful filthiness in the thieves. which was able so suddenly to move the stomach of so high and excellent a prince, unto loathsomeness and vomiting. Yea moreover, when as on a time, a certain noble man being accused of theft, at length through great favour of certain Rings that were his friends, had obtained to be sent forth to warfaire, and was immediately taken with theft again (for they that are given to that vice, through custom are never able to leave it) Alexander demanded of the kings which had preferred him, what punishment there was for thieves in their countries? Whereunto when they answered, hanging, he caused him forthwith by their judgement to be hanged.  Sorrow. 
I am molested with thieves.  Reason. 
Circumspection and diligent heed taking, are good remedies against thieves, but the best of all, is poverty. As long as a man hath any thing that they do like of, he can not well escape their hands, or eyes. Wouldst thou be out of the fear of thieves? be poor then.   

Of robberies. The lxi Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Am spoiled by thieves.  Reason. 
Although, as I suppose, it be written in the civil law, that there is no thief worse than he that taketh away a thing by force, yet notwithstanding privy pilferers be worse in my opinion: These thieves do work by craft, but those by open violence. And therefore after the opinion of Cicero, these are likened to foxes, and those to Lions. And moreover these thieves do spoil men of their goods, but they leave suspicion behind them: But to be rob by good fellows sufficeth in a manner, & they leave no suspicion behind them.  Sorrow. 
I have fallen into the hands of thieves who have left me naked.  Reason. 
julius Caesar fell into the hands of thieves also, by whom he was not only spoiled, but also taken prisoner, and set at a great ransom for his delivery, even he that was afterward lord of all the world: although the revenge which shortly followed, comforted him much in this adversity, which is no small aswagement of injuries. Regulus, that was so often a conqueror, fell into the hands of his enemies, who put him to a most cruel death, to the great and grievous loss and danger of your whole Empire. Likewise Valerianus the Emperor fell within the danger of his enemies: who, to the great dispargement of the whole Empire, constrained him to lead forth his old years in most filthy and shameful servitude. Thou, if thou be nothing but rob, give thanks to fortune and the thieves that rob thee, for leaving unto thee thy life and liberty. For thieves have no greater benefit, then that which Cicero maketh mention of in his Philippikes, for that they can say they have given them their lives, from whom they have not taken them. Take thou therefore this thy fortune in good part, which is common unto these notable personages, and many other famous men, which if it were compared with theirs, would appear much more easy, and to be wished, and desire not to be more happy, than they that are called the most happy of all men.   

Of cousinage and deceit. The lxii Dialogue.  SOROW. 
I Am deceived by coosiners.  Reason. 
Dost thou marvel at it? I should rather marvel if by keeping company with men, thou couldst escape unhurt. For what man is he that deceiveth not another? Trustiness is banished, and deceit beareth the sovereignty: and is this the first time that thou hast considered this? Not with so great study do the hunters lay suares for wild beasts, nor the fowlers set gins to take birds, as crafty coosyners seek means to deceive the simple: Which if it were ever true, now is it most true in this your age. A man may point with the finger unto masters of craft, and he is counted the wisest, that is most cunning in deceiving. Wouldst thou therefore not be deceived? die then, or avoid the company of men.  Sorrow. 
I am craftily circumvented, whereas I never feared it.  Reason. 
If thou hadst feared it, perhaps thou hadst not been so easily deceived: and now think? with thyself, whether thou also ever deceyuedst any man. For ye be all of you for the most part prove to deceive, and reason would thou shouldest take that with more indifferency at another man's hands, which thou thyself hast done before to another. But you consider not what ye do to others, and cannot abide that which others do unto you, so that in all things ye be most uniuft judges.  Sorrow. 
I have suffered a loss through the deceit of my friend.  Reason. 
Herein, as in many things else, thou art abused: for in friendship there is no deceit. And in this point also ye be commonly deceived, supposing them to be friends that are not, and by experiment ye easily find, that friendship is a most inestimable & holy thing: so over curious ye are in trifles, that by once banqueting or communing together, you get a friend, whom so soon as you have gotten, ye lose him, if that may be called lost which you never had: And then afterward ye complain that ye are deceived by your friends, and bring this slander upon friendship, that is guiltless of any such deed.  Sorrow. 
I am damnified by deceit.  Reason. 
It hath done many good that they have been deceived, hereafter thou wilt be the waryer: some by the loss of a small thing, have avoided the danger of greater matters.  Sorrow. 
A vile coosiner hath deceived me.  Reason. 
Nay rather he hath awaked thee, and sharpened thy wit, and hath taught thee to trust none but such as thou hast tried, and persons of credit. I would recite examples, whereby to comfort thy heavy chance, but that they are innumerable. For who liveth, and is not deceived? What ever mischief befalleth to man, is not so much as one man suffereth by another: And for that it is not possible nor needful to reckon all, remember the history of Caninius, in what sort he was once coosined by Pytius at Siracuse. Nevertheless Caninius hath wherewith to comfort himself, for that being a knight of Rome, he was deceived by a stranger that was living, when as Augustus Caesar that was Emperor of Rome, was deluded by a mean ritizen that lay a dying. The history is well known, how that a certain man called Marius, who through the friendship of the same Augustus had been advanced from the base estate of a common soldier unto great honour and riches, was wont commonly to give forth in speech, that he would make him only his heir, and leave all his goods unto him, by whose means he had gotten all that he had: which thing when as in words he had assured unto the Emperor Augustus himself, the day before he died, he gave up his deceitful ghost, and at the length it was found, how that in all his will he had not once made mention of the emperors name. Truly he well deserved to have his dissembling carcase drawn with an hook into the river. Tiber, who at his very death was not afeard to deceive his chief lord and benefactor.   

Of a straight and narrow dwelling. The lxiii Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Owel to straightly.  Reason. 
A narrow house is profitable for many things, and amongst other matters it is good against thieves, whereof thou complainedst erewhile, for that they can find no lurking corners in it, as the contrary may be verified of large houses, that they deceive their owner, and are convenient for thieves. I take an house to be little or large according to the number of the inhabitants, and thou seemest now to thyself to dwell in to little an house. But how much more narrowly doth thy soul dwell, and how much more filchily among blood and matter, and other loathsome substance? and yet if thou mightest have thy will, thou wouldst never have him departed from thence.  Sorrow. 
My house is narrow.  Reason. 
The house of clay doth not pinch the heavenly soul with the narrowness thereof: many times a little house hath been capable of great glory, when as in the mean time a great house hath been replenished with great infamy. The house conformeth not the mind, but the mind conformeth the house: and therefore as the blind cottagies of the poor may be merry and virtuous, so may the castles of princes, and palaces of the rich, be sorrowful and dishonest. There is no house so narrow, but the greatness of the tenant maketh it larger, and meet to receive a great guest.  Sorrow. 
My house is little.  Reason. 
King Enanders' little palace received great Hercules: julius Caesar that was afterward lord of all the world, was borne in a simple tenement: Romulus and Remus, that were the first founders of so great a city, were brought up in a shepherds cottage: Cato dwelled in no sumptuous house: Diogenes sojourned in a rolling tub: and Hilarion under a simple shed: the holy fathers lead their lives in caves under the ground: and great Philosophers in little gardens: mighty captains have lain in the open air, and under poor tents: but Caius and Nero dwelled in gorgeous palaces: chose thee now with which of these thou hadst leevest dwell.  Sorrow. 
I have a narrow, and homely, and evilfavoured house.  Reason. 
The walls are able to keep out thieves and the wind, and the tediousness of the people, which is worse than any of them both, the roof, cold and heat, sunneshyne and rain: as for the lofty towers, they are dwellings for fowls of the air, a large house serveth for pride, a beautiful house for lasciviousness, a stored house for covetousness, but virtue thinketh scorn of no habitation, unless it be possessed with vices.  Sorrow. 
I devil very narrowly.  Reason. 
Wouldst thou that any house may seem very large unto thee? Then think upon the narrowness of thy grave.   

Of a prison. The lxiiii Dialogue.  SOROW. 
I Am shut up in an unworthy prison.  Reason. 
Better is an unworthy prison, then unworthy liberty, and much more better it is for a man undeservedly to suffer adversity for righteousness sake, then through wickedness to abound in prosperity, although those aught not to be termed evils neither, nor these goods, but I speak as the common people speaketh, who judge pain to be the greatest evil, and pleasure the greatest good thing.  Sorrow. 
I am shut up in prison.  Reason. 
Who is not shut up in prison? or who departeth out of prison, but when he dieth? This is thy destiny, and the common destiny of all men: why then should you commence peculiar or new complaints. For know this, since the first day thou wast borne, yea and before thou wast borne to, thou wast enclosed in prison, and hampered with fetters, by his commandment unto whom all the compass of heaven is a little house: and if we will also believe the greatest Poet, even in a dark and blind prison. The end of which prison, if thou desire to be plausible and fortunate, thou shalt not abhor the narrowness thereof, neither punishments, nor death, nor what soever may befall unto man, unto the patient tolerating and contempt whereof, unless the mind be prepared and armed at all points in whatsoever fortune, he wandereth in a very perilous path.  Sorrow. 
I am shut up in a filthy and narrow prison.  Reason. 
There is no prison more filthy, none narrower than this prison of the body, wherein thou takest so great delight, and from which thou fearest so much to be dissolved.  Sorrow. 
I am detained in an inconvenient prison.  Reason. 
Prison hath delivered many from instant danger, and the hands of their enemies. Unto many the very entry of their prison hath stand in stead of a shield, and that which was profitable unto them at their entering in, hath been hurtful unto them at their going out: insomuch that being certified by the departure, they have confessed that to be profitable which they abhorred, and that to be miserable which they wished.  Sorrow. 
I am holden in prison.  Reason. 
How knowest thou whether perhaps it be a prison, or rather, as it is said, a place of safe keeping? How often hath either the enemies sword, or poverty more cruel than any foe, consumed those that have been loosed from prison? How often have they repented of their escaping? and their imprisonment, which they complained to be long, have they afterward lamented that it was not perpetual: we have seen some that have lived in prison sumptuously, but so soon as they have been set at liberty, they have finished their poor and wretched life with a sorrowful end.  Sorrow. 
I lead a miserable life in prison.  Reason. 
Some have written books in prison, but thou framest complaints there. Some have learned good faculties in bands, but thou learnest to forget patience.  Sorrow. 
I am kept fast in prison.  Reason. 
Some within caves and dens, and some have enclosed themselves within the circuit of walls, choosing unto themselves voluntary imprisonment, either for the love of God, or for hatred of the world, or for loathsomeness of the common multitude, as did many holy fathers in the primitive Church. Thou, if thou be not disposed that way, & desirest an end of thine imprisonment, stay a while, either man will discharge thee, or else death, which carrieth a key of the prison door. There is one manner of entrance, but sundry sorts of departing. Some have been let go upon pity, some by the course of law, some through their own innocency, some by negligence of the keepers, some for money, some by craft, some by breaking prison, or undermining the walls, and some have escaped out of prison by the friendly darkness of the night, and also since the memory of your fathers, some have been set at liberty by earthquakes, and overthrowing of the prison: and last of all, they that could find none other means, have been released from imprisonment by death. And likewise no less divers have been the events of them that have escaped. Marius' delivery from prison, brought him to the consulship: julius Caesar's imprisonment among the pirates, transported him to the Empire of the world. In this age certain have passed from prison to lordshyps', and the chains which they have shaken from themselves, they have laid upon other. Finally Regulus, and Socrates, and many more were not extinguished in prison, as it was thought, but rather by an honourable end discharged out of prison. To conclude, the prison hath sent some unto great glory, some unto notable fortune, some to a kingdom, and many to heaven, but all to the grave, for it never received any whom it hath not again restored.   

Of Torments. The .lxv. Dialogue.  SOROW. 
I Am unjustly tormented.  Reason. 
What wouldst thou now say if it were justly? For there is no torment greater than the torment of the conscience. If this be upright, contemn these outward things, for thou hast a comforter within thee.  Sorrow. 
I am tormented very unworthily.  Reason. 
Take compassion upon thy tormentor, he is more sharply tormented than thou: for although the world cry out against thee, yet know this, that it is a less evil to suffer, then to offer an imurie.  Sorrow. 
I am tormented.  Reason. 
A new lamentation for an old grief: wast thou never tormented before: Among torments thou wast borne, among torments thou hast lived, & among torments thou shalt die: tell me now what new thing is befallen thee? The kinds of torments are changed, but the torments themselves do not surcease. Examine the whole course of thy forepast life, & recount what ever day thou passedst over without torment. Perhaps thou mayst find somthinges shadowed with false joys, but all things full of true torments, whereof if thou judge exactly, thou wilt confess that there is no part of this life void. Whereby it cometh to pass, that some, not without just cause, have supposed this whole life to be a continual punishment. But you nevertheless so demean yourselves, as though these Philosophical speeches concerned you not, they stick in the entrance of your ears, they pierce not into the closet of your minds: So that ye lament for every small grief of the body, but as for the everlasting and deadly punishment of the mind, ye do not feel it: in the first ye are impatient, but in the other without sense.  Sorrow. 
I am laid upon the wheel.  Reason. 
What skilleth it whether thou go up to the wheel, or to the bed to be tormented? The tormentors knot shall wring thee, and put thee to pain: but hear now one with the ague, another with the gout, another with a shrewysh wife, another with his son, another with his lover, another with his riches, another with poverty, another by the physicians hand, another with the schoolmasters ferula, another with a naughty servant, another with a proud lord, another is vexed with an infinite hope and covetous desire, another with fear, that is more grievous than any tormentor. Search through the whole state of mankind, and thou shalt scarce find one man that lieth not upon the wheel: and being a thousand sundry sorts of tortures, do you fear none but those that are made of wood?  Sorrow. 
I am tormented.  Reason. 
In the midst of thy torments comfort thyself, either with thine innocency, or with justice: for if thou be unjustly tormented, thou hast a cause to rejoice, whereby thou hast purchased experience to thyself and others, and also a certain brightness is added unto thy virtue: the fame of handled and advanced things is more renowned, and spices the longer they be beaten the sweeter they smell, and most excellent wares are set a fit to the view, that they may be seen the better. But if thou be tormented deservedly, thou hast thy remedy in thy hands: but clottered filth is purged by fire and difficulty, and a desperate sickness must have a sharp cure: who so is weighed of his disease, will not refuse any bitter thing, and he that is sorry for his sins, will not eschew any punishment.  Sorrow. 
I am laid on the rack.  Reason. 
If without desert, thou hast a mean to despise the cruelty of another from an high: But if deservedly, when thou art plucked from the earth, thou mayst the more evidently behold thine offence, and that which thou art now sorrowful for the committing, thou shalt not be grieved for the suffering of the punishment.  Sorrow. 
I am tormented.  Reason. 
Either thy virtue is tried, or thy vice punished: the one is often profitable, the other always expedient. It is a good trial for the righteous to suffer punishment, but there is nothing worse than to suffer the guilty to escape unpunished.  Sorrow. 
I am tormented.  Reason. 
Learn the way unto patience, and death.   

Of unjust judgement. The. Lxuj. Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I AM condemned by unjust judgement.  Reason. 
There have been some ere now condemned by the sentence of one judge, or by the testimony of a few witnesses, who have been often times acquitted either by the voice of the common people, or by their secret judgement, or, which is better, by their own conscience, or which is best of all, by Gods own judgement. For the best appealing is unto the eternal judgement seat of the most just and high judge: and he it is that useth to reverse the false judgements of other by a writ of error.  Sorrow. 
I am condemned unjustly.  Reason. 
As the unrighteous are overthrown by justice, so are the righteous by injury. Then, whereas is unjust condemnation, there the party condemned is innocent: and there is no man so foolish, unless he were stark mad, that would have this be contrary, and had rather be condemned justly then unjustly. There is none so fearful, unless he be too bad, but had rather be condemned by an unrighteous doom, then acquitted. Which is by so much the better, by how much oppressed justice is better than reigning ungodliness, and a good mind to be preferred before good fortune, although the one abound with pain, the other with pleasure: Yea, I will say more, by so much the better it is to be justly condemned, then unjustly cleared, as it is worse to let a crime escape unpunished, then to punish it. For in this there is wickedness joined with justice, a great good thing with a great evil: in the other, wickedness matched with impunity, which I know not whether it be worse than the wickedness itself, for truly it is the very enemy of justice, and the root of many mischiefs.  Sorrow. 
I am grieved with a most unjust judgement.  Reason. 
A mind that is founded upon a sure ground, and governed by an upright conscience, hath invincible shoulders: whereupon whatsoever mischief be heaped, infamy or punishment, it will yield to no burden, but standeth upright by it own strength, but specially sustained by the assistance of GOD. There be some also with whose company, in this respect, it may comfort itself, for like event, companions not to be despised. At Rome Furius Camillus, and Livius Salinator: at Athens Aristides and Melciades, with many other more, among whom, whereat thou mayest marvel, are Cicero and Socrates. Tell me now, whether thou hadst rather be like one of these, or be such a fellow as Publius Claudius was? There was none of all these, but he was a very good Citizen, & famous in the Common wealth where he dwelled, & yet they were condemned in judgement, and either sense into banishment, or thrust into prison, or haled to death. But that most wicked varlet, who, amongst many other notable crimes, was convicted of notorious whoredom, & for a bringer in of corrupt religion, was by the general consent of all the judges acquitted. Now, is there any man that standeth so much in fear of false infamy, that will not rather prefer the condemnation and banishment of his enemy Cicero, before his unjust acquitting? But these are human and common matters. If thou cast thy eyes up higher, thou shalt see the King of Heaven himself, with his most dearly beloved retinue, who walked in the steps of their so excellent a captain, overborne with false judgement: and as many also as afterward followed him, who being of so great innocency and virtue as they were, yet fell they into the whirlpool and rocks of the same most corrupt sentence.  Sorrow. 
I am offended at false judgement.  Reason. 
There is one that shall judge thee, even he that ministereth right to them that suffer injury, who also saith, Revenge is mine, and I will repay it. He also, where thou thinkest not, dwelleth within the heart of the judge and witness, where also sojourn great revengers: for there is no beast that biteth so sharply, as doth a man's own conscience.  Sorrow. 
I am hurt by an unjust judgement.  Reason. 
To use well offered injuries, is no small discretion, by means whereof another man's wickedness hath often profited an heedeful person, whereas every man's unrighteousness always hurteth himself, and never doth him good.  Sorrow. 
I am condemned unjustly.  Reason. 
Hadst thou rather than be justly condemned? For so did Socrates when he was a dying answer his wife Xantippa, when as she womanishly lamented that he should die an innocent. And although some be of a contrary opinion, yet is it far better to be condemned without desert, than guilty: For, in the one, the punishment only is grievous: in the other, the cause of the punishment only is grievous: in the other, the cause of the punishment also.  Sorrow. 
I am condemned by the untust judgement of the people.  Reason. 
Lookest thou that the people should see that to be good in thee, which they could never see in themselves, nor in any other? It is a great argument of thine innocency, that thou art condemned of that wicked.  Sorrow. 
The people condemn me undeservedly.  Reason. 
The same people also condemned, not him that had deserved nothing, but that had deserved excellently well, Canullus of whom I spoke erwhile, & also Livius himself, & moreover Scipio surnamed Africanus, & the other Cornelij, with such like, being men of so great honour, whom they molested in such sort, that they drove them into voluntary exile.  Sorrow. 
I am innocently condemned by the king.  Reason. 
And the determinations of Princes for the most part, are more tasting of revenge, then of justice: For whosoever shall happen to speak any thing freely against the licentiousness of kings, and seem to take in ill part the loss of the subjects liberty, he is by and by accused of treason.  Sorrow. 
But I am condemned by the judges.  Reason. 
There is no living creature more venen venomous, than an unjust judge. When men are hurt by a Serpent, they are sorry, but they do not complain: for the Serpent did but that which was his kind, although not that which was pleasant to the sufferer. Truly they were judges, who condemned those and also Socrates. of whom I spoke erewhile, and acquitted Clodius: of whom and them which was the most unrighteous, it may be doubted. And therefore such people as are governed by Kings and judges, aught to propose with themselves in their mind, to endure whatsoever hard fortune and injuries shall happen unto them, and not to lament for them when they are once happened.   

Of Banishment. The. Lxvij Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Am unjustly driven into vanyshment.  Reason. 
What, hadst thou rather than be justly banished? For, as touching the heap of injuries whereof thou spakest, it is taken in the contrary part: and now thou hast justice to be thy companion, which shall be a comfort unto thee in thy unjust banishment, which forsaking thine unjust Countrymen, hath chosen rather to follow thee into exile.  Sorrow. 
I am banished unjustly.  Reason. 
Hath the king banished thee, or a tyrant, or the people, or an enemy, or thou thyself? If the king, either thy banishment is not unjust, or he himself is not just, and so by consequence, no king. If a Tyrant, rejoice that thou art banished by him, under whom good men are exiled, and thieves are set in authority. If the people, they use their old manner, they hate the virtuous, among whom if this many headed Tyrant had found any like themselves, they would never have banished him. Think not therefore that thou art expulsed thy Country, but removed from the fellowship of wicked persons, and that thou art not driven into exile, but received into the company of good Citizens. If an enemy, acknowledge the lightness of the injury, for he hath not dealt extremely with thee: He that could take from a man all that he hath, and hath taken but his Country, hath left him hope. But if thou thyself, the cause is, that falling into misliking of the people or Tyrant, thou hast chosen to departed, not only because thou wouldst not be sorry, but also vaunt thyself for preferring the honour of thy Country. So that now thou hast not a miserable, but an honest cause, not of exile, but of absence, hateful to the wicked, and grateful to the virtuous. Pythagoras voluntarily forsook Samos, and Solon Athens, and Lycurgus Lacedaemon, and Scipio Rome.  Sorrow. 
I am condemned unto exile.  Reason. 
Many have won credit by their banishment, not few there are whom some sharp storm and injury of fortune hath made known and notable: and what letteth thee, but that thou mayest be reckoned in the number of them who have gained singular fame by suffering troubles, even as by knocking Flintes together, fire is engendered?  Sorrow. 
I am driven into exile.  Reason. 
In histories thou shalt perceive that thou hast notable companions in this accident, whose most honourable fellowship may not only diminish the feeling of the grief, but also bring forgetfulness. Camillus was no less regarded in his banishment, then if he had tarried at home, as famous an exiled person, as he was worthy Citizen, who had brought into the Capital house of Rome victories and triumphs, no less renowned for justice, then famous for felicity, and being shortly after driven into banishment, in revenge of the injury which he received, he saved his unthankful Country from destruction. It is not easy, I confess, to find such another example of so notable a banished parsonage: howbeit Rutilius and Metellus were so smally grieved with their banishment, that when Rutilius was sent for home, by him whose commandment not to obey was present death, rather choosing banishment, he refused to return: either to the intent he would not in any respect disobey the Senate's decree and the laws of his Country, though they were unjust, or else for doubt he might haply be banished again. But Metellus returned, with the very same countenance wherewith he departed into exile. Unto these may Marcellus be added, even the same younger Marcellus that happened in the time of the last civil war, who being driven out of his country, retained not only his ancient constancy and study of liberal sciences, but also applied them more earnestly than before, and being free from public cares, with such fervency pursued the beautifying of his mind only, that he seemed rather to have been sent to the schools of Virtue, then into banishment: which being much more eminent in Cicero, was by the worthiness of his works, and his great learning, made the more famous, whereby he found no small comfort, not only in banishment, but also in prison.  Sorrow. 
I suffer banishment.  Reason. 
A short banishment will soon restore thee to thy Country, but a long banishment will purchase thee another Country, so that they shall be banished from thee, that would have banished thee from them, which is now already accomplished, if thou have respect to the nature of the things, and not to the opinions of men. For that is a very base mind that is so bound to one silly corner of the earth, that whatsoever is out of that, it thinketh it banishment: whoso bewaileth his exile, is far from that loftiness of mind which was in him unto whom the whole world seemed to be a straight prison. Socrates being demanded what Countryman he was, answered, I was borne in the world. A right Socratical answer: some other peradventure in that case would have answered that he was an Athenian, but Socrates' Country was that which is likewise all men's, to wit, the world, not only this part which you commonly call the world, which in deed is but the lowest part of the world, but Heaven itself, which is more truly termed by that name. That is the Country whereunto you are appointed, unto which if your mind do aspire, it will acknowledge itself to be a stranger and banished in whatsoever part of the earth it remain: For who will call that his Country, where he dwelleth but for a very short time? But that is truly to be called a man's Country, where he may devil continually in rest and quietness: seek for this upon earth, and I suppose thy seeking will be in vain. According to the law of nature, as it was given unto men, and the limits thereof prescribed, whilst you live here, every land is your Country, wherein whoso maketh himself a banished man, is not so sick in effect, as diseased in mind. We have not here any perpetual City of abode, as saith the Apostle S. Paul Every land is the native Country unto a valiant man, saith Ovid the Poet. To a man, every Country is his natural soil, saith Statius. With these speeches I would have thee armed, whereby thou mightest be always one man, and either never or ever be in thine own Country.  Sorrow. 
I am commanded to go into banishment.  Reason. 
Go willingly, & then it shall be but a travail, and no banishment: and remember that banishment hath been unto some in steed of a departure, and unto other some, in steed of a return: and there be some also that are never in worse case, then when they be in their own Country.  Sorrow. 
I am enforcedly driven into banishment.  Reason. 
In coveting to do that which thou art enforced, thou shalt seem not to be constrained. All violence is overcome by patience, and that surceaseth to be violence, which is suffered willingly.  Sorrow. 
I must needs go into exile.  Reason. 
See thou do willingly, which thou must else do nillingly, and suffer all thing merrily, that thou seem to suffer nothing heavily: so shalt thou escape the force of necessity, and all the Adamantine nails & chains that are ascribed thereunto, and the loathsomeness and vexation thereof. But you covet impossible things, and flee from the necessary, but both in vain.  Sorrow. 
I go into banishment.  Reason. 
Perhaps into rest, and peradventure under pretence of false misery, lurketh true felicity, at leastwise thou shalt now be safe from envy: make haste, and take holdfast of glory that is intermeddled with security. There is nothing sweeter than honest and safe lurking, with which no streets of Cities are comparable.  Sorrow. 
I am driven out of my Country.  Reason. 
Being driven away of the worst, insinuate thyself into the company of the best sort, and make it evident by good proofs that thy Country was unworthy of thee, and not thou of thy Country. Let it perceive what it hath lost, and know thou how that thou hast lost nothing: Let the evil Citizens want the wearisomeness, and also the hatred and suspicion of thy presence, and let the good prosecute thine absence with love and desire, and with their eyes and minds follow after thy departure: Let them be sorry for that thou hast forsaken them, and be thou glad for that thou art departed with company, and think not upon thy return, neither desire to be with them that desire to be without thee, and finally be not sorry that another hath done that unto thee, which thou oughtest to have done thyself: thou oughtest to have given place to the envy of the people, and therefore to avoid the same, thou willingly goest into exile. Of this device I was the first author, neither are there wanting most famous ringleaders for an example, for thou knowest how that the three most remowmed Scipios did the like, and that with such constancy, that some judged their Country, which was despoiled of their presence, than which it had nothing in it more honourable, to be unworthy of their ashes when they were dead: and some likewise thought that the City deserved to be girded with some infamous and taunting Libel: howbeit their names remain in everlasting memory, so that they cannot be unknown to thee by report, and the faithful testimony of all histories, whose names are, Africanus, Nasica, Lentulus.  Sorrow. 
I am sent into exile.  Reason. 
Nay rather to try thyself. Beware how thou behave thyself in thine exile, if thou faint, than art thou a very banished wight, if thou stand stoutly, thy banishment will ennoble thee, as it hath done many other before thee, who passed invincibly and honourably through difficulties, to the end they might show the right way to them that came after. Let tyrants rage, let the people chafe, let thine enemies and fortune treat & fume: thou mayest be driven away, taken, beaten, slain, but thou canst not be overcome, unless thou yield up thine hands, nor yet be despoiled of thine ornaments, by means whereof whithersoever thou goest, thou shalt be a Citizen, and one of the Princes of thy Country.  Sorrow. 
I go into banishment.  Reason. 
Go a pace, and departed in safety, thou knowest not howlong thy kings arms be: there is no place too far of from him, he can defend thee in every place, who defended thee in thy native Country.   

Of a man's country besieged. The lxviii Dialogue.  SORROW. 
MY country is besieged.  Reason. 
Troy was besieged, syrus besieged, Carthage besieged, Jerusalem besieged, Numancia besieged, Corinthus besieged, and all of them overthrown, who then need to be ashamed of besieging? Yea, the city of Rome itself was besieged, but at what time it had surceased to be Rome in deed. What shall I speak of Capua, of Tarentum, of Siracuse, of Athens, of the Vehijs, and other petty cities and countries? Cities have also their peculiar destinies, and few there are that have escaped the destiny of besieging. But continuance of time is such an hindrance to the knowledge of things, that the citizens themselves are ignorant of the chances that have befallen to their own cities: thou feelest the present besieging, but canst not foresee that which is to come, nor remember that which is past: for this is your manner, ye always bewail that which presently aflicteth you ye are marvelously addicted to your senses, after the manner of brute beasts.  Sorrow. 
I am besieged in my country.  Reason. 
I told thee thou bewailedst thy discommodity, now might banishment seem to be a wished thing, for that it is less hurtful to liberty, howbeit neither of them both is hurtful: for if the liberty of the mind be true liberty, though he be shut in, yet can he get forth, and though he be shut out, yet can he get in, and be wheresoever it please him.  Sorrow. 
I am besieged in my country.  Reason. 
Priamus also, who was no subject, but a king, was besieged in his own country, with all that his more famous than fortunate family. Antigonus' King of Macedonia was besieged at Argos, and Eumenes king of Pergamos. In this age Robertus king of Cicile was besieged within the city of janua, who was nothing inferior to any of the ancient kings, if so be true virtue maketh true kings respected: and dost thou poor wretch lament for the case of Kings and Princes? Saint Ambrose, and Saint Augustine were besieged both of them within the compass of Milan. And lastly, the same Saint Augustine was besieged within the walls of his own bishopric: at what time God taking compassion on his tears, transported him from the earthly besieging, unto the kingdom of heaven.  Sorrow. 
I am besieged.  Reason. 
And who, I pray thee, is not besieged? Some are besieged with sin, some with sickness, some with enemies, some with cares, some with business, some with idleness, some with riches, some with poverty, some with infamy, & some with overtedious renown. Yea, this body which ye love and make so much of, as a most straight prison, compasseth about and besiegeth every one of you with a perpetual besieging. The whole world and circuit of the earth, wherein ye chafe and keep a stir, and continually run forth like mad men to war, wherein ye enlarge the bounds of your Empires and kingdoms with so great ambition, so much of it as you inhabit, what is it other, as Cicero saith, then in a manner a certain small Island, compassed about with that sea which upon earth is called the Great, the Ocean, the Atlanticum sea, which being so great in name, yet how small indeed it is, thou seest. You are all of you besieged on every side, & dost thou complain that thou art besieged, as if it were some new matter? Provide rather that as much as in thee lieth, what through thy strength and counsel, thou procure means for thy countries safety. Do this rather of the twain, and think upon Syracusan Archimedes, that industrious old man: as for complaints, will neither do thee, nor thy country good.  Sorrow. 
I am besieged within mine own country.  Reason. 
Hadst thou rather than be besieged in an other place? I confess truly that thou hadst rather so, and that more dutifully, to wit, that thou being elsewhere besieged, thy country might be free. But as touching thyself, seemeth it unto thee a small 〈◊〉 comfort to abide whatsoever shall happen within thine own country, that the place may assuage, as much as the adversity grieveth?  Sorrow. 
I am penned up within the walls of my country.  Reason. 
Thou speakest this, as though there were no greater narrowness or penning up then within walls. How many of those that dwell in cities do so ordinarily frequent the court and places of judgement, that scarce so long as the whole year lasteth, they once behold the city gates? But give this once the name of besieging, then will they long to issue forth, and think themselves shacled in most straight fetters, which effect is not wrought by the besieging, but by opinion, than which there is nothing of greater force in the wavering of this your mortal life. This place requireth that I recite a fable. It is reported, that at Aretium there was of late days a very old man, that never had travailed out of the bounds of his country: the fame whereof being brought unto the ears of the governors, for pastime sake they called the old man before them, saying that by good proof they had found that he used secretly to departed out of the city, and to have privy conference with their enemies. Then began he to swear by all the saints, that not only not at that time of the wars, but not so much as in the time of peace did he ever pass without the walls of the city, from his birth unto that present hour. But they on the other side feigned that they believed him not, saying that they much suspected his fidelity towards the common wealth: To be short, they commanded him upon a great penalty not to pass out of the city gates. Howbeit, they say, that he was in such sort provoked by the impatiency of his forbidding, that the very next day following, which was never seen before, he was taken without the walls of the city. Thus though the pride & stubbornness of your mind, ye are always carried away unto that which is forbidden. And now thou complainest that thou art shut up, and the whole city is not big enough for thee, whom peradventure some little corner thereof, perhaps some one house, might suffice, if thou were not besieged, as for the most part it happeneth unto students. Moreover, it fortuneth that all besieginges be but of short continuance. You have comfort ministered unto you both by the place and time, only ye lack uprightness of mind, which causeth you to lament and complain, which runneth not by the nature of the things, but through your own effeminateness.   

Of a man's country destroyed. The lxix. Dialogue.  SOROW. 
But what sayest thou to this, that my country is utterly destroyed?  Reason. 
Didst thou not hear the fortune of cities and countries which I named not long since, and the like also in other without number? Alexande● king of Macedon overthrew Tirus, and Thebes, and Persipolis the chief city of the Persian kingdom, and that thou mayst marvel the more, at the suggestion of one harlot: a great city dependeth but upon a tickle fortune. Agamemnon razed Troy, Hannibal Saguntum, Scipio the younger Carthage and Numancia, Titus Jerusalem, and likewise other, others. Rome none wholly overthrew, but old age battered it, being aided by the civil dissensions. And what maketh matter who overthrew it, for as much as we see it is overthrown? The fame of the destruction of Milan is of later time, under Fredrick, a barbarous and cruel emperor: & didst thou think that thy country was privileged from the jurisdiction of fortune, unto whom great cities and mighty kingdoms are subject? Hath love so blinded thee, that thou shouldest imagine one city, because thou wast borne in it, to be immortal, when as the whole world itself is transitory? Heaven and earth shall fail, the mountains and seas shallbe moved, and all things that were made of nothing, shall return to nothing again: dost thou then wonder or complain that thy country is come to naught? Cities aswell as men, as I noted a little before, have their dying days, but they chance not so often as they do to men, for that there are fewer cities, and they be of longer continuance, notwithstanding subject to death: for not men only, but all other worldly things also are mortal, the soul of man only excepted.  Sorrow. 
My country is fallen.  Reason. 
Perhaps it may rise again: for some are risen again that have fallen, and the falling of some hath been the occasion of their more fortunate rising. For Saguntum and Milan stand at this day in their ancient places: but the next neyghbout city unto Milan, which was the last of Pompeius' commendation, changed place, as some say, by the same varbarous hands, and was destroyed about the same time: and so likewise were Jerusalem and Carthage. Live therefore in hope: but if thy hope fail thee, and thou seppose thy country be destroyed, beware lest thou also fail and faint under fortune: For worse is the overthrowing of minds, then of walls. A man aught to show a manly courage, and not an effeminate mind: and although thou be sorry for thy countries overthrow, do not thou semblably perish with it, seeing that thy ruin will nothing avail the common wealth: but rather endeavour to reserve thyself & the residue of thy country folk, if there be any remaining, unto some more fortunate time: in this case deeds are more needful than lamentations, where also flight itself is commendable. Thou hast heard, how that unto Terentius Varro, through whose fault and rashness the whole Empire of Rome was almost overthrown, thanks were commonly yielded of all forts of the people, for that he despaired not of the common wealth, which his college or fellow officer, a most noble gentleman who was in no part of the fault, seemed to do. But if there be nothing else remaining, at the leastwise with Bias carry thou all thy goods with thee, although thou departed stark naked out of the walls of thy peryshing country: and henceforth seek after that country whose kingdom shall have none end. Whereunto when as at last by the calling of God thou art once ascended, thou shalt no more fear besieging, nor destruction, nor any of those things which are commonly dreaded in your cities.   

Of the fear of losing in war. The lxx Dialogue.  FEAR 
I Fear to lose in war.  Reason. 
Then seek for peace.  Fear. 
I very much dread overcoming.  Reason. 
A moderate fear procureth heedfulness, but that which is vehement engendereth desperation, than the one of which there is nothing better in war, and nothing worse than the other in all things.  Fear. 
I am shaken with great fear of battle.  Reason. 
What mischief fear bringeth unto them that are ready to fight, and also heaviness, which proceedeth of fear, Flaminius at Thrasumenus, Craslus at Carras, and Pompeius in Thessalia, have proved, in which places and often elsewhere, that saying of the Poet hath appeared to true, Fear is an ●nluckie south sayer in matters of experience.  Fear. 
I stand in great fear of the event of battle.  Reason. 
Delay then the time until hope may come: it is ill to go forward in that from which the mind and dread do will to abstain. There is commonly in the mind a certain foreseeing faculty, contrary to the motion whereof I would in no respect perhaps give thee counsel to attempt any thing. The examples that might be alleged in this case, aswell new as old, are without number, whereof it sufficeth me to have cited three only of the most notable.  Fear. 
I fear the event of the instant battle.  Reason. 
Shake of thy timoriousnesse, which none knoweth better than thou thyself: take heed that it be not the nature of the thing, or the want of power, but rather cowardice that imagineth this aboding of evil success, unto whom there is nothing not fearful and difficult. Wherefore if the same be burtfull to thy glory, if to thy safety, by the assistance of virtue it must be repressed, and the mind awakened, to whom it must be declared, that oftentimes the dangers are far fewer and lighter than the fear, and that many times false fancies of terrible matters do fly before the eyes, wherewith some have been in such sort dismayed, that they have yielded up the victory to their enemies, which they themselves had already won with their weapons. For false and vain fear, is nothing slower than true fear, but in this respect many times the more vehement, by how much the error of them that are afraid, imagining all things to be greater them they are in deed, driveth them forth headlong with sharper vehemency: and thus as the same Poet saith, Hastiness evilly governeth all things. But if with none of these neither, thou canst life up thy drooping mind, but fearfulness overcome thy valiancy, keep thee out of the field: it is seldom well done that is fearfully done. If thou go thus affected into the batrayle, there shallbe one within thee that will fight against thee, for the better part of thyself rebelleth against thee. Fear is always an evil guest of the mind, but a much more, worse companion in war.   

Of a foolish and rash fellow in office. The lxxi Dialogue.  SOROW. 
I Have a foolish and rash fellow officer.  Reason. 
As thou hast cause, I confess, to fear, so hast thou 'cause also on the other side to hope: for as this hath ministered, unto some, matter of calamity, so hath it unto others, cause of great glory. The rashness of Terentius Varro, procured death unto Paulus Emilius. But on the other side, the rashness of Lucius Furius & Minutius, purchased singular glory unto Marcus Furius Camillus, and Quintus Fabius Maximus: the histories are well known.  Sorrow. 
I have an hasty and unconstant office fellow.  Reason. 
Be thou constant and modest. Virtue never shineth more brightly, then when she is compared with her contrary. Why shouldest not thou rather modestly rule him, than he rashly drive forth thee?  Sorrow. 
I have a very insolent fellow in office.  Reason. 
Hast thou forgotten, how that unto the same Camillus, of whom I spoke erewhile, being Tribune of the people, with the authority of the Consul, his five fellow officers that were equal in commission with him, at one time willingly submitted themselves unto his government? This commodity bringeth surpassing virtue, it purchaseth authority to the possessors, reverence and shamefastness to the woonderers at it: For thou shalt by no means better repress the insolency of thy colleagen, then by industry & virtue. By that means thou shalt bring it to pass, that he willbe ashamed to be called thy fellow, as was Minutius ashamed, and will either submit himself unto thee, with more honourable consent, then if the people had made him inferior unto thee, or at leastwise all the world shall see, that though he be equal with thee in name, yet is he inferior in valour, and what soever is well done, shallbe counted thine, and what soever ill done, shallbe judged his.  Sorrow. 
There is happened unto me a foolish and stubborn colleagen.  Reason. 
Some things are learned by their contraries. Schoolmasters are wont to propose some foolish trysle unto their scholars that learn but slowly, which when the myt of the learner refuseth, it is the more easily withdrawn unto the things that are true and worth the learning. There cometh into my mind a notable saying of an obscure fellow, when as not long ago the city of Florence had changed the estate, which it doth to often and willingly, and the government of the commonwealth was committed to theauctority of the common people, one of that insolent company which had long time continued in it, and at length with grief had lost it, despising the baseness of his poor neighbour that was an handicrafts man: And thou, said he, which neither art learned, nor ever passedst out of the bounds of thine own country, leading forth thy life always together with thy companions in trading of thine occupation, how wilt thou be able to govern this so great and noble a city? But he being nothing moved here with, What great matter will that be, quoth he? As for you, there is no man ignorant what course you keep, and if we do every thing contrary, we can not do amiss. O worthy answer, meet to have proceeded from the wit of some learned man. Do thou likewise propose unto thyself a contrary example in thy college, unto whom thou wouldst be most unlike.   

Of an undiscreet and hasty Marshal of the field. The lxxii Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Have an undiscreet and hasty Marshal of the field.  Reason. 
This is somewhat a more dangerous matter, I must needs confess. Ask of your legions that were slain at Trebeia, at Thrasumenus, at Cannas, and in many other places more. If thou look for remedy, leave uncertain warfare. But if thou mayest not do so, nevertheless apply thou thy calling valiantly, and diligently, so that thy valour may appear among the errors of thy captains, and that the ruin of an other man oppress not thee, but that thou rather, if there be any means at all, mayest bear up the common loss upon thy soldiers. It is a difficult matter, I confess, but neither impossible, nor unaccustomable, which I command. For as the dastardliness of one Captain hath often times been the destruction of many soldiers, even so sometime the valiancy of one man, hath saved the Captain & the whole army. But to the end I be not longer than I aught to be: seek thou every matter in order accordingly, for me it sufficeth to have recited the names & times. Publius Decius in the Samnitike war, Calphurnius Flamina in the first punic war, Africanus the younger in the third punic war, all the Tribunes of the Soldiers, the defenders of their Captains and armies. But such & so great may be thy prowess and good hap, that the infamy of another, may turn to thy exceeding renown. A doubtful matter truly, but yet the only mean in exte am necessity. And therefore, howsoever fortune have tossed and turmoiled other, yet if thou wilt be ruled by me, thou shalt not forsake to be governed by virtue, neither in peace, nor in war, nor in life, not nor in death itself.   

Of unfortunate success in battle. The. Lxxiij. Dialogue.  SORROW. 
BUT I am overcome in battle.  Reason. 
Now fear is vanished away, and here after thou wilt begin to hope, for as much as this is the succession of these affections. For hope and fear, being of things to come, as there may be some thing to come whereof thou mayest hope, so is that past now which thou fearedst.  Sorrow. 
I am overcome in a great battle.  Reason. 
Only be not overcome in mind: for if that once quail, all is marred. Thou remember'st, how Marcellus the next day after he was vanquished in battle, returned into the field, and overthrew his conqueror in a greater conflict than he had been foiled in the day before▪ And julius Caesar, being put to the worse at Durachium, shortly after got the upperhand at Pharsalia in an hot skirmish. Many that have been overcome in battle, have gone away with the better in the war: the courage of valiant men is not daunted with one days mishap, for such have not lofty only, but also long lasting valour. If to day thou be overcome, to morrow thou wilt fight more warily. Unfortunate battles, like sharp and faithful Masters, do teach captains experience, and with stripes admonish them where they have erred; even so likewise are Husbandmen by barrenness, and Carpenters by the fall of houses, and Horsemen by the often foundering of their Horses, and Sailors sharpened by great and dangerous tempests: thus by erring, men gain experience.  Sorrow. 
I am vanquished.  Reason. 
There is none vanquished, but he that thinketh himself vanquished, whose hope is trod under foot and extinguished, whose mind hath laid down the remembrance how to take adversity. Behold the Romans, and their invincible minds at all times, but specially in the second Punic war, who notwithstanding the treachery of their fellow nations, and so many conspiracies of kings and countries, and so many unfortunate battles, and almost utter destruction, yet were they not vanquished: there was never any mention of peace made among them, no sign of despair, and finally nothing else was there among them, but altogether high and invincible consultation. Which thing, what is it other, then by the virtue of the mind, to soften the hardness of Fortune, and to enforce it to be ashamed of itself, and to love thee? But at length, as meet it was, they rose aloft, and being a thousand times overthrown, they flourished the more, so that prowess and Fortune made not only their enemies that were terrible unto them, but also the whole world successively their subjects & vassals.  Sorrow. 
I am vanquished, I confess.  Reason. 
Now at length thou beginnest to know what Fortune is, & this commodity hast thou learned by fleeing: none almost learneth great matters for naught. Many have learned better by experience, then by going to school, & the dull head that could learn nothing of his school master by the ear, hath been taught by the eye. There is no schoolemistres of human things more certain, than adversity, none more convenient to discuss and disciphre errors.  Sorrow. 
I am overthrown with a great wound of Fortune.  Reason 
Arise, lie not still, greatness of the mind never more notably showeth itself, then in the wounds of Fortune. But now do thou know thyself, & having sustained so great a stroke, understand how great thine own strength is.  Sorrow. 
I have lost my hoped victory.  Reason. 
If it were unlooked for, thou hast won wisdom, but to say that there is no change in worldly things, it may not be hoped.  Sorrow. 
I am vanquished in war.  Reason. 
He that is overcome in battle, retaineth his liberty and life, but whose is vanquished by vices, lofeth both, & he that yieldeth thereunto, is truly overcome in deed.  Sorrow. 
I am overcome.  Reason. 
How knowest thou whether that which was spoken unto Pompeius the great, who was vanquished in battle in Thessalia, do also agreed unto thee? It had been worse that he had overcome: for as the more harm, so the less sin hath he that is overcome. A great gain, which some, not only wishing to be overcome, but choosing also to die, have in heart preferred: and truly they make a good exchange, who by the death of their body, seek for the health of their souls: but many rejoice in their own harms, and are grieved at their own good, such blindness possesseth the minds of men.  Sorrow. 
I am overthrown.  Reason. 
This might happen unto thee, not for want of skill in the art of warfare, but by fortune. Fortune never showeth herself any where more to be fortune, then in battle, as in other things she may do much, so in this, they say, she can do al.  Sorrow. 
Being vanquished in battle, I am come away.  Reason. 
But thou art not therefore immediately naked. Martial weapons may be taken from the vanquished, but the true goods, which are the weapons of the mind, they do still retain that seem to be overcome. For they, as well as out of the fire & shipwreck, are brought away out of a lost battle: And not those alone, which being hid up in the mind can not be touched with any weapon, but they also that in the conflict seem to be in the greatest danger, and most exposed to the dint of the sword. And therefore not whosoever is overcome in battle, is also spoiled of his Martial honour, although losing his armour, and fleeing out of the field, or that more is, leaving his Carcase dead upon the cold ground, he carry away with him the name of a worthy Captain. For the Graecian histories report, how that Leonides at Thermopylae, being not so much overcome, as wearied with overcoming, was there slain with his power, lying among the great heaps and mountains of his enemies: which fame the Poet Virgil commendeth in Deiphobus: and in the Emathian sieldes, if we believe Lucan, the unfortunate army stood in an uncertain array. And in the last battle that was fought in Africa against Hannibal, it was not possible that an army should be more orderly marshaled, nor fight more courageously: which thing, as he that was conquered confessed of the conqueror, so did the conqueror report of him that was conquered, being either of them men of singular judgement in those affairs. And what shall we say hath he lost, who hath lost neither the true glory of his art, nor the assurance in conscience of his upright dealing in that he undertook?   

Of Civil war. The. Lxxiiij. Dialogue.  SORROW. 
WE are shaken with Civil war.  Reason. 
The name hereof is derived of Citizens, and thou art one of the Citizens, take heed therefore, that thou be not one of the number of the sticklers in this mischief, and to thy power thou be not void of blame: For this is the manner of civil wars, one man inflameth and provoketh another, until all of them jointly have raised a public outrage, which public outrage at length pricketh forth and thrusteth headlong every private man forward. For this common mischief never cometh thus first to ripeness of itself, although by increasing it infect, yea sometime overthrow an whole City: but if thou wouldst find the first original thereof, it is rooted in the errors of private persons. and this is that therefore whereof I exhort thee to beware, that thou also have not been one of those that have maintained the civil flame, either by ministering matter to the fire, or by blowing the coals. For many do things, whereof shortly after they complain, and lament their own deed, as if it were some wound inflicted by another man's hand. Many have perished in their own fire. But if thou be guilty unto thyself of no such matter, dutiful and godly is the sorrow of a Citizen in the public calamity, but he may conceive comfort of his innocency. Of all the mischiefs that follow man, there is none more lamentable than sin, or rather as it seemeth unto certain notable men, there is none other mischief at al.  Sorrow. 
We are vexed with civil war.  Reason. 
In the rage of the multitude show thou thyself a follower of peace, which though it be to small purpose, yet advance thyself though alone in the defence of liberty and justice: which although perhaps shall do thy Country but small pleasure, yet shall it redound to thy commendation: of either of these, one City shall gene thee an example, to wit, Menenius Agrippa, and Portius Cato, even the same that was the last.  Sorrow. 
The Citizens are together by the ears in implacable civil war.  Reason. 
If thou canst do nothing thereto of thyself, labour others, reprove them, entreat them, withstand them, chastise them, speak them fair, beat into their heads the utter overthrow of the Common wealth, which containeth in it the ruin of every private person, and seeming proper to none, appertaineth to all: To be short, seek to appease their minds, at the one side with duty, on the other with terror. But if thou profit nothing that way, make thy prayers unto Almighty GOD, and wish the wit and amendment of thy Citizens, and the safety of thy Country, and in all points fulfil the duty of a good Citizen.  Sorrow. 
The Common wealth is come to great extremity by civil war.  Reason. 
To the end that neither by civil nor external wars any thing happen unto thee unlooked for, nor any chance oppress thee upon a sudden, always recount this one thing in thy mind, that not men only, but all worldly things also are mortal, the soul of man only excepted. And as in men, so likewise in Cities and great Empires, there be sundry diseases and maladies, some in the outward parts, and some rising within the body, among which are mutinies, and fallings away, and brawls, and discords, and civil wars: and moreover, that every one hath a time prefixed which he can not pass, which every day draweth nearer than other, and although it be deferred for a time, yet most sure it is that it will come. Where there stand now most famous Cities, there sometime have stood rough and wild woods, and so perhaps shall do again. It is a great folly for any City to hope for that of itself, which Rome, the Lady and Queen of all Cities, could not attain. This is the difference between the ends and decays of men, and of Cities, in that the end of men, by reason of their innumerable and infinite multitude, and shortness of life, is daily seen with the eyes: but of Cities, because of the rareness of them, and their longer continuance, it is scarce beholden once in many hundred years, and then with great wonder and admiration. This meditation shall make thee more strong against all chances, as well public as private. And to conclude, the same shall lay forth unto thee, though not a pleasant, yet an indifferent way unto poverty, unto exile, and unto death itself, and teach thee how that this mischief is peculiar to thy Country, which is common unto you all that be Citizens.   

Of the disagreement of a wavering mind. The. Lxxu. Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I AM troubled with the disagreeing of my mind.  Reason. 
There is no war worse than this, not not civil war: For that is between Citizens, but this with a man's own self. That is between factions of Citizens in the streets of the Cities, but this is fought within in the mind, between the parts of the soul. And therefore, forasmuch as there is a kind of war, which is counted more than civil war, where not Citizens only, but kinsmen also fight among themselves, as was between Caesar and Pompey, of which it was said, Hear brethren stood, and there was shed the parent's blood: Much more truly may that be so called, where not the father against the son, nor brother against brother, but man against himself doth contend: during which strife, the mind hath neither quietness, nor security.  Sorrow. 
My mind is at variance, and distracted with divers affections.  Reason. 
Away with that variance: begin to mind one thing. For till those contrary affections, like seditious Citizens, mind one and the same thing, never shall the mind be quiet and at peace with it self. But as the Ague of bodies cometh through contrary and corrupt humours, so contrary affections engender the Ague of minds, the which by so much is the more dangerous, by how much the mind is more noble than the body, and eternal death more terrible, than the temporal: in each if a mean be observed, health may notably be maintained.  Sorrow. 
My mind is at debate, and chooseth not what it would.  Reason. 
Thou now tiest the cause of evil, and evil itself together, supposing the same to be at debate, because it chooseth not: But let it once begin to choose, & the strife will quickly cease, I say let it choose to will that good is, not evil, for else it will be so far from finding quietness, that more and more it shall be disquieted. For vices can never agreed together: but where virtues are, there is peace and concord.  Sorrow. 
My mind is at dissension, being divided into parts.  Reason. 
Philosophers have destinguished the mind into three parts: the first whereof, as the governor of man's life, heavenly, blessed, & next unto GOD, they have placed in the head, as it were in a Tower, where quiet and honest cogitations and wills do devil: the second, in the breast, where anger and malice boileth: the third, in the neither parts, from whence proceedeth lust and concupiscence, the tempest of this sea is double: so thou seest now what thou hast to do. Do as Menenius did, of whom even now I spoke, he persuaded the common people to come under the government of the Senators, whose profitable counsel they following, were brought from dissension to amity: so he counseled them, but if counsel will not serve, do thou compel thine abject and base parts to obey the noble: For till that be brought about, never look to be quiet in mind: And lacking quietness, surely man's life is unsettled, and foolish, and tossed about, and uncertain, and blind, yea, altogether miserable. Many in all their life time, know not what they would have.  Sorrow. 
I am troubled in mind, and know not what I would.  Reason. 
Thou hast more companions, troubled not once or twice, but, as last of all I said, all their life time. And truly among all that thou hast said, thou hast not, and say what thou wilt, thou canst not, almost show a greater misery.  Sorrow. 
I am tossed, and diversly inclined.  Reason. 
To be in such a case, is a notable argument that the mind is not well. For as a sick body tumbleth on the bed: so a sick mind knoweth not what to stick unto. Such are in a most miserable case. For better do I conceive of him which stoutly persisteth in wickedness (for if he repent, happily he will be as constant in well doing, as he was impudent in naughtiness) then of a light brain, which carelessly neglecteth all counsel: for if he at any time begin to do well, he is soon weary, and will not persist, but remaineth altogether ignorant, so that we may well apply that obscure saying of Seneca unto him: They which do not that they should, consume the time without profit, for doing now that, now this, and never continued in one, may well be said to do that they should not: albeit that place may otherwise be applied.  Sorrow. 
I am oppressed with cares.  Reason. 
As though among the swelling waves, the ship of thy life, being void of counsel, and destitute of a Master, could escape shipwreck, if thou do not while time serveth ride in some quiet and safe Port, and there lie at Anchor, before the tempest of the mind do overwhelm thee.  Sorrow. 
I am carried away, knowing not what to do.  Reason. 
And so besides the perils of the mind, which are incomprehensible and infinite, your looks are divers and strange, like the mind, which as Cicero writeth, maketh the same, and being in such a state, now merry, now sad, now fearful, now secure, now swift, now slow in gate, thou art a notable garing stock for all men, through the variety of such gesture, as was Catiline. But once settle thyself to will, and do well: but otherwise, if thou will that ill is, still shalt thou be as thou art: For vice is always variable. Settle thyself, I say, to will that good is, and then shalt thou find, as thy mind quieted, so thy looks stayed, and all thy gestures uniform, unchangeable, either through hope, or fear, through joy, or grief, which is a special part of gravity, seen in very few men, and highly commended among the Grecians in Socrates, and in Lelius among your Countrymen, and last of all in Marcus Antonius, and in Aurelius Alexander among your Princes.   

Of a doubtful state. The lxxvi Dialogue.  SOROW. 
I Am in a doubtful state.  Reason. 
What is it I pray thee that thou doubtest of? Is it, whether mortal men must die, or whether transitory things are to be contemned, or that we must not depend altogether upon prosperity? or whether destiny cannot be avoided, and therefore must be tolerated, neither fortune bowed, but may be broken? To all these the answers are certain.  Sorrow. 
Being in a doubtful state, I know not what will become of me.  Reason. 
In deed perhaps thou mayest doubt where, when, and how thou shalt die, but that thou must die: that he can not die an evil death, which hath led a good life, or to soon, which always hath played the honest man, thou canst not doubt. Again, that he can die out of his own country, who maketh the whole world his country, or but in exile, which desireth to be in his native country, except thou be unwise, thou canst never doubt. Whence therefore come these doubtynges? Perchance of fortune: but thinkest thou she will be faithful to thee, which with none keepeth faith? Is it not more likely that she will keep her old wont, like the troublesome sea, now deceitful with a feigned calmness, now with surging waves terrible, by and by dreadful with shipwreck? And yet hadst thou any experience at all, no place should there remain for doubting. For albeit the events be doubtful: yet virtue, which will make thee certain in the greatest uncertainty, is always certain, unto whom when thou hast given thyself, nothing shallbe doubtful, but all things foreseen.  Sorrow. 
I have a doubtful state.  Reason. 
But the same is not doubtful to God, and therefore content thyself, and commit thee wholly unto him, saying, In thy hands I am, do with me as it pleaseth thee: which thing spoken godly, lay fear aside, cast of doubting, be no more careful. He knoweth what to do with thee, which knoweth all things. With a little, but sure with a trusty bark thou cuttest the mighty sea. He is a faithful, and most careful governor of thy salvation. What skilleth it if the passenger know not the way, so it be known to the master of the ship?   

Of wounds received, The lxxvii Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Am vexed with most grievous wounds.  Reason. 
O how light should they seem, wouldst thou behold the wounds of thy soul. But such delicate bodies have most commonly insensible souls. Of one part nothing, on the other ye are ready to suffer all things, and, which is most wretched, ye never feel them.  Sorrow. 
My wounds trouble me.  Reason. 
The enemies sword pierceth the shield, not the soul. For she can never be hurt, if so be she do not bereave herself of her own weapons. It was said of a certaye man in a little, but sure a learned work, that no man can be hurt but of himself, which I think to be a true saying, albeit many mislike the same.  Sorrow. 
I am mangled with most grievous and manifold wounds.  Reason. 
There is no wound more grievous than that which is to the death, but there is but one such wound: and if but one that is most grievous, the rest must needs be light. Caesar being gored with twenty and three wounds, had but one deadly wound: and if we should grant them all to be deadly, yet could he die but once. And albeit many and deep are the wounds, yet but one effect is there of them all: the often wounding of a dead body, argueth a bloody mind in the wonder, but increaseth no pain in the wounded.  Sorrow. 
With wounds I am weakened.  Reason. 
Would to God pride with all her sisters were brought low, and humility admitted for a companion of the wounds, that we might find it true which was written, Thou hast humbled the proud, like a wounded person. It is a good wound and profitable, which is a medicine to heal other and greater wounds.  Sorrow. 
I am ugly in sight through my wounds.  Reason. 
Hast thou forgot that young man of whom twice in this our communication we spoke? Hereafter shouldest thou do that of thine own accord, which now thou dost lament to be done unto thee by another.  Sorrow. 
My face is disfigured with wounds.  Reason. 
The wound is not to be regarded so much as the cause thereof. Wounds received in a lawful war, do wonderfully adorn the face. Fair is the wound which a valiant man hath gotten in a good quarrel, but much fairer is the death.  Sorrow. 
I am lame withal.  Reason. 
Thou remember'st, I am sure, the answer of Horatius Cocles, who after he had borne the brunt of the whole army of the Tuscan king upon the bridge Sublicius, after a more valiant than credible manner, and escaped from his enemies, the bridge being broken by his own countrymen's hands, and leaping into the river Tiber, though with some hurt unto one of his legs, which thing, afterward suing for an office, was objected unto him, thus stopped the mouth of his adversary: I halt not at all, quoth he, but such is the wit of the immortal Gods, that every step which I make, should bring into my remembrance my glorious victory: as noble an answer, as his exploit was notable.  Sorrow. 
I have lost mine hand in fight.  Reason. 
If it be thy left hand, the loss is the less: but if it be thy right hand, thou mayest do as did Marcus Sergius, a man of prowess, who having in fight lost his right hand in the Punic war, made him one of Iron, wherewith he went to many and bloody battles. But if that be not so convenient, make thy left hand to serve thy turn in steed of a right. Thou remember'st how Attilius, one of Caesar's soldiers in the Massilian war, held with his left hand the enemies ship till he was drowned, when his right hand was cut of.  Sorrow. 
I have lost both mine hands.  Reason. 
Where fortune hath most liberty, there greatest virtue is to be shown. The power of fortune may be withstood by the prowess of virtue. Which if thou hast, thou art valiant, though thou have never an hand. Cal unto thy mind Ciniger the Athenian, who when both hands were cut of, after the Marathonian battle, being a great argument of his invincible courage, held fast his enemies ship with his teeth, as well as he could, which battle was the immortal fact of captain Melciades. Neither do thou forget that Soldier of Cannas, who revenged himself on his enemy with his teeth when his hands were maimed. For being in his arms, & deprived of the use of his hands, he bitten of his ears, and marred the fashion of his face afore he would let go, and so died, as he thought, gloriously. These are examples of cruel minds: but the remedies which now I prescribe are more comfortable, and meet for mild minds: And that is, remember thy body is a frail and mortal thing, and speedily also will forsake thee: when thou art wounded, or otherwise troubled in body, be not moved, neither marvel thereat, but having lost the ministry of thine outward limbs, convert thyself into the inmost corners of thy soul, there shalt thou find some great thing to be said and done, and that thou needest neither hands nor tongue to help thee.  Sorrow. 
I am deformed with wounds.  Reason. 
I said ear while that if the quarrel were good, the wound is fair which is gotten by fight, and the face is not deformed with filthy wounds, but adorned with glorious marks: Neither are they scars, but stars, nor wounds, but signs of virtue fixed in the face. Cesius Scena, a captain of an hundred in Caesar's army, a man of a wonderful courage, but of no uprightness otherwise, was had in such admiration among his enemies, that they not only kissed his wounds, wherewith he was torn and cut through a thousand fold, in respect of his valientnesse only, but also conveyed his weapons and armour into the temples of their Gods, as most excellent ornaments, and relics. If he, being a wicked man, was so honoured, in what price are they to be had, who are aswell virtuous as valiant?  Sorrow. 
I am extremely weak through my wounds.  Reason. 
heal, ye wretches, those wounds which will stick by you for ever, if in time they be not healed. Let earth look to them, which shall both cover, and consume them, yea and make crooked bodies, which it receiveth, straight, when it restoreth them again.  Sorrow. 
I am maimed, being so wounded in this, and in that part.  Reason. 
Thou strivest about parts, but thou shalt forego the whole.   

Of a king without a son. The lxxviii Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Have a kingdom, but I lack a son.  Reason. 
Hast thou not cares enough through the burden of thy kingdom, except thou have the charge of a son also? The heavier your burden is, the lighter your heart, and sweet it seemeth to you when ye lie down with your load. There is no public weight so heavy, as a kingdom, nor no private charge more weighty, though none so dear, as a son.  Sorrow. 
I lack a son to whom I may leave my kingdom.  Reason. 
Leave to thy subjects liberty, nothing is better for them to have, nor meeter for thee to give. There have been some which in their life time, and yet not without successors, have thought hereupon, as Hiero Syracusan, and Augustus Caesar. How much better is it to do well unto many when thou mayest, then ill unto one? And what is sweeter, yea better, then to live in freedom? What worser, yea more dangerous, then to be a king?  Sorrow. 
I lack a son to be heir of my kingdom.  Reason. 
Thou lackest matter to continued a tyranny. For what else are kingdoms, but ancient tyrannies? Time maketh not that to be good, which by nature is evil. Add hereunto, that good fathers, commonly have ungracious children, to succeed them. Examples hereof may be Hierome of Sicily, and jugurth Tyrant of Numidia, whereof the one through ambition, the other through treachery, both to their destruction, violated the ancient amity which their forefathers had many years kept religiously with the Romans. Hast thou not a son? Then thou hast not him which shall overthrow that which thou hast done: thou hast a people which will love thee, honour thee, remember thee, and always thank thee for their liberty. Think that God hath dealt more graciously with thee, either in taking away, or denying thee a son, then in giving thee a kingdom.  Sorrow. 
I am a king without a son.  Reason. 
Now reign more virtuously, and freely: many times the love of children, draweth away the mind from the love of justice. Thou hast red how in the great Island Taxrobane, which lieth far beyond India within the East ocean, directly opposite to England, the king is chosen by the consent of the people, and they take unto them the best man among all to be their king: neither blood, nor good, favour nor profit, but only goodness bringeth to preferment. Truly an holy and blessed election. Wouldeto God it were used in these parts of the world, then should not ill succeed the good, nor the worst the wicked: then should not wickedness and pride come from parents to their children in all posterities, as it doth. And though the best and most upright man with one consent of all be chosen, yet is he never allowed for king, except he be both an old man, and without children, lest either the heat of youth, or the love of children, carry him away from the executing of justice. So that he which hath a son, is never chosen: and after he is created king, if he beget one, he is immediately removed from his princely authority. For the wise men of that country think it impossible, that one man should have a diligent care both of his kingdom and of his children.   

Of a kingdom lost. The lxxix Dialogue.  SOROW. 
MY kingdom is gone.  Reason. 
Now it is a kind of comfort to be without a son.  Sorrow. 
I am cast out of my kingdom.  Reason. 
A good fall, thou sattest in a slypperie place, and now, being on the plain, and beholding the perilous height behind thy back, thou wilt see how that descending from the throne of royalty, thou art advanced to the rest of a private life. And if there can be no pleasure nor happiness without security, thou shalt perceive, that somewhat more pleasant and happy is the life thou now leadest, than which thou didst heretofore.  Sorrow. 
I am driven from my kingdom.  Reason. 
Thank him which was cause thereof: an hard thing for the ear to hear peradventure, but surely comfortable to the mind it is that I bid thee. For thou art driven from that, from which thou must needs departed, and that which willingly thou shouldest do, thou art enforced to do. That force which should be wished, is not to be lamented. For who can either wish to be above men, as a king, or mislike that he is made equal to others, as a man? If it be a goodly thing, and to be wished, to excel, then to excel in the most goodly thing of all, is exceedingly to be desired. Wherefore, to be free from all laws and controlment, to excel in outward glory, to have abundance of gold and precious stones, is to be a king, but virtue is the thing which maketh the prince, and this will any wordling easily confess. For who seeth not, that among men superiority is due unto humanity, not unto riches, which only make a rich man, they cannot make a man civil, and so not better for virtue, neither higher for authority? But this, among other of your errors, ariseth from the desire of excellency, which being contented with it own place, ye seek where it is not, not beholding the true event of things and causes. For as among rich men, the richest, among strong men, the strongest, the fairest among the fair, & among orators the most eloquent: so certainly among men, the most human doth excel other.  Sorrow. 
I am fallen from the seat of royalty.  Reason. 
If thou didst fall without hurt, it is very wonderful: For commonly they which so fall, lose kingdom and soul together. But if thy soul be safe, mislike not, if thou be wise, thine exchange: For more quiet and pleasant is thy life now, than it was then. And that knew they full well, which not constrained, but voluntarily forsook their Empire, left their dignity of Popedom, which some have supposed to be above all other earthly dignities: among whom Diocletian is most famous, who being called again to the Empire, which of his own accord he had forsaken, contemned the wealth of the world, and the slippery place of principality, so greedyly sought after, and dearly bought with the bloody murdering of many, he abhorred, preferring his private life before the royalty of princes, and the base fruit of his own poor garden, planted with his own hands, before the delicious fare of the court.  Sorrow. 
I am thrust out of my princely palace.  Reason. 
Content thyself, many secret dangers thou hast escaped, among which erewhile thou were held captive, with strong, though golden, and sure, though glorious fetters, and couldst not behold thy misery, being blinded in mind: but now, through light of wisdom, mayest perceive the subtle place of inconstant fortune. And what covetous carl is he, that would not choose a poor soundness of the most noble sense, rather than a rich blindness? But no less noble, yea without comparison, more noble is the sight of the mind, then that of the body: rejoice therefore, that with a little loss of a transitory kingdom, thou hast attained for a small price a great thing, yea not one thing only, for not only blindness is departed from thee with thy kingdom, but also thy liberty restored, and thou thyself discharged of thy public function.  Sorrow. 
I am put from my royalty.  Reason. 
Credit them which have experience: the royal robes, crown, and sceptre, are most heavy things: being lightened of so mighty, and manifold a burden, cease to complain.  Sorrow. 
I have lost my kingdom.  Reason. 
Nay thou hast escaped, and swimming away naked, hast saved thyself from drowning: such men should cease complaining, and being restored to the land, aught to perform the vows that they have made.  Sorrow. 
I have lost the happiness of a kingdom.  Reason. 
If thou call it either a miserable happiness, or an happy misery, a false felicity, or a true misery, I confess thou hast done so.  Sorrow. 
I have lost my kingdom, my authority, my wealth and all together.  Reason. 
Thou oughtest rather to rejoice thereat, for they would have bereaved thee of all ●oy, and destroyed thee.  Sorrow. 
I lack princely authority.  Reason. 
So dost thou the cares and troubles incident unto kings, through the hatred and weerysomnes whereof, some would have departed from their thrones, as Augustus though modesty, and Nero through fear, others did forsake them, as even now I said. They which cannot willingly, (as the affections of many are stiff, and will not be bridled) when they must forcibly do so, aught greatly to thank both God, and man, bringing them to that estate, which exceedingly they should wish and desire. The first wish of a good mind should be, willingly to embrace wise counsel, the second, to do so though constrainedly. That full well knew the mighty king of Syria Antiochus, who being spoiled of all Asia beyond the mountain Taurus, sent great thanks unto the senate and people of Rome, because they had unburdened him of an over great charge, and brought him to a mean estate: Pleasantly truly, though but from the teeth forward: but if from the heart, prudently and gravely was it spoken.  Sorrow. 
I am come down from my kingly throne.  Reason. 
I said it was the point of a shameless pride, I will now add, the part of reckless madness, to forget our estate, to loathe that we are, to long to be such as we can never be. All men cannot be Kings, let it suffice that we are men. They that greedyly embrace their kingdoms, do loathe their own human estate, and would be counted as they are not, as it should seem, which so desire their earthly kingdoms. Quiet yourselves, ye wretches, let them think them selves in good case, which have left of to be Kings. For as the state of all men is hard, so most miserable is the condition of Kings: their innocent life to labour, their wicked to infamy, each to danger is subject, turn they how they will, they shall find extremities to overwhelm them, and shypwrackes of their substance. To escape these things thou judgest it a misfortune, but sure never came such good luck unto thee, as when thou wast most unlucky in thine own judgement.  Sorrow. 
It greeneth me, that another hath my kingdom.  Reason. 
It was not thine truly, but Gods, and if he gave it, why either may he not, if he will, take it away? or can he not, if he please, give it unto another? But, besides the will of the bestower, which alone may suffice, consider whether in thyself there were not causes why thou were bereft thereof, as those which a certain wise man doth express, saying, A Kingdom is transported from one nation to another, through unjust dealing, and injuring, and reproachful words, and divers double dealings.  Sorrow. 
I am no more a King.  Reason. 
Now art thou a man. For such is the pride of Princes, that they blush to be called men, which our Saviour was not ashamed of.   

Of Treason. The. Lxxx. Dialogue.  SORROW. 
MY friends have betrayed me.  Reason. 
Nay thine enemies, I trow: For if they had been friends, they had never betrayed thee.  Sorrow. 
My very familiars have betrayed me.  Reason. 
The name of a familer, is a doubtful word: For there is a familiar friend, and a familiar enemy, than whom, a greater mischief is not among men.  Sorrow. 
They have betrayed me, whom I trusted most.  Reason. 
Seldom is he deceived, that never trusted. The greater of power a man is, the less trust shall he find, and the more treachery. The mighty man must trust most, and many: Whereby it falleth out, that as it is a common thing to all men, so especially to Kings, to be betrayed, and none so soon as they. Priamus was betrayed by his own subjects, so was Minos, Nysus, Oethes, Agamemnon, Alexander, and before him, Darius: all these were betrayed, I say, by such as they put most affiance in. Among the Romans, Romulus, Tarqvinius. Priscus, Servius Tullus, African the lesser, and Pompey the great, and julius Caesar, and a thousand more, either kings, or in dignity higher than kings, were betrayed in like manner. And what do I speak of such as have been betrayed, as though now there were none such to be found? Who is there, which both in great and little matters, is not daily betrayed, if he have any dealings with men? Last of all, Christ was betrayed, and the King of Heaven was not without the misery of earthly kings.  Sorrow. 
Those whom I trusted, have betrayed me, I am touched nearer with their treachery, then with mine own discommodities.  Reason. 
That is well said, and godly: For so African also, whom very lately I mentioned, as Cicero doth report, saith, That not so much the fear of death, as the flattery of his friends, did trouble him. And yet with neither shouldest thou be too extremely touched. For inasmuch as it falleth out, that the betrayer getteth gain, with the loss of credit, and he that is betrayed, damage with a good name: choose whether thou wouldst have of these twain.  Sorrow. 
The traitor hath deceived me.  Reason. 
The greater hurt is not thine, but his. He hath betrayed thee, but hath cast away himself: he hath pricked thee, but hath wounded himself: in spoiling thee, he hath slain himself. For perchance from thee he hath plucked, either thy kingdom, or thy wealth: but from himself hath he plucked his soul, his fame, the quietness of conscience, and company of all good men. The Sun shineth not upon a more wicked thing, then is a Traitor, whose filthiness is such, that they which need his craft, abhor the craftsman: and others, which would be notorious in other sins, shun the shame of this impiety.  Sorrow. 
I am betrayed.  Reason. 
Happily it will 'cause thee to beware against another time: For so it falleth out. Many admonished sometimes by light matters, learn how to deal more wisely in greater affairs.   

Of the loss of a Tyranny. The. Lxxxj. Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Have lost my Tyranny.  Reason. 
If it be a gaining loss, to have lost a kingdom, how much more profitable to have lost a tyranny? For albeit, as we said before, speaking of a king without a son, all kingdoms well nigh were governed by Tyrants, yet through continuance of time they have gotten through, and forgetfulness of men, have put on the bail of justice, so that the unrighteousness of a tyranny, and Tyrants, are odious now a days.  Sorrow. 
I have laid away my tyranny.  Reason. 
A burden to the Common weal grievous, to thyself dangerous, to no good man profitable, hurtful to many, odious unto all men, hast thou laid away.  Sorrow. 
I have put of a tyranny.  Reason. 
Be not naked: put on righteousness, modesty, thryftinesse, honesty, godliness, mercy, and love, which are most goodly ornaments, and may be atrayned without any money, only with a willing mind: garments they are for good men, either unknown, or abhorred of ungracious tyrants, who, being bedecked with Pearls and Purple, are altogether naked, in respect of humanity and virtue.  Sorrow. 
My Citizens have driven me out of my tyranny.  Reason. 
They have taken unto them their liberty, which was due unto them, and have given thee thy life, which thou oughtest to have lost for usurping the same. Thou owest thy life unto them, who own naught unto thee but malice. And thus unkindly thou complainest, when reason would, thou shouldest give thanks. But this is an old wont, that he complaineth, which hath done the miurie, and he which sustained the same, doth hold his peace.  Sorrow. 
I am bereft of the tyranny, which along while I have enjoyed.  Reason. 
They were thy subjects, which might peradventure better have been thy governors. Thou countest it an injury to have thy long tyranny to be cut of: when in very deed the end of thy tyranny, is the beginning of their prosperity, and the entrance of justice, the expulsion of injury. And if it were shameful, that many should perish for the pleasure of one: it should be joyful to consider, but extreme impudency to complain, that such misery is come to an end.  Sorrow. 
I am thrown down from the tyranny, which I have possessed this many years.  Reason. 
If thou hadst voluntarily come down, it had been better: but if thou hadst never ascended thereunto, it had been best of all. Notwithstanding, by any means to come down, it is good, because it is expedient and just: and better is a forced equity, than a voluntary cruelty. hearken I pray thee, how an ungodly Tyrant, being in Hell, exclaimeth unto the tormented souls, Learn to do justice, when ye are warned. hearken also unto me alive, exhorting the living, Learn to do justice, though with compulsion. Let not this my most necessary and profitable admonition, uttered in due time, be contemned: the other was out of time, and made too late: For in vain is it to learn that, which cannot be put in practice. Assuage now your swelling minds, and put away your proud and cruel desires to reign, though not before, yet now at the length, after that you have lost your authority, cease to be Tyrants, and wish not that which ye cannot attain. Show forth thus much shame, if you cannot justice, that, having changed your manners, and put on a new habit of the mind, and made richer through the loss of riches, the world may see, that as much as ye have forgonne of goods, so much ye have gotten goodness. Have ye never heard, how that not only the King of Kings, and Lord of Lords, GOD Almighty, from whence is all power both in Heaven and Earth, doth, at his good pleasure, both extend, and restrain his liberal hand, for causes just always, though secret sometime: but one earthly King, contrariwise doth put down another, and one Tyrant oppress another, and one nation destroy another. And never came this saying of the Prophets complaining unto your ears, He shall gather the captivity together like Sande, and shall triumph over the Kings, and laugh Tyrants out of countenance? Frame your minds to Fortune, or according to the divine pleasure of Almighty GOD rather, and take heed of that ridiculous and filthy example of Dionysius, of all Tyrants the most detestable, of whom it is reported, that being banished from his native Country, he kept a school, and so exercised his cruelty upon children, when he could not upon men. A cruel nature, obstinate in wickedness, void of virtue, and far from reason.  Sorrow. 
It grieveth me greatly, that I have lost my tyrannical authority.  Reason. 
How would it trouble thee, to have lost a lawful possession, now that thou art so grieved that thine usurped authority is gone? How would it vex thee, to have forgonne thine own: which takest it so heavily, now that thou art bereft of that, which was not thine?  Sorrow. 
I can not choose but take it grievously, that I am thrown down from my tyranny.  Reason. 
Way the cause, and it will trouble thee the less. The very name of Tyrants, hath made many to fall: notwithstanding, it is well known by experience, that the most part have deservedly been, and are daily thrown down from their dignities. In the politics of Aristotle, thou mayest read, how that many Tyrants have perished through the abuses of their wives. Which being understood, either actively or passively, is true, that is, through the injuries offered, either by Tyrants unto other men's wives, or by the wives of Tyrants to others. Of the first, thou hast for example, not only Tyrannies, but also the Trojan, and Roman Kingdoms. Of the second, thou hast Agis, a Tyrant among the Lacedæmonians, who having himself made a pray of the men his subjects, set his dear wife to spoil their wives, which was not the lest cause of hastening his destruction. But Aristotle, who flourished in the days of Alexander the great, and lived not till this Tyrant reigned, could never know him: albeit in those books, not without wonderful admiration, I find the names of Hiero, and Gelo, but considering the course of times, I cannot conceive how he should know them.  Sorrow. 
Neither have I oppressed other men's wives, nor my wife injuried any, and yet am I driven from my tyranny.  Reason. 
Some time the most hurtful, think themselves innocent. But many causes besides, as great, there be, wherefore Tyrants are put down: as pride, which Historiographers object to julius Caesar, for that he rose not up to the Senate, when with great obeisance they approached unto him: but that, in these days is counted no cause. Cruelty also is another, which caused Merentius, as it is written in Virgil, to be punished, and brought Caligula, Nero, and Domitian, to their death. Envy likewise, which was the greatest torment, saith Horace, that ever the Tyrants of Sicily found: which if it were so in his days, I warrent thee, at this present it is no less. Last of all, the greatest decay of Tyrants, and most common, is covetousness. And therefore other things touch but certain, and this all: The other trouble certain Citizens, but this the whole people. Pride and Envy, reign among Tyrants themselves, cruelty rageth among few: but covetousness among all. Cruelty sometime ceaseth and is diminisheth, but covetousness increaseth always, and watcheth. Therefore, they which desire to bear rule over the people, aught above all, to shun this vice, together with the shame and suspicion thereof. For nothing maketh a Tyrant so odions, nothing is more unseemly for a Lord, or Governor. Other vices many times hide themselves under the cloak, either of magnanimity, or of justice, but this one vice putteth not of the baseness and misery of the mind. And contrary to the common custom of man's error: as nothing is in deed more vile and miserable, than covetousness: so nothing is to be deemed more vile and miserable. And therefore, they which are guilty hereof, are judged most unmeet of all men to bear honour, and authority. Men disdain to be under the government of him that is subject to covetousness, and that he hath no right over the body, they think, which can not use well the rule that he hath over his own coin, who thinketh it also lawful to bereave men of their lives, I say not of their money, and yet dareth not so much as touch his own treasure. Therefore the most ready and right way to security and quietness is, not only not to wish to bear dominion as a Tyrant, but also not to desire to rule as a king. For what is more foolish, more painful, or more perilous, then for a man to heap the burdens of the whole people upon his own and only back, who is too weak peradventure to bear his own? But the familiarity with the mortal enemy, and the perverseness of opinions, doth not permit to choose that which is better. The next is, to have in mind the lesson of Aristotle, which is, that a man show himself to be not a Tyrant, but a favourer of the Common wealth. He must, saith he, seem to gather the incomes, and offerings, the better to dispose, and use them, if need do require, for the defence of his Country in the time of war: generally he must behave himself, as the keeper and chamberlain of common things, not of his own: And again, He must repair, and adorn the City, as a Steward, not spoil it as a Tyrant: And again, He must behave himself not as a Tyrant, but as a King, careful of the public welfare, and love a mean estate, not sumptuousness. By these, and such like (as Aristotle would, and I do like of) the authority continueth: this only I add, that he be such a one in deed, as Aristotle saith he should seem to be: For dissimulation, be it never so cunningly and wittily used, can never be long hid from the sight of some among many whom it toucheth. Enter now into the consideration of thyself, see whether thou have offended in any of these points, and cease both to complain, and marvel. For that a Tyrant being subject to these vices should be cut of, it is not, but that it should continued, it is marvel. To conclude, both Kings, & all Tyrants, and as many as are of power, if they desire to reign a long time, should diligently have in mind that saying of Cato in Livy, Avarice, and riotousness, have brought all great Empires to destruction.  Sorrow. 
Now my dominion is gone, I am no better than a private man.  Reason. 
Thou were an enemy of Citizens, thou art now made a fellow citizen, learn civilicie, & confess the benefit of a mean estate. Both more honestly, and more safely, among good Citizens, then above all Citizens, thou mayest live. Now thy state is more quiet, thy life more secure, without fear, without suspicions, without watches, without sword: among which evils, I know not what sweetness of life can be hoped for.  Sorrow. 
My tyranny being lost, I must live as an other common and inferior person.  Reason. 
Choose, whether with lamentations thou wilt exasperated thy fotune, or asswade it with patience: for verily, if thou wouldst demand of thine own mind, and not of the confuset noise of the multitude, and consider things passed in silence, thou shouldest find, that thou art released, and escaped from many evils. Now mayest thou live insafetie and quietness, and die in peace, neither embrewed with blood, nor drenched in poison.   

Of Castles lost. The. Lxxxij. Dialogue.  SORROW. 
MY strong Castles are taken from me.  Reason. 
Till now, some seed of tyranny remained: which is utterly gone, thy Castles being lost. It is not enough to cut of a poisoned bough, unless it be plucked up by the root. He that trusteth to his Towers, reasseth not to be a Tyrant.  Sorrow. 
My Castle on the Hill, is taken from me.  Reason. 
In all places, Castles are the fetters of freedom: but on Hills, they are after a sort as Clouds, out of which, your pride may rattle and thunder down upon your Subjects: therefore, to be spoiled of these, is no lamentable thing, but rather to be wished. For among those things which the common people call goods, some things there are, wherewith good, and modest minds also would be detained, and pricked unto unlawfulness. Which motions, if thou canst not withstand with the assistance of virtue: it were better to be without the causes of evils, then by having such things, to be alured unto wickedness.  Sorrow. 
I have lost a most strong castle.  Reason. 
Thou callest it most strong, but the event proveth it to be but weak. But to speak as it is, in deed thou hast lost a thing for use vain, for keeping troublesome, unprofitable for thyself, and to all thy neighbours hurtful. Now shalt thou begin both to sleep quietly thyself, and to suffer others to take their rest by thee.  Sorrow. 
My safe tour is overthrown.  Reason. 
How that could be safe which is destroyed, think with yourself. But I will show thee a well fenced and most safe Castle, and yet it hath neither wall nor turret, nor troublesome provision of things: wouldst thou live safely? Then live virtuously, for nothing is more safe than virtue. And to live well, I count not to live proudly, daintily, gallantly, but justly, soberly, and modestly. Thou hast need neither Castle, nor Tower, which make thee not secure, and quiet, but careful, terrible, and troublesome. And what pleasure is it to be feared, and not to be loved? Never heardest thou of that saying of Laberius, common in every man's mouth? Needs must be fear many, of whom many stand in fear. This did he utter against julius Caesar, but more rightly may it be spoken against others, both inferior to him for power, and more horrible for their cruelty? I see nothing, why so many should desire to be feared. For gratis no man is feared. For both he stands in fear himself, and more dangerous is it for one to fear many, then for many to be afraid of one. It it not better that none do fear thee, and thou no body, then for many to fear thee, and thou many? For these things cannot be severed, and always by fear is engendered fear. Wouldst thou have a reason hereof? Ovid the Poet giveth it thee: Whom a man doth fear, saith he, he would have come to destruction: and Ennius before his time said, Whom men do fear, they hate, whom any doth hate, he wisheth to be destroyed. Many feared thee in thy Castle, and so didst thou fear many. But thou wilt say, whom did I fear? But who is he that feareth not all men, when he beginneth to be feared, especially them which fear him? For Cicero following Ennius. Doth say, They which willbe feared of them, whom they should fear, must needs be in great fear. I many times repeat one thing, for so doth the matter require I should, neither do ye mark, being blind in this, as in other things, that while ye contend to be above all, ye are under al. What is more vile than fear? So all your endeavour endeth on the contrary part.  Sorrow. 
I have lost my Castle which I loved so well.  Reason. 
Love another which thou shalt not lose. Wal thy mind about with good intentions, thy light with good actions: Place prudence and fortitude before thy gates, justice and modesty in the turrets, humanity and clemency about upon the walls, set faith, hope, and charity in the mids of the castle, let providence be planted on the top of the highest tower, a good name in the circuit of God and men, embrace love, banish fear, reverence the worthy, overpass the rest without either honouring or abhorring them: so neither shalt thou fear any, nor any fear thee, and more safely shalt thou live in the house of humility, then in the tower of glory. This Castle will none invade, this will none, neither can they bereave thee of, by this shalt thou draw the wicked to admiration, the good to love, and to imitation. O how easy a matter were it to lead a quiet and good life, if ye would not disquiet and make the same troublesome, both to the destruction of yourselves and others? For all that ye do, is to the overthrow of yourselves and your neighbours. And tell me, to what end serve these your Castles, but to the disquieting of yourselves and others, that neither you at any time can be quiet, but that also, like spiders that lay wait for flies, ye may insult over them which pass by you. All other creatures content themselves with their caves and nests, man alone, than whom nothing is more proud, nor fearful, seeketh Castles, and buildeth bulwarks.   

Of old age. The lxxxiii Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Am waxed old.  Reason. 
Thou desirest to live, and yet art sorry that thou hast lived, is not this the matter?  Sorrow. 
I am old.  Reason. 
Thou goest every day forward, and art thou amazed that thou art now come to thy ways end. It had been more strange, if thou hadst never come to the place whither thou wast always going.  Sorrow. 
I am old.  Reason. 
How can it be otherwyfe, but that by living thou must wax old, and by going forward thou must go on a good way? Didst thou think that thine age would go backward? Time, as it is swift and tarreth not, so is it also irrevocable.  Sorrow. 
I am become an old man very soon.  Reason. 
I told thee that time passeth a way, and now thou beginnest to believe it. It is strange to hear, not only what difference there is between the opinions of divers men, but also of one man only. The young man when he thinketh upon his age to come, judgeth it very long, which the old man when he looketh back into it, thinketh to have been very short. Things to come seem always longer than the present, being either in deed as short or shorter: which the nearer they draw to an end, the more vehement always, natural motion groweth to be.  Sorrow. 
I am old.  Reason. 
Thou mayest rejoice if thou art not waxed old among vices, or if thou art amended now at the last: for then thine old age is good and profitable, and no small argument of God's favour towards thee. Thou remember'st the communication which Caesar had with the old Egyptian, and proveth by his old age, that he had not lived unthankful to the gods.  Sorrow. 
I am become an old man.  Reason. 
A very few among many are able to say so: for of so many thousand thousands as are borne, how many are there that attain to old age? And of them that do, how many live out the lawful time that they may be called old?  Sorrow. 
I am very old.  Reason. 
It is a miracle to meet with a very old man, specially if a man think with himself, with how many dangers on steps he hath passed to that age. The great rareness of old folk, is a great argument of the manifold chances of this mortal life.  Sorrow. 
I am old.  Reason. 
Thou hast run an hard and dangerous race, it were marvel but that by this time, being weary and desirous to rest, thou were glad to see the end so nigh.  Sorrow. 
I am soon waxed old.  Reason. 
The course of your life is sometime short, sometime very short, never long, always hard, rough and uncertain, the last part whereof is old age, and the end death: what cause hast thou here to complain alone? Art thou waxen old? By this time than thou oughtest to have fulfilled the duties of life, and now rest thyself, seeing thou art come to the end thereof. That traveller were worse than mad, that being weary and weakened with his long journey, would be content to go back again. There is nothing more acceptable to them that are weary, than their Inn.  Sorrow. 
I am aged.  Reason. 
The toils of thy life have been pleasant unto thee belike, if thou be sorry thou hast passed them.  Sorrow. 
I am an old man.  Reason. 
If thou hadst a delight to live, lo thou hast lived: what needs thou must do, thou hast fulfilled. And who is so mad that will be sorry for the doing of that which he wished, unless he perceive that he wished a miss? or rejoiceth not, that that is done already, that might not be left undone, nor be done, without great travail? And therefore on every side thou hast cause to rejoice, whether thou hast obtained thy wished desire, or accomplished thy necessary and painful duty.  Sorrow. 
I am in years, and old age hath chased away the delights of the body.  Reason. 
Enjoy the pleasures of the mind, which are as many, and truly more permanent, and do never departed but when the soul departeth, to her they cleave, her they follow. But bodily pleasures, when they come they bring offence, and when they departed they leave behind them cause of repentance, shame and sorrow Rejoice that thou art discharged and free from them, and give thanks to thy deliverer for bringing thee out of the hands of thine enemies, and causing thee do follow thy duty, which thou hadst deferred and neglected.  Sorrow. 
I am old, and want mine accustomed pleasures.  Reason. 
Accustom thyself then to new, for old age hath it proper pleasures, which when thou hast tasted, thou wilt loathe those which thou hast lost, & if thou mightest, even rufe to return unto them.  Sorrow. 
I am old, and grey headed.  Reason. 
The reverend hoary hears of a virtuous old man, carry with them not only more authority, but also honest delight, than all the filthy pleasures of young men, neither be thou grieved at the changing of their colour. For whose senses are so corrupted, or judgement blinded, that he would not rather behold baskets full of white Lilies, than hutches full of black coals? And if he were to be transformed, had not rather be made a white swan, than a black crow?  Sorrow. 
I am old, and the filthy wrinkles have furrowed my face.  Reason. 
The forrowed land bringeth forth the ranker corn, and the life that hath been well instructed, yieldeth the riper and pleasanter fruit in old age. If the wrinkles of thy face offend thee, frame the countenance of thy mind unto more comeliness, which will never be deformed with wrinkles, nor altered with years, but rather increase by continuance, and to be short, will do thee more honour, if thou neglect it not.  Sorrow. 
I am old, and become so wrincled and evil favoured, that I scarce know myself.  Reason. 
I told thee at the beginning of this: Now thou wilt have less desire to look in a glass, & less please thine own (perhaps) but much less the eyes of wanton women, whom to have a desire to delight, I cannot easily determine whether it taste of greater vanity, than lasciviousness. But they that seek for trustiness, for constancy, for gravity, for wisdom, do hope more assuredly to find them among these wrinkles, then where the forehead and cheeks be plain, and smooth, and soft.  Sorrow. 
I am aged, and the sweetest part of my life have I left behind me.  Reason. 
Nay surely the sourest: for those things that are most wished for, are not always best. Many have desired their own hurt, which they would not do were not the saying of the Satirike Poet true, There are but few that can discern the true goods.  Sorrow. 
I am old, and my pleasant days are past.  Reason. 
The days in all times are much one and like, but men's minds do vary, yea one mind disagreeth from itself. Hereof it cometh, that the madness of youth on the one side, and the impatiency of old age on the other, have in such sort disturbed the judgement of this life, that that is counted good, which is evil, and that most excellent, which is worst of al. As for the days, they are of themselves all good, for as much as the king and creator of all worlds is good. And although some days be hot, and some cold, some dry, and some moist, some cloudy, and some clear, some troublesome, and some calm, yet if thou have a respect unto the beauty of the whole world, and the course of nature, they be all good. But if they be referred unto you and your judgement, they are almost all of them evil, sorrowful, doubtful, heavy, troublesome, careful, bitter, plaintile, lamentable, full of adversity. Among these thou tellest me a tale of certain pleasant ones, I know not what, which whiles they were present were heavy, and not without their complaints, and nothing maketh them now seem: pleasant, but that they are passed, and the desire thou hast that they should return, maketh them dear unto thee, and the rather, for that perhaps they have carried away with them some things whereby thou settest no small store. A fool commonly loveth nothing but that he hath lost.  Sorrow. 
I am waren old, but O that my young days would return again.  Reason. 
O not less foolish than vain wish, as thou meanest: but if thy understanding were of higher matters, than were it not void, for it will surely come again one day, and according as it is written. Thine youth shallbe renewed, as is were the youth of an Eagle.  Sorrow. 
I am old, and my good time is past.  Reason. 
As every age is good to the good, so is it evil to the evil livers, unto both sure it is, but short, and very near to the end, when as the godly shallbe rewarded for their virtue, and the wicked punished for their sins. Which is then this good time whereof thou speakest, which is evermore hard and fleeting, but only in respect that it leadeth to eternity? Otherwise if there were any thing sweet in it, the swiftness thereof in passing away may seem to abate it: for who can taste a thing well as he is running? When Darius was in flight, a draft of foul and stinking water seemed most sweet unto him: Thirst, as Cicero thinketh, but as I judge, fear, had corrupted his taste. Alexander that banquished him, followed hard at his heels: and swift time likewise pursueth you apace. The years run away, the days follow headlong one upon another, the hours have wings, and slit swiftly, & death standeth before your eyes, neither can ye return when ye are stayed, nor stay when ye are driven, nor pass further when ye are prevented. Of this way then that is beset with so many dangers, and subject to so many terrors, what part thereof, I pray thee, can be good? But I understand your meaning: you call that a good age which is most apt unto shame and licentiousness: For this is your manner of speaking, to term that good which is most agreeable to your affections, be those your affectitions never so evil. So doth the thief call the chain good, which he prepareth for the true man's neck, and the Tyrant his citadel, which he buildeth to bereave his subjects of their liberty, and the witch her pestilent poisons. which she mingleth to infect poor innocentes, and the murderer his blade, wherewith he intendeth to commit slaughter: and so likewise do you call that age good, which is most convenient for the things that you desire. And therefore, among all them that lament the loss of their forepast days, ye shall not find one to lament his childhood or infancy, which in deed were the best parts of this life, if to be best, were to be farthest from old age: as ye hold opinion. Not not the middle age, nor old age, which beginneth but now, & is yet to be counted green old age: but it is youth, youth, that ye require, the most dangerous and worst part of all your life O say ye, the pleasant days of five and twenty years, where are ye become? which ye speak, that your ancient filthiness may be known unto all men, how well ye like of them without repentance, seeking for nothing else then a convenient time for them.  Sorrow. 
I am old, why should I not sigh with that king in Virgil that said, O that jupiter would restore unto me my forepast days?  Reason. 
But we hear not that ever Socrates, Plato, Fabius, or Cato, samented for any such matter, and yet they were old men: but I confess that it is a more rare thing to find a wise man, than a king. And therefore if king Enander had been a wise king, that same sigh of his, should not be doubtless so commonly frequented of our old men now adays. Foolish old men do sigh, & with heaviness of mind call back for their youthful days, but all in vain: which they go about to revoke, not only with their secret wishes, but also with bootless medicines, and cunning woorkemanshyp, to altar the course of unbridled nature. In which point Hadriane the Emperor, very pleasantly skoffed at a certain gray-headed sire, unto whom he had denied a suit. And when he saw him come again to renew his former request, and in the meanwhile had died his hoary hairs into a black colour, he repelled him with this answer: Not, go thy ways, quoth the Emperor, for I have denied the same already to thy father.  Sorrow. 
I am aged, O that I could wax young again.  Reason. 
Erewhile I told thee, that thy youth would return, and now I say it is returned. If thou mightest so casily obtain thy wish in all things, thou shouldest wish for nothing in vain. The poor man wisheth for riches, the bondman for freedom, the deformed person for beauty, the sick man for health, the weary for rest, the banished, to be called home: but he that deserveth the true name of an old man, cannot wish for his youth again, for that is a very childish desire.  Sorrow. 
I am waxed old, alas why hath my pleasant youth so soon forsaken me?  Reason. 
It is soon gone that is pleasant, and that cometh always to quickly that is painful. But it is a vain thing to wish for that which cannot be had, and annoy in the having, and would hurt if it returned again. Leave of now thy sighing, for whilst thou continuest in this mind, thou mayst soon become gray-headed, but never an old man: For the desire to be young man old man, what is it other than the very childishness of old age?  Sorrow. 
I am old and crooked.  Reason. 
Behold the earth, and think from whence thou camest, and whither thou shalt: For from thence thou camest, and thither thou must go again. Nature putteth thee in mind both of thy beginning and ending. To the intent thou shouldest not go astray, the common passage is showed unto thee, into which since thou art entered, look down upon it diligently: the manner is, for blind men to be lead on their way by the hand.  Sorrow. 
I am suddenly waxed old.  Reason. 
Nay rather by small and small, creepingly, slowly, softly, but that when men think upon nothing, all things seem to happen suddenly unto them, as contrariwise, when they mind all things, nothing cometh unlooked for. And if old age were a thing to be lamented, then should men lament all the days of their life, for through them, as steps, they trace unto that.  Sorrow. 
Alas, I am old.  Reason. 
O unconstancy of desires, unto this didst thou specially endeavour to attain, unto this didst thou most covet, and that thou shouldest not reach thereunto didst thou much fear, and now that thou art come to it, thou lamentest, which were a monstrous and incredible matter, but that it is now usual among you. All would fayne come to old age, but none will be content to be old: but rather ye count old age misery, and to be called old, an injury, as if it were a reproach to be aged, which none may judge so, but they that think it a shame to have lived: of which sort, I confess, the number is not small, from whom notwithstanding, I would have thee exempted, to the end thou mayest be the better for our communication. Otherwise, good counsel can never sink into the heart, although it be abundantly poured into the ears.  Sorrow. 
I am waxed aged at length.  Reason. 
They that have sustained losses on the land, on the sea, in war▪ and by gaming, immediately perceive their harms: but thou only awakest in the end, and beginnest to complain, when as the end of all complaints is at hand.  Sorrow. 
I am old.  Rea on. 
It is the part of a ●oole, never to think upon old age, but when it is come: For truly, if thou hadst foreseen that it should have come, or perceived it coming, thou shouldest with less grief behold it present.  Sorrow. 
Alas, I am now an ag●d wight.  Reason. 
Lament not for it: thou hast fulfilled an hard charge, thou hast passed through a rough and ragged journey, and finished an unpleasant Comedy. And therefore now after the manner of such actions, thou shouldest clap thy hands, and cry plaudite.  Sorrow. 
I am an old man.  Reason. 
Hast thou forgotten, how that of late days, one that was very familiar with thee, expressed the effect hereof ex tempore, not as a new saying, but as comparable unto any in times past? For when a certain friend of his said unto him, I am sorry for thee, for I perceive thou waxest old, I would thou were in as good estate as when I knew thee first: he answered suddenly, Seem I not unto thee foolish enough, but that thou must wish me more fool than I am? Take no care for me, I pray thee, for that I am old, but rather be sorry for me that ever I was young. O how much understanding is there contained in this short answer, which none can conceive, but he that hath tasteth the commodities of this age, and remembreth the miseries of the other? Rejoice therefore in thine own felicity, although it be also true, that often times good happeneth unto men against their wills, and evil unwished for. Doubtless, unto a good man that loveth verive & hateth fond affections, one whole day of this age, which thou mislikest of, is more acceptable, than an whole year of reckless youth.  Sorrow. 
Alas, I am aged.  Reason. 
If thou continued in this mind, it may be truly said of thee, which is verified of the common people, that thou art not so much wretched now thou art old, as that thou livedst miserable, that so fond thou complainest thereof, now at the very end of thy life. Leave of your complaints now at length, you whining generation, and willingly yield to the necessity of nature, since there is nothing to be lamented, that her immovable law hath determined. For what is more natural for a man that is borne, then to live until he be old, and when he is old to die? But you, being forgetful of your estate, do eschew them both, and yet of necessity you must taste of the one, or of the both. And if ye would escape them both, then must you have abstained from the third, and believe me, not have been borne at all. As soon as your bodies are grown into years, let your minds wax old also, and let not the old Proverb be evermore verified in you, to wit, That one mind, is able to consume many bodies. Suffer without grudging your body and your mind to continued together to the end: as they came in, so let them departed out of the world together, and when the one draweth forward, let not the other draw backward. Your dallying is but in vain, you must needs departed, and not tarry here, and return no more, which may seem unto you but a small matter, in consideration of the immortality of your souls, and resurrection of your bodies, which you look for, above such as either look for but the one, or for neither. In vain, I say, ye strive against the stream, and go about to shake of the yoke of man's frailty, which ye undertook when ye were borne.  Sorrow. 
I am old, and the strength of my body is decayed.  Reason. 
If the force of thy mind be increased, it is well, and thou hast made a good exchange: For there is no man ignorant, unless he lack a mind, that greater & better exploits may be achieved by the strength of the mind, then of the body. But if the strength of the mind, as oftentimes it happeneth, be diminished through slothfulness, than hast thou, I confess, lived unprofitably, which is thine own fault, and not thine ages.  Sorrow. 
I am old, and I cannot follow my business.  Reason. 
If there be any thing to be done by the mind, by so much the better an old man may do it, by how much he hath the more experience and knowledge in things, and is less subject to passions, and his mind more free from all mischiefs and imperfections: as for other matters, old men can not deal in them, neither becometh it them to busy themselves that way, who have already laid all bodily labour aside. But if they continued in it, and will not be withdrawn, then do they renew the ancient rid: culus example of a Roman old man, who being commanded by the Prince to surcease from labour, for that his impotent old age at the one side, and his great riches on the other, required the same, he was as heavy and sorrowful, as if he had mourned for some friend that was dead, and caused all his household semblably to mourn: A strange old man, that abhorred rest as a certain resemblance of death, when as in deed there is nothing more convenient for an old man, than rest, and nothing more unseemly, than a labouring and carking old man, whose life aught to be a pattern of all quietness and tranquillity. Thou mayest learn moreover of the Philosophers, what, and how pleasant a thing it is, for virtuous old men to live, as they term it, in the course of their forepast life, which notwithstanding, the greatest number never accomplishe●h, but dieth before.  Sorrow. 
My years are quickly gone, and I am become old.  Reason. 
Your beauty, health, swiftness, strength, yea all that ever ye have, passeth away: but virtue remaineth, never giving place to old age nor death. In this most assured good, ye aught at the beginning to have stayed your selves, which at the end to do, I confess, is more difficult, but there is no age that refuseth the study of virtue, which the harder it is, so much the more it is glorious. Many have scarce learned of long time, in their old age to be wise, and know themselves, and yet better late, then never which although it be but smally profitable now at the last cast of the life, and at the very point of death, yet do I judge it well bestowed upon that one hour, to be passed without horror and fearfulness, if so be it were not exerc. said in all the whole life time before. For neither was he borne in vain, that dieth well, nor lived unprofitably, that ended his life blessedly.  Sorrow. 
I am old, and at deaths door.  Reason. 
Death is at hand alike unto all men, and many times nearest there where he seemeth furthest of. There is none so young, but he may die to day, none so old, but he may live another year, if nothing else happen unto him, but old age.  Sorrow. 
I am thoroughly old.  Reason. 
Thou art rather thoroughly ripe. If Apples could feel and speak, would they complain of their ripeness? or rather, would they not rejoice, that they are come to the perfection for which they were made? As in all other things, so likewise in age, there is a certain ripeness, which is termed old age: the same that thou mayest see truly to be so, the age and death of young men is called bitter, and is bitter in deed: contrary unto this bitterness is ripeness, which being commended in Apples, and all maver fruits, is most commendable in man. Not that I am ignorant, that many fruits do whither before they wax ripe, but that is not the fault of the age, but the perverseness of nature, not of all, but of many, I mean in men, who being borne to that which is good, do stoutly endeavour to the contrary. And therefore, if there be any drop of noble juice in thee, thou oughtest now to be ripe, and without all fear, to attend until the hand of the mower cut thee down to the ground. That is not death which thou fearest, but the end of troubles, and beginning of life: not death, I say, but an hard end of life, whereunto few arrive in a calm tide, but all for the most part naked, weeping, and wrecked on the sea. In the mids of thine old age, taking in hand an easy utage towards thine end, thou shalt be brought by a prosperous gale, through the troublesome surges of worldly affairs, into the calm port of security. Now is it time for thee to run a ground, and more up thy weary bark upon the shore, and whither so ever thou turnest thee, to think upon thine end. This shalt thou find more profitable for thee, then as fools use to do, to blame good age, and nature, which is a most gracious mother.   

Of the Gout. The. Lxxxiiij. Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Am vexed with the loathsome Gout.  Reason. 
Knowest thou not the nature of old age? It cometh not alone, but most times bringeth an army of diseases and sicknesses with it.  Sorrow. 
I am grieved with the painful gout.  Reason. 
Thou art troubled in the extremest and most vile parts of thy body: what if it were near thy heart, or head?  Sorrow. 
The gout so grieveth me, that I cannot go.  Reason. 
The wandering mind of man, needeth to be restrained with a bridle. One man is kept under by poverty, another by imprisonment, another by sickness. Fortune playing with thee, hampereth thee by the feet: This is not the gout, but rather fetters, and therefore learn to stand still.  Sorrow. 
The gout maketh me unfit for affairs.  Reason. 
Vnfyt I think in deed to run, to leap, to dance, to play at tennis: dost thou think that thou wast borne unto these pastimes? But if thou be so ignorant, know this, that thou wast horn unto greater matters, which thou mayest very well accomplish, if thy head do not ache, nor thy heart be sick. Thou mayest apply the study of the liberal sciences, ensue godliness and virtue, keep floelitie and justice, contemn this frail body, and the transitory world, hate vices, love virtues, honour friendship, help thy Country by counsel and advice: These are the duties of a good man, and herein what can fetters hinder thee?  Sorrow. 
I am weakened with the gout.  Reason. 
Perhaps thy disease will not suffer thee to fight against thine enemies, but it will against vices, which is as painful and common as war. And what know we, whether this bodily pain, against which thou fightest, be laid upon thee, for the exercise of thy mind?  Sorrow. 
I can not stand upon my feet.  Reason. 
See then what hope thou hast to conceive of the residue of the building, when thou perceivest the very foundation to be so weak? watch and take heed, that the fall oppress thee not at unwares: make ready thy packs, and prepare thyself to flight.  Sorrow. 
I am marvelously troubled with the gout.  Reason. 
This disease, as it is commonly reported, useth to accompany rich men. Lo, thou hast an other remedy, be of good comfort, for either the sweetness of thy riches shall assuage the sharpness of thy grief, or the bitterness of thy poverty drive it away: and so thou shalt either found comfort, or an end. If these fail thee, that will come at length, which shall not deceive thee, which is also the end of all troubles & adversive.  Sorrow. 
I am oppressed with the pain of my feet.  Reason. 
If thou wilt have remedy, thou must either be poor in deed, or at lest wise live poorly. Poverty, which is the true purifying of men's bodies, as some say, hath delivered many from this infirmity: and some have been cured by frugality or sparing, which by an other term I may call voluntary, or feigned, or imagined poverty. Thou hast seen some cured by perpetual abstinence from wine. Thus it happeneth, that pain with pain, and one nail is driven out with an other, as saith the old Proverb. There is no painful malady cured without pain. And moreover, if thou wilt be at one with this sickness & many other, thou must proclaim open war; not only against wine, but also venery. But what do I? I promised remedies for the mind, & not for the body, & yet notwithstanding, I suppose, I have taught thee the only cure of this disease. If thou like it, use it: if not, the use of fomentations otherwise framed, will not deceive thee: For patience is the most effectual, and present, and many times the only remedy in adversity.  Sorrow. 
The pain of the gout hath made me crooked.  Reason. 
Then art thou unable to go, and less meet to take pain: but not unfit to do other things, not only appertaining to thy private household, but also concerning the Common wealth, yea, & if need so require, of a Kingdom or Empire. Wherefore, this only saying of Septimus Severus, Emperor of Rome, is very famous and notable: who being an old man, and much subject to the gout, when he had bewrayed the conspiracy of the nobility, that would have made his son Emperor, while he was yet living, the authors of this sedition, and also his some, being apprehended, and standing all dismayed, trembling & shaking before his seat, looking for nothing but present death: Severus lifting up his hand to his head, At length, quoth he, You shall understand that it is my head, and not my feet that do govern.  Sorrow. 
I am marvelously, poor wretch, tormented with the gout.  Reason. 
Do not be wail only the grief and sharpness of things, but if there have any pleasure or sweetness happened unto thee by them, think upon it, whereby thou mayest comfort thyself in this adversity. Among all the evil conditions of the common multitude, this is not the lest, that as they are whining and impatient in adversity, so are they forgetful and unthankful in prosperity, than which there is nothing more injurious. For why? for example sake, who is able with indifferent ears, either to hear the Emperor Severus, of whom we spoke erewhile, complain of his gout, or Domitian of his baldness, which he took very grievously, or Augustus when he was old, of the weakness of his left eye, or julius Caesar of his fear in the night season, and troublesome dreams, or, to be short, other very happy & honourable men, in such sort complaining of one default of nature or other, if a man may so term it, or injury of fortune, that they might seem to be unmindful of their Empire, and riches, and conquests, and so many and great commodities, and yet to remember that they were men, for whom in this life to look or hope for perfect and sound felicity, is but a mere madness. To mingle the sweet with the sour, is a peculiar medicine against the gout, and a common remedy against all diseases, which thou shalt find to be very effectual, and wilt confess to be good and virtuous counsel, if thou follow the advice of that godly old man, who once attained unto great prosperity, and afterward tasted extreme adversity: who by means of the benefits which he received at God's hands, learned to take all affliction in good part, although that same hand can neither make nor give any evil: but he had only a respect unto the common opinion of men.  Sorrow. 
The gout keepeth me down in my bed, as if I were bound with knots that can never be undone.  Reason. 
While thou lies, thy mind may stand up, and survey the whole heaven, earth, and sea.   

Of Scabs. The. Lxxxu. Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Am grieved with painful Scabs.  Reason. 
I marvel now no longer, if thou take in ill part those that be griefs only, seeing thou also bewailest that wherewith there is some sweetness mingled.  Sorrow. 
I am vexed with the grievous scab.  Reason. 
Some say, that it is wholesome to be scabbed. But for that I will not call so woeful a thing by so good a name, I term it a token of health, or the way leading to health. It is but a gentle thing, for that it is not long in coming forth, whose issuing is sometime joined with no small tickling.  Sorrow. 
The dry scab molesteth me.  Reason. 
Thou needest now no clock nor watch, for the same will awake thee in the night, and call thee up unto thy necessary & honest affairs. For there is none so slothful, whom the painful scab will not stir up, and make wakeful.  Sorrow. 
I am vexed with scabs.  Reason. 
A base disease, but which hath a noble cure: labour, pain, heat, baths, watching, diet, these are medicines against scabs. If these will do no good, thou must flee to the remedy of patience, which in all diseases is the most profitable salve.  Sorrow. 
I am troubled with the painful and filthy scab.  Reason. 
I deny neither of them. And whereas Publius said, that the sore feet of one that had the Gout, were a painful rest, so on my word mayest thou say, that a pair of scabbed hands, are a grievous business. But what wilt thou say to this? The loathsommer the disease is, the comelier is the patience? And how if out of a small discommodity, thou reap great profit? This is one of the things, that especially engender a contempt of this body, than which is nothing more necessary for mankind.  Sorrow. 
I am all over infected with scabs.  Reason. 
That thou art all scabbed, I think it be too true, and I stand in great fear thereof: But perhaps this is more than thou wouldst have said. For thou meanest it of thy whole body, but there is an other kind of invisible scab in your minds, to wit, covetousness and sensuality, and a certain vehement uching to revenge and complain, which the more it is scratched, the more it rageth. This itch ye neither feel, or crave to have cured, so much is your care less over your souls, than overy our bodies.   

Of watching. The lxxxvi Dialogue.  SOROW. 
I Cannot sleep.  Reason. 
Watch then, and rejoice that the rhyme of thy life is prolonged: For between sleep and death there is small difference, but that the one lasteth but for a time, the other is perpetual. And therefore I cannot tell whether it be not said properly enough, that sleep is a short death, and death a long and everlasting sleep.  Sorrow. 
I have lost my sleep.  Reason. 
It must be provoked again, not by force, but by fair meanss. If thou think to procure it, it will not be constrained. Go some other way to work, give rest to thine head, and trouble not thy mind with cares, and it will come unlooked for: when the mind is lose, and the body weary, sleep will came stealing on.  Sorrow. 
My sleeps are often broken of.  Reason. 
Do as it is said Augustus Caesar was wont to do: when thou wakest out of sleep, have some about thee to renew it again by reading or telling of tales. But if it be long of earnest and urgent cares, lay them aside, and sleep will come: of which sort of cares Virgil speaketh where he saith, that good cares do break sweet sleeps.  Sorrow. 
I can take no rest in sleep.  Reason. 
Neither shalt thou then be terrified with dreadfuldreames, nor surprised with sudden fear in the night. And although Aristotle hold opinion, that the visions which wise men see in their sleep, be good, & true in deed it is: Nevertheless, the one of these, who was nothing inferior unto him in wit, but of greater aucchorine, & the other in all respects his equal in holiness and patience, whom I mentioned erewhile, endured great extremity and trouble in their dreams. What others have felt and suffered, every one is priute unto himself, and can call his own bed to witness, of the illusions and troubles which he hath sustained. Truly the one of these was wont in his latter days to be terrified in his dreams, as it is written of him. The other I made mention of not long since, where I entreated of rest and quietness: who among other troubles of this life, complaineth of his sudden frighting in sleep, and the terror of his visions and drcames.  Sorrow. 
I sleep not so well as I was wont.  Reason. 
Then thou livest longer than thou wast wont: for thus the learned say, that as sleep is death, so watching is life.  Sorrow. 
Sickness hath driven away my sleep.  Reason. 
Then health will bring it again.  Sorrow. 
Love hath banished my sleep.  Reason. 
Thou speakest one thing twice: For love is a sickness, and the greatest sickness that is.  Sorrow. 
Fear hath banished away my sleep.  Reason. 
Security will revoake it.  Sorrow. 
Old age hath taken away my sleep.  Reason. 
Death approaching will restore it.   

Of the unquietness of dreams. The lxxxvii Dialogue.  SOROW. 
I Am disquieted with dreams.  Reason. 
If that be true which a certain wise man saith, that dreams do follow great cares, which is also confirmed by your writers: then cut of the cause of the mischief, abandon cares, and dreams will vanish away, To what purpose serve your manifold cares, which are to none effect in so short a life, whereof in the beginning I promised to entreat, and to declare that it is bootless to forment it, and make it troublesome, and through your own folly to disquiet your rest with dread●full dreams? Will ye overcome gods providence with your own counsel? and do ye not perceive how your madness and cousultations of that time, which is not only beyond your judgement, but also your knowledge, are laughed at from an high? Neither do ye hacken unto Horace, exclaiming and crying out, that God of purpose doth close up and hide the issue of the time to come, with the darkness of ignorance, and doth laugh him to scorn, if mortal man make haste and run beyond that which is right and lawful. You spend all your time upon your own destruction, being sorrowful for the time past, careful for the time present, and fearful and trembling for the time to to come, and ye gather unto yourselves your hands full of these superfluous and unnessary cares, worthy of your deserts: by watching ye bring unto yourselves labour and pains, and by sleeping, dreams. But if peradventure, that be true, that either the nature of man, or else sin constraineth the mind, being free and void of cares, to be disquieted with dreams: is it not also as true, that when a thousand dreams are seen, yet perhaps not one of them is true? Sins that we are then deceived with either of them, it is better to be disquieted with dreams, then to be pleased and delighted with them, and to dream of hurtful and unpleasant things, then of sweet and pleasant. For the deceit of a sorrowful dream is joyful, and the appearance of a merry and a cheerful dream, sorrowful.  Sorrow. 
I am wearied with dreams.  Reason. 
Despise all this foolishness, and thou shalt take thy rest. If thou canst not do that, than comfort thyself with those companions which have suffered the like: namely with these twain of whom I told thee even now, when thou didst complain of watching.   

Of Importunate renown. The lxxxviii Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Am more famous and better known than I would.  Reason. 
Dost thou despise that, which the greatest captains, and Princes, the Philosophers and poets have wished for? For what is meant by so many labours, what is pursued with so great wars and studies? And the most excellent Artificers do intent nothing else. This doth Phidias show in the image of Minerva, the which work of all that ever were wrought with the hands of men, I have placed and accounted as chief, or surely amongst the chiefest, upon the which when he was forbidden to write any thing, he did so engrave his own countenance upon the buckler of the image, that it might both be known of all men, and also could by no devise or policy be plucked from thence, unless the whole work should be dissolved. He only wished to be known for the reward of his labour, for if any man should say, that artificers do not intend and think upon their renown, but only respect their money, I would peradventure grant it in the common sort to be so, but in the most famous and best, I deny it. There are many tokens and arguments of this thing, for they do so persist and continued at their work, yea with the loss of time and other hindrances, and they despise gain, to the end that nothing may diminish their credit and good name. The noble constancy of these four Artificers, hath especially proved this to be true, who being called to come to that most renowned work, which Artemisia Queen of Caria with great cost and charges caused to be set up in the memorial of her husband, when as the Queen herself died in the mean while before the work was finished, at whose hands the reward and price thereof was looked for, yet they continued and went forward on their work with one consent unto the end, intending nothing else now but their own fame and reputation, and a continual remembrance of the deed. Therefore all men desire honour and renown: and dost thou then look above all other, to purchase them with small trouble and grief?  Sorrow. 
Yet truly, I also desire to be famous amongst my posterity, but I refuse it of those which are of my time and age.  Reason. 
Why so, when as this is greater, and by so much the harder matter, since envy doth interrupt and infert the fame of those that are present.  Sorrow. 
Because amongst those that are absent, there is true and perfect glory, none stirreth or striveth against them, no man withstandeth them: but amongst those that are present, there is both gaynesaying, and heartburning, and labour: For great labour is the preserver of great same, as one very aptly and fitly sayeth.  Reason. 
Thou art either to nice or else to sluggyshe, which wouldst hope for any great and notable thing, without labour and pains, when as for the lest and smallest things, so many labours are to be sustained.  Sorrow. 
I truly do not refuse labours, but it is weerisonmesse, and loathsomeness, that I hate. For who can abide daily to be visited, to be wayred upon, and compassed about of the multitude, to be sued unto, and to be disquieted and troubled, and in the mean time careless and negligent of himself, to spend whole days, and a great part of a short life, upon other, and to let his own necessary affairs lie undone, and so to serve another man's pleasure, and not his own turn? The which inconvenience and trouble, if it had happened at the first, I had never attained unto this fame which doth now much molest me. But now it is time for me to restrain the notable endeavours of my mind, and to stay my excellent affairs it were not now inconvenient and out of season.  Reason. 
Truly I do not deny that to be so as thou sayest, and though it be hard in deed, yet is it tolletable, yea to be envy, and yet to be wished for. But howsoever t● shallbe taken in thine opinion, it is almost inevitable: For what way is there to eschew it, unless it be either by pride or slothfulness? Whereof the one shall drive away the honest desire of those that gladly seek unto thee, and the other will utterly extinguish it. If there be any other remedy at all, it is the flying of cities, albeit if it be true renown, flight will not serve, for fame followeth her possessor whither soever he shall go, and wheresoever he shall remain, she will be with him. He that hath been famous in the cities, shall neither in the country, nor in the woods, leave of to be renowned, the brightness of fame cannot be hidden, it shineth in the darkness, and draweth the eyes and minds of men unto it everywhere. Hast thou not heard of Dandanus, a most famous old man of the Brachmen, how he was often visited by Alexander of Macedon, even in the farthest desattes of the Indians? and likewise of Diogenes Civicus, who was frequented also by the same king, even unto his tub, which he used for an hospital, to be removed and tumbled at his will? Have ye not heard that Scipio Africanus was visited, in his filthy, forsaken, and barren village of Literne, by those quiet and gentle thieves, for the honour and reverence of his virtue, and that he was accompanied by the chief captains of his enemies beyond the seas? Hast thou not heard also, how Titus Livius was followed unto the farthest parts of France, & far from the uttermost confines of Spain. unto the city of Rome. Lastly, hast thou not heard how that the holy fathers were resorted unto as far as the innermost and fearful dens of the wilderness, by the Roman Emperors? I speak nothing of Solomon, but rather demand what visitations any famous man ever wanted? Friends and acquaintance are delighted with mutual communication and talk together: and strangers are recreated only with the sight, and beholding one another. For the presence of noble and renowned men, is a pleasant and delectable thing, the which none tasteth, but he that enjoyeth it: this do not thou call painful, but I grant it to be difficult, marry therewithal to be also glorious.  Sorrow. 
I am worn and consumed away with renown.  Reason. 
If thou wilt cast away this fame, virtue also is forsaken, from whose root it springeth: But it thou wilt not do so, then is it needful that thou bear this burden with a patiented mind, unto the which many could never aspire with all their study, cost, and charges, all their life long: And thou peradventure hast attayved thereunto. Suffer therefore thyself to be seen of those that would not desire to see thee, unless they did love thee, & thy good name.  Sorrow. 
Many bring me into renown every where, even unto my grief and loathsomeness.  Reason. 
What then, hadst thou rather to be despised, and counted an abject?  Sorrow. 
Innumerable men do honour me, even unto my great pain and grief.  Reason. 
Acknowledge then the gift of God: he doth honour thee, to the end he might both provoke thee to honour him, and also that it might repent thee that at any time thou dishonouredst him: For all honour, and every good thing, what soever is done of man to man, is of God.  Sorrow. 
Immoderate honour, and continual visitation, is a very troublesome thing.  Reason. 
I grant this also: but love and reverence, which are the roots of this trouble, are very sweet and pleasant: if thou wilt apply the taste of thy mind unto these, they will begin to savour well, which now do thus disquiet thee. Temper therefore the bitter with the sweet, and not in this only, but in all things whatsoever this present life bringeth, wherein thou shalt not easily find honey wherewith gall is not mingled, and more often the bitter exceedeth the sweet in quantity.  Sorrow. 
I am wearied with to much renown.  Reason. 
That truly often times happeneth, whereof we have also known, that worthy and divine Vespasian, triumphing to have complained, when as he was grieved with the solemnity of the glorious shows, blaming himself which had so baynely desired a triumph in his old age, which was neither due to him, nor of his ancestors hoped for. And although renown itself, be not to be wished for of it own nature, yet it is to be borne withal, and loved, the causes whereof are virtue and industry: neither are those to be forsaken at any time, to the end thou mayest want this: for honest labour, is a thing much more glorious, then sluggish rest and quietness.  Sorrow. 
I am much offended with those that salute me by the way.  Reason. 
Thou hast the Philisopher Crispus a partaker also of this grief. Nay rather, whom canst thou find at all, besides those that take pleasure and delight in the common blasts and flatteries of the people, as the Poet Maro speaketh? Yet that noble man hath complained hereof, I believe, for that he saw how the common and sudden salutation of the people did trouble his mind, being always most earnestly given to study: for such a one he is reported to have been, and as he himself saith, was therewith well-nigh brought to his death. But there is nothing whereof thou shouldest now complain, that which thou didst wish for, hath happened unto thee, that is, that thou mightest be known unto the common people, otherwise thou shouldest not lie so open to the meetings of those that salute thee. Thou mightest have hidden thyself, thou mightest have taken thy rest, thou mightest have rejoiced and delighted thyself in thine own bosom, as they say, the which some do define to be the best kind of life. But you would feign be known & famous in great cities, and therewithal be both idle, free, & quiet, which is nothing else then to wi●h that ye might remain unmovable in a ship, in the great tempest & waves of the sea. Lastly, it is the part of a proud & arrogant person, not to be able to suffer patiently the speech of his friends that reverence & obey him, seeing that the reproaches of your enemies are to be suffered patiently.   

Of sorrow conceived for the evil manners of men. The lxxxix Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Am sorry for the eull manners and conditions of men.  Reason. 
If t●●u be moved with love towards them, I praise thee, but if with anger and indignation, I praise thee not. For what appertaineth it unto thee, what other men; manners are, so that thou thyself be good? Dost thou now first of all perceive the conditions of the common people? Or else dost thou think that thy life hath provided to little business for thee, vnl●sse thou have a care over the lives of other men, and so thou take that in hand, which neither art, nor nature hath been able at any time to bring to pass, wherein thou mayest hope for nothing, but pains and griefs? Yet these have been the studies & cares of certain philosophers, of whom one going forth into the common assemblies, did always weep, and the other on the contrary part, evermore laughed at men's manners, and neither of them without a cause: howbeit, that which the one did, tasted of compassion and godliness, and that which the other did, of pride and insolency.  Sorrow. 
Who can abide these unruly and deceitful dispositions, and qualities of men?  Reason. 
I had rather that thou shouldest be dishonested by force, thou wouldst then abide them if it were necessary. Thou that canst not suffer others to be deformed, and out of order, yet suffer them to be appareled as it pleaseth them, and be thou appareled as it liketh thee best, and so thou shalt well revenge thyself. For honest qualities do no less offend wanton eyes, then unhonest behaviour, the sober and modest beholders. Let them therefore join pleasure with their affairs, but mingle thou honesty with thy matters The light is no where more acceptable then in darkness, and virtue in no place brighter than amongst vices. Why therefore dost thou complain, seeing other men's filthiness shall increase thy coomlinesse?  Sorrow. 
Who can endure patiently these diseases of man's mind, and chiefly these that are envious?  Reason. 
Leave the envious men to themselves, thou needest require none other formentor for them, for they sufficiently afflict themselves, both with their own adversity, and are consumed away with others prosperity. Men aught not therefore to pity those that faint and languyshe of their own free will, seeing the diseases of the mind are not so infectious, as those of the body, for they go not unto those that would not willingly have them: but a noble heart, is rather inflamed unto virtue, with the misliking and hatred of vices.  Sorrow. 
Who could suffer so much pride and insolency?  Reason. 
Humility is so much the more acceptable, by how much it is besieged with greater pride.  Sorrow. 
Who could suffer so many deceipts, so many crafts of covetousness? or who could bear with so many kinds of lusts and desires?  Reason. 
Eschew those things that do displease thee worthily, and take heed that others do not condemn that same in thee, which thou myslykest in them.  Sorrow. 
Who could abide this kingdom of gluttony?  Reason. 
Sobriety is most beautiful amongst those that are moderate: Where all are of equal goodness, there none excelleth other.  Sorrow. 
Who could abide patiently so many lies?  Reason. 
If thou be offended with lies, endeavour thyself to speak the truth.  Sorrow. 
Who could bear with so many tyrannies every where?  Reason. 
Neither weapons nor riches, can deliver thee: only virtue is free.  Sorrow. 
I hate all the world.  Reason. 
It behoveth thee rather, to have pity on the miserable, then to hate them, unless, as I have said before, they are miserable of their own accord. But leave unto the world the manners thereof, and do thou study to reform thine own, and 'cause men's eyes that are fastened upon others, to be turned upon thee: so shalt thou both escape grief, and also, when thou canst not amend the world, at leastwise thou shalt redress thyself, which is a thing that thou canst, and oughtest to do. Thus is there then no cause wherefore thou shouldest think thyself to have been borne in vain.   

Of small griefs of sundry things. The. XC. Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Utterly hate the troublesome noise & cries of divers things in Cities.  Reason. 
Then make much of the woods, and quietness of the country: those things which cannot be escaped, why shouldest thou go about to avoid?  Sorrow. 
I am weighed with the strife and contentions of the common people.  Reason. 
As long as thou dost give ear to the common sort of people, thou shalt never be at rest.  Sorrow. 
I am much troubled with the noise of the common people.  Reason. 
Esteem not the words of the commonalty, for almost whatsoever it speaketh, it is either nothing, or else false. But if thou canst not avoid all their noise and disordered voices, hear them notwithstanding, though none otherwise then as the bellowing of Oxen, or the bleating of Sheep, or the roaring of Bears: for what are they other, than the voices either of came or wild beasts?  Sorrow. 
I am sore troubled with the terrible outrage of the common people.  Reason. 
Imagine in thy mind, that thou hearest the sound of overflowing waters, which fall upon rocks: persuade thyself, that either thou art beside the Well Gorgia, where a most clear River floweth out of a most horrible den with wonderful noise: or where as the gulfs of Reatis, which the River Nar carrieth into Tiber, do fall down from an high hill: or whereas the River Nilus poureth down violently, to those places which are called Catadupa, as Cicero saith: or where as Hister, as in like manner it is reported, rusheth into the Sea ●uxinum: or to be short, where the steep rocks of Liguria do accord to the flowings of the Mount Aetna, when as the South wind waxeth fierce: or as the crooked and wrested Charybdis, agreeth with the barking Silla in Sicill whyr●epooles. Eustome will bring to pass, that thou shalt hear that with a certain pleasure, which thou now judgest to be most tedious.  Sorrow. 
I am vexed with the barking of Dogs.  Reason. 
He that hath learned to suffer quietly the brawling of the common people, can not mislike the barking of Dogs, for there are neither so many other kinds of Dogs, neither are they so mad and furious.  Sorrow. 
An unruly Horse, that is always neyghing, an unfaithful Servant, that is evermore froward, are not only grievous and troublesome unto me, but also dangerous.  Reason. 
I have told heretofore, what I did think of both those kinds of creatures, and I am still of the same opinion: I add hereunto somewhat, to the end therefore thou mayest avoid the grief and trouble of thy Horse, if nothing else can help thee, then become a foot man: and that thy Servants may agreed and yield unto thee, thou shalt bring it to pass, when thou accountest him not worthy to be lamented, whom thou art well able to lack.  Sorrow. 
I am annoyed with Flies.  Reason. 
Take heed, lest that through the annoyance of Flies, thou be made a Fly in deed, and that thou thinking a Fly to be created of any other then of GOD, thou come into the power and jurisdiction of him that is called the prince of Flies: the which we read to have happened unto one that was grieved with the like distress, the author whereof is S. Augustine, who expounding that most famous and notable beginning of john's Gospel, saith, That the Fly, the Gnat, the Caterpillar, the Shearnbub, and the Caterpillar, and all such tike Vermin, were not created without just and good cause of him, who saw all things which he had made, that they were very good. And if so be there were no other cause, yet this one would suffice to abate the pride and haughtiness of men's minds, as it were with these weapous. For GOD could have sen: unto the Egyptians, Lions, Tigers, or Serpents: but he sent rather these small and base creatures among them, to the intent both his heavenly power, and their earthly frailty & corruption, might be the more manifestly known.  Sorrow. 
I am disquieted with Fleas.  Reason. 
Take thy rest in wholesome and good cogitations, think that no evil can happen to a man besides ●inne: For not only these gentle things, but also those that seem most hard and grievous, have profited many. What doest thou know, whether if the Fleas should go their way, too much sluggishness or evil lusts would succeed, & set upon thee? Believe that it is well with thee in all things, and it shall be so.  Sorrow. 
I am overcome with the continual battle that the Fleas make with me in the night.  Reason. 
Why art thou then proud, thou shadow and dust? Why art thou then haughty and lofty, thou base clay? For being overcome with Fleas, thou contendest against GOD, thou untamed and most foolish creature.  Sorrow. 
I am tormented with Fleas.  Reason. 
Wilt thou offend men, to defend thyself from Fleas? Thou being the most noble creature, and far superior, settest upon that most vile and base beast, and being the meat of Fleas, thou devourest men, the king of all creatures.  Sorrow. 
I am tormented with Fleas.  Reason. 
All earthly things, were made to obey and serve man, some to feed him, and some to apparel him, some to carry him, and some to defend him, some other to exercise and teach him, and some also to admonish him of his estate, and last of all, some to delight him, to ease & recreate his mind, being wearied with affairs, and certain also to rule & bridle his harmful & dangerous delights, & with wholesome griefs and troubles to work within him a contempt of this life, & also a desire of a better. If this life were void of cares and troubles, how much, I pray thee, would death be feared? or how much would this life please mortal men, when as, being full of sorrows & afflictions, it so delighteth them, which then it would much more do, if nothing were to be feared? For neither the sweetness of life is always profitable to him that liveth, nor the pleasure of the way to the traveler: and it is expedient sometimes, that some hard and painful accident happen by the way, that the end may be the more desired.  Sorrow. 
The night birds, with their mourning tunes, are odious unto me.  Reason. 
As I suppose, it is not the nightingale, which as Virgil saith, weary all the night, and sitting upon a bough, beginneth her sorrowful song, and filleth all the places abroad with her careful and grievous complaints. For mourning is sweet, and verses are delectable, and complaints are pleasant. Peradventure the mournful Shrychowle disturbeth thee, or else the imfamous Owl, which is not only ill spoken of, by means of his own most hateful song, but also by the writings of the poets: which notwithstanding, how much they have been esteemed for joyful divination and conjecturing of things to come here in fore times. Thou mayest read in josephus, although they be both ridiculus, that is to say, either to conceive hope or fear thereby. For the sad countenance of this bird, & of many others, and also his sorrowful song, which are both natural, they do not so utter, to the end to declare or foreshow any thing thereby, but because they do not know how to sing otherwise. give unto them the voice of a nightinggale, and they will mourn more sweetly: but now they obey their own nature. As for you, ye endeavour by doting, to constrain your nature unto your superstitious desires.  Sorrow. 
The Owl that sitteth all the night long in the next Turret, is very offensive unto me.  Reason. 
Thou hast heard, how that there was an Owl that wonted to disquiet Augustus in the night: And whom, I pray thee, will he fear to trouble, which disquieted the Lord and ruler of all the world?  Sorrow. 
The mice disturb me in my Chamber.  Reason. 
What canst thou tell whether they were bred in the same Chamber, wherein thou now liest as a stranger? and therefore they may more justly complain of thee, who being a new come gheast, disturbest them in their native soil. But to leave jesting, there is one reason of them all. This is the cause that your life is troubled by them, that you might learn to wish for the life to come: and that your minds might be settled there, where there are neither mice, nor Rats, nor thieves, nor Spiders, nor Moths, nor losses, nor any other tediousness of life to molest you.  Sorrow. 
The croaking Frogs, and chirping Grasshoppers, disquiet me.  Reason. 
Imagine that they prepare comfort for thee, and then it shallbe comfort. A man's opinion altereth any thing as it lust, not changing that which is true, but governing the judgement, and ruling the senses. There was a certain man of late days, who dwelling in the country, used to go abroad with as many stones and libbets as he could bear, both in the day time, and also rising in the night, to drive away the Nyghtingales from singing: but when that way he profited nothing, he caused the trees about to be cut down, to the intent that being disappointed of their green and pleasant harbours, they might be enforced to departed: but when they notwithstanding continued their singing there, he himself at length was constrained to forsake the place, for that he could not sleep, nor take any rest there. Nevertheless, he could abide to lie upon the banks of the Brooks that ran hard by, to hear the nightly croaking of the Frogs and Toads, in the fens and moors, whose most uncertain noise, he used most greedily to listen unto, as it had been the most delicate harmony of Vials or virginals: truly a very strange and savage nature in men, and scarce worthy to be reekoned among the number of men, being also in other manners answerable perhaps unto these which thou hast heard, yet not so mad in other vulgar affairs: which example is now come to my remembrance, that thou mayest perceive how great a stroke opinion beareth in all things.  Sorrow. 
I am grieved with the noise of Frogs and Grasshoppers.  Reason. 
They do it not truly to grieve thee, but they use the common benefit of nature. But the same offendeth your proud impatience, as all other things do, whatsoever is done or said otherwise then is pleasant unto your eyes and ears. But that I may refer the folly of your error unto the ancient fables, think now, either that the Frogs do renew their old complaint, and call upon Latona their revenger, in their hoarse voice, or that the Grasshoppers do with joy repeat the name of Titonus, in their shrieking tune, and therefore thou mayst suffer them to ply their business, and ply thou thine own. Why are ye offended with the innocent living creatures, being always injurious to nature, and in the mean while, perceive not how much more greater the griefs be, wherewith ye torment one another? I speak nothing, neither of the spoilers of Cities, nor of a thousand other means of injuring, of doing violence, and of deceiving, whereof all the streets and fields are full. I speak nothing of thieves, that are dispersed over all quarters of the world, nor of murderers with their rough and craggy by-ways, by means of whom the greater part of the earth lieth void from travailers, and the most beautiful sights of the world lie hidden from men's eyes, which is now a matter winked at, and grown to strength through a most wretched custom. Who is able with condign complaints to set forth, or with convenient words to utter the heavy weight of human slothfulness, for that also even in civil and quiet countries, as a man would say, lawful thieves be found every where, who spoil and rob the careful wayfaring man, that is broken with travail, and wearied with grief, both of all his wares and money, I know not under the colour of what most unjust right? Whereby it is now come to pass, that that which was wont to be most pleasant, to wander over all the world, the same in some places is now a most dangerous matter, and in all places chargeable and painful. Thus your Princes, and Fathers of their Country, yea, your patience, and your public liberty, are for a small price become contemptible. What shall I speak of your vain watches, of your privy walkynges, and all other things full of sundry kinds of suspicion, and how the use of learning, which is the only comfort in a man's absence, is forbidden? Which thing, for that it can not be remedied, must be suffered with a valiant mind. Howbeit, as he doth not refuse to suffer the works of nature, who by this time aught to have learned to suffer so many insolences, so many cruelties, so many cruel outrages, so many rapines committed by men: the same man also shall soon perceive how injuriously dame nature is daily torn in pieces for small trifles, seeing that one man is constrained to suffer so many bitter and grievous touches at another's hands.  Sorrow. 
I am plagued with extreme heat.  Reason. 
Stay a while, for the sharpness of Winter is coming apace, which will abandon this tediousness.  Sorrow. 
I am sore vexed with c●●de.  Reason. 
Behold, Summer maketh haste, that will take away the bitterness thereof.  Sorrow. 
I am grieved with cold.  Reason. 
There is scarce any discommodity to be found, for which nature hath not provided a remedy. And many times there be sundry remedies found for one grief: these things following keep away cold: the house, clothes, meat, drink, labour, and exercise. There is seldom any overcome with cold, unless before he be overcome by slothfulness. I am ashamed to reckon up fire among the remedies against cold, which is a great argument of human idleness. It is nothing so easy a matter, with a wet linen clothe to draw away water that is mingled with wine in an whole Hogshead, as it is to separate sluggards from good husbands at a good fire in the Winter season, thither run all they that have neither blood, nor courage of mind: a man may then behold, if he have a delight to see it, our youth, to the intent they would seem fair, to deform themselves against the fire, by making their bodies naked from the navel downward: for whom how much were it more honest and seemly to cover their privy parts, then by scorching their thighs and buttocks against the flame, to annoyed the senses of the standers by, with their loathe some stink.  Sorrow. 
At one time I quake, and at another I sweat.  Reason. 
I easily believe thee, for I know thy manners, and whiles thou art speaking, I will tell thee what cometh into my mind. The history is but new, and short: In France there was a father and his son apprehended for treason, and judged to be executed, according to the manner of the country, by standing in a cauldron wherein they should be boiled to death. Now it was winter, and when they were both put naked and bound into the cold water, the young man began to quake, and chatter his teeth for cold: but when once the water began to wax hot by means of the fire that was made under it, than began he also by grievous lamentation and weeping to declare his impatience of the heat. But on the otherside, the old man persisting unmovable in both, and looking upon him with a stern countenance, Thou son, quoth he, of a most vile whore, canst thou abide neither cold nor heat? A saying truly, perhaps of an evil, yet of a constant and valiant mind, and well deserving that the speaker thereof, should leap unhurt out of the deadly cauldron: But most convenient for your youth to learn, than whom there is nothing more effeminate nor tender, who in the Summer do curse the sun like the Atlantes, and in the winter season worship the fire as do the Caldees.  Sorrow. 
The snow molesteth me.  Reason. 
Those that be nice do also loathe delicate things: Howbeit some have counted it a most beautiful matter to see snow fall without wind, and truly if there be any thing fairer than snow, yet verily there is nothing whiter.  Sorrow. 
We are troubled sometime with to much heat, and sometime with to much cold: at one time with overmuch drought, and at another with to much rain.  Reason. 
Some say that Alexander was most impatient of heat, and no marvel, for he could not endure prosperity nor adversity: and contrariwise, they say that Hannibal could indifferently away both with heat and cold: Why dost not thou also take unto thyself some one part, though it be of unlike praise? He could suffer both well, & canst thou endure neither? This good doth pleasure bring you at the beginning, which doth soften you, and make you effeminate, and as I may truly say, geld your minds, so that you dare not only not abide your enemies swords or death, but also not so much as the ayryal impressions. I cry still, but always I cry in vain unto you, for that I cry unto deaf folks. Leave unto nature her own office: she doth nothing without the counsel of the most highest. You ignorant fools, there is not one drop of water that falleth upon the earth more or less than is expedient: and although that every particular man's lust be not satisfied, yet is there general provision made for the safety of all men.  Sorrow. 
I am grieved on the one side with dirt, on the other with dust, here with clouds, there with winds and thunder.  Reason. 
The diversity of the earth followeth the diversity of heaven: moist air breedeth dirt, and dry air dust, so likewise by moving of the air come winds, of vapours clouds, of winds and clouds, tempests and thunder are engendered. Who so knoweth the causes of things, and showeth himself obedient unto nature, shall not bewail the consequence of effects. And although there be great question among some, concerning the winds: nevertheless doth not the air (that is moved with no wind) seem unto thee in a manner half dead? in so much that some (not unaptly,) have termed the wind a soul, or a spirit? As for dust, thou seest how that among men of valour, it is counted sweet: which also virtue only hath by divers operation, caused that as much may be believed also of dirt. Thunder and lightning, with such other like forcible motions of heaven, what be they other than the threats and warnings of the most merciful God? Who truly unless he had loved man, would not threaten him, but strike him, seeing that he never lacketh many and just causes to strike him in deed. That these things appertain unto the terrifying of men, but specially of those that rebel against God, not only the Poet, who was skilful of the secrets of nature, doth signify, but also the prophetess, which seemed to be privy of God's counsel sayeth: The adversaries of the Lord shall fear him, and he shall thunder upon them from heaven. O ye the adversaries of the Lord, stand in fear of the true thunderer, labour to come into his favour, that being reconciled into friendship with God, ye fear nothing but to displease him. Do ye this rather, and leave complaining.  Sorrow. 
I am sorry for this dark and cloudy weather.  Reason. 
No tempest continueth long, and after fair weather come clouds, and after clouds fair weather cometh again, and one of them immediately followeth another, and that which is so short, should be suffered without complaints.  Sorrow. 
I am offended with the clouds.  Reason. 
This offence is a certain kind of warning, namely that hereby thou mayest make provision against darkness, which is now but transitory, since thou takest it in so ill part, lest haply thou be constrained to endure everlasting darkness.  Sorrow. 
I am troubled with fire from heaven, with hail and storms.  Reason. 
These and such like, make unto an wholesome fear, or if ye contemn them, unto revenge. Hear this one thing: Fire, Brimstone, and the breath of storms, are the portion of their cup. Hear also another saying: Fire, hail, famine, and death, all these make to revenge.  Sorrow. 
I am frighted with tempests of the sea.  Reason. 
Do not herein accuse nature, but either thine own folly, or covetousness: for who constraineth thee thereunto?  Sorrow. 
I am molested with dark clouds, and contrary winds.  Reason. 
Thou wast borne in darkness, and in darkness shalt thou die, and livest between the winds of contrary tempests: learn to suffer that at length, which thou always sufferest perforce.  Sorrow. 
I am shaken with thunder and lightning.  Reason. 
Herein there is more than wearisomeness. In the first truly a great fear, contemned of none but of some fools: but in the second, is death. And therefore some have judged, that none complain of lightening but such as want experience. And, who is so mad, I pray thee, unless he be to far gone, that standeth not in fear of them both, seeing that among the ancient Romans, which were a most valiant kind of people, it was provided by an ancient statute, that there should be no assemblies of the people holden to choose officers, or otherwise, whiles jupiter thundered from heaven? Howbeit unless this fear tend to the amendment of life, it is unprofitable. For what can fear avail, where there is no redress of the thing feared? Wherefore, the matter must be thus applied, that although it thunder and lighten by natural causes, nevertheless it must be judged to be a warning from him, who being tied unto no causes, is himself the fountain and cause of all causes. To this end therefore doth he thunder in heaven, that thou shouldest live well upon the earth, and driving away forgetfulness, acknowledge the wrath of God, and do that at leastwise for fear, which thou oughtest too do for love. Complain not a like of good and evil things, it is expedient for you, believe me, that it thunder often, and it is left in writing unto posterity, that it thundereth very often the same year wherein the assured adversary of God and all godliness, (Domitian the Emperor) died: not that ye should cry out as he did, Let him now strike whom he lust: but that ye may appease the wrath of God with penitent tears, & humble prayer.  Sorrow 
I am grieved with the conversation & mirth of drunkards.  Reason. 
That wine maketh glad the heart of man, & that Bacchus is the giver of mirth, although David & Virgil had never spoken it, very experience maketh it known. And although that likewise be true, which not so eloquent, but a more holy Poet spoke, The flowing of a river cheereth the city of God: yet is there more fervent joy and joyful gladness, as the Philosophers term it, in a few casks of strong wines, then in many streams of running water which are contained within the rivers: and I confess, that there is nothing more lamentable than the mirth of drunkards, and nothing more vain than typlers and Taverners, whom Cicero very well calleth the dregs of cities: which notwithstanding a man must suffer, or else he must forsake cities, or otherwise fly from the market and place of judgement, or at the leastwise from the streets and haunt of Taverns, even as he would do from so many rocks.  Sorrow. 
I am oppressed with resort and importunate concourse of citizens.  Reason. 
It is a savage and unnatural wish, to seek thy countries desolation, that thou thyself mayest live at liberty: For the very same cause, as thou knowest, in the old time was the sister of Appius Claudius punished, & she that was last celebrated among writers for an innocent: and truly as this is an ungodly wish, and deserveth punishment, so to avoid the weerisomnes of throngs and cities, and it (occasion so require,) to departed awhile out of the way, is a point of modesty, and frequented of the wise.  Sorrow. 
I am grieved with a long suit, and slow judgement.  Reason. 
To what end was daying of matters devised, but to end strife, and to remedy the slackness of judgement?  Sorrow. 
I am worn with woeful and troublesome strife.  Reason. 
Thou hast used apt and convenient terms for thyself: For where strife and contention is, there can be neither joy, nor quietness. Thou, if thou wilt live out of strife, avoid the cause of strife. Covetousness engendereth contention, and nourisheth it when it is engendered.   

Of an earthquake. The xci Dialogue  SORROW. 
I Am afraid of an earthquake.  Reason. 
This is, I confess, a great discommodity of dame nature, and not without cause abandoned of all parents, which although it be more grievous, yet for that it happeneth but seldom, the rareness thereof may stand in some steed of a remedy. Many times the sorrowful countenance of heaven foretelleth an earthquake at hand, but precisely there is no token nor forewarning thereof, although it be reported that Pherecydes foretold of one to come by drinking a draft of water out of a well. Moreover against the threatenings of heaven, caves under the ground perhaps do yield some succour, the like whereof we read was Augustus Caesar's den, into which he fled for fear of thunder, which is yet seen at Rome in the way Flaminia, and keepeth the authors name unto this day: but from an earthquake no flight can serve, no lurking places can prevail. For poor man (that is made of the earth) whither shall he fly out of the earth? or what shall become of him if the heaven thunder over him, and the earth tremble under him, unless perhaps some will advise him to go to the sea, which is also partaker of the variety of heaven & earth, and also unquiet by it own motion?  Fear. 
Thou tellest me no remedies as thou wast wont to do, but amplifiest the dangers.  Reason. 
I supposed thou wouldst think so, and doubtless so it is in deed. There be some things that may be dissembled, and extenuated in words, that although by report they have seemed grievous, yet in effect they may appear at one time tolerable, at another contemptible: and truly this whereof I now entreat is such a one, as by it own force it refuseth the arguments of man's eloquence, but one comfort, as I have said, is the seldomenesse thereof. Thou hast seen welnygh an whole age without any earthquakes, during which time there is no doubt but that there have died innumerable, who in all their life time, though they have heard the name of so terrible a matter, yet never were made afeard with the sight thereof. But who is not moved when he heareth or reedeth, either those ancient histories, or these of latter time, the memory whereof is extant, either in the books of histories, or yet rife in the minds of men that saw them, when as long sense upon one and the self same day, both the city of Rhodes was shaken with an horrible earthquake, and also new Islands rose up from the bottom of the sea, and moreover twelve ancient cities in Asia were overthrown, and some also swallowed up into the earth. After that, the same mischief raged also in Achaia and Macedonia, and last of all in Campania, the most beautiful part, I say not of Italy only, but also of all the world, much about Senecas time, who maketh mention thereof among his natural questions, when as by the same most cruel outrage Herculaneum and the Pompe●j, which are most famous cities of those quarters, yea and Naples itself, was not a little molested, as thou mayest read. Shall I prosecute all examples touching this matter? Truly that were an infinite work Of late days thou mightest have seen the Alps, which reach unto the clouds and divide Italy from Garmanie (who as Virgil saith, do never move) to stir and quake, and in many places to be overthrown, and immediately after, the queen of all cities grievously shaken, even to the utter subverting of the towers and churches thereof, and also some laid flat with the ground. And not long after this, as it were for a continuance of the misery, it is well known how that the best and most fertile part of all Germany, namely the whole valley of the Rhine was shaken, and upon the shore thereof standing the city of Basile, and also castles and fortresses, to the number of four score and upward, utterly overthrown. Truly an horrible matter, were it not that death were the most terrible of all terrible things. Who so hath learned not to fear that, will fear nothing, & as the Poet Horace sayeth excellently well, If all the world should fall, though the pieces thereof struck him, he would not be a feared. For what skilleth it whether a little stone fall upon thee and brain thee, or the most mighty mountain Apeninus crush thee, to death, so thou be slain by any of them? or the whole world break and fall upon thee, seeing there is but death in neither? Unless perhaps some will count that death to be the more honourable, which is procured by the greater instrument. Wherefore to conclude, this is the sum of mine advice, forasmuch as we have also set down some remedies against lightning, and all other mischiefs are relieved either by resisting or giving place unto them, and it falleth out contrariwise in this, that neither flight availeth, neither wit nor force can prevail, it were good above all things to lay away the fear of death, which only maketh all things dreadful: which thing to do, I confess, is very hard in deed to speak, but yet not impossible to do. And forasmuch as there is no time nor place free from this heavy chance, men aught to prepare and arm their minds with all patience against whatsoever may happen, either by course of nature, or by fortune, at all times and places, which cannot possibly be done, unless there be also adjoined the love of virtue, and fear of vice. To conclude, seeing that not only the heavens are in continual motion, and the elements threaten you round about, but also the earth, upon which you tread, which also was hoped to be without all danger, and a most assured rampire, is sometime shaken, deceiveth, and putteth in fear her inhabitants, I exhort you to flee with your minds up to heaven, and among all these shakings and quakings of things and men, to repose all your hope in him, who looketh down upon the earth, and maketh it to quake, of whom it is written, I am the Lord, and I am not changed. Whosoever fasteneth upon him the footestepes of a devout mind, is safe and sound, and shall never be moved himself, nor stand in fear of any earthquake.  Fear. 
I cannot choose but be moved and feared with earthquakes.  Reason. 
Canst thou remoone all thy hope and mind from the earth? Do so, and thou shalt live out of fear, and stand upright whether that shake or fall. For, to repose assured trust in a quaking and unconstant thing, is a great folly.   

Of the plague far and wide raging. The xcii Dialogue.  FEAR. 
I Am afraid of the plague, which rageth far and wide.  Reason. 
In this also is nothing else but the fear of death, which being cast of, thou hast purchased perfect security, which fear aught not only to be laid down of valiant minds, but also never be admitted: for what is less the part of a man, then to fear common things?  Fear. 
I am afeard of the plague.  Reason. 
Forasmuch as thou must needs die, what shalt thou lose or gain by dying of the plague, but that thou shalt die with more company? but if thou escape, that thy life be the sweeter unto thee, since that thou art delivered out of so great a danger, if so be it be danger, and not nature to die: for the plague sweepeth not away all, which if it had been so, there should none have escaped this last great plague, a more sorer then which there was never any since the beginning of the world. But many escaped, who it had been better they had died: whereof it cometh, that as thou now seest, the world is pestered with these kinds of dregs as it was wont to be, which never any plague nor death is able to consume, they are so clodded and baken.  Fear. 
I fear the plague.  Reason. 
Say rather as the truth is, thou fearest death, whereof, for that I see thee so prove unto complaints, I purpose to entreat before I make an end of this book: For, this only exepted, wherefore shouldest thou abhor the name of the plague, seeing (as I have said) it is rather a kind of comfort to die with many?  Fear. 
I stand in dread of the plague.  Reason. 
If it be a certain kind of love and charity towards mankind that draweth thee hereunto, I have cause to commend thee: for there is nothing more besetting a man, then to take compassion upon the miseries of men. But if it be for thine own sake only, I may justly blame thee: for wherein can the plague hurt thee that art a mortal man, but to bring thee to that whereunto thou must needs come? unless perhaps thou count this among the discommodities thereof, not to be solemnly mourned for, which happeneth unto them that die so, and thou count them more happy, who are recited by Virgil to ascend most bewailed of their friends up into heaven.   

Of sadness and misery. The xciii Dialogue.  SOROW. 
I Am sad.  Reason. 
A man must consider for what cause he is sad or merry. These, as many things else, may be termed indifferent matters, which upon small occasion may be made good or bad. For sadness for sin is good, so that it join not hands privily with desperation: and joy for virtue and the remembrance of good works done, is commendable, so that it set not the gate wide open to pride: and therefore the causes of these affects must be first considered, lest haply dispraise possess the place of commendation: and therefore weigh thou now what cause thou hast to be sorrowful.  Sorrow. 
I am heavy for the misery of this life.  Reason. 
The felicity of the life to come shall make thee merry: for this life is not so miserable, which in deed is most miserable, as the other is happy and glorious.  Sorrow. 
I am heavy.  Reason. 
Of this mischief there are as many roots, as there are things which you term adverse and miserable, of many of which sort we have already entreated, and for that I perceive thee to be ready to complaints, we have likewise hereafter much to entreat of. Some times a man shall perceive no apparent cause at all, neither of sickness, nor loss, nor injury, nor shame, nor errors, nor of any sudden rumour of such like matter, but only a certain pleasure to be sorry, which maketh the soul sad and heavy. Which mischief, is so much the more hurtful, by now much the cause is the more unknown, and the cure more difficult. And therefore Cicero willeth men to flee from the same with all their might and main, yea with all their sail they can make, as from a most dangerous rock of the Sea: whose counsel in this, as in many other things, I like well of.  Sorrow. 
The thinking of the present misery, maketh me heavy.  Reason. 
That the misery of mankind is great and manifold, I do not deny, which some have bewailed in whole great volumes: but if thou look to the contrary part, thou shalt also see many things, which make this life happy and pleasant, although there be none hitherto, so far as I know, that hath written of this matter, and some that have taken it in hand, have given it over, for that whiles they have been in the very course of their writing, they have perceived how wrong a match they have undertaken, and that the argument hath fallen out to be much more barren than they first supposed: and the rather, for that the misery of mankind appeareth to be evident, and the felicity thereof seemeth to be very small and hidden, so that in discourse of disputation, it requireth a deeper displaying and examination, then that the incredulous sort are aable to conceive. And now out of many matters to gather one sum together, have not you great cause to reoyce? first, for that you are the image and likeness of GOD your Creator, which is within in the soul of man, your wit, memory, providence, speech, so many inventions, so many arts attending upon this soul of yours: and next, how many necessities do follow this your body, which all are comprehended under the most singular benefit of GOD: also so many opportunities, so many sundry shows and kinds of things, which by strange and marvelous means do serve to your delight: moreover, so great virtue in roots, so many juices of herbs, such pleasant variety of so many sorts of flowers, so great concord of smells, and colours, and casts, and sounds rising of contraries, so many living creatures in the air, upon the land, and in the sea, serving only to your use, and created only to do man pleasure. And unless you had of your own accord voluntarily fallen under the yoke of sin, you had now been governors over all things that are under heaven. Add hereunto moreover, the prospect of the Hills, the openness of the Valleys, the shadowy Woods, the cold Alps, the warm Shores. Add also so many wholesome Streams of water, so many sulphureous and smooking Lakes, so many clear and cool Fountains, so many Seas within and round about the earth, so many confines and bounds of Kingdoms, which are every day changed, and some most assured for their immovable stability. Add lastly some Lakes, as big and broad almost as the Sea, and Ponds lying in bottoms, and rivers falling down headlong from the tops of Hills, with their brinks full of flowers and pleasant herbs: And the bedchambers of the shores, and Meadows green, with running Streams, as Virgil saith. What shall I need to speak of the foaming Rocks that lie upon the sounding shore, and the moist Dens, and the Fields yellow with Corn, and the budding Vineyards, & the commodities of Cities, & the quietness of the Country, and the liberty of Wildernesses? And also the most glorious and bright spectacle of all, which is the circumference of the starry Firmament, that continually turneth about with incomprehensible swiftness, wherein are fastened the fixed Stars? Likewise the wandering lights, which you call the seven planets, And especially the Sun and Moon, the two most excellent lights of the world, as Virgil termeth them, Or the most glorious beauty of Heaven, as Horace speaketh of them? By these consist the fruits of the earth, by these the strength and force of living creatures, of these also depend the variety of seasons, by these we measure the year, the months, days, nights, and spaces of times, without which this life could not be other then weerisome and tedious. Hereunto moreover, there is given unto you a body, which although it be frail and transitory, yet notwithstanding in show is imperious and beautiful, fashioned upright, and convenient in contemplation to behold the heavens. Again, the immortality of your soul, and a way prepared for you unto heaven, and an inestimable merchandise bought for a small price, with other matters also, which of purpose I have deferred to the end, for that they are so great, that of myself I was not able to comprehend them, but only through the benefit of faith: likewise, the hope of rising again from death, and taking up of this body, after that it is rotten and consumed, to be quickened again, and made lively, and bright shining, and impassable with great glory and majesty: and moreover, that which surpasseth not only the dignity of man, but also of the Angels, the nature of man so united to the nature of GOD, that GOD himself become man, and being made but one person, comprehended perfectly in himself the two natures, and was both GOD and man, to this end, that being made a man, he might make man a GOD. An unspeakable love and humility in GOD, exceeding felicity and glory unto man, all manner of ways an high and secret mystery, a wonderful and comfortable society, which I know not whether any heavenly tongue can express, but sure I am, no mortal mouth is able to utter. Doth the state of mankind seem unto thee by this means but smally advanced, and the misery thereof but a little relieved? Or what, I pray thee, could man, I say not hope, but wish or imagine better for his own commodity, then to be made GOD? And behold he is GOD. What remaineth there more that you might wish for, or desire, or invent, or think upon yet greater than you have already obtained? Truly, at what time the divinity and Godhead humbled himself to work your salvation, although he could, yet would he not take upon him any other than the body and soul of man, neither would he impart the union of his Godhead unto the shape of the Angels, but of men, to the end that thereby thou mightest understand, and rejoice, how dearly thy Lord and GOD loveth thee. For by this means, as S. Augustine saith notably, hath he revealed unto those that are in the flesh, which are not able in mind to discern the truth, and are altogether lead by the bodily senses, how high a place man's nature possesseth among all creatures: Yea, over and besides all this, he, who by this marvelous and merciful vouchsafeing preferred you before the Angels, set Angels also over you, to keep and defend you, that by all means he might declare your excellency above all other creatures. For S. Jerome saith, That your souls are of such estimation, that every one at their first creation, hath an Angel appointed unto him, for his defence and safeguard. Truly GOD hath a fatherly, and more than a fatherly care over you: and a little to wrist the saying of the Satyrike Poet, He loveth man more dearly, than his own self. What place for sadness and complaints is there left among these blessings? Wherefore, it is not your nature, but your fault, that maketh you heavy and complaining.  Sorrow. 
The baseness of my birth, the frailty of my nature, and nakedness, and poverty, and hardness of fortune, and shortness of life, and uncertainty of my end, do make me heavy.  Reason. 
Of purpose ye seek matter to make yourselves sad, when as ye aught otherwise to endeavour to the contrary, that ye might rejoice in honest gladness: But I know your custom, ye be very diligent to procure your own harms. And therefore, concerning the baseness of thy birth, or deformity of thy body, whatsoever is amplified upon that ground by the wit and invention of any, when as the general resurrection shall come, which men of upright faith do undoubtedly look for, shall not only be taken away, by the worthiness of the glorifying of the bodies, but also be diminished by the present beauty, and the singular Majesty wherewith GOD hath endued man, above all the works of his hands: For, wherein can the baseness of birth disparaged the dignity of man? Do not tall and spreading Trees which grow upon filthy roots, cover the green fields with their pleasant shadow? Do not the rankest Corn spring from most filthy dung? and yet so vile an increase of so excellent a thing is not contemned? You are the corn of GOD, that must be cleansed upon the floor of his judgement, and be laid up in the barn of the great Master of the household, although your original come from the earth, and in some part it be excellent, and of an heavenly nature: but let it be what ever it will, and be the increase never so difficult, yet the last resting place thereof is Heaven. What shall we say unto the nakedness and imbecility of the body, and the pinching want of many things, which are ascribed unto the reproach of man's estate? Are they not supplied by the assistance of sundry arts, and manifold provisions, so that they may be rather applied unto the glory of man, then to his misery? Which appeareth to be true, in that dame Nature hath provided for all other living creatures that want the use of Reason, a thick hide, claws, and hair to cover them withal: but unto man, she hath given only understanding, to be a mean to find out all other things withal, to the end that the bruit beasts might be in safety, by means of an outward defence, but man by his own inward purveyance: and the first should have as much as was borne with them, and no more, but man, as much as he could by experience of living and meditating with himself, compass by his wit. In like manner, if a Master give any vaintie meat unto his Servants and Hinds, he divideth unto every one his portion by himself, but unto his wife and child he giveth none, so that the Servants must have no more than that which was given them, but the other may take as much as they list: thus is the one sort stinted, and the other are at their liberty. Thus then, when these other creatures wax bald, either by means of old age, or manginess, or have sore eyes, or fall lame, we see they have none other remedy, but that which is mnistred unto them by men: but man, being of himself naked, is clothed and beautified, and if need require, is also armed with his wit: and if he chance to fall lame, or be weak, than he rideth upon an Horse, or saileth in a Ship, or is carried in a Couch, or leaveth upon a Staff: To be short, he assayeth all means to help and ease himself, yea though he have lost some limb, he practiseth to make himself legs of Wood, hands of Iron, nose of Wax, and providing against all mishaps, if he wax sick, he helpeth himself with medicines, and with divers sauces he quickeneth his dull taste, with medicines for the eyes he cleareth the dullness of their sight, in which thing ye have devised more wisely than did your forefathers, who, Anneus Seneca writeth, used to occupy vessels of Glass full of water, which is a game very delectable unto nature, who is a pleasant and sweet mother, in that she restoreth that unto her child, which she took from him, and when she hath made him sorry, she comforteth him again. Yea, over and above this, the Horse, the Ox, the Elephant, the Camel, the Lion, the Tiger, the Pard, and all other beasts, of what strength so ever they be, when they are once old, are no longer regarded, and when they be dead, they are no more heard of, they yield unto old age, and give place unto death: only virtue, which is proper unto man alone, maketh him that is endued therewith, honourable in his old age, and glorious at his death, and not being able to extynguyshe him, transporteth him over unto felicity. To be short, there are some living creatures stronger than man, some swifter, some quicker of sense, none more excellent in dignity, none in like sort regarded of the creator. Unto the head he hath given a Spherical figure, and as it were the form of a Star. And whereas all other living creatures look down towards the ground, he made man to turn his face upwards, and to behold the heavens, and to life his countenance towards the stars, as it is notably said of ovid. although it were spoken before by Tully, He gave him eyes, he made him a forehead, in the which the secrets of the mind should shine, he hath given also reason, and speech, he hath given weeping, he hath given laughing, which are significations of secret and hid affections, although some do draw them to an argument of misery, because hasty weeping, is late laughing. For as soon as he is borne, he weary by and by, and laugheth not before forty days are expired: that thing especially this wise creature doth prove, which is skilful of things to come, not the end, which I account happy through the governance of virtue, but rather difficult, for that he is entered into travel and the garboil of present pains. To conclude, whatsoever strength is in all other creatures, whatsoever swiftness, whatsoever opportunity, whatsoever commodity, it wholly serveth to the use of man. He bringeth the wild headed Oxen to the yoke, & forceth the fierce Horse to be bridled. The Bears, that are to be feared for their claws, Boars for their tusks, and Hearts for their horns, he hath made them to garnish man's Table. The Linx, the Fox, and an infinite number more creatures of that sort, because they were not to be eaten, he hath reserved for the use of their skins and hide. He searcheth the seas with nets, the woods with Dogs, and the skies with fowls, and with whom hath man nothing to do? He hath taught such beasts to understand man's voice, & to be obedient unto him. Thus of every natural thing, there is some commodity gotten. Thou hast not the strength of an Ox, yet thou makest him to draw. Thou hast not the swiftness of an Horse, and yet thou makest him run. Thou canst not fly so well as a Gosehauke, and yet thou makest him fly for thee. Thou art not so big as an Elephant or a Camel, yet thou makest the one of them to bear a Turret, and the other a burden. Thou hast not the skin of a Buck, nor the pelt of a Lamb, nor the case of a Fox, yet these have them for thee. Is this answer then of a certain Roman Captain, improper unto them that say you are destitute of these things, to wit, That a man would not have these things, but had rather govern them that have them? And thus much have I spoken briefly, partly like a Philosopher, and partly like a Catholic. Touching the grief of the mind, for so the Philosophers do term it, the better to expel it, and purchase tranquillity thereunto, it availeth to know what Tully hath disputed of the first, in his disputations upon the third day in his Tusculans: and of the second, Seneca in his book which he wrote, of the tranquillity of the mind. For whilst I make haste unto other matters, and draw towards an end, I shall not have time to comprehend all things that I would: For the present, it is sufficient that I have bound up the wound, and showed thee the Physicians of the mind, whose help thou mayest use, if these things be not sufficient. Now as touching those three things, whereof thou complaynedst last, I have not thought them worthy the answering, for as much as of the roughness of Fortune, wherein the greater part of this our second book of talk hath been, and shall be spent, both the very shortness thereof aught to mollify and diminish the sharpness itself, and nature also doth appoint an uncertain end of life, that it may seem always to be at hand, or not very far of.   

Of the Toothache. The. XCiiij. Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Am tormented with the Toothache.  Reason. 
Thou mayst see what trust there is to thy entrails, when as thy bones do fail thee.  Sorrow. 
My teeth begin to be lose.  Reason. 
What hope is there in the soft, since that thy hard and strong limbs do quail?  Sorrow. 
I am sick in my teeth.  Reason. 
Man is a feeble and frail creature, in whom such things as seemed to be most strong, are weak.  Sorrow. 
I am troubled with a great pain in my teeth.  Reason. 
And those things which are appointed for the ornament and chief strength of the mouth, thou seest them to be turned into a cause of grief, that thou mayest perceive how long the conjoining of this mortal frame will remain.  Sorrow. 
I have now lost a tooth or twain.  Reason. 
Now mayest thou then consider, how much thou art bound unto GOD for so many great good gifts, since to lack the fewest or the lest thereof, thou wouldst think it a great grief and a lamentable loss: a right worthy punishment for thine ingratitude. A servant that hath refused his masters present liberality, when the time is once past he is sorrowful, and that which he would not perceive for his gain, it is meet he understand to his loss.  Sorrow. 
I am quite unarmed of my teeth.  Reason. 
Being now unarmed, thou shalt wrestle with pleasure, thou shalt eat less, thou shalt laugh less, thou shalt bite more bluntly at an other man's good name. The closure of the teeth being broken, will 'cause thee to bridle thy tongue being ready to speak. And if chastity 'cause not thy old wanton affection to restrain from unlawful kisses, then let shame restrain it.  Sorrow. 
Now hath old age broken my teeth.  Reason. 
She hath used her liberty: give now thanks unto nature, who hath suffered thee to use that her gift till thou were old, for that she taketh it away many times from them that are young: as from one amongst you of late days, the mightiest of all kings, who even in his lusty youthful years lacked almost all his teeth: but though he suffered this great infirmity of youth, yet afterward as he reported himself, he was comforted with a notable sharpness of sight in his old age, and also (whereof he maketh no mention) with a wondered quickness of wit and courage: which is a profitable example unto all men that are affected with any discommodity either of nature or age, that they lament not all things, or term every slackness of god's liberality an injury, but assuage the grief of benefits lost with them that art saved, sharp things with the gentle, sour with the sweet.  Sorrow. 
Old age hath taken away my teeth.  Reason. 
If age should not take them away, death would. Look into the graves full of dead bones, where thou shalt see teeth sticking in dry rotten skulls, which at the first do show terrible pale, & grin fearfully, but if thou pluck them a little, thou shalt find them lose and easy to fall out, and in this case neither the number, nor the strength, nor comeliness of them, availeth any whit at al. We read that the daughter of Mithridates' king of Pontus, had double rows of teeth above & beneath. Prusias son to the king of Bithynia, in steed of the row of his upper teeth, had only one tooth (that is to say) one bone that was match with his neither teeth, reaching from the one side of his jaw unto the other, which strange thing was neither uncomely, nor unprofitable. But Zenobia the queen of the East amongst all other commendations of her beauty, is commended exceedingly for the surpassing comeliness of her teeth, for that when she either spoke or laughed, it seemed that her mouth was full rather of bright pearls, then of white teeth. But if thou search now the graves of these also, thou shalt find no special thing at all there, for death, which is indifferent unto all men, hath dispersed and consumed al. You love your bodies and mortal members over much, & ye despise your immortal souls and virtue more than ye aught, being blind and unequal discerners of things.  Sorrow. 
Now I am quite without teeth.  Reason. 
Now then art thou without toothache, yea and without any succour of them, thou hast no use of them at al. Thou must grind thy meat painfully without teeth, & unless thou wilt dissemble with thyself, thou oughtest to remember that thou hast a journey shortly at hand, to go thither where as there is nothing at all eaten, but where men live only with joy and the everlasting food of the soul.   

Of pain in the legs. The 95 Dialogue.  SOROW. 
I Am troubled with a pain in my legs.  Reason. 
In all buildings, that is the most dangerous fault which happeneth in the foundations. For as touching all other defaults how ever thou repair them, this bringeth ruin: & therefore at this present there is naught else for thee to do, but immediately to departed out of this ragged Inn.  Sorrow. 
I am troubled with the pain of my legs.  Reason. 
The cause of this sickness, as also of many other more, for the most part riseth from no whence else but from yourselves: and therefore that which came from you, by good right cometh back unto you again, seeing thou hast forgotten the counsel of the wise man, which saith, Let thine eyes go before thy feet: and I suppose that that first argument of an other wise man may well agreed hereunto, and be accordingly applied, You cannot stay yourselves, nor look unto your feet, but like blind men ye run headlong hither and thither, groping after your way. What marvel is it then, if thou stumble sometime, at a stone, and sometime at a block. This sure is very strange, that you will lay your faults upon guiltless nature. Yea moreover, ye have a great delight to be thrusting in amongst a company of mad jades, so that oftentimes ye bring away the print of a horse show upon you. Dost not thou think that that which is spoken by Tully unto one, belongeth well-nigh unto all men? These mischiefs (saith he) thou foolish fellow, hast thou brought wholly upon thyself. And so it is truly: deceive not yourselves, the harm which you suffer for the most part, is of your own doing, for which afterward ye be sorry. Thou, if thou hadst remained at home, that is to say, with thyself, thou perchance ne hadst this grief, ne found any cause of these thy complaints. It is nothing injurious that a wandering life & an unstable, should be molested with divers discommodities.  Sorrow. 
I am tormented with the pain of my legs.  Reason. 
If thou hast given the occasion to have pain, rejoice to be punished for the fault: if not, comfort thy mind that is innocent. And if thou be sorry that thou hast a grief, yet rejoice that thou art without blame. Howsoever the matter goeth, in all thy grief set the shield of patience against the sharp dart of pain, which is a perpetual document in all matters of perplexity, than the which there was never yet any medicine more wholesome.  Sorrow. 
I am wonderfully grieved with the pain of my legs.  Reason. 
The physicians will give thee counsel that thou shalt lie still, and move thee from thy bed: and truly they do wisely therein, to give thee counsel to do that after thou hast taken harm, which thou shouldest have done before, but I will speak no more of their counsels, thou thyself shalt learn to thy own cost, how their counsels are to be esteemed of. Notwithstanding, I will give thee that advice which they use to give, but in another respect: For they suppose that they are able to restore thee easily to thy health when thou art sick, by applying fomentations & other remedies, whiles they endeavour to defend the part affected from the confluence of spirits & humours, whither thou stand or go. For my part, I would wish thee while thou liest in thy bed, setting all other cares aside, & aswaging thy griefs by laying thyself easily in thy couch, after that thou hast taken order for thy bodily health, to think some thing of thy grave, and how, and where thou shalt lie hereafter: and to examine the condition of thy present estate, and to make thyself so familiar with death before he come, that when he is come, thou do not fear him. For it is death only, that is able to deliver this mortal carcase from all infirmities.   

Of Blindness. The xcvi Dialogue.  SOROW. 
I Have lost mine eyes.  Reason. 
O how many loathsome things of life also hast thou lost? How many foolish toys of fond sight shalt thou not see?  Sorrow. 
I have lost mine eyes.  Reason. 
Of the face perhaps, not of thine heart. If they remain good enough, all is well.  Sorrow. 
I am blind.  Reason. 
Thou shalt see the sun no more, but thou hast seen it, and thou remember'st what manner thing it is: or if thou hast not seen it, as it hath chanced unto thee the more hardly in that respect, so the desire of a thing unknown, shall grieve thee the less.  Sorrow. 
I lack eyes.  Reason. 
Thou shalt not see heaven nor earth, but to see the Lord of heaven and of earth, ability is not taken from thee: this sight is much clearer than that other.  Sorrow. 
I am condemned to perpetual blindness.  Reason. 
Thou shalt not see from henceforth the woody valleys, the ayeriall mountains, the flourishing costs, the shadowy dens, the silver springs, the crooked rivers, the green meadows, and that which they say is of all things most beautiful, the portraiture of man's countenance. Thou shalt neither see the heaps of dung, the overflowing jakes, torn carcases, nor whatsoever else by filthiness of sight offendeth the stomach and senses.  Sorrow. 
I am deprived of mine eye sight.  Reason. 
If there were none other commodity in this discommodity, in that thou shalt not behold these games of enormous and deformed gestures, blindness were to be wished: which although I have oftentimes confessed before to be a wished thing, yet do I deny that it is to be wished, for as much now, as in times past, there is no hope left thee to run away: whither soever thou turnest thyself, the kingdom of madness is a like, and a like exile of virtue: in which state to loose a man's eye sight, is a kind of flight & comfort.  Sorrow. 
I have lost my sight.  Reason. 
And the beholding of women's faces. Rejoice therefore that those windows be shut up at the which death entered in, and that the passage to many vices is closed up: covetousness, gluttony, riotousness, and divers other plagues, have lost thereby their servants and retinue, for look how much of thy soul was taken away by these enemies, so much persuade thyself that thou hast gained.  Sorrow. 
I have lost mine eyes.  Reason. 
Thou hast lost evil guides, which lead thee into destruction. It is a wondered thing to be spoken: often times it chanceth that the lightest part of all the body, bringeth the whole soul into darkness? Endeavour thyself to follow the spirit that calleth thee unto better things, and hearken unto the truth, that crieth in thine ear. Seek not for the things that are visible, but for the invisible, for the visible things are temporal, but the invisible everlasting.  Sorrow. 
I lack mine eyes.  Reason. 
Thou hast lacked many faults, if thou hadst lacked thine eyes ever: but now let virtue and blindness stop many mischiefs to come, and those that are past already, let them be done away by sorrow and repentance: and mourn not because thy blindness shall open the eyes of thy mind, but perhaps thou mayest racher mourn for that it is deferred.  Sorrow. 
I have lost the light of mine eyes.  Reason. 
Retain the true light of the soul. They which have lost one of their eyes (as they say) do see the better with the other. Which if it be so, what should I think but that if thou hast lost both, thou shalt see very clear with thine other two, and then shalt make that saying of Tiresias the blind Poet to be thine own, God hath blind fold the face, and turned all the light into the heart. Thou mayest account thyself unhappy and blind in deed, yea quite without eyes, if thou hast lost this light also, which that it is so in deed, thy complaints make me to suspect, for it grieveth a man most to loose that, where of he hath no more.  Sorrow. 
I have lost the eyes of my head.  Reason. 
Purge then and make clean those which thou canst not lose, and seeing thou hast lost the outward eyes, turn thee unto the inward: There, believe me, & not in the outward eyes, remaineth that felicity which ye seek for.  Sorrow. 
I see no light with mine eyes.  Reason. 
Learn to rejoice, yea even in darkness. H●st thou quite forgotten the answer of Antipater the philosopher, some thing wanton, yet properly spoken? Whose blindness when certain friendly wenches did lament, he answered merrily: That sleep which ye have a nights, seemeth it no pleasure unto you? Truly this was pleasantly and briefly answered. For there are many joys and pleasures in the dark, as well as there are great pains and griefs in the light. But I am only to exhort thee unto honest matters.  Sorrow. 
I complain for the loss of mine eyes.  Reason. 
If thou were to put them to an evil use, thou oughtest rather to rejoice that the instruments of mischief are taken from thee: but if thou meanest to use them well, there is no cause why thou shouldest so lament for a thing comely to sight only: for thou hast lost that which was nothing at all needful, either towards godliness, or any holy purpose. God looketh not into the members, but into the mind: offer unto him thy soul pure and whole, whom when he hath received, whatsoever remaineth he will take in good part, for he that gave the soul, hath kept back nothing unto himself.  Sorrow. 
I have lost my bodily eyes.  Reason. 
If thou endeavour to come to heaven, be of good comfort with Didimus, whom, being blind from his infancy, and continuing in his blindness even unto the end, the holy man Antonius coming to visit, and perceiving him now being old, still to exercise himself in virtue and godliness, bid him be of good comfort, & not to be moved any thing at all, in that he had lost his eyes, which were common to flies, mice, & lizerdes, as well to him, but rather to rejoice, for that those eyes which are common to him with the angels, were safe & sound. A notable saying of Antonius, worthy to come from the scholar of the heavenly schoolmaster. But if thou aspire unto the fame of liberal studies, then behold Homer & Democritus, of whom the one, as the report goeth of him, while that he spoke those his wondered & divine oracles, saw nothing with his mortal eyes, but in mind was as quick of sight as Lynceus. The other, because he would not see many things, which (is he thought) did hinder his eyes from seeing the truth, plucked out his own eyes: whose fact, whether it were praise worthy or not, I will not dispute, but surely he had followers. But if perhaps thou conceivedst in thy mind to behold some picture or sculptare of Apelles, or Phidias workmanship, I can not then deny but that thou hast lost something: unless it be again, from a low beginning to be constrained to advance thy mind aloft to higher matters.  Sorrow. 
I am made poor, & unprofitable through blindness.  Reason. 
Why dost thou, blind man, forsake thyself? For Tiresias, of whom I spoke before, being blind of sight, was famous for prophesiing. Did not Diodorus the stoic, better known by means of his familiarity with Cicero then for his own sect, assuage the grief of his lost sight by the benefit of hearing: when as day and night, as the same Cicero writeth of him, there were books read unto him, in which kind of study he had no need of his eye sight? He applied at one time both the study of philosophy and music, and that which a man would scarce think could be done without eyes, he exercised the practice of geometrical descriptions, and causing lines to be drawn by other men's hands, he discoursed on them by his own understanding. Caius Drusus had no eyes, but he had such skill in the civil laws, that his house was every day full of troops of civilians: they could see better the way to the court than he could, but he could see better the way how to carry away the cause, & therefore they sought the assistance of the blind guide. But the most famous of all that ever were renowned for blindness, was Appius Claudius, blind in deed, & so called by name, who being oppressed with blindness & age, was not only commonly known of the people by giving of counsel when there happened any doubt in law, but also by his authority & wisdom ruled the senate, and governed the whole common wealth. Thou, as soon as thou art deprived of one sense, by & by castest away all the residue, yea & which is more, thy mind also: none otherwise than if one that is moved with impatience for a small loss, should cast away desperately both his life & the instrument belonging to the same.  Sorrow. 
I am blind, & I cannot tell where I go.  Reason. 
But thy guide doth see, whether he be the mind, or some one that useth to direct the steps of the blind, by whose leading thou shalt not only found the right way, but also attain unto the chief degree which concerneth the noble despising of life, and the most excellent acts of worthy virtue: and unless the strength of the mind do fail, the loss of sight cannot hinder any notable exploit. Thou remember'st what Samson in the scriptures, and in the civil wars described by Lucan in Massilia, what Tirrhenus doth upon the sea, wherein if there be less credit to be given to poetical report, yet remember that, which is more assured and fresher in memory, which being done in thy time, thou mightest have seen it with thine own eyes: to wit, how john king of Boheme, being son unto one king of the Romans, and father to another, who reigned immediately one after the other, had always weak eyes, and at the latter end of his age fell blind. Now since the war which was between the King of France, whose part he took, and the King of England, are more then. 42. years, when as being in that most sharp conflict in which both the Princes were in person, and understanding that the worse began to fall on the side whereof he was, he called unto his captain with a loud voice, saying, Direct me quickly towards that part of the army where the king of our enemies standeth, and the greatest force of his whole army. Which when they sorrowfully and fearfully had done, setting spurs to his horse, he pricked thither with all his force, whither as they that had eyes durst not follow him that was blind not scarce with their sight: Whereas encountering the most valiant front of his enemies, fight not only valiantly, but also terribly, he was there slain, they that overcame him both wondering at his valour, and commending his manhood. I tell you of a thing known unto all men, and which (except it be written) is like to perish through oblivion. And I pray you, what did it hinder the glory and renown of this valiant gentleman, that he lacked his sight? but that whom virtue and nature had made wonderful, blindness should make men to be amazed at him.  Sorrow. 
I am blind.  Reason. 
I will begin to jest, unless thou leave complaining: for what else could blindness bring unto thee, if so be thy strength remain, then that which Asclepiades (being blind) saith of himself, to wit, that thou walk with one boy waiting on thee more than thou wast wont?   

Of the loss of hearing. The. XCvij. Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Have lost my hearing.  Reason. 
Behold, thou hast one passage for tediousness stopped. Many things that are tedious, are drawn in at the eyes, and many at the ears, and many loathsome things pierce into the mind by both ways, for the avoiding whereof, blindness and deafness are to be desired a like. Notwithstanding, these have their discommodities, as almost all other mortal things: neither do I deny, but that there is some painfulness in them, but more dainty than patience, and not comparable to virtue. Where, what the proportion is between these discommodities, it is no easy ma●ter to g●e●sse, saving, that the first is more dangerous, and this other more ridiculus. For they that are thick listed, seem in●● manner to be out of their wits, but they that are blind, are reputed more miserable, and therefore we saugh at the deaf, and pity the blind: but a wise man contemneth both, and weigheth not what other think, but what the thing is in deed.  Sorrow. 
I have lost my hearing.  Reason. 
Then hast thou escaped flatterers whispering, and slanderers girds, a far differing, but a like evil: saving that it is somewhat more manly to give care unto foul speech, then unto flattery: For in the one, so metyme is a mediume, in the other, is always poison. Wherefore, the first cureth often by biting, but this infecteth always by tyckeling: and truly, worse is feigned love, then open hatred.  Sorrow. 
I have lost my hearing.  Reason. 
Now that Art which is reported to have availed Ulysses, either nature, or some chance hath given unto thee, in that thou hast safely passed the singing of the sirens with deaf ears, whereby thou oughtest to account thyself happy. For how many dangers that ways might have passed into thy mind? How many errors, and finally, how many troubles might have entered into thy head?  Sorrow. 
I have lost my hearing.  Reason. 
I believe thou shalt not hear the nightingale, neither the harp, nor any other kind of instrument: Nay that more is, thou shalt not hear the braying of Asses, the grunting of Swine, the howling of Wolves, the barking of Dogs, the rooring of Bears, the raging of Lions, the crying of Children, the chiding of old wives, and last of all, that which is worse than all these, the immoderate loud laughing of Fools, and their unmeasurable weepings and outcries, and the sound of their most confused voices, than the which there can not possibly a more unpleasant noise be heard.  Sorrow. 
I lack my hearing.  Reason. 
Thou art delivered from manifold deceits. Men are deceived by nothing more often, then by words: and a deaf man is out of all danger thereof.  Sorrow. 
My ears are waxen dull.  Reason. 
That part of the body is a dangerous part, and especially to Princes, who thereby being puffed up with the vain blasts of flatterers, do burst many times therewith, to their utter destruction, to the no small laughter of the whole people.  Sorrow. 
My hearing is dull.  Reason. 
If thou be restrained from talking with other, then talk with thyself, being mindful of the saying of Tully. He that can talk with himself, hath no need of communication with an other: Although a dumb man also may talk with other, to wit, by reading and writing. For he that readeth, talketh with his ancestors: and he that writeth, speaketh to his posterity, Moreover, he that readeth the books of heavenly Philosophy, heareth GOD speak unto him, and he that prayeth, speaketh unto GOD. In both these kinds of communication, there is no need either of tongue or ears, but only of eyes, and fingers, and a devout mind. Herein therefore, as in many other things else, let us embrace the counsel of our country man Cicero, to the intent, that as the blind may comfort himself with the use of his ears, so may the deaf with the help of his eyes. Thou therefore, if thou canst not hear men speak, read the books which men have written, and write thou books, which other men may read: behold moreover the heaven, the earth, and seas, and live in silence in contemplation of the creator of them all. Hereunto this thy deafness will not hinder thee, but perhaps avail thee much.  Sorrow. 
My hearing faileth me.  Reason. 
By what tunes of numbers Diapente, or Diapason consisteth, or by what other proportions they are handled by the musicans, a deaf man may understand well enough. And although he have not with his ears the tune of man's voice, or the melody of the Vials or organs, but understand well in his mind the reason of them, doubtless he will prefer the delight of his mind, before the pleasure of his ears. Imagine that he do not know these musical proportions, and that a deaf man be unskilful in Music: yet if he know the proportions of Virtue, and exercise himself in them, it is well, herein his deafness will not hurt him. For it is much better to be good, then to be learned: and if a man be abundantly learned and wise, he is abundantly good: but he that is evil, is also a fool and unlearned, although in book learning he be the most skilful under the Sun.  Sorrow. 
My hearing faileth.  Reason. 
It is well that this chanced not unto thee before thou receivedst thy faith, which is gotten specially by hearing, which faith now thou possessest. Whereof complainest thou now, or what seekest thou more? If thou hearest not the singing of men, nor of birds, then incline thine heart unto heavenly songs, and apply thine inward ear to GOD wards.  Sorrow. 
I hear not.  Reason. 
Then think and speak to thyself, If I hear not what men say, either to me, or of me, I shall hear what the Lord GOD saith unto me. They often times talk of discord: but he ever speaketh of peace.  Sorrow. 
I hear nothing at all.  Reason. 
Many being very desirous of silence, have been wearied with long journeys and travail, to the intent that in some secret places, and buy ways, they might find that which they sought for. That which is painfully sought for by others, thou hast it with thee in every place wheresoever thou goest. Now learn to use thine own commodity, and remembering the noises and tumults that are past, begin at the last to be delighted with silence.   

Of the loathsomeness of life. The. XCviij. Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Am wonderful weighed of my life.  Reason. 
A mischief springing out of the premises, than which, I know not whether there be any othermore dangerous: for, it is most grievous of itself, and the next neighbour and ready way to desperation. Against which mischief by name, there hath been order taken in your Churches, to pray for assistance unto the blessed Saints of heaven, who being discharged of this earthly wearisomeness, and bands of the body, do now rest in the joys of heaven in everlasting felicity. I doubt not, truly, but that some of them are at rest in deed: but as for those your prayers unto them, I count them vain and foolish.  Sorrow. 
I am compassed about with much loathsomeness of life.  Reason. 
All things that are loathsome, aught to be abandoned with gladsome thoughts, with good hope, with the comfort of friends, with reading of books, & with variety of honest delights, and pleasant exercises, and expelling of sluggishness, but especially b● patience in all things, and long suffering, which is invincible. You aught not to prevent the natural end of your life, either for the hatred of the present state, or the desire of the future, neither (to be brief) for any fear, or hope, whatsoever: which certain fools and miserable wretches have done, who while they have sought means to avoid poverty, the troubles of this life, and pains temporal, have fallen into eternal: Let our countryman Cicero speak what he life, who in his book of Offices excuseth the death of the latter Cato. Let Seneca say what he will, who wonderfully extolleth and commendeth the same, and also disputeth in many places, how that in certain cases a man may violently destroy himself. But the other opinion of Cicero is much more true, and commendable, wherein he saith, That both thou, and all godly men, aught to retain their souls within the prison of their bodies, neither to departed out of this human life, without his commandment, by whom it was given, lest haply ye should seem to refuse the calling whereunto he hath assigned you. Yea moreover, think that this was spoken unto thee from heaven, to wit, that unless God, whose temple is all this which thou beholdest, shall discharge thee out of the wards of this body, thou canst have no entrance hither. And to conclude, take heed, jest that through any wearisomeness of this life, thou so think of death at any time, that thou suppose it lawful to thee to hasten it, or so esteem of any joy, that it be able at any time to overthrow thy heedless mind upon a sodden.   

Of heaviness of the body. The. Xcix Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I AM heavy of body.  Reason. 
Thou mightest complain hereof, if thou hadst been borne to fly like a bird, and not rather as a man unto manhood.  Sorrow. 
My body is heavy, and unwyldie.  Reason. 
Leave this complaint to Roscius and Aesop. Thou, if thou canst neither bend thyself round in a little compass, or slide down out of the top of the air by a rope, what matter is it? Walk thou soberly with honest men, contemn gesticulation and dancing, which belongeth to players. As gravity becometh a wise man in all his deeds and words, so also is it convenient that he use it in his gate, with great modesty.  Sorrow. 
I have a heavy body.  Reason. 
This heaviness was wont to be one of the companions of old age, jest haply he that had lost the first, should exclude the second: although many times, this heaviness be found not to be so much the companion of old age, as of nature, whereof it cometh, that we see young men dull and heavy, and old men quick and nimble. But oftentimes under a heavy body, is contained a light mind, and under a light body, abideth a heavy mind: but if a certain proportion and equality, both of body and mind do meet together, that is not to be despised.  Sorrow. 
The weight of my body is exceeding great.  Reason. 
Though invisible, yet no less is the weight of the mind, and firmness thereof: set the one against the other, and there shall be nothing heavy.  Sorrow. 
I am drowned with the weight of my body.  Reason. 
Fleet then again by the lightness of thy mind, and drive it away, and in labouring study, taking in hand many and hard matters, both to the exercise of thy mind and body, and the banishing of all pleasures. drive away idleness, procure thyself business, despise lusts, bate slothfulness, love carefulness, cast away tenderness, follow hardness, have a delight in difficult things, and with continual persistaunce, use thyself to moderate diet in meat and drink, and to short and careful sleep, little sitting, and seldom lying.  Sorrow. 
I am pained with the weight and greatness of my body.  Reason. 
Another is troubled with the contrary, some with one thing, and some with another. No man leadeth his life without travail, but every man knoweth his own, and either despiseth, or is ignorant of an others grief.  Sorrow. 
My body is much grown unto mole.  Reason. 
If man's name, for that he is a mortal creature, be derived from the word Elumus, which signifieth the earth, the must man needs be oppressed with much earth. Notwithstanding, his earthly nature cannot so overwhelm the heavenly, but that it will arise, unless it show itself deaf to virtue, and quick of belief unto evil, persuading pleasure.  Sorrow. 
A heavy body oppresseth my soul.  Reason. 
Pluck up thy mind, and with great endeavour sustain this grievous burden, and think with thyself, that heavenly minds do oftentimes break forth out of the burden of the bodily mole, and attain unto wonderful highness.  Sorrow. 
I am overborne with the burden of my body.  Reason. 
Although nature cannot be overcome, endeavour nevertheless with all diligence, that thou increase thy strength every day somewhat, and abate thy burden.   

Of great dullness of wit. The. C. Dialogue.  SORROW. 
BUT I am heavy and dull witted.  Reason. 
This grief is something troublesome, but it may be much diminished, if thou apply thyself diligently thereunto.  Sorrow. 
But I am of a slow and dull wit.  Reason. 
What, thinkest thou that thou art able to help this grief with repining and mourning? this matter is to be remedied far otherwise. Thou must abstain from too much sleep, from lechery, from meat, from wine, from vain fables and tales, from taking occasion of excuses, and yielding too much unto sluggishness, which thorough thy fault is now grown into nature. But thou oughtest rather to watch, to muse, to sigh, to blow, to strive, to contend, to rise, to stir up the strength of the mind, to advance thy courage, to put away heaviness, to abandon stouth, to abstain from pleasures, and earnestly to apply thy book. There is nothing so heavy, but that earnest applying will lift it up, nothing so hard, but it will make it soft, nothing so dull, but it will make it sharp, nothing so slow, but it will prick it forward, to be short, there is nothing so deeply hidden nor so secretly laid up, but it will fetch it forth, nor so deadly a sleep, but that it will make it.  Sorrow. 
I am slow of wit.  Reason. 
Such as say that quickness of wit is a commendation, I am sure will affirm that slowness of understanding is an infamy. Yet had I rather have a slow wit and a modest, than one that is hasty and furious: for as in the one there is no hope of great glory, or of abundance of riches, so in the other there is danger of grievous errors, and fear of shameful reproach: For it is a great deal more tolerable for a man to become inglorious, then infamous.  Sorrow. 
I am slow of wit.  Reason. 
That which men wont to complain of in riding of dull Horses, provide thou for thyself, to wit, spurs and reigns, and herein thou shalt take no occasion of excuse, but rather thou hast matter ministered unto thee of labour. There are some that think a thing should be left of, if it will not come to pass by and by: but do thou stay, be earnest, and do thy endeavour. Difficulty doth provoke a courageous mind, and labour nourisheth it: therein doth it contend chiefly, & esteemeth of that thing most, wherein it findeth most resistance. Thou readest how Socrates was made wise by study, and Demosthenes eloquent by industry, & the like hath chanced unto many: there are not many that attain to a notable name: report of things done, commonly is less than the desert.  Sorrow. 
I am dull of wit.  Reason. 
Therefore thou hast no hope left thee of profiting, but hast found the need of diligence. It is so much the more glorious to be advanced by learning, then by nature, by how much it is better to do good of set purpose, then by chance.  Sorrow. 
I am altogether dull and weak witted.  Reason. 
If thou canst not study for learning, yet apply virtue. There is none but have wit enough to attain unto her, wherein there is no sharpness of understanding required, but only a good will: To the gaining whereof, some have supposed that learning profiteth nothing, yea, some hold opinion that it hindereth not a little. And therefore certain, forsaking their studies, have withdrawn themselves into wildernesses, and their ignorance in learning, hath stand them in the steed of excellent knowledge, of whose sentence, it is hard to give judgement. But of this whereof we are assured, accept this my last counsel: Let no man deceive thee, neither the wondering of the common people, nor the voices of fools move thee: for it is a higher matter and of more safety to be ennobled by virtue, then by learning. And therefore experience teacheth, that the one of these is always to be wished, and the other most times to be feared. But when the light of learning is added unto the virtue of the mind, that truly is an absolute and perfect thing, if there be any perfection at all to be accounted of in this world.   

Of a slender and weak memory. The. Cj. Dialogue.  SORROW. 
BUT I have a slender and weak memory.  Reason. 
This is also an other infamy of old age, as false as the residue, which thou mayest correct by the means of study.  Sorrow. 
My memory faileth.  Reason. 
Take heed jest it decay utterly, and help it while it is failing with continual exercise: Use it as men do Walls that are ready to fall down, make Buttresses in places where there is need, and defend the weak sides, by adding plenty of strong shores.  Sorrow. 
My memory is slippery.  Reason. 
Bind it fast with diligence and cunning: industry helpeth all defaults of wit and memory. Diligence suffereth nothing to perish, nothing to be diminished. This is that which can preserve Philosophers and poets (being very old men) in a fresh flourishing wit and style: this is it also which manteyneth in the ancient Orators a strong voice, and valiant sides, and a firm memorte: Which, if it were not so, Solon had never waxen old, and yet learned something daily: and being at the very point of death, when as his friends sat talking about him, seemed in a manner unto them to be risen from death to life: Neither had Chrysippus finished in his extreme old age, that witty and profound volume which he began being but a very young man: Neither had Homer at those years set forth that same his divine and heavenly work: Neither yet Simonides, of the age of fourscore years, with such youthiy fervency of mind, but with aged ripeness of discretion, descended into that his Pyerial contention: Nor Scocrates in the fourscore & fourteenth year of his age, accomplished that his fervent and wondered work: Nor Sophocles well near an hundred, being the flower of all tragical writers, had finished his tragedy called Oedipus: Nor Cato, that was above fourscore and ten years old, with no change of voice, or alteration of strength, or default of memory, either would have defended himself in an heinous accusation, or accused most famous Orators of his own accord in open judgement.  Sorrow. 
I have an untrusty memory.  Reason. 
Then trust it not, call it often to an account, whatsoever thou hast committed unto it, require it speedily, and that which thou shouldest do to morrow, do it to day, it is not good to defer: and thus if thou canst, wrist good out of evil. The faith of a fellow brcedeth slothfulness, and falsehood procureth diligence.  Sorrow. 
I have almost no memory at al.  Reason. 
Such is the state of man's condition, that he which remembreth fewest things, hath the less cause of complaints, in which case there is no amendment nor place of profitable repentance, what else remaineth then, than the help of oblivion?   

Of lack of eloquence. The cii Dialogue.  SOROW. 
I Lack eloquence.  Reason. 
Thou lackest one of the instruments to get hatred, acknowledge the benefits of nature, which instrument as it hath taken from thee a great power over doubeful suitors, so hath it taken no small prerogative of fortune from thyself, for many have perished through eloquence. If thou doubt of this, ask of the princes of both eloquence: for as touching the briefer sort of Orators, all histories are full that for this cause they have perished in every place: Among whom he is most nearest unto danger, that is most excellent of fame, and best known. There are some unto whom the obscureness of their name, hath been the castle of their defence. But admit that they which are eloquent be out of danger, yet never want they travail. In all the world there is nothing so vain, for which so many labours, so long watchings are willingly undertaken: this flickering breath so exerciseth men's minds, as though there were some virtue in their words.  Sorrow. 
I have no eloquence.  Reason. 
But thou hast much security, which perhaps thou shouldest not have, if thou hadst much eloquence: for many had lived more safely in their life, if so be they had lived not so eminent in fame.  Sorrow. 
I have no eloquence at al.  Reason. 
Then see that thou have some wit, some innocency, some virtue: For eloquence belongeth but to a few persons, but virtue unto al. Let not the notable rareness of poets, or of Orators, which is more geason, draw thee away: yea rather behold how suddenly I change my mind, if rareness allure thee, follow this, for it is the way unto it. It is a beavie case, that as there is nothing more better than virtue, so there is nothing more rare. Eloquence itself, which I said belongeth unto few, is much more frequented than virtue: so standeth the case, that that which all may use, all do neglect, and that which very few can attain unto, all men desire, all men do practise.  Sorrow. 
I am void of words.  Reason. 
Apply thy mind unto deeds: For in toordes there is breath, & labour, and speech, and in deeds, quietness, virtue, and felicity.  Sorrow. 
I cannot speak.  Reason. 
Many that know little in a matter, will take much upon them. Set a fool on horseback, or one that hath no skill to ride, and thou shalt have much a do to get him down a gain: let shame at the length put thee to silence, if nothing else will 'cause thee to hold thy peace: and though thou knowest not how to speak that other may hear thee, yet learn to hear other men when they do speak. There is no less cunning to hold a man's peace then to speak, although to be silent it be a more safe and easy matter.  Sorrow. 
I cannot express that which is in my heart.  Reason. 
If thou have a good understanding and art endued with an high & magnifical sense of the mind, and have not thereunto a pleasant voice and reedy tongue, be contented: Assay not often to do that which hath but evil success with thee. What is there then to be done? Use that good which thou hast, not only indifferently, but also merrily: leave that unto another man, which is another man's, and spend not thy speech, nor weighed not thy tongue in vain. Suffer, I say, other men to speak, & understand thou, forsomuch as there is a more secret, and delicate pleasure in the meditation of the mind, then in the utterance of the tongue, being both of longer continuance, & also having in it more quietness, & less envy.  Sorrow. 
Shame restraineth me from speaking before many.  Reason. 
It is well known, that this hath chanced unto men of great estimation, for want of audacity, & not by the default either of that tongue or wit. That which thou refusest to speak before many, do it before a few, & in the presence of one: & although I confess that the open speeches be most famous, yet canst thou not deny but that private talk is more sweet. If thou canst not do so neither, then return to thyself, common with thyself, as I have admonished thee before, & awake that domestical talking companion: for he is always present with thee, he will not lie in wait for thee, he will not mock thee, he will not envy thee, he will not loathe thee, he will not look for any exact or laboursome eloquence of thee, he is pleased with familiar talk, and enterrupted speeches, yea & oft-times when thou hast said much, he is contented that thou hold thy peace. Learn thou to content thyself with his presence only, who taketh no regard how, but what thou speakest, or rather what thou wouldst speak. Learn to build up a most honest theatre, even in the midst of thine heart. Learn, not to seek after the pomp and glory of men, but of the truth, and to rejoice oftentimes without any noise of the people, and let modesty despise that, which perfect eloquence doth most times clean extinguish. To be short, learn not to live to the show, learn not to speak with pride, than the which there is no greater mischief in the whole life of man to be found.  Sorrow. 
I have an impediment in my speech.  Reason. 
Dost thou lament that thou hast some thing like as Moses had, being so worthy a man as he was, and so familiar with God? But if thou look into old histories, or mark the examples of latter time, and in these days, how many good men shalt thou find that had impediments in their speech, and how many wicked that were very eloquent? So are there very few unto whom both these have happened, to wit, singular eloquence, and excellent virtue.   

Of loss of the tongue and speech. The ciii Dialogue.  SORROW. 
WHat sayest thou, that I have lost both my tongue & my speech also?  Reason. 
What if thou have found securicie & rest? How many doth the tongue beat down and overthrow that are guiltless of doing any harm? It is a foolish pleasure, but truly very common of some that would seem to have done that which they neither do, nor can do. He lied that said he had stain the king of the Israelites and his son, and yet being innocent of the deed was punished for his lie, when he had escaped the danger of the battle. How great labour it is to speak, to answer, to feign, to lie, to smooth up words, to weigh sentences, to bethink how and what to speak, and sweetly to beat the air, for so they desire a voice, and after what sort thou oughtest to move, not only thy tongue, but also thy whole body, for even unto this point there is one part of Rhetoric doth reach: how when thou musest, thou must look down on the ground, which hand, and also whether thou must thrust it forth, with which foot thou must stamp on the ground. Is not (thinkest thou) this fineness troublesome enough, and to take the pains to learn some indifferent sight in music, that thou mayest thereby sound thy words the more sweetly? is it not in very deed then a labour to speak, and a quietness to hold a man's peace?  Sorrow. 
I can speak to no purpose.  Reason. 
Those things which I said in the lack of eloquence, may more aptly be repeated in the loss of the tongue. Then since thou canst not speak, hold thy peace, and that which necessity biddeth thee to do, do it willingly. Which thing, they that can speak might do many times more profitably, and repeat them often that they have not done so. Hold thy peace, I say, and think not that thou sustaynest any loss: think with thy lelfe secretly, and speak with thyself in privity, which to be better than to speak in open assembly, they that are eloquent cannot deny.  Sorrow. 
I am fallen dumb.  Reason. 
If Cicero and Demosthenes had been dumb, they had lived longer, and died a more gentle death.  Sorrow. 
I have quite lost the use of my tongue.  Reason. 
And the custom of lying, and the arts of deceiving, and the instrument of purchasing enmity and infamy: for many are become more infamous for their tongue, then for their deeds. There is no part of the body reedier to hurt, and harder to bridle. Therefore, not without cause (as some great and rare matter) uttered he those words, who said, I will look unto my ways that I offend not with my tongue. Which when a certain holy man, who came to the study of divinity had heard, is reported to have departed away, and that he would hear no more thereof. And when as, after a long season, his master marvelling, demanded of him why he had been so long absent from his study which he had begun: he ausweared, that the very first word had given him enough to do, and that he could not fulfil that one point by any his labour or travail whatsoever. See thou despise not this government nor bridle, which is offered unto thee either by nature or fortune, but willingly yield thyself to be ruled, and spurn not against thine own destiny.  Sorrow. 
I have lost my tongue.  Reason. 
Now keep thou with all diligence that which the wise man willeth thee, to wit, thine heart, and being called from two careful watchings unto one, and discharged from the one moiety of thy labour, thou mayest the more easily keep a few, and more warily guard precious things.  Sorrow. 
I have lost my tongue.  Reason. 
In a certain few men this is a noble and excellent member, but in the greater sort of the people, very pestilent and noisome, and a great deal better that many had wanted it. Which is not only seen to be true in a servant, in that the Satirike Poet saith, The tongue is the worst part of an evil servant, but also in many free persons, unto whom nature hath given nothing worse than their tongue. Wars, deceits, adulteries, and all kind of abuses (for the most part) should surcease, did not the tongue cast abroad and nourish their evil seeds.  Sorrow. 
I have lost my tongue.  Reason. 
If an evil one, thou hast gained much: For it is great riches, to be poor in wickedness. Who so hath not these, is borne rich, but who so looseth them, is made rich, and his living being increased with a new revenue, hath found that by losing, which he had lost by finding. But if thou have lost a good tongue, I say again keep thy heart. Thou hast lost that wherewith thou mightest please men, keep that wherewith thou mayest please God: unto whom if thou canst not speak with thy tongue, yet talk unto him with thy heart. For if it be written of the wicked, Lying lips are in their heart, and with their heart they have spoken: why are not godly lips in the heart of the righteous, that they also may speak in their heart, whereas are the ears of God? And that is true, which the same man wrytech in an other place, My mouth is not hidden from thee, which thou madest in secret. For there is no thought, be it never so secret, that is hidden from God, neither heareth he less them that speak softly, than those that cry aloud: yea, he heareth no clamour, be it more or less, before the clamour and crying out of the heart, for he hearkeneth unto none but that, and he is delighted with silence. This clamour, did he that was first a keeper of sheep, and afterward a most famous shepherd of the people of God, restrain within the closure of his lips, who deserved to hear the voice of God saying unto him, Why criest thou unto me? He spoke not, but he cried, yea he spoke, but it was with the heart. And like as he that heareth God is not deaf, so he whom God heareth is not dumb.   

Of want of virtue. The ciiii Dialogue.  SOROW. 
But I am without virtue.  Reason. 
An hurt in deed, a just sorrow, saving that all other wants may happen to be either natural, or casual, or violent, but this doubtless is voluntary. For other are either in the body, or in the wit, or in the memory, or in the speech, or in some outward thing one or other, all which happen not according as a man would wish, but as every man's fortune chanceth: but this only consisteth in will, which every one guideth and disposeth at his own pleasure. For a man can require none other good will of another man, than he is disposed to show whose will it is, whereby he willeth this thing or that thing. Otherwise, as defects happen unto men, of strength, or of speech, or of riches against their wills, so should of their wills also: neither should virtue deserve reward, nor vice merit punishment. But now, not a will unto you to do this or that, but a liberty to choose this or that was given you at your birth, which being applied unto that which is good, maketh you good, but converted unto evil, maketh you evil. The same may you use as you lust, and if you lust ye may use it well, which doubtless is the gift of God, as if ye abuse it, it is a great perversity of the willer: but it cannot be otherwise chosen, but that a good will is the root of virtue, as an evil will is the root of vice. And thus there is none that suffereth a want of virtue, but he that will, for that the greatest & chiefest part of virtue consisteth in the wil  Sorrow. 
Yea I would have virtue, but I cannot get it.  Reason. 
Many there be, that think they would have that which they will not, and that they would that which they will: thus every one deceiveth himself, and endeavoureth to persuade not only himself but others, that he is desirous of good, neither persuadeth any more easily how delectable true virtue is, since that the false opinion of virtue so much delighteth, that it is pleasant unto him to deceive the people, and his friends, and moreover by them to be deceived.  Sorrow. 
I know that I would fayne, but I cannot be good.  Reason. 
Admit it be so, it sufficeth not to have a will, unless thou have also a desire, and that not indifferent, but vehement. But you most greedily desire your own harms, and coldly your commodities: whereby it cometh to pass, that there be many rich, but very few good. For what marvel is it, if your fervent intention attain sooner to the thing ye wish, than your slow will?  Sorrow. 
I would be good if I could.  Reason. 
Endeavour, for thou mayest, and if thou wouldst unfeignedly, begin now, but eschew slothfulness. For if the smallest things be not ●●gotten for naught, what mayest thou hope of virtue, than which there is nothing greater, nor higher among the affairs of men? Imagine not of her as of a step out of the way from cares, but as of the ready and only passage unto felicity. Be at leisure unto her, and follow after her with all thy force and possible might of thy mind, and apply not some part of thy leisure unto her, as if it were unto some certain exercise, but as unto that which is the ordinary duty of life, which will make thee blessed, and that thou shalt want nothing. Employ all thy time, and thy whole study, which thou hast often bestowed upon most vile things, and call to thy remembrance that more wholesome & effectual (than fine) saying of Marcus Varro in his book of Satyrs: If thou hadst saith he, bestowed the twelfth part of thy pain in the study of Philosophy, which thou hast employed in overseeing thy baker that he might make thee good bread, thou hadst ear this time been good. Which I would have thee to understand thus, not that thou acknowledge thyself to be indebted for thy health unto the earthly Philosophy, which promiseth a continuance by frequentation of the actions, which how much it is to be credited, they that have experimented do know: but rather unto the heavenly wisdom, which is a most excellent preserver, and also the counsels and aids of virtue, and the health which thereby is purchased: and thou must also acknowledge with dutiful confession, and a thankful mind, that to be true which is written, No man can live continually, unless it be given him of God. And this is a point of wisdom, to know whose gift it is, which, think to be spoken unto thee by name, and it may be likewise applied unto all virtues.  Sorrow. 
I desire very much to be good, but I am not.  Reason. 
Whether thou do earnestly desire or not, the effect will prove: Continuance is a token of a fervent good will. For whether virtue be the free gift of God, (and truly that heavenly giver scarcely bestoweth it upon any but such as constantly desire it, and earnestly require it in hearty prayer:) or whether in so great a matter any part of human wisdom be of force, truly so weighty a thing requireth both earnest intention, and long and continual exercise. For that which is gotten by study, cometh not suddenly, so that, which way so ever thou turn thyself, thou oughtest to have a persevering mind. Wherefore, omitting and neglecting all other things, apply these matters, which thou shalt the more courageously, if thou bear in mind, and have always written before thine eyes, that to this end, and none other, thou camest into this earthly habitation, and that this one thing is required of thee, that by the steps of virtue, thou climb up to heaven, and that whatsoever thou do else, is either needless, or hurtful.   

Of covetousness. The. Cu. Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I AM troubled with the pricks of covetousness.  Reason. 
Thou namest them well pricks: for there are certain pricks of desire in the getting of riches, and goods when they are gotten are very thorns, for so he termeth them who cannot lie: Worthy riches, which trouble men both in the getting of them, and when they be gotten. But if thou consider thine own carcase, if thy nature, if the shortness of thy life, thou shalt perceive that thou art grieved with vain cares, and covetest much, but lackest little. And moreover, how that whilst thou gapest after getting more, thou hast no regard of that which is already gotten, and so after a manner, leesect that which thou shouldest seek after, than which, there is nothing more foolish.  Sorrow. 
I am urged with the desire to get much.  Reason. 
And yet thou perceivest not, how that the time wasteth, and thy life also passeth away, while much is gotten. And thus a great perplexity happeneth, while ye seem to abound in life, and to want wealth, and while that want passeth away, there cometh another, and when ye abound in wealth, ye want life. Of this was not that wise man ignorant, whereas he speaketh of the sparer that said, I will seek rest unto myself, and will now eat alone of my goods: And he perceiveth not how the time passeth away, and how he leaveth all that he hath, when he dieth, unto other. And in another place he saith, He that heapeth up riches together unrighteously, gathereth for other, that shall riotously consume his goods. O terrible saying, which we see yet to be true every day before our eyes, but notwithstanding nothing profiting the minds of the covetous. And again he saith, There is nothing more wicked, than a covetous person, nor more ungodly, then to love money. And to the intent thou mayest perceive how all things agreed in the truth, as Aristotle saith, behold how the Heathen Philosopher, agreeth with the Ecclesiastical wise man, Men ought, saith Cicero, to eschew the desire of money: for there is no sign so great of a base and a vile mind, as to love money.   

Of envy and malice. The. Cvj. Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Do bear envy.  Reason. 
The above named affection wished well unto thee, but this meaneth evil unto other, and by so much is this worse than that, and malice more discommendable than covetousness Very well therefore saith the same wise man, of whom I spoke even now, The eye of the malicious is wicked, but the eye of the covetous is never satisfied.  Sorrow. 
I am tormented with envy.  Reason. 
Tyrants of Sicily, found no greater torment than envy, as saith Horace the Poet: which is now translated, by means of a pestilent Southern wind, unto your Tyrants and Princes.  Sorrow. 
I am vexed with envy.  Reason. 
Thou doest both offend, and art also punished by present and ready justice.  Sorrow. 
The prosperity of my neighbour, breedeth envy within me.  Reason. 
Truly I believe thee: But there is none of you that envieth at the king of the Parthians or Persians, nor any of them that envieth at you. The time hath been, when ye envied one at another, for that your Empire was so great, that you were borderers one on another. But sufficeth it ye not to be grieved with your own evils that are so many, but that other folks prosperity must also afflict you, and make you altogether mad and miserable?  Sorrow. 
I spite at my neighbours.  Reason. 
A common matter, malice is blear eyed, and can not see far of: Neyghbourhood and prosperity are parents unto envy.  Sorrow. 
I envy at other men's good estate.  Reason. 
If thou be envious, thou must needs also be base minded: of all vices, there is none more sluggish than envy, it can not ascend into high minds, neither is there any more wretched, and therefore all other presuppose some good thing, although it be false, but this is only nourished with evils, and grieved with good, and suffereth that evil itself, which it wisheth to others. And therefore I like well of the saying of Alexander King of Macedon, to wit, That malicious men are nothing else, but their own torments: Truly, a grave saying, of so light a young Prince.   

Of wrath. The. Cvij. Dialogue.  SORROW. 
BUT I am angry.  Reason. 
I have promised comfort against adversity, and not against vices: as for these, they are not casual, but voluntary, and in your own power, who then shall constrain thee to be angry?  Sorrow. 
I am angry when I am offended.  Reason. 
Perhaps he whom thou blamest for offending thee, complaineth that thou hast offended him: the offences are not so great, as is your insolency marvelous.  Sorrow. 
I burn with wrath.  Reason. 
Then art thou mad: And wrath, saith Horace, is a short madness; but many (through evil custom and impatience) do make it a long madness. For Ennius saith, That anger is the beginning of madness, seeing that unto many that give themselves over unto it, it maketh an end both of their madness and life also. For as the plague (whereof we disputed before) even so this likewise, although it trouble other, yet doth it most torment the possesser thereof: so that I marvel the more for what cause it should seem unto some, to be (I know not how) sweeter then honey: revenge perhaps may have in it some taste of cruel and savage pleasure, but surely anger hath nothing in it but bitterness.  Sorrow. 
I am angry for injuries.  Reason. 
There was never any almost so hastily disposed, that would be angry for nothing, unless perhaps it were Caelius the Senator, the angriest man that ever lived, who when as his client agreed with him in all points, & confessed whatsoever he required of him, yet cried he out (being angry) saying, Say somewhat contrary, that we may disagree. A wilful man truly: how would he have borne injuries, that could not bear gentle speech?  Sorrow. 
I am angry, for that I am provoked by offence.  Reason. 
On this side men commonly offend very much: they pick quarrels, and seek occasions, and in those causes, for which they may justly be angry, their wrath exceedeth measure. In all offences there is some excuse alleged, and the excuse itself is an offence: but thou, because thou art not obeyed as a God, art wroth, and GOD himself is every day provoked in words and deeds, but is not always angry. As for you, ye draw every overthwart word, be it never so small, unto some heinous crime of life and death, wherein you show yourselves to be an impatient generation.  Sorrow. 
I am angry with them that have deserved it.  Reason. 
If of thee, it is ill done, if of the Common wealth, and it be not done in anger, but for the love of justice, it is very well: and to speak briefly, that saying of Tully is precisely to be kept, to wit, that anger be far of, with which nothing can be rightly and discreetly handled. And therefore the saying of Archytas Tarentinus is worthily commended, and also the deed of his friend Plato, of whom the one, when being wholly occupied in the study of learning, he saw his goods destroyed and wasted through the negligence of his Bailiff, turning himself towards him: truly (quoth he) I would punish thee according to thy desert, unless I were now angry with thee. The other being offended with his servant, did not let him go freely as Archytas did, but committed him unto one of his friends to be punished, fearing jest that the vehemency of anger should enforce him farther than reason would require. These and such like examples, aught to moderate men's anger, jest haply, as commonly it chanceth, it drive them headlong into infamy, and destruction.   

Of Gluttony. The. Cviij. Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I AM molested with gluttony.  Reason. 
I said erewhile, that I take those things in cure only, that happen unto men against their wills: for who will heal them that are willingly sick and diseased?  Sorrow. 
I am vexed with gluttony.  Reason. 
Properly spoken in deed: for there is nothing so vile, that maketh you so careful. It is wonderful and sha●●efull to think, whereunto the disposition of mankind, which was created unto higher matters, doth incline itself, since that forsaking the coasts of the land, ye go about to search out the seeks tracts of the Sea and Air. You have vevised Ne●●es, and Hooks, and Byrdlime, and Snares, and Hawks also ●e ●aue ●aught to come and go at your commandment, and to pray for your pleasure, and for nothing else, but to serve your throats, which you cloy not only with filling, but also with overburdening, and by sundry means you oppress your slender belly, by too much following the greediness thereof, for which hunger were much more convenient, but sobriety most profitable above of all other things: when as ye aught rather to give some rest unto that filthy and miserable paunch of yours, and to leave some quietness unto the Woods, Clouds, and Rivers. But thus goeth the world, and this is the manner, specially among Noblemen, these are the arces which sometime being liberal, are now become handicrafts, which ye apply: and they that were wont to be generals of Armies, and Philosophers, and Governors of Cities, and Fathers of their Country, are now become Hunters, and Faulkoners, that thou mayest understand, how that there is now no hope of salvation remaining. That is ascribed unto Nobility, which is gluttony, or rather plain vanity. This mischief is by noneother means better beaten down, then by a certain noble disdain and indignation, and by upright consideration of the thing itself, either by little and little, as Cicero liketh it, or suddenly, as Aristotle thinketh it good. It availeth very much to think upon the end, which being a general rule in all vices, yet is it most effectual in this vice, and also in lechery.   

Of sluggishness of the mind. The. Cjx. Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Am sluggish in doing of business.  Reason. 
What marvel, if after so diligent study of gluttony, sluggishness of the mind do follow the heaviness and overburrdening of the body?  Sorrow. 
I am grieved with dullness of mind.  Reason. 
This dullness springeth from an imperfect will, but so soon as thou shalt begin to bend thine endeavour, it will grow to an earnest desire and courage, which being very ill unto many things, is most commendable unto virtue.  Sorrow. 
I am slothful, and sluggish to rise unto any good works.  Reason. 
There is a certain dullness in the mind, and also a courageous fervency engrafted in a part of the mind, which fervency will be set on fire, and dullness shaken of, by considering the swiftness of time in passing away, which is so great, that there is no mind, be it never so swift, that is able to measure it: and also the surpassing beauty of virtue, which is so lovely, that if it could be seen with the bodily eyes, as Plato saith, it would ravish men wonderfully with the love thereof. Therefore, let love on the one side, and fear on the other stir thee up, for both of them are very effectual: for neither he that loveth, neither he that hateth, can commonly be dull and sluggyshe: and yet notwithstanding, ye rise in the night time unto divine service, wherein ye pray that hurtful sleep and sluggishness oppress you not: there is no place for sleep nor sluggyshuesse, when as death frayeth you on the one side, and virtue on the other. For who could ever be slothful and careless in great dangers, or great advancements? Whensoever thou haft respect unto these, courage will resort to the mind, and sleep will fly from the eyes, when ye think with yourselves, how much imperfection remaineth within you, and how much time ye have spent in idleness: whereof when men have no consideration, we see how they spend long ages unprofitably, and hear old men wondering and amazed to say: What have we done here these many years? We have eaten, drunken, and slept, and now at last we are awaked too late. The chief cause whereof is this sluggishness, whereof thou complainest, which in time aught to be driven away by the pricks of industry, and the bridle of foresight, lest that by overlong staying, thou be carried away with the multitude, unto a dishonourable end.   

Of Lechery. The. Cx. Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I AM shaken with the vehemency of Lechery.  Reason. 
Lechery is begotten by slothfulness, and brought forth by gluttony: what marvel is it then, if the daughter follow her parents? As for gluttony and lechery, they are common unto you with beasts, and that they make your life more beastly, than any other thing, wise men have so judged: and therefore although there be many mischiefs more grievous, yet is there none more vile.  Sorrow. 
I am carried away with Lechery.  Reason. 
Whither I pray thee, but unto death, both of the body and soul, and infamous ignominy, and too late, and perhaps unprofitable repentance? Go thy ways now, and follow her that carrieth thee away unto such ends. Think upon the miserable and notorious chances of innumerable, not only private men, but also Cities and Kingdoms, which partly by sight, and partly by hearsay, but specially by reading, aught to be very well known, and then I suppose thou wilt not give thy hand unto this vice to follow it. Hear what the best learned have judged, and written concerning this matter, Pleasures, saith Cicero, being most flattering Ladies, do wrest the greater parts of the mind from virtue. To this end, saith Seneca, they embrace us, that they may strangle us, which none otherwise then thieves that lay wait for travelers upon the way, and lead them aside, to murder them, aught to be avoided. Wherein it shall much avail, if whosoever shall feel himself infected with this mischief, do imagine that most excellent saying of Scipio African in Livy, which he spoke unto king Masinissa, to be spoken unto himself: vanquish thy mind, quoth he, and take heed thou do not deform many good gifts with one vice, and corrupt the beauty of so many deserts, with a greater fault than the cause of the fault is. The which shallbe done the more easily, if a man do think earnestly upon the vileness, filthiness, shortness, and end of the thing, and also the long reproach, and the short time, and how perhaps the pleasure of one brief moment, shallbe punished with the repentance of many years, and peradventure with everlasting damnation.   

Of Pride. The. Cxj. Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I AM lifted up with pride.  Reason. 
Earth and ashes, why art thou proud? Canst thou that art oppressed with the burden of so many mischiefs, be lifted up with pride? Who if thou were free from them all, and were lifted up by the wings of all virtues, yet were all thy good gifts defiled with this vice only: For there is nothing more hateful unto God, than pride. By this fell he that was created in most excellent estate, by which thou being a sinner thinkest to arise. If it happened so unto him for this one thing, what dost thou think will befall unto thee, in whom this wickedness is joined with other vices? Thou hast heaped a naughty weight upon thy burden.  Sorrow. 
I am carried with pride.  Reason. 
Why shouldest thou be so, I pray thee? Dost thou not remember that thou art mortal, that thou wearest away every day, that thou art a sinner, that thou art subject to a thousand chances, and in danger every day to uncertain death, and finally, that thou art in wretched case? And hast thou not also heard the most famous saying of Homer, The earth nourisheth nothing more wretched than man? I would fain know which of these doth most chiefly prick thee forth unto pride, whether the imbecility of the body, or the whole army of sicknesses, or the shortness of life, or the blindness of the mind, which continually wavereth between most vain hope and perpetual fear, or the forgetfulness of that which is past, or the ignorance of that which is to come and present, or the treachery of enemies, or the death of friends, or continuing adversity, or flytting prosperity? By these and none other ladders ye ascend unto pride, by these ye rise to ruin. All other dangers wherein men do walter, have some excuse, although it be unjust: but pride and envy have no colour at al.  Sorrow. 
I am sorry that I am proud.  Reason. 
To be sorry for sin, is the first degree to salvation. And as it is the nature of pride to life up, so is it of humility to be sorry and submit itself, which thou shalt do the more easy, so soon as thou turnest thine eyes earnestly upon thyself: which being so, I am not minded, neither aught I to heap up unto theeaucthorities written in books against vices: This only shallbe sufficient, that thou know, that so soon as ever thou be disposed unfeignedly, all these matters will surcease immediately, and whensoever, as they say, thou shalt blow the retreat, & retire to thine ensigns, as touching this present mischief. This one thing I will say moreover: that pride is a sickness of wretches, and fools: for doubtless they be such that be proud, otherwise I am sure they would never be proud, neither is it written without cause in the book of Wisdom: That all that are foolish & unfortunate, are proud about the measure of their soul. And truly, if they were wise for their soul's health, their mean were to abase their estate, knowing their own imbecility. For so thou readest it written in the same book: He that is a king to day, shall die to morrow. And when a man dieth, he shall have serpents, and beasts, and worms for his inheritance. The beginning of pride is to fall from God, for that he forsaketh him that made him, and forasmuch as pride is the beginning of all sin. Thou knowest all other things, which being diligently weighed, thou shalt perceive how foul a monster a proud man is.   

Of Agues. The cxii Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Burn with Agues.  Reason. 
This heat will end in process of time, or else with cold: which ever of the twain it be, it is well.  Sorrow. 
I am grieved with agues.  Reason. 
All this motion against nature, is of more vehemency than continuance, and of these twain it always doth the one, either it cleanseth the body, or setteth the soul at liberty.  Sorrow. 
I am holden with Agues.  Reason. 
Stay a while, thou shalt not long be holden: for either thou shalt soon be discharged thereof, or set at liberty: and either of them is very good.  Sorrow. 
I am sick of an Ague.  Reason. 
Thou shalt be at quiet anon: nature striveth with death, attend the end of the battle, for the hour draweth nigh, which shall either free thee from thy sickensse, or discharge thee from al.  Sorrow. 
I burn with the Ague.  Reason. 
It is less harm for the body to burn then the foul, whereof thou madest thy last seven complaints: and how if the scorching of the one, be medicinable for the other? Finally, how much more better is it by a short cast of the evils of this present life, to be put in mind of the everlasting punishment, to the end that men may study to avoid infinite bitterness, who so grievously sustain the sharpness of a few hours, and by these troubles learn to fly them, from which neither the Physician, nor herbs, nor the critical day, nor death can deliver them?  Sorrow. 
I try with the Fever.  Reason. 
The worms meat is roasted: suffer thyself to be burned for other, for whom other meats have been so often times burned, and take advisement of the punishment. Many evils have stood in steed of remedies: a small grief in the present time hath often given men occasion to provide for greater to come, and that which was painful becometh profitable. Happy is that short burning, which is the cause of eternal joy.  Sorrow. 
I am molested with the Ague.  Reason. 
Now shalt thou be an upright judge of prosperous health. For you men being an unthankful generation, cannot acknowledge the gifts of God, unless they be lost, or surcease.  Sorrow. 
I am sore vexed with a grievous ague.  Reason. 
You cannot long continued together. No man can burn long: For either thou wilt shortly forsake thine ague, or else thine ague will leave thee.   

Of the pain of the guts, and Trance. The cxiii Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Suffer the pain of the guts.  Reason. 
Begin to hope, for there can happen now nothing more grievous unto thee. For like as it is the beginning of sorrow, to come to the uttermost degree of pleasure, so likewise the extremity of sorrow must needs be the beginning of pleasure. This is the law of contraries, that the one springeth from the end of the other.  Sorrow. 
I am tormented with the Iliake passion.  Reason. 
It is, I confess, an hard kind of comfort, that a man can suffer nothing more bitter.  Sorrow. 
I am vexed with the Iliake passion.  Reason. 
Who so is sorry and feareth, is in wretched case: but fear, which is the one half of misery, is taken from thee on every side: for whereof, I pray thee, need he to be afeard, who hopeth for death whereof above all things men stand most in dread?  Sorrow. 
I am martyred with the pain in the gu●tes.  Reason. 
While thou livest learn to die, and that which must be done but once, assay thou to do often, & then at length thou shalt do that more safely once, which thou hast assayed to do so often: for that which thou dost then, shallbe no strange thing to thee. The pain in the guts, is much like unto death, saving that death is shorter and easier, so that he that can bear that pain valiantly, unless some other fear come between and altar the case, shall much more valiantly endure death.  Sorrow. 
I am torn in pieces by the iliacke passion.  Reason. 
The vehemency of the pain promiseth an end: for there is no man long a dying.  Sorrow. 
Yea, the very pain driveth me into a sound.  Reason. 
The long pains of fevers thou passest over with one breathing.  Sorrow. 
I feel how I am fallen into a trance.  Reason. 
A man shall scarce perceive when it is coming: for it cometh suddenly, and when it is come, it presently depriveth the understanding of all force.  Sorrow. 
I begin to faint.  Reason. 
O, happy art thou, that shalt pass over so assured and hard a thing without sense.  Sorrow. 
I fall often times into a trance.  Reason. 
Thou returnest often from death to life.  Sorrow. 
I fall very often into a deadly trance.  Reason. 
Thou canst not fall into that twice. For none dieth more than once: and which should be the best kind of death, there was sometime disputation among certain learned and notable men, at which was julius Caesar in presence, for empire and learning a most excellent parsonage: who also in his latter time, as some write of him, used many times to faint suddenly, which question he in this manner determined, concluding, that a sudden and unlooked for death, was of all the most commodious. Which opinion, although unto godliness and true religion it seem very hard, notwithstanding every one that wise is, but specially godly, and studious of true religion aught so to live, that nothing may befall unto him suddenly and unlooked for, and if any such thing happen to the mind, that the soddennesse thereof hurt it not, but profit also the body.   

Of sundry pains and griefs of the whole body. The cxiiii Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Am grieved in all parts of my body.  Reason. 
If thy mind, which is the gheast of the body, be not grieved nor troubled, it is well: whatsoever happeneth unto the poor cottage thereof, shall redounded (I hope) unto the safety of it.  Sorrow. 
I am vexed in all my body, which is a grievous pain.  Reason. 
The stoics say, that among all human things, only virtue is good. And although others be of another opinion, yet this is the more true and manly, as seemeth unto me, and many more: whereof it followeth, that whatsoever is contrary hereunto, is a vice: whereby it cometh to pass, that although the pain of the body be most grievous, yet it is not evil.  Sorrow. 
Alas poor wretch how I am tormented, and thou disputest, and all are but philosophical fables.  Reason. 
Thou showest thyself to be a wretch, if it were but in this point only, for that thou callest the rules of man's life, fables.  Sorrow. 
These things are plausible in the schools, and famous in books, but they are not able to enter into the rack, or to climb up into the beds of the sick, they be spoken and written, more easily then practised.  Reason. 
Yes truly, they be profitable against pain, and sickness, and death, but not unto all, for that they cannot sink into all men's minds, and truly unto those that will give no credit to them, they can do no pleasure.  Sorrow. 
Alas I am tormented, and thou disputest.  Reason. 
This thy sorrow must needs be long, or vehement, and therefore requireth either easy, or short patience.  Sorrow. 
Alas, alas, I am cruelly vexed.  Reason. 
If thy pain be extreme, then must it needs be short, and therefore lament no more, for it must needs either go away from thee, or set thee packing: set thy doors wide open for either liberty, and remember in the mean while that it is a valiant and manly thing to bear human chances with indifferency.  Sorrow. 
It is a goodly matter, I grant, in words to speak it, but truly I think to do it, impossible.  Reason. 
It is not the impossibility of the things, but the flintiness of men that causeth innumerable to forsake virtue, and will 'cause many hereafter, whiles every hard thing is refused as impossible. Thus virtue perisheth, whose subject is a certain difficulty, but that which is honest.  Sorrow. 
We be men, and no gods, and poor dying bodies are not able to abide the force of pain.  Reason. 
That men's bodies are frail I cannot deny, but yet not so frail but that they have strength enough to bear all adversity, were it not that the infirmity of your minds were much greater. This is it which forceth out of men unseemly houlynges, and womanish and effeminate voices: For (I pray thee) why shouldest thou think that impossible for a man, to do, which thou seest that in old times men could do, and did also?  Sorrow. 
Alas, I am now called away agaynt unto histories, and in the very midst of the pains of my grief, being scarce mindful of myself, I am revoked unto the remembrance of ancient examples.  Reason. 
Doth not then the remembrance of most excellent men, who valiantly sustained the like, bring great ease and comfort in all adversity?  Sorrow. 
I know it well, but thou canst allege unto me but few whom I may imitate: thy advise is glorious, but to high for man, and above his capacity.  Reason. 
Why sayest thou above man's capacity? Seeing they are not the reasons and examples of gods, but of men, which I lay before thee.  Sorrow. 
Of men in deed I grant, marry but of few, whose rareness is such, as almost they are none at all: and I can see but small difference between the Phoenix and Chimaera: but I follow them which say that Chimaera is nothing, for among some it is an hill in Sicil.  Reason. 
As though that the Phoenix were laid before thee to imitate, and not almost an whole army of men, who the rarer they be found, so much the more worthy they are, whom thou shouldest covet to be like: whosoever neglecteth to follow rare men, shall never be rare man himself.  Sorrow. 
I perceive how thou wouldst have me be one of a few, but I am one of many.  Reason. 
I had rather almost that thou were no body, then to be one of many: I cannot determine whether it were better not to be at all, then to be a fool: for to be one of the greatest number, and to be a fool, is all one.  Sorrow. 
I know that there is nothing worse, than not to be at al.  Reason. 
Thou knowest not how ill it is to be somewhat, nor to be what thou oughtest to be.  Sorrow. 
Thou speakest this, although that must needs happen to all, which by chance befalleth unto one, which thou wouldst have to be applied unto al.  Reason. 
Thou sayest ill, to happen, for verive cometh not by hap, but altogether by deliberation and election, and is gotten, not by chance, but by study. Neither do I draw that unto all which chance hath given unto few, but that which virtue hath given to many do I draw unto one, being willing to draw it to all, but I am wearied even in one.  Sorrow. 
But all men cannot do all things.  Reason. 
That this is not only a poetical, but also a shepheardly speech, I know very well: but I would that thou shouldest have a power or a will to do that which all cannot do, which now thou canst, and I desire that thou wouldst have a will to do it.  Sorrow. 
Alas, why dost thou disquiet me poor wretch, is it not sufficient that I am vexed with pain?  Reason. 
I go about rather to procure thy quietness, & to take away this torment from thee, which I shallbe never able to do alone, unless thou set to thine helping hand.  Sorrow. 
fie, fie, what is that which thou sayest that I am able to do? Can I otherwise choose then feel the pain which I feel? or deny that to be evil, which in deed I find to be very ill?  Reason. 
The first I will not require at thy hands, for nature gaynesayeth it: the second, that I may not obtain, it is not nature, nor truth, but only error that withstandeth.  Sorrow. 
Out alas, to what purpose serve these foolish discourses which you call philosophical? I know certainly, that pain is no infirmity of the mind, but of the body: I know that pain is anotheer thing from falsehood: to be in pain one thing & to steal another: these things, that thou mayest teeth me no new matter, yea though thou add nothing unto them, are of themselves I know a great evil, & also that pain is of itself evil, I know well enough: the means & way how to know which thing to be so, I do not want, but rather how to suffer, or most of all to drive it away. For I know very well, & I would I knew not so much, what pain is.  Reason. 
And I know also that pain is a bitter thing, cruel, horrible, sour, sharp, contrary to nature, odious to the senses, but which notwithstanding may not only be made sweet by the assistance of virtue, as Epicurus said, dissending from himself, but also be lenified and rebated, and also the greater vehemency thereof, if the mind be armed with true virtue, either be felt more tolerably, or in a manner not be felt at al.  Sorrow. 
Armed or unarmed, I sustain most cruel pain, and profess that it is a very evil thing.  Reason. 
I would wish rather to hear some other profession of thee.  Sorrow. 
If we be again called back unto plausible and fair things, magnifical words do delight the ears, but true speeches the mind: and what if the bodily grief be greater than the patience of the mind?  Reason. 
What if there be no delights nor griefs of the body, nor afflictions whatsoever overth wharting, that are comparable to the strength of the mind? What if in all conflicts, if so be that it willingly gave not over, but with all force and unfeignedly resisted the adversary, it always had the upper hand, and departed the conqueror?  Sorrow. 
What if it happen, that unto the intollerablenesse of the pain, there ve added some farther grief, as filthiness, loathsomeness, and shame of the disease? What if the foul leprosy have invaded the corrupt and wretched carcase? In this case what will thy talk avail me?  Reason. 
Very much truly, if thou reject it not, for it will discover thee unto thyself, who seeing all things, yet seest not thyself: It will also 'cause thee to remember that this thy poor carcase is made of the earth, & so mortal, not ayreal and eternal. Neither oughtest thou to marvel, or take in ill part, if corruption enter upon her own earth, and the substance of man departed unto it own natural place, if also the mind, and most excellent matter whereof man consisteth, unless they rebel, be disposed and directed unto felicity is and everlasting perpetuity, and the viler substance subject to death, and capable of all kind of misery. Therefore, whether it be the leprosse, or falling sickness, or whatsoever can happen more loathsome or grievous than any of these, thou must think assuredly, that there is no more fallen upon this vessel of misery, then that which the potter that made it, appointed unto it from the beginning, against whom the vessels of Clay are warned not to murmur, although he have made some of them to honour, and some to dishonour, but all frail and mortal.  Sorrow. 
Shall I then, by thine advice, bear this leprosy without murmur or complaint?  Reason. 
Yea truly, by mine advice and counsel: to whom if thou canst prove, that thy murmur and complaints do any whit profit thee, or assuage thy grief, then will I change mine opinion, and suffer thee, or rather exhort thee to do them both. But if repining and complaints be nothing else, but an increasing of the mischief, what shall it avail thee to heap the sickness of the mind, upon the infirmity of the body, and by lamenting to make thyself more miserable, and him more sharp against thee, who beholdeth the traveles of men from an high, and considereth their patience to requited it with remedy or reward? Is it a small comfort against all plagues and afflictions of the body, or because thou bewailest this one by name, against this also, to know that the leprosy is an infirmity of the skin and colour, not of the good estate or integrity of the senses and limbs, as we know S. Augustine holdeth opinion, and natural Philosophers do not gainsay. But admit that it pierce the skin, and tearing the flesh, enter into the very entrails, as we read it did unto Plotinus the great Platonike? Truly into the soul it can not enter, unless itself consent thereto, which being in good health, it will no more regard the outward shape and look of the body, then will a sound and healthful guest be moved, to see the outward walls of his Inn where he lodgeth, to pill and be rough, by reason of wind and weather. Yea, moreover, the leprosy taketh him that is infected therewith, from among the common people, and continual conversation with such men, whose company to avoid, they aught to refuse no pains whatsoever, nor to crave aid thereunto of any whosoever: but to be short, in bringing the body into great loathsomeness, it delivereth the mind of as much altogether.  Sorrow. 
Alas, how should I believe one that praiseth the vilest things?  Reason. 
They are not the diseases of the body, but the vices of the mind, which are the vilest things: neither do I therefore praise the leprosy, because I commend equanimity and patience: and I exhort thee also, not to take in so ill part and so lamentably thy private hap in human affairs, seeing that it is common unto thee, with the mighty Emperor and great Philosopher Constantinus, and Plotinus, of whom we talked erewhile. And last of all, it is convenient for thee to lay before thine eyes, how that the Lord hateth not the Leprosy, but sin, yea the very same Lord that is judge both of men and angels, of whom it is written: The evil doer shall not devil near unto thee, nor the unrighteous stand before thine eyes: Yet did be not nevertheless abhor, nor flee from the Leprous, but frequented their houses, and kept company with them at feasts and banqueties.  Sorrow. 
Thou overcomest me with words, and pain in deeds, wherein I give no credit unto the trifling of Philosophers, but to mine own senses, and what they tell me I know well enough.  Reason. 
first, the gravity of the whole body of Philosophy is not overthrown, in respect of the triflings, as thou truly termest them, of certain Philosophers, which in deed I can not excuse nor deny: which Philosophy, both in this whereof we now entreat, as also in many other things, is only the undoubted rampire in earth of a troubled mind. And lastly, there is nothing more absurd among them that love me, then for them to seek after the truth by the deceivable judgement of the senses: for the truth aught not be sought by the senses, but by wit and study.  Sorrow. 
Alas, why dost thou vex me, and add weariness unto my pain? Gone me rather some remedy, for neither thou, not yet Philosophy herself, as much as she maketh for thee, shall ever constrain me to confess that I feel no that, which I feel in deed.  Reason. 
The delicate and loothing patient must some time be obeyed, and now & then he must be suffered to use that, which of itself being hurtful, becometh profitable by means of his longing for it. And so am I content like wise to suffer, that if sickness, if punishment, if offence, if affliction be evils of the body, which of the stoics seem to be called discommodities, that the pain which riseth thereof may appear to be, and to be rightly called evil, and if thou wilt have it so a great evil too: but yet such an evil as may be overcome by virtue, and that I may no longer stand in contention of the word, our friend Cicero shall reconcile us well together. For I do not deny, saith he, but that pain is pain in deed: for else, why should Fortitude be required? but I say, that it is overcome by patience, if so be patience be any thing at all, but if it be nothing, to what end are we garnished with Philosophy, or why are we made glorious with her name? Thus much saith Cicero. Much more also in the same place, is by him divinely set down against this inconvenience or mischief, in the second days disputation of his Tusculane questions, comprehending the discourses of five days in equal number of books, which place I thought good to point out unto thee, for that it is very effectual unto that, whereof thou standest now in need, especially patience, and courage of mind, which being impaired and lost, false opinions of the common multitude creep in, and lamentations unmeet for men, break forth.  Sorrow. 
Now thou layest thine hand nearer my grief, teaching me where I may find those things, which unto me, being in this case, will I trust, be better and more convenient, than the brutish and stony opinions of the stoics: although also in trusting, I distrust. For whiles being greedy of remedy, I repeat often unto myself the same place, the better to endure the pain, nevertheless I shall be never able of myself, neither by the help of Cicero, nor any other to find sufficient ability there unto.  Reason. 
This distrust I do not discommend, but rather praise: let no man trust much to himself, but in all difficulties, seek help not of man, but of GOD: howbeit, not in such sort, that he believe that there shall come Angels down from heaven armed, to deliver him. GOD sometime perhaps favoureth wicked men, but as for the slothful, he never helpeth them. If thou wouldst seem worthy of succour, do as much as in thee lieth, to stir up, to advance, and to arm thy mind, which being done, bring him forth into the field against the Enemies.  Sorrow. 
The residue, I suppose, I understand what thou meanest: but this one thing I demand, which be these weapons of the mind, whereof thou speakest?  Reason. 
This is well: Now I conceive some hope of thy welfare. In the sharpness of matters to weep, is womanyshe: but endeavour against a thing, to resist it: to seek counsel and help, is the part of a man, and effectual to prevail. The weapons of the mind, and the skill and policy in fight, are many and divers, according to the diversity of the enemies. Neither is there any duty in Philosophy more profitable or holy, then to entreat of these, which as I suppose, do more appertain unto you, then to know what the planets do, what the aspect of jupiter promiseth in a nativity, what Saturn threateneth being in conjunction with Mars, what qualities Mercurius the wandering interpreter taketh from the father and brethren, what he borroweth of every one that he meeteth, what is the cause of showers and heat, whereof come earthquakes, by what power and force the deep Seas do swell: and not to know from whence the cold, heat, swelling, quaking, and weakness of the mind proceed, and by what means the heat may be tempered, the swelling assuaged, the quaking and weakness strengthened and confirmed. In which practice, although Aristotle do laugh and gibe at Socrates, yet perhaps, afterward he changed his mind, and followed the same study not a little. But these matters are commonly to be found dispersed in the writings of the Philosophers, wherewith to furnish the ignorant were over tedious, and too long a matter for this brief discourse, and unto the skilful superfluous, who needeth not to be taught, but only admonished.  Sorrow. 
I know it is so, neither demanded I of all things, but only this one, what weapons thou wouldst specially minister unto me, wherewith I might encounter this mine enemy pain, against whom I now fight?  Reason. 
Hereunto can I not answer thee better, nor brieflyer, then doth Cicero. For he asketh the question as thou doest: And what weapons, saith he, are these? He answereth immediately, Earnest endeavour, confirmation, and Inward communication.  Sorrow. 
Discourse, I pray thee, upon every one of them: for I have read them many times heretofore, howbeit I am afeard, jest it happen unto me, as it doth unto many, who when they read any thing to themselves, think that they understand all, but when they come to utter themselves before other, then perceive they that they understand nothing. And therefore tell me, if you please, what is this earnest endeavour?  Reason. 
This appeareth sufficiently, if thou proceed a little forward in Cicero's own words: but that thou shalt not seem to ask any thing of me in vain, I will declare the same another way. There be many things like in the minds and bodies, and as there is no force of the body so great, so likewise is there no strength of the mind of such power, which with a sudden and heavy burden will not quail and bend. See that they be evermore provided, and ready, lest they be both overthrown by their own greatness, but that when need shall require, they be found prepared: for many times a very valiant man hath been sore afeard, at the sudden meeting of a mighty enemy. give thy mind space to refresh itself, and to show forth it own strength in the present danger, and then shall it receive the assault of the enemy with security. The Champions that are ready to combat at the exercise called Caestes, make ready their arms, and set their neck and shoulders unto the burden, & by bending their strength, they show the more valour in the fight, & having prepared themselves, they bear that weight more easily, under which if they went slothfully to work, they might happen to fall more dangerously. In like manner, whensoever there appeareth any great difficulty, the mind must be bend against it, which if it be thoroughly done, it shall become conqueror over all extremities: otherwise incredible it is to be spoken, how soon a sluggyshe and unprovided mind is overthrown by a small occasion. This is that same earnest endeavour of mind, whereof Cicero speaketh, or whether thou hadst rather have it termed an Intention of the mind, for both these words have but one signification, indifferently, as thou feast used by him, & derived both from one word.  Sorrow. 
I perceive, and hear thee gadly, but what is Confirmation?  Reason. 
I will show thee: In the minds that are most valiant, there are some points of distrust to be sound joined with other laudable affections, and although they be truly persuaded, yet false matters sound about their ears, and such a multitude of populare errors assemble themselves to vanquish the castle of their mind, that it is an hard matter for it to keep upright judgement. For sometime there cometh upon it a certain dullness, and sometime a doubting whether those things be true or not, which are commonly reported by men of great learning and holiness, concerning the virtue of patience, of the comeliness of honesty, and the brightness of glory, or rather that which is disputed by others, and liked of the common people: to wit, that the best thing that can be, is to be out of pain, that there is nothing worse than pain, and that pleasure is the end of all, whatsoever is good: also, that as for the first, they are the sayings but of few, but these the speeches well-nigh of all men, whereof some times the noise is so great, that these few voices of those that do exhort, can not be heard, and the keepers of the Castles being made afeard, forsake their charge, and provide for themselves by flight. In this case, the mind which is doubtful and uncertain to which side to turn, aught to be rescued with a fresh force, that it fall not from it ancient persuasion, as sometime did Dionysius Heracleontes, who when on a time being overcome with pain, he had rejected that opinion of his Schoolmaster Zeno, concerning pain, he deserved to be mocked of his Schoolefellow Cleantes Let him not, I say, forget, but resist, and keep his feet within the steps which he hath possessed, understanding what is a true thing in deed, and what shadowed: neither let him be afeard of Bugs, nor moved at outcries, assuring himself, that pain is nothing but dastardliness, which dastardliness, as also pain, & death, and all difficult things may be overcome by virtue. In this opinion let him continued fixed and unmovable, being ready valiantly to suffer that for virtue sake, which is terrible unto many to think upon, which could never be done by any man that had not loved the most singular beauty of virtue, above the glittering of gold and precious stones, above the gleaming of women's faces, or any other thing that may be desired. By this confirmation of the mind, both false opinions, and needless fear is weakened, and the sharpness of pain assuaged. And many times that cometh to pass, whereof Cicero speaketh, that like as in battle the Soldier that is afeard, and throweth his weapon from him, when he seeth his enemy coming, and by running away, falleth into danger, where, if he had stood to it, there had been none at all: even so, the very imagination of pain, discomforteth a dastardly mind, which if it had been armed and furnished with virtue, should have escaped in safety, & gone away conqueror over pain, and have felt almost no grief at al. For by patience not only the strength of the mind is increased, but also the sharpness of pain diminished, and almost consumed to nothing: Whereby it cometh to pass, that in most horrible pains, some have borne themselves upright and unmovable, and othersome have been meerie, which could not have been so, unless the mind being turned from feeling the pain, had put on the same firmitude and constancy against it, whereof we nowespeake.  Sorrow. 
I begin to understand thee: but proceed to tell me what is the inward speech.  Reason. 
That also will I tell thee. It is a valiant mind, which indifferently despiseth pleasure and pain, and will not yield awhitte unto eythet: but when it perceiveth itself to be in danger, and beset round with emmies, then taketh weapon in hand, and going forward, and animating itself to the conflict, talketh much with itself, and with it own God: although Cicero, either knew not this last, or knew not how to do it truly, not for lack of wit, but for want of grace. Verily, than such kind of talk whereof I speak, there is none more effectual, either to the observing of comeliness, or inflaming the strength to the ensuing of those things, whereof we have entreated, or to the bringing of our purpose to a wished end. Nevertheless, there must not one sort of words be used, both against the flatteries of pleasure, and the threats of pain, but diverse, as it is an easy matter in either case for the skilful, to discern which are those flatteries, and which the threats, and how far inferior they are unto virtue. But because we entreated but of the one of them, I will also allege one example, but truly a notable one, by means whereof, thou mayst be the more perfect in all the residue. And what is then this inward speech, which is required in pain? Thou remember'st what words the Poet Lucan maketh Pompeius the great to use, among the swords of the murderers: but because it is but a speech feigned by the Poet, according to the quality of the person, and expressed according to the greatness of the man, in such words, as might seem agreeable to the valour of his mind, being in that case: therefore will I let that pass, and recite another true and new example, which many, that are yet alive in this age, themselves have seen. It is of the same courageous and invincible ancient Samnite, who, when at the commandment of him, whose name it were better to suppress in silence, he was drawn in a Cart naked about the City, sitting between two Tormentors, who with hot glowing tongues teared his flesh from the bones on every side, and the people wept to behold so miserable and heavy a spectacle, he with dry eyes, and grave constancy of voice speaking unto himself, said: What do we, O my soul? Be of good comfort, I pray thee, and do not faint, neither be angry, nor afeard: although this be painful for a time, it shall not continued long, but be profitable, doubt not, for our everlasting salvation, and this punishment be more grievous unto him that commanded it, then to thee that sufferest it. Lift up thyself, O soul, and abandon all fear, put thy trust in GOD, & anon all shallbe at an end. By which words, how great a boldness he gathered to himself, and engendered the like within the hearts of the hearers, it is incredible to be spoken: how great courage with compassion, constancy, security, patience he procured to himself and others. Although, if it were diligently examined, this whereof we speak, is no inward, but an outward speech, for that, as I have said, it was outwardly heard of many, yet this and such like words may be spoken by other in silence, & perhaps were spoken so by him also, for sometime he held his peace, & sometime he broke forth into these words which I have recited. Moreover, this inward speech may be understood another way: when as a man regardeth from whence it cometh, & not whither it is heard, as I suppose it verified in this man, when he spoke with himself: but of one that in his pains and dangers commoneth with God, there is no example more notable, than first of job, & secondly of Theodosius: The one being strooken by the hand of God, and full of botches, with what after a manner chiding liberty doth he call upon God, and erect himself unto him with a fervent and complaining devotion? The other, with how small a train being beset round with an innumerable army of Barbarians, with what ardency and sighs did he call upon God as if he had been present? Thou hast heard the history.  Sorrow. 
I have heard in deed, and remember it will, and by examples I understand what thou meanest, and I give Cicero hearty thanks, from whose three small grains I have reaped three great ears of corn, from which by due tillage and husbanding there may be gathered a great harvest.  Reason. 
True it is in deed, for the words of the learned are very fruitful, and as it were withchylde, they contain more matter than they show for, insomuch as thou seemedst unto me to have forgotten thy pains and plaints as long as I talked with thee. Whereby thou gatherest, that an earnest imagination of an honest thing, whereupon the whole mind is bend without with drawing unto any other matters, may procure great relief unto all manner pain and grievousness.  Sorrow. 
It may be as thou sayest in deed, howbeit I am very far from that health of mind which thou pretendest, and I am greatly in doubt whether pain may be assuaged, or taken away by them all, or whither they be words that do only fill the mind, and delight the ears, but nothing at all appease grief.  Reason. 
Words, I confess, cure not the body, unless ●eraduanture enchantments, and old wives charms deserve any credit, nevertheless they cure the diseases of the mind, whose good health verily either extinguisheth or appeaseth all bodily pain. If there were no patience, learned men would never have disputed so much of it, neither so many arguments hereof should have taken so firm hold fast in their minds, eyes, and ears. How many representations of things dost thou retain in memory, how many examples hast thou seen or read, how many histories hast thou perused, in which it is not proved, but manifestly declared, that this is so as I say: and that if all sense of pain be not quenched through patience, which I hold opinion may be so, & oftentimes hath been found so, yet that the conquest is gotten over pain, & valour procured thereby to endure it manfully? What had Cneius Marius in him more than thou hast, who was a man altogether void of learning, but rich in martial virtues: was not he likewise made of flesh, blood, and bones? What more had Mutius, and Pompeius? What Zeno, Theodorus, & Theodatus, Possidonius & Anaxarchus with others innumerable, whereof some being of a servile degree, but of marvelous nobility of mind, sustained all kinds of punishment & tortures, not only with courage, but also with pleasure? And if ye would convert your minds and memories unto your own country folks, ye should find among them very boys and girls which have suffered that with joy, which you being men cannot abide without tears, and complaints. But now I perceive, how that I have stayed upon a matter of all other, as ye say, most difficult and sharp, longer than hath been my custom to do, wherefore I think it meet to make an end, seeing that if virtue cannot mitigate pain, it were folly to expect to assuage it with words.  Sorrow. 
Alas, thou urgest me at the one side, and pain vexeth me on the other, and I know not which to credit.  Reason. 
Credit the noblest: wherein this will also much avail thee, to think upon that most excellent and glorious light of the world, him I mean, who in himself united the nature of God and man, who endured so many & great torments for thy sake, that those which thou sufrest in respect thereof are but easy, yea sweet, and to be counted a play. They that follow this kind of remedy shall perceive that the Philosophers knew nothing.   

Of Madness. The cxu Dialogue.  FEAR. 
I Am afeard lest overmuch pain make me mad.  Reason. 
Withstand it by wholesome and pleasant thoughts. Some through manifold passions and affections that are not good nor sound, do open the way unto madness, and at length fall into perfect fury, like as the Philosophers hold opinion that contrariwise an assured habit or custom of virtue is gained by often frequenting the actions thereof.  Sorrow. 
I am afeard of a frenzy.  Reason. 
If it be like to come through some vice of the mind, arm it with virtue which is the proper armour thereof: but if of the body, thou must ask counsel and secure at the hands of the Physicians, which are the governors of men's bodies. But if so be that thou have none near unto thee, or if they that profess that science be unskilful in thy disease, then will I prescribe thee this one rule, to use abstinence, and flee all excess. It is no less well known then ancient, how that the holy fathers build their bodies with virtue, wherein it much availeth both the body and mind to bridle Lechery and Gluttony. Many have been overthrown by lechery, many oppressed by surfeit, many consumed with sleep, many drowned in drunkenness, and many through the fervency and outrage of their life, and the furious licentiousness of their mind, have fallen into stark madness.  Fear. 
I doubt, least naturally I fall into a frenzy.  Reason. 
That which nature bringeth may be hard, but not miserable: for why, it wanteth offence, which is the root of misery. And seeing thou hast the grace to foresee it, follow this advice, that if madness cannot be eschewed, yet at the leastwise it may find thee in good and perfect estate of soul. For if thou begin to wax mad being an innocent and without sin, then shalt thou die an innocent, or recover an innocent. There is no age, no holiness, no wakefulness that so well preserveth innocency as madness doth, look in what case it taketh a man, in the same it leaveth him.  Fear. 
I am afeard to be mad.  Reason. 
Art thou a feared to have great personages, Kings and Queens to be thy companions? Dost thou disdain Hercules and Ajax, Hecuba and Cassandra: and in another kind, Lucretia and Empedocles?  Fear. 
I am afeard to be distraught.  Reason. 
That distraught persons have used to prophecy of many things to come, we have heard say, in such sort that no wise man could do the like, to such excellency hath this vagrant and furious frenzy attained. And this was the cause, why the Grecians termed that Mantice in their tongue, that is to say, fury, which you in yours call Divinatio prophecy.  Fear. 
I abhor the force of madness.  Reason. 
We have seen the sober sorrowful, and the mad merry, although deceived in their opinion: yea error also hath it peculiar delights.  Fear. 
The fear of being mad, molesteth my mind.  Reason. 
Some have sought after rest from labour by sergeant madness, but true fury indeed will procure true rest and quietness.   

Of Poison. The cxvi Dialogue.  FEAR. 
I Fear poisoning.  Reason. 
Abstain from eating and drinking commonly abroad, or thou carest not with whom, use the diligence of thine assured friends about thee, suspicious persons expel out of thine house, drink no thick wines, nor troubled drinks, eschew puddings, sausages, froyses, and all manner confected and mingled meats, be wary in thy feeding, use temperance, and eat not to hastily. Flee greedy devouring, which hath cast away many both by this way, and by other kinds of death. While thou sittest at the table let thy hand be slow, thy eye quick, thy mind swift, and mindful of the danger, and let not thine own eyes, and mind only be attentive, but use also the diligence herein of thy friends and servants. Great circumspection preventeth great dangers, and he that is careless may soon be overtaken.  Fear. 
I stand in fear of poisoning.  Reason. 
I have taught thee a busy medicine: but wilt thou hear the easiest of all? Be poor, and thou shalt not need to stand in hear of poisoning. For the mean degree is not in danger to this mischief, but is the mother of security, and expulser of all terrors, and the most effectual and present remedy, which being denied unto none, is enforced upon some against their wills: The same is of no less virtue, then easy to be had, and doubtless very safe to be used, although in the working somewhat rough and unpleasant. The virtues hereof are these: It represseth the swelling of the mind, it cleanseth malice, it purgeth anger, and cureth the unsatiable dropsy and desire to drink and have, the the more aman hath and drinketh, and the causes of all dangers it plucketh up by the roots. Your riches are full of deceitfulness and fear, they fear cups aswell as swords, and dishes no less than darts: there is neither your table, nor your house, nor your chamber, nor your bed void of danger. All things about you are uncertain and suspicious, and threaten unto men present death: as Virgil speaketh in a tempest, and may be verified of you in a calm, and all this is long of your sweet riches which ye love so entirely. As for poverty, saving that it is slaundrously reported of by the common people, and for the very name odious unto them, all things are safe in it, and if ever the vain glorious desire to be magnified by the multitude should fail, altogether pleasant, sweet, quiet, and be wished. But learn at length, you earthly creatures, to eat and drink in glassen and earthen vessels, if ye will eat and drink in safety, for poison is mingled in cups of gold and precious stone. O covetousness, how far wilt thou proceed? Yea, poison is in love with gold and precious stones, against which most wretched plague, neither the electuary of Mithridates king of Pontus, nor of any other, be he never so cunning, is more effectual than is poverty.  Sorrow. 
I have drunken poison, death swimmeth now in my entrails.  Reason. 
When thou hast once persuaded thyself that thou must die, which all men must needs determine that remember themselves to be mortal, what skilleth it whether thou die by thirsting or drinking, or whether imbrued with thine own blood or with wine? In this kind of death thou shalt have great personages that have been drinking fellows with thee of this confection, to wit, Alexander, Hannibal, Philippomenes, Mithridates, Claudius himself, Theramenes, and Socrates.   

Of the fear of death. The cxvii Dialogue.  FEAR. 
I Fear to die.  Reason. 
Herein thou oughtest not to fear, but to muse: which musing of thine, if it began now first in thee, then hath it not grown up with thee from thine infancy. But if it come upon thee but by fits, and is not continual, than hast thou lived unwisely. For this most excellent and profitable advice of the Poet Horace, aught most firmly to be engrafted within the very marrow of thy bones. Between hope and care, and between fear & anger, think every day to be the last that thou shalt live: that thou mayst be such an one as he speaketh of in an other place. He shall lead his life merrily and under his own government, who is able to say every day, I have lived: Let to morrow be fair or foul while I am busy, I do not care. And this forsooth is that, which the Philosophers do so much commend, to live the forepast life, whereof I have spoken in an other place.  Fear. 
I fear to die.  Reason. 
Thou shouldest have feared also to be borne, & to live. The entrance into life is the beginning of death, and life itself is the passage to death, or rather more truly a very death in deed. By living either thou goest towards death, or rather, according to the judgement of the wise, thou beganst every hour to die. Why shouldest thou then be afeard of death, if death have either daily accompanied thy life, or of necessity do follow it? The first of these the learned only do understand, the other the common people do perceive: for what soever was borne, dieth, and what soever dieth, was borne.  Fear. 
I am afeard to die.  Reason. 
Fearest thou to die, that art a reasonable mortal creature, as the Philosophers do define thee? But if thou were verily the first, I suppose thou wouldst not fear the second, for that these two natures being joined in one, do fully accomplish the substance of man, to wit, reason, and death. The one concerneth the soul, the other the body, but want of reason, hath brought in the fear of death.  Fear. 
I fear death.  Reason. 
Nothing aught to be feared, which the necessity of nature importeth. Who so hateth or feareth the things that are natural, must needs hate or fear nature itself. Unless perhaps it be lawful to commend and embrace the one part thereof, and to condemn and despise the other, than which there is nothing more insolent, not only in men towards GOD, but also in one man towards another. And therefore, either thou wholly receivest or rejectest thy friend, lest if thou reap that only which is sweet, thou seem to be a partial judge and lover of friendship.  Fear. 
I abhor death.  Reason. 
If there be any evil in death, the same is increased by the fear of death. But if there be no evil in death, the fear thereof is a great evil: and it is a great folly for a man to procure, or increase his own harm.  Fear. 
I detest the very name of death.  Reason. 
The infirmity of mankind, hath made the name of death infamous. But if men had any courage of mind, they would no more fear death, than they would all other things that come by course of nature. And why shouldest thou more fear to die, then to be borne, to grow up, to hunger, to thirst, to wake, to sleep. Whereof this last is so like death, that some have termed it the cousin, and some the image of death. And that thou mayest not call this manner of speech either a poetical colour, and a Philosophical quirk, jesus Chryst the truth itself called the death of his friend, a sleep: and art thou afeard to do that once, wherein thou takest pleasure every day? This inconstancy do the learned wonder at, and also reprove.  Fear. 
These things are common and usual among the Philosophers, and bring delight while they are heard: but when they leave sounding, fear returneth.  Reason. 
Nay rather it remaineth: for if it were once gone, it would not return again: and moreover there is a certain fear of death naturally engraffed within the hearts of the common multitude. But it is a shame for a learned man to have the feeling but of the vulgar sort, whom it becometh, as I said erewhile, not to follow the steps of the greater part, but of a few. And concerning that which thou speakest of Philosophers, I much marvel, that since you learn the precepts of sailing of sailors, and of husbandry of husbandmen, and also of warfare of warriors, ye refuse to take advice how to direct your life of the Philosophers? And seeing you ask counsel of Phisitious for the cure of your bodies, why do you not resort also to Philosophers for the salving of your minds, who if they be true Philosophers in deed, they are both Physicians of your minds, and the instructors of this life? But if they be counterfeits, and puffed up only with the bore name of Philosophy, they are not only not to be sought unto for counsel, but to be avayded, than whom there is nothing more importunate, nothing more absurd: of whom this age is much more full than I could wish, and much more destitute of men, than I would it were. And therefore, seeing there is nothing else to be expected at the hands of them that are now present, but mere toys and trifles: yet if there be any thing alleged by them, which either they have found out themselves, or borrowed of the ancient writers, that may assuage thy grief, do not reject it, nor say as do the unlearned, this thou hadst out of the Philosophers. For than will I answer thee with Cicero: I thought thou wouldst have said, of whores and bawds. And to say the truth, where should a man fish or hunt, but where fishes and wild beasts are, in the waters and woods? Where is gold to be digged, or precious stones to be gathered, but where they grow? For they are to be found in the veins of the earth, and upon the shores of the sea. Where are merchandises to be had, but of merchants? Where pictures and images, but of painters and carvers? And last of all, where wilt thou expect Philosophical saws, but at the Philosopher's hands? Which, although they lie hid up by them in their treasuries and were first found out by them, nevertheless the same are set open and expounded by other, and that peradventure more plainly, or more pithily, or more briefly: or lastly disposed in some other order and method promising like hope unto all that hear them, but bringing success unto few. For such is the force of order and good joining, as Horace very well declareth in his Poeticalles, that one matter being diversly told representeth a greater grace unto the mind of the hearer, yea though it be a common thing that is told, such novelty may be added unto that which is old, and such light unto that which is evident, and such beauty unto that which is fair: which I have not now uttered, as lacking some other place more convenient thereunto, but because thou ministredst occasion at this present. For I would not have thee, do, as it is the manner of blind and ignorant pride, to disdain vulgar and usual things which thou hast heard once, and never understood.  Fear. 
I yield unto thee, for I see that thou art very ready in these admonitions, although far from effect to me wards: for I fear death yet neverthelatter.  Reason. 
There be certain things in name and opinion of men greater than in effect: certain afar of, have seemed terrible, which at hand have been ridiculous. It were no wisdom to believe the unexpert: there is not one of these defamers of death that can speak any thing to the purpose, for being unexpert, he can learn nothing at all, neither can he be instructed in any matter by one that is unexpert also. Ask a question of a dead man, & he will answer nothing, and yet it is he that knoweth the truth. They will babble most, that know death lest, and prophecy most vainly of it, wherein they have lest skill. Whereby it cometh to pass, that by some, death is made the most manifest thing, and of othersome, the most hidden secret, and this conjectural case is diversly tossed in suspicion. But in doubtful matters, it is good to cleave to the best opinion, and to hold that, which shall make the mind rather merry then dumpyshe.  Fear. 
My soul feareth death.  Reason. 
If in respect of itself, that fear is vain, for that the soul is immortal: But if in respect of the body, it is a thankless pity, to be careful of it enemy. But if it fear to be dissolved, it is to much in love with it own prison and bonds, which were but a very foolish affection.  Fear. 
I am troubled with the fear of death.  Reason. 
All fools are afeard to die: and no marvel, for all their felicity is in their body, which doubtless is by death extinguished. And therefore, not without cause, good men are sorry to hear of their end, and heavy to behold it. For this is the nature of man, that he can not live without desire not to be unhappy. It becometh a learned man, who maketh no other account of his body, then of a vile Drudge and filthy Carcase, whose diligence, and love, and hope, and study, is wholly reposed upon his mind, to esteem of the death of this body none otherwise, then as of his departure in the morning, out of some unpleasant and noisome lodging.  Fear. 
I can not choose but fear death.  Reason. 
Thou mayest refuse to fear the departure out of this life, if thou canst hope or wish for the entrance into an other: For hereof it is that the same fear riseth. And although there be commonly divers causes alleged of the fear of this departure, nevertheless they vanish away, when the hope of that other life is laid before the eyes.  Fear. 
I dread death.  Reason. 
The dread thereof is specially engendered by the lack of meditating thereon, and the sudden necessity of dying, which in a learned and wise man is most shameful, but specially in an old man, whose whole course and order of life, if he be learned and wise indeed, aught to be a continual meditation of death, Which if it seemed so unto the ancient Philosophy, what may it now appear unto your new devotion, which is the high Philosophy, and the true wisdom? Consider the manner of them that are commanded upon a sudden to go some far journey, how sad and careful they are to make up their carriage, and how they complain at their departure, and in a manner, repined that they had no longer warning before: so that as soon as their backs are turned, they think upon necessaries, which they have forgotten, and are discontented therewith. Now, there is no way longer, then to die, none harder as they say, none more noisome for thieves, none more obscure, none more suspicious, nor more uncertain, which though it wanted all these, yet is it unreturneable. By means whereof ye aught to be the more diligent, lest haply ye forget any thing, for that when ye are once departed from hence, ye can no longer do as they that occupy other trades, or undertake whatsoever other journey, that is to say, commit such things by their letters or messengers unto their friends to see unto, as they themselves have left forgotten. For ye are not able to send any message back, nor to stay in the place where ye were, nor to return again. You must needs go hence, it is not possible for you to return: ye must needs go thither, Soldiers, from whence it is not needful that ye come back again. Thus in Seneca said the Roman Captain to his men, and thus also saith your Captain to you. And therefore seeing ye must needs departed and come no more, and that the necessity of your journey is very certain, but the hour of death uncertain, this is your only remedy, to be always ready in mind, to answer when ye are called, and to obey when ye are commanded, and when all things are disposed in good order, at your Captains first commandment, to go forth on you journey courageously, which ye must needs take in hand either willingly, or in spite of your beards. This me thinketh, should very much abate your fear and pain of death, and make you not only careless, but also desirous to departed hence. Otherwise, if ye be unprovided and take no regard, the same may befall unto you, which Cicero once truly in his Epistles prophesied unto his friend Brutus: You shallbe suddenly oppressed, believe me friend Brutus, quoth he, unless ye foresee and make provision. And so truly it happeneth in deed, I say, unto all that use no forecast in that which is like to happen unto them hereafter. And seeing providence in all things is very necessary, yet is it specially to be regarded in those things which can be done no more but once, wherein one error sufficeth: for wheresoever the foot slippeth, there is an end.  Sorrow. 
Now do I very much abhor death.  Reason. 
Things deeply rooted, are not easily plucked up. I know well, as I said, that the fear of death is engrafted within the minds and senses of men, specially of the vulgar sort. As for the Philosophers, they accounted death neither good nor bad, for that they reckon it a thing of itself neither to be wished nor feared, but number it among things indifferent, which in respect of those that enjoy them, some time they term good, and some time evil. Which thing I perceive well to be liked of one of your religion, who said, that the death of sinners was evil, but of the Saints and virtuous men most precious.  Sorrow. 
I fear death, I hate death.  Reason. 
From whence this fear and hatred of death cometh unto men, verily I should much marvel, were it not that I knew the daintiness of your minds, whereby ye nourish and increase this and such like degenerate kinds of fear. doest thou not perceive, how that the greater part of men are afeard of the very name of death? Which, what is it other, then to abhor your own nature, and to hate that which ye are borne to be, than which, there is nothing more vain among men, nor more unthankful towards GOD. How many are there which with grief do hear that name, which aught always to beat upon the inner ear? Without the which, there is no man that can think upon himself: for what should he think himself to be other than a mortal creature? As often as a man turneth back into the consideration of himself, doth not the name of death presently come into his mind? But ye abhor that, as though death would force in at the ear, and ye turn away your minds, & strive to forget that, which will by and by compel the most unwilling of you all, to have it in remembrance. For lo, ye refuse to think upon death, which not long after, ye must of necessity both think upon, & also suffer, the insult whereof, would a great deal the more easily be borne, if it were thought upon before: but now that both of them are brought to a narrow point together, the one of them exasperateth the other. For every thing that is unthought on & sudden, shaketh the soul. It is as much folly to covet a thing in vain, as to be desirous to avoid that which thou canst not, & they are both of them the more foolish, by how much it had been the more hurtful that thou hadst obtained that, which thou desirest. But there is nothing more hurtful amongst all the mischiefs of this world, then to forget GOD, a man's own self, and death, which three things are so united and knit together, that they may hardly be plucked asunder: but ye will seem to be mindful of yourselves, and unmindful both of your beginning and ending. Thou mayest mark them, that upon some occasion set all things in order in their houses, how there is scarce any that dare say, when I am dead, but if I die, as though that were in doubt, than the which there is nothing more certain. Neither is this saying, If I die, plainly pronounced, but rather if any thing happen unto me otherwise then well: which what I pray thee can it other be, than the self same thing that hath happened unto all men, or shall happen both unto them that are now alive, or that shall be borne hereafter? Unto whom as there hath happened sundry kinds of life, so shall there likewise befall divers kinds of death, but one necessity of dying. The same dost thou covet to escape, which neither thy Fathers, neither the Kings of nations could ever escape, nor ever shall. Deceive yourselves as much as ye list, even so shall it happen unto you, as it doth unto them that wink against the stroke of their enemies weapon, as though they should not feel the danger which they see not: ye shall be strooken, ye shall die, ye shall feel it: but whether it shall happen unto you either blind, or seeing, it lieth in your hands. Therefore desire to die well, which thing also, unless ye do live well, is in vain. Wish therefore, I say, and endeavour yourselves, and do what lieth in you: commit that which remaineth unto him, who unto those whom he brought into this life of his own accord, not being thereunto required, will not stretch forth his hands when they departed out of it again, unless he be called on and desired. Wish not, not to die: for it is not only an impudent and an arrogant, but also an unfruitful and a vain desire. Accustom yourselves, O ye mortal men, unto the laws of nature, and yield your necks to that yoke which can not be avoided. And if ye love yourselves, love that which ye are borne, not because ye would that ye had not been borne: for it is not meet that Nature should obey you, but you her.  Fear. 
I have long assayed in vain, to cast away the fear of death.  Reason. 
I muse thou shouldest so long assay a matter, whereunto thine own voluntary thinking aught to bring thee. To think so much upon so small a danger, is a great shame, if so be it may be called a danger, or not rather an end of all dangers, to die: a great shame, I say, it is, for a man so long to continued in the fear of so small and peevish a peril, and so many years to live in fear and suspense, for the event of breathing one poor hour. But wouldst thou have the most present remedy against this evil, and be delivered from the perpetual fear of death? Then live well: a virtuous life despiseth death, and many times desireth it: and to be short, it is the end of all terrible things. For labour, pain, sorrow, adversity, infamy, imprisonment, exile, loss, war, bondage, lack of children, poverty, old-age, sickness, death, all these unto men of valour, are nothing else, than the school of Experience, and the field of Repentance, and the exercise place of Glory.   

Of Voluntary murdering a man's own self. The. Cxviij. Dialogue.  FEAR. 
I AM determined to do violence unto myself.  Reason. 
At one time to fear a thing, and at another to wish for it, this is all the constancy that you have. Erewhile, womanishly thou fearedst death, and now unmanly thou seekest the same: tell me, I pray thee, what sudden chance hath changed thy mind?  Fear. 
I am enforced to do violence unto myself.  Reason. 
If thou be enforced, then is it not voluntary violence, although it be said, that a constrained will, is a will: yet truly it is no free will, neither that will which properly taketh the name à volendo, of willing. But I would fain know, by whom thou art enforced. Whoso is unwilling, may have violent hands laid upon him, but thou canst do thyself no violence, unless thou were willing thereunto.  Fear. 
There are great causes that enforce me to be willing to die.  Reason. 
They be great in deed, I coufesse, if they enforce thee, but they could not enforce thee, if thou were a man. But there is nothing so weak, that it can not overthrow the delicacy of your minds: and harken now whether I can not directly guess these causes: anger, disdain, impatiency, a certain kind of fury against a man's own self, and the forgetfulness of his own estate. For if thou didst remember that thou were a man, thou wouldst also know that thou oughtest to take all worldly chances in good part, and not for the hatred of one small evil, or rather no evil at all, to be willing to fall into the greatest evil of all.  Fear. 
By reason of extreme misery, I am constrained, to lay violent hands upon myself.  Reason. 
It is not extreme misery, neither are they the greatest evils that oppress thee, but this is the most extreme of all other which now enrageth thee, to wit, desperation: against which only, when as all other evils have their peculiar remedies, there is no medicine that can prevail. And which be these that thou callest extreme evils, but only labour perhaps, and trouble, and poverty? For these are they, whereof the Poet Virgil entreateth, saying: These without cause procured their own death, and hating this light, powered out their own souls. Of whose too late repentance, he addeth immediately: How glad would they now be, returning into this world again, to abide poverty, and suffer all troubles and adversity? Are these so great evils, whereof the first all good and virtuous men endured with a valiant and indifferent mind, and some more over did willingly choose it, and thereby become glorious and rich in the everlasting riches? That the world is meet for men, we read in Sallust, and that man was made for that intent, we find it written in the holy and afflicted good old man. But you, being of all creatures the most unquiet, if things fall not out according to your covetous desire, or lecherous lust, ye think that ye have just cause to kill yourselves? So delicate and hasty headlong is your lasciviousness, that upon the lest cause that may be, ye are not only angry with Fortune, but also with yourselves; & farther ●icking against GOD himself, ye scour your blasphemous●●●ithes against him, as though every thing wherein your Lord and God fulfilleth not your mind, were an heinous injury against you.  Fear. 
I am so oppressed, with great evils, that to choose A would die.  Reason. 
For the loathsomeness of thy life, perhaps, which is a familiar fault among all fools For unto the wise, every kind of life is pleasant: the happy life they accept willingly, the miserable life they endure patiently, and although in the things themselves they take final comfort, yet are they delighted in the exercise of patience: for there is nothing more acceptable, nor more s●●e●e, than verity. The same is that which assuageth griefs) amendeth what is anusse, monifieth that which is hard, mit●igateth th●ir which is sharp, si●●otheth that which is rough, and l●uellech that which is uneaten. In consideration hereof complaint or 〈◊〉, and hasty headlongnesse hath an end, and to be brief, there is nothing more glorious nor quiet, than a wise man's life. As for these tears, and griefs of the mind, these clouds and troublesome storms which drive the bark of this life upon the rocks, they spring from folly only.  Fear. 
Impatiency of sickness maketh me desirous to die.  Reason. 
Thy desire is fond and proud. Let the Lord alone, to dispose of thy body, according to his own determination and good pleasure. Wilt thou look to have more authority over thine own building, whereof thou hast made neither Timber nor Stone, and wherein there is nothing thine, but only the building, and wilt thou not give likewise semblable liberty unto the Lord and maker of all the world, who in the same hath not only created the spirit, the flesh, the blood, and the bones, but also heaven, the earth, the seas, and all things that are therein, of nothing? Say not within thyself, My body is grievously tormented with pain. For thou hast received no dominion ever thy body, but only a use thereof for a certain short time. thinkest thou thyself to be Lord and Master over this thine house of Clay? Verily, thou art but a stranger, he that made all, is Lord of all.  Sorrow. 
With exceeding pain I am constrained to be desirous to die.  Reason. 
Perhaps this pain is laid upon thee for thine experience, which if it be troublesome and grievous unto thee, then may it be profitable: but if intolerable, then can it not long continued. Attend the commaimdement of the Lord that detaineth thee, and answer when thou art called, and not before. Thy day is appointed, which possibly thou canst not prevent, nor yet prolong. Howheit, many have prevented it in deed, and going about to avoid a small & short grief have cast themselves headlong intoirrevocable & everlasting torments. This opinion hath had great defenders. first Anneus Seneca, who so constantly and often falleth into the mentioning thereof, insomuch that it seemeth unto me that he feared, lest it should not appear to be his ●●b●e, and maketh me sometime to wonder, bow so cruel a● opinion could enter into the heart of so worthy a man. And to ●et that pass, which it were too long to recite, in a certain Epistle unto Lucilius: If, saith he, the body be unfit for the ordinary and convenient actions▪ why should not a man set the greened soul at liberty? And immedialy after a few words between: I will leap, quoth he, out of this rotten and ruinous building. But O Seneca, thou sayest not well, and with one evil saying hast disgraced a great many good sayings. For thou oughtest to abide, and not to departed: let thy building fall down, that thou be driven out of doors before thou departed.  Sorrow. 
I cannot suffer the things that are like to happen unto me, I had rather die.  Reason. 
Perhaps for some death which shallbe inflicted upon thee by an enemy, which being valiantly undertaken can not be shameful, but voluntarily procured by thine own hand, cannot but be reproachful and ignominious, for that it is contrary to the commandment of the most high Lord, against which nothing can be well done.  Sorrow. 
I had rather die, then to see the things that are like to happen shortly.  Reason. 
It is not the part of a man, not to be able with open eyes to behold both faces of fortune: it is the part of a woman, to turn away the eyes in fear. What is the thing that troubleth thee so much, that nothing can help thee but death only? Is it thine own, or thy friends, or perhaps the adversity of thine afflicted country? As for the first two, they are but gentle: for fortune is not so strong, but virtue is able to withstand it the third is godly, but the love thereof is faint and slothful. For the bondage and captivity of a man's country, and the government thereof in manner of a Tyranny, is rather to be repelled by death, then avoided by stepping a side. For the first is the part of a man, but this tastest of womanyshe imbecility. Which thing notwithstanding the same Seneca doth wonderfully extol in the death of Cato in that same his peculiar opinion, whereof I spoke erewhile. But Cicero thinking it sufficient to excuse him only, abstaineth from commending him. For he saith, that unto Cato that was a man of such wondered gravity, and perpetual constancy of nature, it was better to die then to look the Tyrant in the face: whom Brutus notwithstanding beheld, and thought it better to make him away by killing him, then by killing himself. Which how well or ill it was done, I do not now dispute. But so in deed he did. As for Cicero, while he excuseth Cato, he forgetteth his own more commendable opinion, which long before he had set down in his sixth book De republica, of a commonwealth, which is after this manner following: whiles that he bringeth in Publius Scipio Affricanus the younger dreaming, how that he talked in heaven with his father and grandfather, and hearing them speak of the immortality of the soul, and the felicity of the other life, made him desirous to die, and brought in his father by and by reproving the same his fond and unprofitable desire, in these words. It may not be so, quoth he: for unless God, whose church all this is which thou beholdest, do lose thee out of these bonds of thy body, thou canst have none entrance hither. For men were created for this cause, that they should behold the globe which thou seest in the midst of this temple, which is called the earth. Wherefore, good son Publius, both thou, and also all virtuous men, aught to keep yourselves within the custody of this your body, and not to departed out of the life of man contrary unto his commandment, by whom that life was given unto you, least happily ye seem to forsake the vocation whereunto God hath called you. Do not these words of Cicero sufficiently reprove Cato. that is excused? And truly, if thou were appointed by some earthly Prince or Captain to keep a place by defence of arms, thou wouldst not dare to departed from thy charge without his licence, which if thou shouldest do, doubtless he would take it in ill part. How then would the heavenly Emperor take it, thinkest thou, unto whom so much the more obedience aught to be given, by how much God is greater than man? There was of late days one Stephanus Columnensis, a gentleman of ancient virtue, who if lie had lived had not only been famous in this age, but also in remembrance of all posterity. The same Stephanus being besieged by a mighty enemy of his, unto whom he was in power far unequal, committed the defence of one turret, wherein there seemed to be most danger, unto one of his captains, of whose trust he was assured. This turret being undermined and secretly shaken by the enemies, so that it was in danger of falling, when as the residue of the garrison perceiving so much forsook it, and persuaded him also to come down and provide for his safety, since it was bootless to tarry, but unto himself very dangerous or rather present death: I will not come down, (said he) unless he call me away who set me here. Which being reported unto Stephanus, who also was very careful for the gentleman, & came running in baste to call him away, the turret being shaken at the very foundation, fell down immediately with great noise. Thus that trusty defendant was miserably slain, whom his lord and master being scarcely able to find out among the rubbish and ruins of the turret, buried him with great sorrow and lamentation, and while he lived had a dutiful care over him, and in his common speech always advanced his faith with worthy commendation. What I mean by these words, I think thou knowest. Such a keeper oughtest thou to be of thy body, which is committed unto thy keeping by God, as he was of his turret, which was commended to his charge by his lord and master. Notwithstanding, I am not ignorant, how that the death of Cato was much commended by many of that age wherein he lived, and very glorious in the common opinion of men. And that saying of julius Caesar is well known, who being conqueror and making haste unto Utica, where Cato had slain himself, and hearing report of his death: Cato, quoth he, envy my glory, and I envy his death. Doubtless it seemed some excellent thing, which so great and glorious a parsonage envied at.  Sorrow. 
Then what should let me to follow the death of a wise man that was envied at by so great a person, and excused, and commended of the wise, and to eschew the innumerable distresses of life by a voluntary death? Truly I had rather die.  Reason. 
Beware that thou be not carried away with the vain hope of hinges. For there be some inferior in eloquence but superior in sense, which neither commend nor excuse this death of Cato, but sharply reprehend it. Among whom Saint Augustine, a most sharp searcher after the truth, disputeth, that this was not the cause of the hastening of his own death because he would not line under the empire of Caesar, together with his son: forasmuch as he himself was the cause that his son fled to Caesar, and in hope of safety submitted himself to his mercy, wherein he was not deceived. Which if he had thought to have been a shameful thing, would he not have delivered his son from it as well as himself, either by poison, or by sword, or by some other kind of death whatsoever? Seeing that Manlius Torquatus is commended for killing his own son, for that he had given battle to his enemies and vanquished them, but contrary to his father's commandment. Neither can it be said, that it is a more shameful thing to be conqueror over a proud enemy, then to be subject to an arrogant conqueror. Why then did he think Caesar worthy to grant life to his son, who thought him unworthy and envied at him that he should grant life unto himself? And to conclude, he findeth that only envy was the cause of his death, which Caesar himself did not dissemble, as we said erewhile. For what could he other fear, or why could he not abide him to be his prince, by whom not long before he was banished the senate, and committed to prison? So that he that slew not himself in so great and present an injury, why should he now slay himself for a vain fear, or false opinion of pride, or cruelty? What terror was there expressed in Caesar's face, that he should seek to avoid the same by death, who not only of all men, but of all Tyrants and Princes was the most gently and merciful? For although Cato had never seen any more mighty, yet truly in that age had he seen many more cruel, but truly never saw he any more merciful. And therefore rightly sayeth another excellent writer, famous both for credit and eloquence: It seemeth unto me, saith he, that Cato sought an occasion to die, not so much to escape Caesar's hands, as to follow the decrees of the stoics whom he imitated, and by some notable deed to leave his name famous unto posterity. What harm would have happened unto him if he had lived, I do not perceive, For such was the clemency of Caius Caesar, that in the greatest heat of the civil wars, he would seem to do nothing else but to deserve well of the common wealth, providing always for the safety of Cicero, and Cato. Lo, behold another cause of his death beside envy, to wit, a vain folly, both which were far unworthy of the person of Cato, and yet neither of them sufficient to prevent a man's own death.  Sorrow. 
I had rather die, then live thus.  Reason. 
How knowest thou, whether this life which seemeth grievous unto thee, be desired of many, or envied of the most? But your impatiency maketh all things more grievous.  Sorrow. 
I desire to die.  Reason. 
As from the fearful to force the fear of death, so to wrest from the desperate the hatred of life, is a hard matter. Nevertheless this is the effect of our remedy, to bear this life with indifferency, and to look for death valiantly.   

Of Death. The cxix Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I die.  Reason. 
Now thou art come to the last cast: now canst thou neither fear death nor wish for it, of both which thou hast already wearied me in many discourses next before written. Hereafter thou shalt neither be in sorrow nor in pain, neither be subject to the defaults of the body, nor mind: neither shalt thou be wearied with the tediousness of any thing, nor with sickness, nor with old age, nor with deceits of men, nor with the variety of fortune, all which if they be evil, then is the end of evil, good. Not long since thou complaynedst of all these, and now thou findest fault with the end of them: beware that thou seem not injurious, for being sorry for the beginning of a thing, and the ending of the same.  Sorrow. 
I die.  Reason. 
Thou shalt walk the way of thy fathers, or rather the broad and worn way of thy predecessors: hadst thou rather that there should happen unto thee some peculiar accident, I wot not what? Go forward on thy way, thou needest not be afraid of going amiss, thou hast so many leaders and companions of thy journey.  Sorrow. 
Alas I die.  Reason. 
If there be any that hath cause to weep when he dieth, he aught to be ashamed to have laughed when he lived, knowing that he had cause at hand and always hanging over his head full soon to make him weep, whose laughter, doubtless, was not far disjoined from weeping.  Sorrow. 
I die.  Reason. 
He is not to be suffered, that be waileth the estate of his own kind. Thou shouldest not die unless thou were mortal. But if thou be sorry because thou art mortal, thou hast no cause to complain, when thou surceasest to be that which thou wast against thy will. Thou shouldest have lamented at the beginning when thou beganst to be that which thou wouldst not: but now thou oughtest to rejoice, for that thou beginnest to be immortal.  Sorrow. 
I die.  Reason. 
All these that lately stood about thy bed, and moreover all that ever thou hast seen, or heard or read of, and as many as ever thou wast able to know since thou wast borne, as many as ever heretofore have seen this light, or shall hereafter be borne in all the world, and to the worlds end, either have or shall pass through this journey. Behold in thy mind as well as thou canst, the long troops of them that are gone before, or of those that shall follow hereafter, and also the number not small of thy companions and coequales in years, who die with thee even at this present: and then I think thou wilt be ashamed to bewail a common case with thy private complaints, when as among so many thou shalt not find one whom thou mayest envy at.  Sorrow. 
I die.  Reason. 
This is to be impassable, and to go about to shake of the yoke both of fortune, and death: a double great good, which no prosperity can give unto any living creature. Think with thyself, how many and how great cares, how many painful travails there were remaining yet unto thee if thou lyuedst I say not an infinite life, but the space of a thousand years, when as there is allotted unto thee a life but only of one days space: wherein if thou make an indifferent estimation, thou shalt perceive the toils and wearisomeness of this short, transitory, and uncertain life, and also thine own griefs and vexations which thou hast sustained.  Sorrow. 
I die.  Reason. 
In such fort ye bewail death, as though life were some great matter, which if it were, than were the flies, and emmotes, and spiders, partakers of the same. If life were always a commodity, than were death evermore a discommodity, which sometime is found to be a great benefit when as it delivereth the soul from intolerable evils, or dischargeth or else preserveth the soul from sin that is to come, which is the greatest evil of all. But as virtue is only a great thing among you, so if this life be considered by itself as it is, it is the store house of innumerable miseries: for the shutting up whereof whoso is sorrowful, the same taketh it not well that evils do surcease, and hateth quietness: and he that coveteth the same, it must needs be that he covet the end of a painful and troublesome life. Then if there be noneother end of toils and evils, why dost thou weep for it? That day is now at hand, which if it were prolongued, thou wouldst wish for it, and perhaps such is the world, the power of fortune so great and her chances so variable, that thou hast oftentimes already wished for it.  Sorrow. 
I die.  Reason. 
Nay rather thou departest out of an earthly and transitory house, unto the heavenly and everlasting habitation, and thy foot being upon the very threshold thou art sorrowfully and unwillingly plucked away, and carefully thou lookest behind thee, I wots not wherefore, whether forgetting thy filthiness which thou leavest behind thee, or not believing the great good unto which thou art going. And truly, if as I said before, which notable men have also averred, this which you call life be death, than it followeth that the end thereof which is death, be life.  Sorrow. 
I die.  Reason. 
Thy king setteth thee at liberty, now the bands and fetters are broken, which it pleased your loving father to make mortal and transitory. Which I knowing to be specially appertaining unto his mercy, as Plotinus holdeth opinion, and it is confirmed by your writers, I see not whereof thou hast cause to complain.  Sorrow. 
I die.  Reason. 
Thy king calleth thee: an happy messenger. But thus it is, it cometh unlooked for, and unluckily, that happeneth unto men against their wills. Consent thereunto, and then shalt thou begin to perceive how well thou art dealt withal. Then shalt thou, reputing with thyself thy departure out of this prison, & the other evils of this life which thou fearest, & prophesying of the commodities which death bringeth, after the manner of Socrates swan that could divine of heavenly things to come, and was therefore consecrated to Apollo, die singing, though not with thy voice, yet in thy mind. And unless, which God forbidden, the heavy weight of thy sins not cleansed nor forgiven do overmuch press thee down, do thou that in thy mind, which it is read that the emperor Vespasian did in body, rise up when thou art a dying, and think it unmeet to die lying, neither in this respect ascribe thou less unto thee than he did to himself, although thou be not a prince as he was. For death respecteth no authority, it knoweth not princes from other men, and is a notable mean to make all estates of one calling after this life. There was nothing that Vespasian might do, but it is lawful for thee to do the like, yea and I trust thou hast somewhat more of the grace of God than he had if thou do not refuse it: not for that thou art better than he, but because thou art more happy in respect of the free goodwill & love of God, who hath granted to the little ones, and revealed to the unlearned, those things which he denied to the mighty, and hid from the wise. Add moreover, that it is more profitable and easy for thee to arise. For his endeavour required bodily strength, which sickness weakeneth and death quite extinguisheth: but thou hast need of noneother than the strength of the mind, which oftentimes increaseth the nearer that death is at hand.  Sorrow. 
I die.  Reason. 
Why dost thou tremble in safety, and stumble in the plain, and stay upon the side of a shelving downfall? I will not here bring into thy remembrance what the Philosophers do dispute in this point. For there be many things which the troublesomeness of him that lieth a dying, and the shortness of the time will not suffer to be done, and therefore it aught deeply to be engrafted and rooted in thy mind whatsoever the ancient Philosophers have disputed concerning this matter. For as they hold opinion, rare prosperity specially towards a man's end, is able to make all remedies against adversity and hard fortune, void & to no purpose: but as touching those things which are alleged against death, they be always profitable and necessary, which no casual but the natural and invincible necessity of dying maketh to stand in full force and effect. Among divers other, truly Cicero gathereth together many sound reasons and persuasions, in the first days disputation of his Tusculan questions, whereof I made mention a little before: which unless thou hast already learned in times past, I have no leisure now to teach thee, wherein he concludeth, that whether he that dieth, seem to be in prosperity or adversity: nevertheless, forasmuch as generally the whole state of mankind is equally subject to the darts and insults of Fortune, it is to be supposed, that by death he is not delivered from good things, which doubtless he shall find to be true, whosoever shall give himself to the deep consideration of worldly affairs. Wherefore, by death he findeth himself advantaged and not hindered, and thinking continually thereon, when it cometh he maketh account thereof, as of the messenger and servant of his deliverer: and when he is once past it, and looketh back upon it, he beholdeth, as it were out of a Window, how he hath escaped the deceits of the world, and the prison of this flesh. The very same sense doth Cicero follow in his disputation, that whether the soul die with the body, or be translated to some other habitation, that either there is no evil at all, or very much good in death. Sharply truly among his own Countreifolke at that time, but among your Philosophers now adays, yea and your common people, a thing nothing doubted of: and truly I believe, neither unperswaded unto Cicero himself, of whom we have so much spoken: which opinion most frankly he hath declared in many and sundry places, although he applied himself unto the want of faith in him, with whom he communed, or the distrustinesse of the time in which he lived. But in few words, thus persuade thyself, that thy soul is immortal, which not only the whole consent of your na●ion, but also the most excellent of all the Philosophers do, & have defended. Repose no trust in the death of the soul, whose nature is such, that it cannot die, and think not that there remaineth no evil after death, because there shallbe no soul to suffer it. But forasmuch as the creator of the soul is gentle, and loving, and merciful, he will not despise the work of his own hands, but will be near unto them that call upon him faithfully. Unto him let your prayers, unto him let your vows be directed: let the uttermost of your hope depend upon him, & let your last gasp end, in calling upon his name. Departed quickly, fear nothing, dame Nature that is the most loving mother of all other mothers, hath made no horrible thing, it is the error of men, and not the nature of the thing, that aught to be provided for, that causeth death to seem dreadful. If thou harbour any great attempt in thine heart, or go about any excellent & high matter, despise the base and low speeches & deeds of the rascal multitude, but have them in admiration, whom to imitate is the perfect path unto true glory. Among our Countrymen truly, of such as have died merely and happily, there are innumerable examples. But if we search rather after such as are of more antiquity, we shall find many that have not only taken their death valiantly, but also hastened it: which deed in Marcus Cato, Marcus Cicero blameth, & Seneca commendeth, as we said erewhile. As for you, ye like well of neither, but worst of the second, for that it is more tolerable to excuse an error, then to commend it. But I reject them both, because, as for to answer when a man is called, & to obey with reverence, is praise worthy: even so, without licence of the General, to departed from the watch & keeping of the body, is to be counted high treason, & worthy to be punished, either with cruel banishment, or with extreme torment. Of purpose I repeat some things again and again, to the end they may take the deeper root: for all these matters, as I suppose, are sufficiently discoursed in our communication going immediately before.  Sorrow. 
I die.  Reason. 
Rather thou payest tribute of thy flesh, and yieldest thy duty unto Nature, and anon thou shalt be a free man: and therefore, do that willingly, which of force thou art constrained to do, and as one that is a very good exhorter unto death saith: Have a desire to do that, which thou must needs do. There is no counsel more profitable, yea, there is none other counsel at all in time of necessity: Whatsoever a man doth willingly, is made the more easy and tolerable, and if a will be adjoined, it surceasseth longer to be a necessity.  Sorrow. 
Lo, I die.  Reason. 
Lo, the Lord tarrieth for thee. Make haste unto him, do neither stumble nor stay, lay away all dread & suspicion, thou art not more dear to thyself, than thou art to him: and who will distrust when he is called by his friend and lover? Perhaps hereafter thou wilt marvel, why thou fearest that, which rather thou oughtest to have wished for. Now when thou art at liberty, thou shalt know many things, which when thou wast in prison, thou couldst learn by no study. insomuch, that unto them that are desirous to know the secrets and mysteries of things whereunto your eyesyght can not pierce, by means of the mortal veil wherewith you are compassed round about (for such verily is the natural desire of man, but working most fervently in the studious and learned sort) there is nothing, as I judge, better than death, nor that bringeth a man more compendiously unto his wished purpose.  Sorrow. 
I die.  Reason. 
Nay rather thou sleepest, and being weary of this life, as I suppose, thou takest now thy rest.  Sorrow. 
I die.  Reason. 
Departed into everlasting rest, for now thou beginnest to live. A good death is the beginning of life.   

Of Death before a man's time. The. Cxx. Dialogue.  SORROW. 
BUT what sayest thou unto it, that I die before my time?  Reason. 
None dieth before his time: but all have not one time limited them alike, but rather as the noble Poet writeth: Each man's day stands prefixed: unto which when he is come, then hath he attained to the end. And because men can neither return again, nor stay where they are, they must needs pass away.  Sorrow. 
I die before my time.  Reason. 
That might be true, if thou didst own a death against a certain day, but the good and pure debtor oweth it every day: and therefore let him look every day for his creditors calling upon him, and always have that in a readiness which he oweth. For he is continually in debt as long as he hath a mortal body, he need not to borrow, nor to take upon usury, he hath that at home which he must pay. Yea whither so ever he goeth, he carrieth with him, and hath that as it were in his hand, wherewith to discharge himself, which when he hath paid, he is then no longer indebted to Nature, nor to any of the heavenly bodies, as the Poet Virgil sayeth. Therefore leave of this complaint: that can not be required before the day, which is due every day: but rather give thanks, for that for the payment of this debt thou needest neither entreating, nor yet to have great riches of thine own, nor pawn, nor usury, which were the last words that ever that valiant unknown Spartan is reported to have spoken, most worthy in deed to have been known, even at that time when he was led to execution, whereunto he went without fear, and courageously, by the loss of his life to satisfy Lycurgus' laws.  Sorrow. 
I die before my tyme.  Reason. 
I understand not what it is to die before your time, unless it be meant, as the common speech is, before it be light, or before the day break, which is a time most fit for the exercises of the mind & soul, which now thou art giving over. But in any other signification, who is he that dieth before his time, when as in deed that is every man's day wherein he dieth, and none other?  Sorrow. 
I die before my tyme.  Reason. 
Neither before thy time, nor after thy time, but even in thy very time shalt thou die: unless thou take that for thy time which thou thyself, not Nature nor Fortune, hath prescribed. But in truth, as thou canst not die before thy time, so canst thou not live after it.  Sorrow. 
I die before my tyme.  Reason. 
Who is he, unless he were mad, that will complain that he is loosed from his fetters, and discharged out of prison, before his time? Truly he had more cause to rejoice, in mine opinion, if this happened sooner than his expectation, but certainly it happeneth not, nor it can not happen so, for every thing hath it own time. This was the appointed time of thine end, there did he constitute thy bounds, who brought thee into the race of this life: If thou complain of this end, thou mayest likewise as well complain of any other.  Sorrow. 
I die soon.  Reason. 
Thou wast soon borne: he dieth not soon, that hath lived till he is old. And if thou hadst not lived until thou wast old, then remained there another part of complaint. Howbeit, if old age be the last portion of a man's life, he must needs be first old whosoever dieth. But when I speak of old age, I mean it as the common people usually take it, for an heaping up of many years together, which, not as other ages, hath no end but death only. Concerning the beginning whereof there is great variety of opinions, but in consideration of the strength of those that grow old, and in respect of their bodily health, and the ability of their minds, easy enough to be reconciled. To be short, this is the conclusion of all, that either thou surcease to find fault with the hastiness of death, or to mislike the troubles of a long life, which come by the deferring of death. But you being at contention within yourselves, are neither willing to die, nor to wax old, when as ye must needs do both of them, or at the leastwyse one of them.  Sorrow. 
I might have lived longer.  Reason. 
Nay truly, thou couldst not: for if thou mightest, verily thou hadst lived longer: but thou wouldst say, I would fayne, or I hoped to have lived longer: for the minds of mortal men are so desirous of life, and so ready to hope, that in either I easily agreed with thee. But if thou wilt say, I should or aught to have lived longer, for that perhaps thou seest some that have lived longer in deed, as though of duty thou mightest claim longer continuance also, I can not yield unto thee. For some die late, and many more soon, but none at all that die never: between these there is no mean appointed, but all men are generally subject unto one law, and all own obeisance to the sovereignty of death, albeit some are taken away by one means, and some by another, and that at diverse times and ages: thus of one thing, there are manifold means, and sundry times. And therefore, let every one with indifferency attend his own kind of death and dying day, and not through the greediness or loathsomeness of life, do as the unskilful and ingrateful sort are wont, complain and be disquieted about the laws of Nature.  Sorrow. 
I have lived but a small time.  Reason. 
There was never any lived so long, that thought not that he lived but a small time, and truly it is but a short time in deed that men live here. And therefore, if ye be desirous to live long, seek after that life, wherein ye may live for ever, which although it be not here, yet is it purchased here.  Sorrow. 
I have lived but a short tyme.  Reason. 
Admit thou hadst lived longer, hadst thou then lived any more than a short time? The terms of this life are unequal and uncertain, but this one thing is common to them all, that they be all short. Put case a man have lived eighty years, what hath he more, I pray thee, than he that hath lived but eight years? Examme thyself diligently, and look into thine own estate, and let not the madness of the common multitude deceive thee: what more, I say hath he that hath lived longer, unless perhaps ye accounted cares, and troubles, & pains, and sorrows, & wearisomeness for a vantage? Or what more should he have, if he lived eight hundred years? There is somewhat more in deed, I confess, in hope and expectation: but when both times are expited, believe me, thou shalt find nothing, whereby thou mightest make account that thou hast lived more happily.  Sorrow. 
I die, when as I thought to have done good.  Reason. 
What, didst thou think to have done something, which thou hast not done? So perhaps thou wouldst always have thought, hadst thou lived never so long. There be some that always think to do well, but they never begin. But if thou have begun once to do well, doubt not to go forward, although death prevent thy work before it be brought to a wished end: which although peradventure in the blind judgement of men, it may seem to be some prejudice unto thee, nevertheless it is to be despised, for that in the sight of the unfallible surveyor of all things thou losest nothing, but thy reward shallbe full and whole, as well of thy deeds, as of thy thoughts.  Sorrow. 
In the mids of all my preparation, I die.  Reason. 
This fault is not in death, but in them that die, who then begin to weave the most short web of their life, when it is a cutting of: which unless it were so, men should not so often be prevented by death, not having first accomplished the duties of life, but rather when they had fulfilled and accomplished them, would then begin to live, than which truly there were no life more sweet. Which sweetness notwithstanding, not so much the shortness of life, as the slothfulness of them that live, taketh away from men: who therefore count no life long, because how long soever the time be, they never live, but are evermore about to live. And when they be once come to be old men, wavering among new devices how to live, with a swift end they prevent their slow beginning.  Sorrow. 
I die, even while I am preparing great matters.  Reason. 
This happened unto many great-men, and almost to all. Men are deceived in many things, specially in death, which there is none but knoweth that it will come, but they hope of the deferring of it, and imagine that to be far of, which, God knoweth, is hard by them: which both the shortness of life, and swiftness of time, and the power of fortune, and the variety of human chances wherewith they are beset round about, needily constraineth to be so. And O most wonderful blindness, for that what ye aught to hope of yourselves, at leastwise ye learn at length by others. But thus the case standeth, your minds hardly can enter into bitter cogitations: and therefore while every one promiseth himself very long life, and either the age of Nestor or as Cicero saith, the fortune of Metellus. and finally while every one supposeth himself to be dame Nature's white son, while they be busy about the beginning, the end cometh upon them, and while they are in consultation of many things, death setteth upon them at unwares, and cutteth them of in the mids of their endeavours.  Sorrow. 
I die in my green age.  Reason. 
If there be none other commodity herein, at leastwise there is provision made hereby, that thou shalt not languish in thine old years. For although that old age be not grievous, as Lelius saith in Cicero, and we also have disputed before, nevertheless it taketh away that greenness, wherein he saith, that Scipio flourished at that time, and thou likewise reportest now the like of thyself. Hereafter perhaps many shall wish for thee, but none shall be weighed of thee: which thing in a long life although it be governed by virtue, is an hard matter to be found.  Sorrow. 
I die a young man.  Reason. 
Thou knowest what thou hast suffered already in thy life time, but what thou were like to suffer hereafter, thou knowest not: and believe me, whoso in this so variable and rough kingdom of Fortune dieth first, deceiveth his companion.  Sorrow. 
I am hindered by death, so that I can not end the things that I began.  Reason. 
And tustly in deed. For ye be evermore a doing the things that ye aught to have done, and yet there is nothing finished: this is the chiefest thing that maketh your death grievous and miserable unto you: but if the things that thou begannest were such, that without any negligence in thee thou couldst not finish them, it sufficeth thee that thou haddest a good wilt hereunto. But if through slothfulness thou hast put them of from time to time, let it displease thee that thou hast neglected them. If this peradventure be the pretended cause of thy lamentation, yet in truth there is nothing but a vain lengthening of life, and a deferring of death wished for thereby, although it will not be long, but at length, though late, thou wilt be ashamed of this vulgar wish. But, O ye mortal men, how greedy soever ye be of life, hearken unto me: I demand of you, the exercise of Virtue being laid aside, what is this life other, than a slack and unprofitable tarriance, which how long so ever it is, can not be other then very short? Wherefore I like well of the saying of a certain good fellow, of whom S. Augustine maketh mention: whom being in extremity of sichnesse, when as his friends comforted him, saying that he should not die of that disease, he answered: Though I shall never die well. yet because I must die once, why should I not die now?  Sorrow. 
I die, my business being unperfected.  Reason. 
If thou call to mind those that have been most famous for wisdom, or other notable exploits, the most part of them have died, leaving their works unfinished: unto very few it hath happened in this life, to bring to perfect end their conceived and undertaken attempts. But thou, since that after the common manner of men, thou hast thrown thyself into these difficulties, and that which is past can not be called again, take hold of this only way and mean, eftsoons to advance thyself: not lamentably and vainly to look back upon many imperfect things, but manly to go through with that only which remaineth, that is to say, to die well.   

Of a Violent death. The. Cxxj. Dialogue.  SORROW. 
BUT I die a violent death.  Reason. 
Every death is violent unto thee, if thou die unwillingly, but if thou die willingly, there is no death violent.  Sorrow. 
I die a violent death.  Reason. 
If the strength of life be taken away, what skilleth it whether it be by an ague, or by the sword? And so that thou departed freely, what maketh it matter whether the doors of thy bodily dungeon do open alone, or be broken open?  Sorrow. 
I die violently.  Reason. 
There are many kinds of deaths, and but one death only, which whether it be violent or not, it lieth in his hands that dieth: the greater force overcometh the lesser, and consent quite extinguisheth it. A wise man cometh thus instructed, that look what he cannot withstand, he consenteth unto it. But perhaps thou wilt say: dost thou counsel me then to consent unto him that killeth me? Verily, some have not only consented unto them, but also given them thanks: yea, there was such an one found, as willingly excused the ignorance of his murderers, and at the very giving up of the ghost, prayed for them. But I am not she that command thee to agreed unto the fact of the bloody butcher or cruel executioner, but only unto the invincible necessity of destiny, which who so obeyeth not willingly, shallbe brought thereunto by force.  Sorrow. 
I die by mine enemies hand.  Reason. 
What, diddest thou suppose then that thou couldst die by thy friends hand, which cannot possibly happen, but unwittingly?  Sorrow. 
I die by mine enemies hand.  Reason. 
So shalt thou escape thine enemies hands. For while he pursueth his wrath, he provideth for thy liberty, and abateth his own power, and hath authority over thee no longer.  Sorrow. 
I perish by the hand of mine enemy.  Reason. 
It is better to perish under an unjust enemy, then under a just Prince. For in the one the murderer is culpable, and in the other the murdered is not guiltless.  Sorrow. 
I am slain by the hand of mine enemy.  Reason. 
What, doth it touch thee more with what hand, then with what sword thou art dispatched? We speak not of the hand, but of the wound. Howbeit, Pompeius in Lucan seemeth to wish that he might be slain by Caesar's own hand, as a comfort in his death: and also in Statius Capaneus comforteth Ipseus, and in Virgil Aeneas Lausus. and Camilla Ornithus. for that they were slain by their hands.  Sorrow. 
I die by the sword.  Reason. 
This fortune is common unto thee with the greatest men, forasmuch as most part of the worthiest men that either have lived in most blessed estate in this world, or are now most holy fainctes in the everlasting kingdom, have died by the sword: whom all if I would undertake to rehearse, I should play the part rather of a long historician, then of a short admonisher.  Sorrow. 
I perish by the sword.  Reason. 
divers diversly have come to their end: some by the halter, some by a fall, some by the lions claws, some by the wild boars teeth: many have wanted a sword, being desirous to have ended their lives with a weapon.  Sorrow. 
I am slain with a sword.  Reason. 
How knowest thou whether thou shouldest escape to fall into greater destruction, and that this death which thou thinkest to be most miserable, be the eschewing of a greater misery? I told thee before, how that Plotinus, who next unto Plato was the second glory of Philosophy, was strooken with a pestilent leprosy. But I recited not unto thee, hoowe that Euripides, who immediately after Homer was the second light of Greece for poetry, was torn in pieces by dogs. Lucretius, who among your country poets was next to the chief, of whom Virgil was not ashamed to borrow so much as he did, drinking of a slabbersauce confectioned amorous cup, fell into a sickness and extreme madness, and in the end was enforced in dispatch himself with a sword for remedy. Herod king of judea, died being beset with an army of foul and loathsome diseases, so that the more compendious and short way of dying might be by him envied at, as doubtless I think it was. Hadrian that was Emperor of Rome, being overcome with the pain and tediousness of his sickness, was willing, if it had been lawful, to shorten the extremity of his grief, by dint of sword. It is reported, how that in our age there was a great parsonage consumed by worms, that issued out of all the parts of his body, and another in like manuer devoured by mice. Among so many mockeries and infirmities of man's body, who is so weak, that if he might have his choice, would not rather desire to die by the sword?  Sorrow. 
I perish by fire.  Reason. 
Some that supposed the soul to be of a fiery force and ●atur●, have thought that to be the most easiest kind of death.  Sorrow. 
I am consumed with fire.  Reason. 
Thy body by this means being delivered from the worms, will not putrefy.  Sorrow. 
I am ever whelmed in water.  Reason. 
A feast for the fishes, and for thyself a place of burial, large, clear, and notable. And what maketh it matter, whether thou tender up thine earthen carcase to the earth, or to the sea?  Sorrow. 
I die in the sea.  Reason. 
Not where, but how a man dieth, maketh to the purpose: every where a man may die well, and everywhere ill. It is not in the place, but in the mind that maketh the death happy or wretched.  Sorrow. 
I perish in the sea.  Reason. 
I know that many are persuaded that it is miserable to be drowned in water, for that the ethereal and burning spirit seemeth to be overcome by his contrary: but as I said before, the place maketh nothing, but it is the mind that maketh all unto the misery. And therefore I like very well of the answer of a certain sailor I wots not what he was: of whom when on a time one demanded, where his father died: he answered, upon the sea. Then demanding farther the like of his grandfather, and great grandfather, & great great grandfather: receiving the same answer concerning them all, at length he inferred, and art not thou afeard then, quoth he, to go to sea? The sailor answered dissemblingly: I pray thee, quoth he, tell me also where thy father died? In his bed, answered the other. And where likewise thy grandfather? Even he, said the ocher, and my great grandfather, and great great grandfather, and all my ancestors died in their beds. The sailor answered: art not thou then afeard, quoth he, to go into thy bed? Trimly answered truly, and somewhat more than saylerlyke. Concerning the death therefore, let nature look to that which made men mortal, and as touching the kind of death, the place, and time, let fortune use her discretion.  Sorrow. 
I die by poison.  Reason. 
I told thee whilere, what notable companions thou hast herein, whereas I entreated of this matter only. The sword is a princely death, but most of all, poison. And to conclude: it is a very ridiculus matter, when thou hast determined of the death, to be careful of the instruments.   

Of a shameful death. The cxxii Dialogue.  SORROW. 
BUt my death is shameful.  Reason. 
It is not the kind, nor quality of the death, but the cause of the punishment that maketh it shameful.  Sorrow. 
I die reproachfully.  Reason. 
Not good man dieth ill, no evil man, well. It is not the pomp of burial, nor the attendance and waiting of servants and officers, nor the rich garments, nor the spoils of the enemies, nor the shields and swords turned down and dragged after, nor the whole family mourning for their master, nor the howlings and outcries of the common people, nor the wife drenched in tears, nor the children with dutiful compassion resolved in sorrow, nor the chief mourner, who soever he be, holding down his head, and walking before the corpses attired in black, and woefully be dewing his face with store of bitter tears, nor lastly the orator or preacher in commendation of him that is to be buried, nor the golden images and pictures wherewith to furnish the sepulchre, nor the titles and styles of him that is dead, which being engraven in marble shall live until such time, as though it be long first, death also consume the stones themselves: but it is virtue and the famous report of him that hath deserved well, and needeth not the brute of the common multitude, but which showeth itself in it own majesty, and not which the headelong and blind favour of men, but rather a long continuance in doing well, and an innocent life hath procured, and also the defence of truth and justice undertaken even to the death, and moreover a valiant mind and notable boldness even in the mids and thickest of deaths sharpest threatenings, that maketh the death honest and honourable. Against which most honourable death, what place remaineth there for reproach? Or how can he die shamefully that dieth in such manner: yea, though there be prepared against the body in slavish sore whips & rods, & torments, & halters, & axes, yea, high gallowetrees & wheels set upon the tops of posts, & carts with wild horses to tear the limbs of the body insunder: add moreover, fire & faggot, & gridirons set upon glowing coals, and caudrons sweeting with hot scalding oil, & the sharp teeth of cruel wild beasts whetted with hunger: and lastly hooks and other engines to drag withal the mangled carcases about the streets, or whatsoever other villainy or reproach may be devised, or the living or dead body be put unto: the death, I say, may happily seem cruel, but shameful it cannot be: but rather many times the crueler it is, the more glorious it is. And therefore neither the outward preparance for execution, nor the thronging of the people, nor the trumpets, nor the terrible looks of the hangmen and tormentors, nor the wrathful voice of the Tyrant, are any thing to the purpose. But turn thee into thyself, there seek and awake thyself, and with all the force of thy mind that remaineth, arm thyself against the present extremity: withdraw thine ears from the odious noise, turn away thine eyes from the pomp and preparation for the execution, and secretly gather together thy spirits and comfort thy soul within thee, and examine the things themselves and not their shadows. And if thou be able with full sight to behold death in the face, I suppose thou shalt fear neither sword, nor axe, nor halter, nor poisoned cups, nor the hangmen dropping with gore blood: for why, it is a vain thing when thou contemnest thine enemy, to be afeard of his furniture or ensigns.  Sorrow. 
I am condemned to a shameful death.  Reason. 
It happeneth manytymes that the accuser is infamous, and the witnesses dishonest, and the judge obscure, and the party accused very noble: and often the death is commonly accounted reproachful, and he that dieth, honourable and glorious. And to speak nothing of any other, for that there have been to many such already and to much unworthy of that end, what death was there ever more shameful than the death of the cross? Upon which the most excellent and glorious light both of heaven and earth was hanged, to the end that thenceforth no state or condition of men whatsoever, should judge it to be reproachful. And forasmuch as there is nothing higher than the highest, in this example only I make an end. Virtue alone is able to make any kind of death honest, and there is no death that can blemish virtue.   

Of a sudden death. The cxxiii Dialogue.  SORROW. 
But I die to suddenly.  Reason. 
It is not long since, if I forget not myself, that thou sayest thou wast old: I marvel then how there can be any death sudden to an old man, who unless he dote or be mad, hath death evermore before his eyes. For, since there is this wholesome counsel given to all ages, that they persuade themselves that every day is the last that they shall live, it is most specially convenient for old age to think every hour the last of their life. And not only not to harken unto that which is written by Cicero: There is no man so old, that thinketh not to live one year longer: but not so much unto that which Seneca sayeth, one day longer.  Sorrow. 
I die suddenly.  Reason. 
In this case what shall I answer thee other, then repeat that, which that most mighty parsonage, no less in wit then great in fortune, answered, scarce one whole day, when he disputed thereof, before his death, as prophesying of the truth thereof by reason of the nearness of the experience. Who pronounced, that a sudden and unprovided death was most to be wished. Which judgement seemeth to be dissonant from that religion which teacheth to pray with bowed knees unto GOD every day, to be delivered from this kind of death. Neither do I like of this opinion, where there is otherwise choice and liberty: but thou must in other manner persuade thyself, for I say not that it is such a death, as thou oughtest to wish for, but such an one as thou mayest well endure. For this is a clear case, that unto a wise man and one that foreseeth a far of all things that are like to ensue, there can nothing happen unlooked for. Whereupon it followeth, that death cannot come unto him unprovided for, whose life was always provident: for how should he be negligent in the greatest things, that was wont to demur in small, yea, the lest things? And in all worldly things, what canst thou show me that is greater than death, or comparable unto it?  Sorrow. 
I die most speedily.  Reason. 
So that the death be not unthought upon, the speedier, the easier it is: and if there be any pain in it, it is very short, and the speediness thereof preventeth the feeling of it, and so that is taken away from death, which is most grievous in death, to wit, the fear of death.   

Of one that is sick out of his own country. The cxxiiii Dialogue.  SOROW. 
I Am sick in a straying country.  Reason. 
What skilleth it whose country it be, the sickness thou art sure is thine own.  Sorrow. 
Thou mockest me, I am sick out of mine own country.  Reason. 
He that is out of his own country, is surely in some other: for none can be sick or whole out of all countries.  Sorrow. 
Thou seekest delays in words, but I am sick out of my country.  Reason. 
In this misery thou gainest this one commodity, that thou hast none to trouble thee, nor to lie upon thy bed, not thine importunate wife, nor thy son, who would both be careful for themselves, and careless of thee. How often thinkest thou, hath the wife to her husband, and the son to the father, and one brother to another, when they have lain in extremity of death thrown a pillow over their mouths, and holpen to set them packing, which a stranger would not have done, nor have suffered to be done by others? Many times there is most love where it is less looked for: and there none that are about thee will be glad of thy sickness, or wish for thy death. And shall I tell thee the cause why? There is none there that looketh for thine inheritance: none commit any wickedness, but they are moved thereunto by hope or desire, which quietness wherein thou art now, would not have happened unto thee in thine own country. For many under the colour of goodwill would flock about thee, and gape after thy burial: which conceit, unless I be much deceived, is a second sickness to him that is sick already, when he shall perceive himself beset round about, at the one side with wolves, and at the other with ravens which in their minds come to pray on the carcase.  Sorrow. 
I am sick out of my country.  Reason. 
How knowest thou that? Perhaps thou returnest now into thy country: for the readiest and shortest way for a man to return into his country, is to die.  Sorrow. 
I am sick out of my country.  Reason. 
O the needless always and vain cares of men, and fond complaints: as though out of a man's own country his ague were fiercer, or his gout more intolerable? All this which seemeth evil, consisteth in your own will, and lieth in your own power, like as other plagues and mischiefs do, whatsoever a false opinion hath engendered in your minds.   

Of one that dieth out of his own country. The cxxu Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I die out of my native country.  Reason. 
Doth this happen unto thee, being a traveller, or a banished man? For whether thou madest thine abode in this country for study sake, or for religion, thou hast cause to rejoice that death hath taken thee in an honest deed, or in a just condemnation, and thou oughtest to take it not only valiantly, but also willingly. For the wickedness of an unrighteous person is by no means better purged, then by willing and patiented suffering of punishment. But if it be long of the injury of some mighty enemy, nevertheless thou must not be sorry for it: and as for banishment, I suppose, we have disputed sufficiently of it already.  Sorrow. 
I die out of my country.  Reason. 
This I said even now, is to return into thy country, there is no straighter path, nor readier way. Hast thou forgotten hudemus of Cyprus that was familiar with Aristotle, of whom Aristotle himself and also Cicero writeth? Who, on a time being very sick in Thessalia, dreamt that he should recover very shortly, and after five years expired, return into his country, & that the Tyrant of the same city, where at that time he sojourned, whose name was Alexander Phaereus, should die shortly. But when after a few days, being restored unto his despaired health, and the Tyrant slain by his own kinsfolk, thinking his dream to be true in all points, at the time limited he looked also to return into his Country, at the end of the fifth year he was slain in fight at Syracuse: and this said the Interpreters of dreams, was the means of the returning into his Country, that there might be no part of the dream false. What mine opinion is concerning dreams, I have declared elsewhere already, and now I have uttered what came into my mind of this returning into a man's Country.  Sorrow. 
I am compelled to die out of my Country.  Reason. 
When I entreated of exile, than said I, which now I repeat again, that either none or all die out of their Country. The learned hold opinion, that every part of the world is a man's Country, specially to him that hath a valiant mind, whom any private affection hath not tied to the liking of this place or that: and othersome call that a man's Country where he is well, and liveth in good case. And contrariwise, some say, that a man hath here no special Country at all. The first is a common doctrine, but this last a point of higher Philosophy.  Sorrow. 
I die far from my Country in which I was borne.  Reason. 
But that is more truly thy Country, where thou diest. The same shall possess thee longer, and not suffer thee to wander abroad, but keep thee within it for a perpetual inhabitant for ever. Learn to like of this Country, that will enfranchize thee into itself, wheresoever otherwise thou were borne.  Sorrow. 
I must die, and be buried far out of mine own Country.  Reason. 
Those heavenly and divine men likewise, whom one age, and the self same middle part of the world brought forth, are dispersed over all parts of the world, as well in their deaths as burials. Ephesus keepeth one, and Syria another, and Persis another, and Armenia another, and Aethiopia another, and India another, and Achaia another, and Rome othersome, and the farthest part of Spain another: nevertheless it is reported, that some of them after their death, were carried away and translated from the places where they died, unto certain Cities of Italy: I speak of the earthly part of them, but as for their spiritual part, doubtless it is long since that they possessed the kingdom of heaven.  Sorrow. 
I must needs die out of my Country.  Reason. 
What shall I speak of men of a meaner degree? One that was removed first from Stridon, Bethleem and afterward Rome received, France another from Pannonia, and Paris another from Athens, and Rome another from Greece and Spain, and Milan another from Rome living, and the same when he was dead Sardinia from Africa, and shortly after Ticinum from Sardinia: two most bright shining streams of the East, march in merits, and joined in mind, and near in body. Who they be that I speak of thou knowest, and therefore in making haste, I overpass many things. But that thou mayest not want also an example of the third sort: Cyprus received one from the land of Palestine, and Campania another from Nursia: Spain this one, and Italy that other, and Bononie one, and Milan another.  Sorrow. 
I understand well all that ever thou meanest, notwithstanding unwillingly do I die far from my Country.  Reason. 
And truly I understand the very cause hereof: to wit, for that the most sacred spirits and minds which always have their affections fixed in heaven, have no care at all of their earthly Country, which care thou hast not yet laid aside, but truly believe me, if thou hope after heaven, thou must needs lay it aside indeed. Nevertheless, I will entreat of others that were lovers of virtue, and mindful of heaven, and yet not through their love of heaven, altogether forgetful of the earth. The bones of Pythagoras of Samos, Metapontus did cover. Cicero, whom Arpine brought forth, and Rome did nourish, the bay of Caieta saw dead. Pliny, whom the river Athesis washed when he was an infant, the ashes of the mount Vesews covered when he was old. Mantua brought Virgil into the world, Brundisium, or as other some writ Tarentum plucked him away, and now Naples holdeth him. Sulmo framed the Poet Ovid, but his exile in Pontus dissolved him. Carthage, as it is reported, brought forth Terence the Comike Poet, but Rome taught him, and Arcadia buried him. Apulia sent forth Horace the Poet, and Calabria Ennius, and the Province of Narbona Statius, and Vasconia Ausonius, & Corduba the three Annei, or as some say, four, to wit, the two Senecaes', and Gallio, and the Poet Lucan. And all these, & over & beside Plautus of Arpine, and Lucillus of Arunca, and Pacwius of Brundisium, & Juvenal of Aquinum, and Propertius of Vmbria, & Valerius of Antium, and Catullus of Verona, and Varrus of Cremona, and Gallus of Forli, and Actius of Pisaurum, & Cassius of Parma, & Claudianus of Florence, & Persius of Volaterrae, & a thousand more hath Rome received, and for the most part buried, only Titus Livius of Milan, with much ado was restored unto his Country to be interred: and so contrariwise, Rome hath bread many that have died, and been buried in other places. The whole world is in manner of a narrow house foursquare, wherein men pass from one extremity to another, and in the one is life, and in the other death. Men of valiant courage esteem of it for none other cause, then for the variety of the use thereof, as it were to go out of a cold bath into a stone, or to chaing out of a winter chamber into a summer lodging. This chaing and variety, namely, to be borne in one place, and buried in another, is common among all men, specially the more noble for't.  Sorrow. 
I know it is so, yet I die sorrowfully out of mine own Country.  Reason. 
Thou shouldest die no more merrily in that Country, which thou callest thine: but ye give yourselves over to tears, and seek causes to lament and be sorry, as if ye took pleasure in them. But if the examples of holy, learned, and discrete poverty can not discharge thy mind hereof, which is infected with the errors of the vulgar multitude, I will allege them that have been more fortunate, in proving that this which troubleth thee hath happened to the most famous Captains, Dukes, Kings, and Emperors, so that I will see whether thou wilt refuse that fortune which may befall to a man.  Sorrow. 
Whom thou wilt speak of and allege, I know well enough: but what need many words? I am sorry to die out of my Country, & the place increaseth the grief of my death.  Reason. 
I perceive thou refusest to be cured, yet will I proceed, but with how good effect, that look thou unto: as for me, it shall suffice to utter the truth, and give thee faithful warning. Alexander was borne at Pella, slain at Babylon, and his ashes buried at Alexandria, a City called after the name of the founder. The other Alexander was brought up in the Prince's Palace of Epirus, and drowned in the River Lucanus. King Cyrus was borne in his Kingdom of Persis, and slayine and mangled in Scythia. Rome, and the whole Roman Empire had in admiration Marcus Crassus, and Pompeius the great: which as it was able to bear the greatness of them while they lived: so if Fortune had so suffered, it had been sufficient to have received their ashes: but the one was covered with earth in Assyria beyond Euphrates, the other overwhelmed in the Channel of the Egyptian stream. Unto the latter Cato, the City of Rome gave both beginning and name, but Utica brought both end and surname. The Cornelii Scipio's, Rome procreated, most noble and profitable members of the Commonwealth, by whom it had been often saved and adorned: whom notwithstanding their destinies so dispersed, that those two which are called the great, were entombed both in Spanish mould, and the elder African at Linternum, and Nasica at Pergamus, and Lentulus within Scicil, dwelling all in several and disjoined graves. Of all this number, only Asiaticus and Africanus the younger lie buried at Rome, who perhaps had lain better in any banishment whatsoever: for the first was punished by imprisonment, the other by death. And thus many times it happeneth, that a man may live better, and die better, in any other place, then in his own Country, and lie nowhere harder than at home. The three Deci, although the common report make mention but of twain, died valiantly out of their own Country, the Father fighting with the Latins, the Son with the Etrurians and the Nephew, as Cicero addeth, with Pyrrhus; To what purpose should I now rehearse in order as they come to my mind, worthy Captains and Princes, which were all borne at Rome, and died elsewhere? Africa beheld Attilius Regulus how much the more cruelly, so much the more gloriously dying, both for the preserving of his Country, and also of his faith and credit with his enemy: and in the next war following, Cortona saw Caius Flaminius, and Cumae Paulus Aemilius, and Venusia, Claudius Marcellus, and Lucania, Tiberius Gracchus lying dead: it was the fortune of none of these to die at Rome. Two noble Gentlemen of great hope and expectation in the Roman Commonwealth, were cut of in the very flower of their youth, Drusus and Marcellinus: who although they returned both into their Country, yet died they both far from their Country, Drusus in Germany, and Marcellinus in Baion. And tell me now, are thou prouder than Tarqvinius, or mightier than Sylla? Yet the first of these died a banished man at Cumae, the other being a great Lord, gave up the ghost at Puteoli. What shall I speak of men of meaner degree? Augustus Caesar, who was called Father of his Country, died out of his Country at Nola in Campania. Tiberius', that was unlike in Manners, but equal in Empire, deceased at Misenum in Campania. Vespasian and Titus, two most excellent Princes, as it well become the father and the son, died in one Village, yet without of the City of Rome▪ though not far. But ●raian, being borne in the West part of the world, died in the East. Septimus Severus came but of a base parentage in Africa, and had a proud Empire at Rome▪ and was buried at York in England. Theodosius that was borne in Spain, and died at Milan, Constantinople received: which City also had in it before, the founder thereof being of the same name, but borne in another place. What shall I need to recite others? Lycurgus, who fled from Sparta, Creta received, which long before had seen King Saturn banished out of his Kingdom, and flying from his son, and heard how he hid himself in the confines of Italy, and was there buried. A poor grave of Bythinia, covereth Hannibal the light of all Africa. Theseus, Themistocles, and Solon, the three Diamonds of all Athens, were so scattered by Fortune, that the first was buried in Syria, the second in Persis, and the third in Cyprus, in far unfit Graves for so worthy Carcases. The day would sooner fail me then matter, if I should stand to report every example. But my purpose was not to weary thee with Histories, but only to instruct thee.  Sorrow. 
I understand thy meaning: and I confess, that all these, and as many more as thou canst reckon, died out of their Countries in deed: but I deny that it was with their wills, but rather I suppose to their great grief.  Reason. 
Whereby speakest thou this, but only for that all fools judge other like themselves, and think that to be impossible for others to do, which they themselves can not attain to. And perhaps thou hast harkened to the old proverb: It is good to live abroad in strange Countries, but ill to die there: when as in deed they are both good, so that they be orderly done, with patiented forbearing, and comeliness: but both evil, if they be ill handled, lamentably, and without discretion. I will tell thee that which thou wilt marueyll at, and is quite repugnant to the old proverb: If there be any just occasion to complain of the cause, I had rather impute the same to the living, whom perhaps in some respect it may concern, then him that lieth a dying, who hath now no regard of any place, seeing that he is upon departing from all places.  Sorrow. 
Somewhat thou moovest my mind, nevertheless I am yet desirous to die in my Country.  Reason. 
The will of man, unless it be bridled by virtue and wisdom, of itself is wild and unreclaymed. And if thou consider of the matter deeply, thou wilt confess, that none of all this appertaineth unto thee, seeing that thou thyself canst remain here no longer, nor thy bones retain any sense after thy decease to discern where thou mightest have lain harder or softer, and also unto that place whither thou departest, which had been the shorter or easier way. When Anaxagoras lay a dying in a far foreign Country, and his friends demanded of him whether after his death he would be carried home into his own native soil, he answered very finely, saying, that it should not need: and he added the cause why: for that the way to Heaven is of like distance from all places. Which answer serveth as well for them that go down to Hell, as for those that go up to Heaven.  Sorrow. 
I would GOD I might die at home.  Reason. 
If thou were there, perhaps thou wouldst wish thyself in another place: persuade thyself so. Learn to do that dying, which thou oughtest to have done living. An hard matter it is for you, O ye mortal men, to bear yourselves uprightly, ye are so dainty and faultfynding, evermore making none accounted of that which ye have, and always judging best of that which ye want.  Sorrow. 
O, that I might die at home?  Reason. 
Peradventure thou shouldest see many things there, that would make thy death more grievous unto thee: for which cause think that thou art removed, to the intent that all other cares being set apart, thou mightest only think upon GOD, and thine own soul.   

Of one that dieth in sin.. The. Cxxuj. Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Oye in sin.  Reason. 
This is neither Natures, nor Fortunes, but thine own fault.  Sorrow. 
I die in sin.  Reason. 
first, who enforced thee to commit sin? And next, who forbid thee to bewail it when it was committed? And last of all, who letteth thee from repenting, though it be late first? For unto the last gasp the spirit and mind is free.  Sorrow. 
Whiles I am dying, I carry my sins with me.  Reason. 
Beware thou do not so: lay down that venomous and deadly carriage, while thou hast time, and there is one that will take it away and blot it out, according as it is written, and will cast it behind his back into the bottom of the Sea, and will abandon it as far from thee, as the East is distant from the West. If thou neglect this hour, when it is once past it will never return again. With quality, although it be common to all hours, that always they pass away and never return, yet many times that which hath been omitted in one hour, may be perhaps recovered in another: but yet the neglecting of the last hour of a man's life is irrecurable. And therefore, as some report it to be found in the secret disputations of the soul, the errors of this life, are as it were soft falls upon the plain ground, after which, a man may soon rise up again: but the sin unto death, is compared unto a grievous fall from some high and craggy place, after which, it is not possible to arise any more, the hurt therein taken is so great, that it can not be salved. Wherefore, help thyself now while thou mayest, and call to remembrance, not only what your own writers say, but also what Cicero counseleth, who in his work de Divinatione, of Divination, disputing of those that are dying: Do thou chiefly, quoth he, study to win commendation, and think that they which have lived otherwise then they aught, do most bitterly repent them of their sins. What, I pray thee, could be uttered by any man more religiously or profitably, if so be that be followed which is commanded, and thou repent thee, though it be late first? A difficult and dangerous matter it is truly to defer the time, which hath deceived very many, who wittingly and willingly put of the cleansing of their souls, which can not be done too speedily, from day to day, and always adjourn it unto their latter time, in which being suddenly taken short, and amazed with the nearness of death, they leave all undone whatsoever they determined. Concerning which matter, forasmuch as your writers have said very much, it shall not be impertinent to hear what the Poet Virgil sayeth, who is an external witness, with what words he reproveth this slothfulness and negligence in repentance, which to come forth of his mouth is wonderful, whereas among the infernal Spirits he bringeth in him to be a judge, whose uprightness and equity is very famous. Who, as he sayeth, Examineth the Ghosts, and punisheth them, and constraineth them to confess their deceipts: and also if there be any such, that while they lived upon the earth, rejoiced in vain theft, & differred to repent them thereof until they died, which was too late. And albeit this be so dangerous as I have declared, notwithstanding there is nothing more perilous than Despair, neither hath the enemy of your salvation found out any thing more hurtful to your good estate. For all other mischiefs are assuaged by their peculiar remedies, but of all eulles this is the greatest and last of all, which if it take hold of the soul when it is departing, then is there no place left for recovery. The same therefore always, but specially in the end, aught most earnestly be resisted, for that then it useth to urge most sharply. And now there is no time left for thee, wherein by staggering or trifling thou reject wholesome counsel concerning thy salvation. From this let no fear drive thee, nor the shame and sorrow of differringe withhold thee: it is better to awake late at night, than not at all, and what soever is ill differed, is worse omitted.  Sorrow. 
I die without all hope.  Reason. 
Thou sayest ill: rather pluck up hope again, and lay it to thy heart, and embrace it, college it, and keep it with the arms of thy soul.  Sorrow. 
My sin is exceeding great.  Reason. 
N●mans sin can be so great, but God's mercy is much greater.  Sorrow. 
Who is able to forgive so many sins?  Reason. 
Who thinkest thou, but he only, at whom his enemies wondering, contended among themselves and demanded: Who is this that forgiveth sins also?  Sorrow. 
Who is able to merit forgiveness of so great sins?  Reason. 
None truly can deserve, nor never deserved: nevertheless it hath freely been given to many, and shallbe given hereafter, so that it be craved by faith and reverence. There were some that went about to persuade Constantinus the Emperor, that there was no forgiveness of great sins. But that this doctrine is false, it appeareth not only by your writers, among whom the remission of sins by baptism and repentance is well known. but also the like report, though false, was among the Pagans': towards the curing of whose diseases that medicine was then without effect, for that the heavenly Physician was not yet come. And therefore, unless the soul could have been cleansed from sin, and the iniquity thereof washed away, that same most grievous sinner at the first, and afterward most goodly man, had prayed full often in vain.  Sorrow. 
The remembrance of my sin, cutteth of my hope.  Reason. 
The remembrance of sin aught to bring sorrow and repentance into the mind, but not take away hope. But ye are to much in extremities on all sides: In sin burning, after sin key cold: In sinning ye rejoice, and in remembering sin ye despair. Many everywhere offend in hope of pardon, and on the otherside, not few when they have sinned despair of forgiveness, and both forts are deceived. And I would give them counsel, for the first sort at the beginning to abandon that hurtful hope, and for the second to retain fruitful assuredness.  Sorrow. 
Death driveth me forth headlong that am laden with sins: what shall I do?  Reason. 
What other then that which thou shouldest have done ere this? That is to say, with speed lay down thine unhappy burden, whereof being lightened thou shalt go plainly, and not run headlong. Thou shalt go, I say, not stooping nor stumbling, but with upright and steady steps, and a good hope. Go to then, defer no longer time, nor distrust not: for there is one if thou do heartily entreathym, that will take it from thy shoulders, and hath taken away heavier than this, unto whom there is nothing heavy nor difficult. And although that long delay do want excuse, yet late amendment deserveth commendation, for that it is better to amend late than never. Be of good cheer, and pluck up thy heart: a few godly and fervent tears have called many back even from hell gates. He standeth friendly at thy beds head, who not only answered the infected that he would cleanse him, but also commanded him that had been buried four days, to rise out of his grave. And now likewise he attendeth to see, if thou wilt be cleared and raised up again, being as loving and merciful at this present as he was then, and also as mighty as ever he was. It lieth yet in thy power in what state thou wilt die, thou mayest yet departed without sin, not that thou hadst none, but that henceforward it shall not be imputed unto thee. And although that Plinius the younger hold opinion, that over sins that are past, God hath no power at all, but only to make them be forgotten: nevertheless he hath also the might to take them a way, which that most curious man did not perceive. And therefore, although that which is done cannot be undone again, nevertheless the sin that sprang by the doing may be in such sort taken away, that it remain no longer, so that it come to pass according as it is written: Sin shallbe sought for. and not be found. Not that the power of man is such, that he can loose himself from the bands of sin, but in that unto the godly, and well disposed will of man, and his coutrite heart, the present assistance of God is never wanting.   

Of one dying, that is careful what shalbecome of his inheritance and children. The. Cxxvii. Dialogue.  FEAR. 
WHat shall I hope of mine inheritance, and children?  Reason. 
Thine inheritance shall have owners, and thy children their fortune.  Fear. 
What shall become of my great riches?  Reason. 
Think not that thine heir will think them to great. There were never any riches so great, but they seemed to little in some respect. But concerning these let her look unto them, who tumbleth and tosseth your goods which ye esteem so dearly, hither and thither most uncertainly.  Fear. 
What will my children do?  Reason. 
When their earthly father hath forsaken them, the heavenly father will receive then into his protection, who will not leave them as thou dost, nor make them Orphans and fatherless children. But he will nourish, and instruct them from their youth so that they show themselves willing to learn, and not forsake them unto their old years and crooked age, not not to their death and grave. God is the hope unto man when he is borne, and not his father, though he were a king. It is not good building upon the sand, but upon the rock: for all hope in man is short and transitory. And therefore thy children being deceived by the hope which they reposed in thee, will put their trust in God only, & sing with the Prophet David: My father & my mother have forsaken me, but the Lord hath taken me up. The seeds & sparks of good nature & virtue that have appeared in many children, have been quite extinguished by their parents to much cockling: like as on the contrary side, loss of parents, and poverty, have oftentimes driven away the children's daintiness.  Fear. 
What will become of my riches?  Reason. 
They will return from whence they came, (that is to say,) unto fortune's hands: and from thence they shallbe dispersed from one to another, and never tarry long with any. For they are of a flitting nature, and cannot abide in one place: And that not without a mystery. For some have thought, that money cannot tarry in a place because of the roundensse & the rolling form of the coin, which some merrily have said, to be a token of the slipperiness thereof, which partly I cannot deny. But I am of opinion, that if it were three or four square, it would tun away as fast, I mean concerning the continual passing of riches, whose nature is always to slip and fly away, to hate coffers that have but one lock, to be delighted with sundry and often possessors, either to the intent to avoid rust, or else by their currantness and running about to cirumvent very many, or lastly to contend with their owners in unconstancy. Seeing therefore that: thou liest now a dying, cast of that care which unto the living is superfluous. But rather if thou die rich, acknowledge how that there is seldom any rust found in fortune, and now that thou art departing out of this life, fly riches which are not profitable for thee, nor necessary for any. But if thou be poor, departed forth upon thy journey light & without burden: whether thy riches be very great, or indifferent, or very small, or none at all, heretofore they belonged very little unto thee, but henceforth they shall appertain unto thee nothing at all, but this much only, that thou mayest perceive, that he that was poorer than thou, lived in more quietness than thou, seeing that these troublesome and painful helps of life, or whether thou list rather to term them torments, do make thy death more careful.  Fear. 
What shall become of my children?  Reason. 
Thy name shall live in them, if they be good, and if that be any comfort in death, thou shalt not seem wholly to be dead. For in their countenances, & actions, & gesture thy friends will think and also rejoice that thou art restored unto them. But if they be evil, thou hast cause willingly to forsake them, & those whom thou thyself couldst not correct nor tame, thou shalt deliver them over unto the world and fortune, to be corrected and tamed. And do not thou now dying lament for them, that will nothing at all be grieved at thy death, and perhaps are sorry that thou diedst not sooner.  Sorrow. 
But what shall become of my goods?  Reason. 
Fearest thou, that when thou hast left them, they shall find no owner? They are looked for, they are wished for, they are valued already: neither oughtest thou to be afeard so much for the neglecting of them, as for the striving for them. But this is one thing, they shall now surcease to be thy goods any longer, but whose they shallbe next, why dost thou look upon thy children? It cannot possibly be known, nor it must not: it sufficeth thee to know that they were once thine, if ever they were thine indeed, and not rather hers, that is the lady and mistress of goods that pass away, and generally of all worldly things, whose name is Fortune. But having been thine so long, that is to say, being but a short time in thy disposition, it is now high time for thee to departed, and to leave them to others. Let them now learn to be at other's commandment awhile, and to keep their accustomed change, unless thou wilt die so ambitiously, as some fools have also done the like, and have thy money buried with thee in thy grave, which may one day redound to the commodity of them that dig graves hereafter. But rather now at length cast from thee all care of the earth and metals, and repose thy cogitations upon heaven, and thine own estate.  Fear. 
My goods fly from me.  Reason. 
Didst thou think that they would tarry, when thy life passed away, and when thou thyself waste continually carried hence?  Fear. 
What shall become of my goods, when they leave of to be mine?  Reason. 
What did they before they were thine?  Fear. 
Leaving behind me so great riches as I do, I departed naked.  Reason. 
Naked thou camest into the world, and naked thou must departed again, whereof thou hast no cause to complain, but rather to give thanks. In the mean time, thou hast had the use and occupying of an others goods: there is nothing taken from thee that was thine own, but only the goods of another required again at thy hands when thou mayest occupy them no longer. For honest guests when they are departing away, do willingly restore the vessel and stuff which they borrowed of their host.  Fear. 
Alas, of all my riches I carry not thus much away with me.  Reason. 
Carry away as much as thou broughtest, or if thou lust, as much as any king doth.  Fear. 
What will my young children do?  Reason. 
If they live, they will grow up and wax old, and walk their own ways, and try their own fortune, and pass through their own troubles: in the mean time they shall abide in God's protection: and perhaps when thou wast young thou livedst likewise without a father.   

Of one dying, that is careful what his wife will do when he is dead. The cxxviii Dialogue.  FEAR. 
WHat will my well-beloved wife do, when I am dead?  Reason. 
Perhaps she will marry again: what is that to thee?  Fear. 
What will my dear wife do?  Reason. 
Being discharged from thy yoke, either she will yield her neck to another, or live at large, or else rest herself after her weariness, & seek only how to pass forth her life quietly.  Fear. 
What will my most loving wife do?  Reason. 
Dost thou ask what she will do when she hath escaped from thee, and knowest not what she did when she was under thy subjection? The greater sort of mortal men, being ignorant what is done at home in their own houses, hearken what is a doing in heaven, and the farthest parts of the world. Truly, what shall become of thy wife after thy departure, let herself or her next husband look to that, since that care appertaineth no longer to thee hereafter.  Fear. 
I am afeard, jest after my decease my wife marry again.  Reason. 
Some there be that marry, their old husbands living. Thus did Herodias among the Hebrews, Sophronisba among the africans, and Martia and Livia among the Romans, although their husbands consent & commandment do excuse these two last recited: & wilt thou only bind thy wife from marriage? Yea, there are but few that live faithfully towards their husbands, & wilt thou require that thy wife continued her truth to thy cold & senseless ashes? If she have lived faithful to thee unto the last day of thy life, then hath she accomplished the duty of a true and trusty spouse.  Fear. 
I am afeard that my wife will marry again.  Reason. 
That she first married perhaps thou shouldest have feared more: that belonged to thee, but her second marrying shall appertain to another. But this is your common trade, ye contemn the things that ye aught to fear, and fear the things that ye aught to contemn, esteeming of nothing justly as ye aught. Thou enterdst the combat of the married bed without fear, not forethinkyng what danger thou passedst into, and art thou afeard now lest another should do the like?  Fear. 
I would not, I confess, have my wife marry again.  Reason. 
For a woman of exact & perfect chastity, I grant, although she be permitted by law to marry again, yet were it better to abstain: but most of all to eschew perilous widowhood. There is moreover some such time & occasion, that a woman is not only excused, but also enforced to marry again. For it is an hard matter for a fair woman to live alone chastened.  Fear. 
My sweet wife will marry another husband.  Reason. 
There are but few women found, yea among them that are counted honest, that even while their present husband is living, do not determine in their mind who shall be their next. My husband, say they, is a mortal man, and if he chance to die, shall I marry next for virtue, or nobility, or love, or eloquence, or beauty, or person sake?  Fear. 
My wife will marry again.  Reason. 
Not thy wife verily: for death will make that she shall not be thine. And no marvel though it part man and wife, which dissolveth the bands whereby the body and soul are knit together.  Fear. 
My wife will marry again.  Reason. 
The wives of the Roman Captains, and Dukes and Emperors have also married again, and therefore take in good part this fortune which is common to thee with thine ancestors.  Fear. 
My wife will marry again.  Reason. 
The Roman Captains and Princes did marry widows also, & so did the most godly king David take to wife two widows, that had been the wives but of mean persons: and it may so happen that one greater than thou may marry thy wife, unto whom resign this carefulness, seeing thou goest thither where there is no marrying at all.  Fear. 
My sweet wife will marry another man.  Reason. 
If she marry a better, rejoice at her prosperity whom thou lovedst. But if to a worse, be glad yet, for that she will think more often upon thee, and hold thee more dear. For there be many that have learned to know and love their first husbands, only by their second marriages.   

Of one dying, that is careful what will become of his country after his decease. The cxxix Dialogue.  FEAR. 
WHat shall become of my country after my death?  Reason. 
All good men have but one country, and all evil men another: take heed now into which of these two countries thou wilt be admitted a countryman. As for a third country there is none, but only an Inn and a place of passage, a thoroughfare.  Fear. 
What will become of my country?  Reason. 
That country which thou goest unto, continueth always in one estate: and this which thou now forsakest, as I have oftentimes said before, is not thy country, but hath rather been thy place of banishment.  Fear. 
What will my country do after my decease?  Reason. 
This is the peculiar care of kings, to think what will become of their kingdoms & dominions after their death: the like whereof thou readest there rested in the heart of the great king of Assyria, or of the most mighty emperor of the Romans. This care exceedeth the calling of a private person. But since now even at thy very end thou art so affected, that thou lust to term that stoarehouse of misery, and hospital of pain and sorrow, wherein thou hast passed forth the swift time of thy life, in great trouble, adversity, and heaviness, by the name of thy country, and art desirous to know what it will do, I will tell thee: it will do as it did, and as other countries do. What is that, thou wilt say? It will be troublesome, disquiet, dissentious, and studious of innovations: it will follow factions, change lords and governors, altar laws, and both these many times for the worse, seldom for the better, spurn against the best and most noble subjects, advance the unworthy, banish the well deserving, esteem of the pillars & poullers of the treasury, love flatterers, hate them that speak the truth, contemn the good, honour the mighty, worship the enemies of it liberty, persecute the defenders of the Commonwealth, weep sometime and laugh without cause, esteem of gold and precious stones, reject virtue, and embrace pleasures: these are the manners and state of your Cities and Countries. There is none but may most assuredly prophecy unto thee of these matters, unless he be such an one as hath always led a rural life, or entered into Towns with deaf ears, and dim eyes.  Fear. 
What will befall unto my Country after my decease?  Reason. 
Why art thou careful, and troubled herewith? Whatsoever happeneth to thy Country, thy house shall be free from burning, thieves, and overthrowing. Whether the year fall out to be pestilent, or else to be dear or plentiful, hot or dry, haylie, snowy, or rainy, frosty, or otherwise moist & rotten: yea, the birds of the air, & wild beasts of the woods, the Caterpillar and Chaffer: finally, earthquakes, and raginges of the lee, dearth of victuals, invasions of enemies, or civil wars, none of all these are able to touch, or concern thee hereafter.  Fear. 
O, what shallbe the estate of my Country, or to what end shall it come?  Reason. 
To what other, thinkest thou, then that the greatest city and state that ever was or shallbe is come unto? to wit, dust, ashes, rubbysh, scattered stones, and a name only remaining? I could prove this to be true by innumerable arguments, but thou knowest the matter sufficiently. To be short, there is nothing appertaining unto man that is everlasting, no worldly thing permanent, but only the soul of man, which is immortal. Enclosures shall fail, sowed lands shall decay, buildings shall fall down, all things shall come to nought, and why art thou grieved and vexed in the mind? If thou be in heaven, thou wilt both despise this, and all other worldly things. But as for them that go down into hell, casting of all charity, it is to be intended that they hate both God and men, and also all the works of God and man.   

Of one that at his death is careful of his fame and good report. The. Cxxx. Dialogue.  SORROW. 
WHAT will men speak of me when I am dead?  Reason. 
An unseasonable care: thou shouldest have provided for this in thy youth: for look what a man's life is, such is his fame.  Sorrow. 
What will they say of me?  Reason. 
What shall I answer thee, other then that which the most learned and eloquent Marcus Cicero sayeth? What other men shall speak of thee, let them see to that themselves, but they will speak notwithstanding: howbeit, all their talk is comprehended within the narrow bounds of these regions which thou seest: neither was it ever continual of any, but is extinguished by the death of men, and forgetfulness of posterity.  Sorrow. 
What will they speak of me, that shallbe borne hereafter?  Reason. 
I would tell thee otherwise then Cicero doth, if I thought that any thing could be better uttered than is by him. And what skilleth it, saith he, if thou be spoken of by them that shallbe borne hereafter, seeing there now remaineth no fame of them that were borne before thee? One thing he addeth moreover, which perhaps at that time was doubtful, peradventure false, but now very sure, & most true without doubt: Who, saith he, were as many in number as you are now, and truly better men to. For who is he that doubteth, but that there will never come so good men, as there have been? Thus all things wax worse & worse, and tend every day toward their final ruin. A marvelous care than it is which thou hast, to stand in fear of the speeches of those whom thou knowest not, & are thy youngers, as not living in the same age with thee, seeing thou now contemnest the judgement and words of excellent men of thine own time, and acquaintance.  Sorrow. 
What fame shall there be of me when I am dead?  Reason. 
Far better than while thou livest, when envy once holdeth her peace. For envy and malice seldom last longer than a man's life: and as virtue is the root of glory, so is envy the cutter down of it: and as the envious hand being present, hindereth the growth of it, so when it is taken away, it restoreth the increase of true commendation. And therefore unto many, as the entrance into their graves hath been a bar unto envy, so hath it been the beginning of great glory.  Sorrow. 
How long will my fame continued?  Reason. 
A long time perhaps, as you call long. But that all things may not only be long, but also everlasting, virtue alone is able to bring that to pass, and specially justice, of which it is written: The just man shallbe had in everlasting memory: Which meaning also your country Poet expressed as well as he could, where he saith: But by men's deeds their fame to stretch, that privilege virtue gives.  Sorrow. 
What fame shall I have after my decease?  Reason. 
What skilleth it what it be, which shortly shallbe forgotten or contemned? What shall the breath of men appertain unto thee, when thou thyself shalt be without breath? For one that breatheth to be nourished and delighted with the wind and air, it is no marvel: but for a dead man to be so, it is a wonder.  Sorrow. 
What shallbe said of me when I am dead?  Reason. 
No goodness, be sure, unless thou have deserved it, but much evil peradventure not merited: and perhaps little, or nothing at all. For in many things fame is a liar, but in the most a true reporter, otherwise it could not long continued. For truth is the foundation of continuance, and as for a lie, it is weak and transitory.  Sorrow. 
What fame shall I have after my death?  Reason. 
Such as thy life was before and at thy death. Concerning this matter therefore, let the time to come, but specially the time present look to that. And thus persuade thyself assuredly, that what report and fame a man is worthy to have after his death, it is no way better discerned then at his death: when as in deed, which is a straying thing to be spoken, many that have lived all their time obscurely and without glory, death only hath made famous.   

Of one that dieth without Children. The. Cxxxj. Dialogue.  SORROW. 
I Die without children.  Reason. 
For that cause thou oughtest to die the more willingly, and with the more expedition to go forth on thy journey, for that thou hast nothing behind thee, to stay thee or call thee back. The greatest grief which they that lie a dying have, surceaseth in thee, which riseth upon the sorrow and compassion of leaving their children, specially when they be young & need the assistance and counsel of their parents, being at those years destitute of advice, & subject unto injuries, & many other casualties.  Sorrow. 
My children, whom I wished & hoped should have lived after me, are gone before me.  Reason. 
Then hast thou some, to whom thou art desirous to go, & from whom thou art not willing to departed, which is no small comfort unto thee.  Sorrow. 
Bitter death constraineth me to die without children.  Reason. 
If thou think this to be so miserable a matter, what cause hast thou either to die now, or heretofore to have lived without children, seeing there is such choice of young Gentlemen, & towardly youths, among whom thou mayest choose and adopt thee sons, who perhaps will be more loving and obedient unto thee than thine own natural children, descended of thy flesh & blood: for they come unto thee by chance, but these are elected out of many by exquisite judgement? The other were thy children before thou knewest them, but these thou knewest, chosest, and lovedst before thou madest them thy children. And therefore, the one sort of them will wholly impute it to nature, that they are thy children, but the other to thy special good liking. Whereby it hath happened many times, that the succession by adoption hath been very fortunate unto the heirs, in which kind not only mean inheritances, but also whole Empires have been committed in trust. Thou knowest how julius Caesar wanting issue, adopted Augustus to be his son, & Augustus again adopted Tiberius almost against his will. And likewise afterward, how Nerua adopted Vlp●us Traianus, and he Elius Hadrianus, & be again Antonius pius, & he likewise took unto him Marcus Aurelius to be his son: which Marcus, I would to God he had more happily adopted any other, then unluckily begotten his son Commodus, commodious to none, but discommodiouss to the whole world, the only disgracing of so good a father, & one among a few of them that were no small shame & reproach to the Roman Empire, & also a most apparent argument how much adoption is more fortunate than procreation. For whereas the first princes had in order one after another reigned long time & in happy estate, this man forsaking the sleppes of so many his ancestors & predecessors, having defiled the Commonwealth with his short and filthy government, or rather tyranny, at last came to a miserable, but for his deserts a worthy end, the whole contempt & mockery of the common people being turned upon him. But long before all these, Scipio that was the son of Scipio Africanus the great, adopted unto himself to the honour of his family, the second thunderbolt of the Punic war, and hammer of the city of Carthage, by special ordinance appointed to that purpose, that the same city which the grandfather had shaken, the nephew should overthrow, as Florus the Historician sayeth, being translated from the stock of Aemilia, into the family of Cornelia, no small glory, & confess, and yet the last of them both. Hereby thou seest, that neither thou, nor any Prince can lack a son, or rather that which is best of all, they that are good can not lack a good choice: which if it please thee to make, perhaps it will give thee such an one as thy wife will not bring thee the like, & being loosed from the bands of marriage shalt possess the desired effect and end of matrimony: In such sort doth the law provide for the defects of Nature.  Sorrow. 
How shall I now dispose of my house, since that I die without children?  Reason. 
Do not refuse this great occasion of well deserving and commendation, which is now, as it were thrown into thy lap: and that which thou determinest to bestow upon thy children, who peradventure would be unthankful for it, or wickedly hoard it up, or else as it is the custom of either sort of these, to convert it to ungodly uses, or rather in very short time or waste & consume all most prodigally, employ thou more commendably, more profitably, & more durably. Attalus that was king of Pergamus, by his testament made the people of Rome his heir, not being poor nor needful of it, who also were sshortly after corrupted with the wanton wealth of Asia. But I will tell thee of another people, to whom thou mayest leave thy goods. On the one side of thee standeth a rout of thy friends & kinsfolk, at the other a rabble of poor people, out of both which thou art permitted to adopt children. The one sort of these, when thou art gone, will detain the sweet remembrance of thee in their minds, the other prevent thee with their godly prayers unto the place whither thou art now passing: insomuch as, look what thou bestowest upon them here, thou shalt receive an hundred fold there, which is a large interest, & a most assured provision for them that are upon the point to pass that way.  Sorrow. 
I die without a son.  Reason. 
What if thou hadst many: wouldst thou then chose one of them to be the keeper of thy house and money, which shall be thine no longer? Or wouldst thou appoint one of them to be thy Champion in the conflict & pangs of death, being himself also mortal? or else to wait upon thee to thy grave? for farther none of all thy friends will follow thee, more than Metellus friends followed him. The way is but short from the death bed to the grave: and what skilleth it whether thou lie alone here, or there? These are but frivolous and vain causes truly, to wish for sons: and if in them moreover, as the vulgar speech is, thou hopedst to have thy name preserved and continued, thou wast also vulgarly deceived. For doubtless, for the most part such is the obscureness of the children generally to be found, that they are not able to beautify nor to keep up their father's name. But the rare nobility of the sons, as always it maketh the sons themselves honourable, so for nearness sake sometime it covereth and obscureth the parents, even as the Sun doth the lesser Stars: which is in none seen more evidently then in julius Caesar's father, whom his sons brightness made almost unknown. And to be short, whosoever reposeth the trust of his name in his son, he putteth a slender and slippery substance into a rotten and cracked earthen vessel, and which is more foolish, that is none of his own: a thing truly more accounted of among the common multitude, then of the learned, and yet contemned of neither: Howbeit this hope were more commendably and assuredly laid up in their sound and uncorruptible vessels, to wit, in their own virtue, notable deeds, and learning.  Sorrow. 
I die without children.  Reason. 
Thou hast none to divide thy care upon, thine attendance is fixed only on thyself, so that thou mayest departed with more readiness and liberty, respecting thyself, and considering thine own estate, how miserable or happy thou shalt die. And further, thou diest not in an uncertainty whether thy misery be augmented, or felicity abated by the dishonour or virtue of another. Although some others be of another opinion, to accord with whom I find myself more willing: notwithstanding it hath seemed true for the most part unto Philosophers of great skill that the father's estate concerning misery or happiness, is varied by the event of the children. Truly it is a weak good thing that streatcheth unto fortune that shall befall hereafter, and dependeth upon another's estate. Which opinion if we do admit, what may be concluded thereon thou knowest: for it is out of all doubt, that many had departed in more happy estate, if they had died without children.   

Of one dying, that feareth to be thrown forth unburied. The. Cxxxii Dialogue.  FEAR. 
I shallbe thrown forth unburied.  Reason. 
Enviest thou the birds, or the beasts, or the fishes? And if thou be afeard of them, take order that thou mayest have one appointed to keep thee, or a staff laid by thee to drive them away from thy carcase.  Fear. 
Thou dost jest at my misery, for truly I shall feel nothing.  Reason. 
Why then dost thou fear that which thou shalt not feel? If thou couldst feel it thou wouldst like well of it: for to bury one that feeleth, is to kill him.  Fear. 
I shall lie unburied.  Reason. 
If the earth press not thee, thou shalt press the earth: & if the earth cover thee not, heaven will. Thou knowest the old saying: Him heaven hides, that hath none other grave. And very well known is this other most common speech also: To lack a grave is but a slender loss: so slender a loss indeed, that there is none more slender.  Fear. 
I shall lie unburied, which is a woeful thing to be spoken.  Reason. 
I know not what to be spoken, but truly in effect a very trifle: & believe me, it is much more tolerable for a man to be thrown out of his grave, then to be turned out of his bed, or apparel.  Fear. 
I I shall lie unburied, which is a filthy sight.  Reason. 
Filthy perhaps unto others, but nothing at all unto thee. It is the general opinion of all learned men, and experience also confirmeth no less, that all manner of burial was devised not so much for the dead sake, as for the living. Which to be true, the outward show and representation of tombs & graves doth evidently declare, which within side being evil favoured and horrible, do enclose their tenant within rough and rude rubbish, but on the outside are wrought with great cunning and cost, where the workmen for the most part deck them forth to the view with carved pictures of marble, and statues of gold, and arms beawtifully depainted.  Fear. 
I shall lie unburied, which is a loathsome thing to behold.  Reason. 
Hast thou so little business to do of thine own, that thou must meddle with other folks matters? Let them look to that whom the matter concerneth, as for this loathsomeness, thou shalt not see it.  Fear. 
I shallbe left unburied, which is a miserable case.  Reason. 
Yea, Pompeius the great as worthy a parsonage as he was, lay unburied: or rather lay not still, but was overwhelmed & tossed with the surging waves. Neither do I think thee to be so mad or foolish, that in thine opinion he should have been made the more happy if he had been buried: as his companion Marcus Crassus was never a whit the more unfortunate, in that there was none present to 'cause him to be interred. In all other things they were almost equal, saving that Crassus' head, as it was most meet for him that was of all men the most rich & covetous, being more heavy than gold, was preserved, but nevertheless both of them to be contemned & reproachfully dealt withal. Unless perhaps their third fellow be more happy, for that he was set up to be seen upon the head of a most lofty and beautiful Colossus, overlooking there the tops of the highest churches and steeples: whom perhaps I may confess to have been in war more fortunate, but in burial I must needs deny it. So that I may say, that the same stone is beautified by him, but made nothing the happier. For what happiness can this be in him that hath no feeling, or as a man would say, in one stone not covered with another? For if it were otherwise, that a grave or tomb made a man fortunate, who were more happy than Mausolus?  Fear. 
I shall lie unburied.  Reason. 
Both Paulus Aemilius, and Claudius Marcellus had lain unburied, had not their most deadly enemy dained them of a grave, the rather, as I suppose, in admiration of their virtue, & in respect of his own honesty, then moved with any remorse of duty or conscience, whereof there rested no one jot within that man's heart. In somuch, that I think they hated their graves when they were interred, & if they might have had their liberty, would rather have chosen to have lain unburied. Cyrus also that was king of Persia lay unburied, & neither that, nor yet his Scythian bottle were any reproach unto him at all, but rather their cruel and savage manners, by means of which he sustained that most foul ignominy, & shameful injury. But why do I now gather together so many several naked corpses, with Roman emperors, and foreign kings, that were bereaved not only of the last and wished solemnity of their graves, but also of the vain honour belonging thereunto: & farther, which more is, that were torn & plucked in pieces, & thrown about in mammocks, that a man would judge it an envious matter to have lain with an whole carcase: seeing that there are conversant in our minds & memories the miserable massacres of whole nations dead, and as a man may say, the whole world unburied? For why, with king Cyrus of whom I spoke erewhile, there were two hundred thousand Persians slain: and also with Crassus, sixteen most valiant & flourishing legions: & at the overthrow at Cannas, above fourscore & five thousand citizens of Rome & their confederates: and six & fifty thousand Carthagiens, Spaniards, Ligurians, and Frenchmen at the river Metaurus, together with their Captain: and again at Aquas Sextias, which is the proper name of the place, two hundred thousand Germans not far from the Alps, Marius being General in both places, which were but an hundred & fifty thousand as some writers do report, but they that say lest of all, not above threescore thousand Cimbrians, which lay there unburied. Moreover, at Philippi the aids of all confederate kings & nations, and the flower and strength of the Italian youth, as it pleased the majesty of the gods so to deal, wanting the honour of burial, made fat the Aemonian fields, & filled the paunches of the wild beasts and carrion crows. What shall I say of the Carthagien fleet that was utterly destroyed at the Islands Egates? Or of the Massilian navy that was discomfited at their own very havens mouth, and within the sight of their faithful country? And (that I may not evermore dwell in discourse of the Italian toils and miseries) when the whole Athenian power by sea was drowned before the city of Syracuse, what grave or burial had they? I passover in silence Salamina and Marathon, with three hundred thousand Persians whith many. I let pass the conflicts of the Hebrews, of the Scythians, and Amazons, the battles of the Arabians, Parthians and Medes. I overslyp the conquests & slaughters that Alexander king of Macedon made in the East among the naked & unarmed people there. I speak nothing of all such kinds of plagues, whereby it is a woeful case to here, how many worthy & dearly beloved carcases have been most pitifully defiled, spoiled, and made away. Neither over and beside this, of the incursion of serpents and wild beasts, by whose sudden invasion Dicaearchus teacheth, as Cicero reporteth, how that certain whole kindreds and nations of people have been destroyed. Nor of tempests, and daily shypwrackes: for as for those that perish by fire, there is no man will say that they need any grave. I omit civil furies and outrages, and domestical broils and contentions, of which it is said: That civil war can scarce grant a grave to the captains: which may be much more truly verified of foreign battles. Neither stand I upon the ruins of cities and towns, as namely, Troy, Jerusalem, Carthage, Corinth, Numantia, Saguntum, with many other more, wherein the most part of the citizens being overthrown by the fall of the walls and buildings, were buried with their country. Last of all, I overslip earthquakes, by means whereof many men that were overwhelmed, had the whole womb of their mother the earth to receive them in steed of a sepulture. Which being in old time, as also of late days an ordinary mischief in diverse places, yet never raged any where more notoriously then in Asia, whereas it is reported, that there were twelve cities by horrible gapynges of the earth devoured in one day. These many and great matters have I to this end● recited, that I might take away from thee this ridiculous fear, who dreadest the loss of a grave more then death is self: and takest grievously that this thy poor carcase should want that, which it is manifést so many thousand worthy men and valiant warriors, and which is a more heinous matter, holy Saints, have lacked.  Fear. 
The earth is denied me when I am dead, which is a very hard matter.  Reason. 
This is not hard, but thou art tender that canst be hurt, and yet feelest nothing.  Fear. 
The earth is denied me when I am dead, which is an unworthy thing.  Reason. 
How so? Art thou then due to the earth, or the earth to thee? Perhaps the earth may be denied thee, but not thou the earth. Some chance peradventure, or injury of the enemy may deprive thee of thy grave: but thou that camest from the earth must needs return thither again: which thing since the Lord thy God hath forewarned thee of by his own mouth, cannot be false.  Fear. 
The earth shall not cover me in her bosom.  Reason. 
But thou shalt cover her with thy nakes body: and what shall this appertain more unto thee after thy death, than it doth at this present, what is become of the parings of thy nails, and clipping of thy hair, and the blood that was let out for some fever or other disease, and also of the pieces of thy children's coats, and infant's mantles, and swadlebandes when thou wast in thy tender years? Hast thou forgotten the gallant answer of Theodorus Cyrenaeus in Tully: whom when Lysimachus the king threatened to hung up, upon the galous, as I take it: These terrible things, quoth he, threaten unto thy gorgeous courtiers: as for Theodorus, he careth not whether he rot aloft or upon the ground. And if the earth receive thee not into her bosom, yet shall she entertain thee upon her face, whereas the grass shall clothe thee, & the flowers deck thee being glad of such a guest, and the rain moisten thee, and the sun burn thee, and the frost freeze thee, and the wind move thee: and perhaps this is a more natural mean, whereby the body which is framed of the four elements, may be resoued into so many again.  Fear. 
I am left unburied, which is horrible to be heard.  Reason. 
This horror consisteth in opinion, and not in truth, forasmuch as some have thought it an horrible matter to be covered with earth, & very fair to be consumed with fire, as we know your ancestors were persuaded. Among s●me it was counted an honourable death, to be torn in pieces by dogs and wild beasts. Concerning this point there are innumerable customs & manners among nations, which being curiously gathered together by Crispus, Cicero hath abridged. Thou shalt lie upon the bore ground: but another shallbe pressed with a great rough stone, another covered with rotten clods, another flit weliring dead in the water, another as he hangeth be driven with the wind, beaten with the hail, torn by the ravens and crows: & to be short, they that have been perfumed with odours, & clothed with purple the worms shall consume them. And that more hath he that is covered with marble and gold, over him who weeping in the Poet, sayeth: And now the surges drench me, and the winds beat me against the shore? Although he also, following the sway of the common error, abhorreth to be covered with earth. Unless perhaps thou do likewise condescend to fables & old wives tales, thinking that the souls of them that lie unburied do wander an hundred years about the banks of the hellish lake: which toys truly a sound & religious mind utterly rejecteth.  Fear. 
I am denied a grave in my native soil.  Reason. 
If thou have a turf left thee in thy natural country, thou art in case, that Photion, as great a man as he was, may envy at thee: whom being a citizen of Athenes, & having otherwise deserved thereof then I doubt me thou hast of thy country, the unthankful city banished out of their confines when he was dead: a straying kind of cruelty.  Fear. 
I shallbe cast forth unburied.  Reason. 
See to thine own business, and leave this care unto the living.  
FINIS.    

 

   

Imprinted at London in Paul's Churchyard, by Richard Watkins. 1579.   

A Table of the matters contained in the first book of this work.  

OF Flourishing years. Folio. 1.  
Of the goodly Beauty of the Body. Folio. 2.  
Of Bodily health. Folio. 4.  
Of Restored health. Eod.  
Of Bodily strength. Folio. 5.  
Of swiftness of body. Folio. 6.  
Of Wytte. Eod.  
Of Memory. Folio. 7.  
Of Eloquence. Folio. 8.  
Of Virtue. Folio. 10.  
Of the opinion of Virtue. Folio. 11.  
Of Wisdom. Folio. 12.  
Of Religion. Folio. 14.  
Of Freedom. Eod.  
Of a glorious Country. Folio. 15.  
Of an honourable Family. Folio. 18.  
Of a fortunate Beginning. Folio. 20.  
Of Sumptuous fare. Folio. 21.  
Of Feasts. Folio. 23.  
Of Apparel and trimming of the Body. Folio. 26.  
Of Rest and quietness. Folio. 27.  
Of pleasant Smells. Folio. 29.  
Of the sweetness of Music. Folio. 30.  
Of Dancing. Folio. 32.  
Of playing with the Ball. Folio. 34.  
Of playing at Dice and Lots. Eod.  
Of prosperous playing at Tables. Folio. 35.  
Of jesters. Folio. 37.  
Of the games of Wrestling. Folio. 38.  
Of sundry Spectacles and Shows. Folio. 40.  
Of Horses. Folio. 42.  
Of Hunting and Hawking. Folio. 44.  
Of great retinue of Servants. Folio. 45.  
Of the magnificence and beautifulness of Houses. Folio. 47.  
Of strong defenced Castles, Eod.  
Of precious household stuff. Folio. 48.  
Of Precious stones and Pearls. Folio. 49.  
Of Cups made of Precious stones. Folio. 53.  
Of Engravinge, and Seals in Precious stones. Folio. 56.  
Of Pictures and painted Tables. Folio. 57  
Of Statues and Images. Folio. 58.  
Of Vessels of Corinth. Folio. 60.  
Of store of Books. Folio. 61.  
Of the fame of Writers. Folio. 64.  
Of Maistershyppe. Folio. 66.  
Of sundry titles of Studies. Folio. 67.  
Of Titles of Business and Affairs. Folio. 69.  
Of Titles of Wars W●●●cuyre, and Chiefetayneshyp, Folio. 70.  
Of the Friendship of Kings. Folio. 71.  
Of the abundance of Friends. Folio. 72.  
Of Friends not known, but by report. Folio. 74.  
Of one only Faithful Friend. Folio. 75.  
Of Plenty of richesse. Folio. 77.  
Of finding of a Gold mine. Eod.  
Of the finding of Treasure. Folio. 78.  
Of Usury. Eod.  
Of Fruitful and well tilled Land. Folio. 80.  
Of Pleasant green walks. Folio. 81.  
Of Flocks and herds of cattle. Folio. 83.  
Of Elephants and Cammelles. Eod.  
Of Apes, and other beasts of Pleasure. Folio. 84.  
Of Peacocks, Chickens, Hens, Bees, and Pigeons. Eod.  
Of Fish ponds. Folio. 85.  
Of Cages of Birds, and of Speaking, and Singing Birds. Folio. 87.  
Of the worthiness of Marriage. Folio. 89.  
Of a fair Wife. Folio. 90.  
Of a fruitful and eloquent Wife▪ Folio. 91.  
Of a great Dowry. Eod.  
Of Pleasant Love. Folio. 92.  
Of the Birth of Children. Folio. 96.  
Of a Pleasant young Child. Eod.  
Of the excellent Favour of Children. Folio. 97.  
Of the valiancy and magnificency of a Son. Folio. 98.  
Of the Daughter's chastity. Folio. 99  
Of a good Son in Law. Eod.  
Of second Marriage. Folio. 100  
Of the Marriage of Children. Folio. 101.  
Of Nephews. Folio. 102.  
Of Adopted Children. Folio. 103.  
Of an excellent Schoolmaster. Eod.  
Of a notable Scholar. Folio. 104.  
Of a good Father. Folio. 105.  
Of a most Loving Mother. Eod.  
Of Good Brethrens, and Loving and Fair Sisters. Folio. 106.  
Of a good Lord. Folio. 107.  
Of the Clearness of the Air. Folio. 109.  
Of Fortunate Sailing. Eod.  
Of wished Arriving at the Haune. Folio. 110.  
Of coming forth of Prison. Eod.  
Of a quiet State. Folio. 111.  
Of Power. Folio. 113.  
Of Glory. Folio. 114.  
Of Benefits bestowed upon many. Folio. 115.  
Of Love of the people. Folio. 116.  
Of Invading a Tyranny. Folio. 117.  
Of a Kingdom and Empire. Folio. 119.  
Of a furnished Army. Folio. 123.  
Of a well apppoynted Navy. Folio. 124.  
Of engines and Artillery. Folio. 125.  
Of Treasure laid up in store. Folio. 126.  
Of Revenge. Eod.  
Of hope to Wynne. Folio. 129.  
Of Victory. Eod.  
Of the death of an Enemy. Folio. 130.  
Of hope of Peace. Folio. 131.  
Of peace and Truce. Folio. 132.  
Of the Popedom. Folio. 133.  
Of Happiness. Folio. 134.  
Of good Hope. Folio. 136.  
Of expectation of Inheritance. Folio. 138.  
Of Alchemy. Follo. 139.  
Of the promises of wise men and Soothsayers. Folio. 140.  
Of Glad tidings. Folio. 143.  
Of Expecting a man's son, or farmer, or wife. Eod.  
Of Looking for better times. Folio. 145.  
Of the hoped coming of a Prince. Folio. 146.  
Of hope of fame after Death. Folio. 147.  
Of Glory hoped for by building. Folio. 148.  
Of Glory hoped for by keeping company. 149.  
Of Manifold hope. Folio. 150.  
Of hoped quietness of Mind. Eod.  
Of the hope of life Everlasting. Folio. 151.    

The Table of the matters contained in the second Book of this work.  

OF the deformity of the Body. Folio. 162.  
Of Weakness. Folio. 164.  
Of sickness. Folio. 165.  
Of a base Country. Eod.  
Of Baseness of Stock. Folio. 166.  
Of a shameful Birth. Folio. 169.  
Of Bondage. Folio. 171.  
Of Poverty. Folio. 174.  
Of Damage sustained. Folio. 175.  
Of Thynne fare. Folio. 178.  
Of Original poverty. Folio. 180.  
Of the heavy burden of many Children. Eod.  
Of Money lost. Folio. 183.  
Of Suertishyppe. Folio. 187.  
Of Loss of time. Folio. 188.  
Of Unfortunate p●a●ing at Tables. Folio. 190.  
Of Her unto whom one was assured, judged unto another. Eod.  
Of the loss of a man's Wife. Folio. 191.  
Of a Shrewyshe Wife. Folio. 193.  
Of the stealing away of a man's Wife. Folio. 194.  
Of an unchaste Wife. Eod.  
Of a barren Wife. Folio. 197.  
Of an unchaste Daughter. Folio. 198.  
Of Shame coming from an other. Folio. 199.  
Of Infamy. Folio. 200.  
Of Shame procured by means of unworthy commendation. Folio. 202.  
Of Unthankful Friends. Folio. 203.  
Of Unthankful persons. Folio. 204.  
Of Evil Servants. Folio. 206.  
Of Fugitive Servants. Folio. 107.  
Of Importunate Neighbours. Folio. 208.  
Of Enemies. Folio. 209.  
Of occasion lost to revenge. Folio. 210.  
Of the people's Hatred. Folio. 211.  
Of Envy, Passively. Eod.  
Of Contempt. Folio. 212.  
Of Long expecting a promised Reward. Folio. 213.  
Of Repulses. Eod.  
Of an unjust Lord. Folio. 215.  
Of an Unlearned Schoolmaster. Folio. 216.  
Of an Unapt and proud Scholar. Folio. 217.  
Of a Stepdame. Folio. 218.  
Of the hardness of a Father. Eod.  
Of a stubborn Son. Folio. 220.  
Of a contentious Brother. Folio. 221.  
Of the Loss of a Father. Folio. 222.  
Of the Loss of a Mother. Eod.  
Of the loss of a Son. Eod.  
Of the miserable fall of a young Child. Folio. 224.  
Of A son that is found to be another man's. Eod.  
Of the loss of a Brother. Folio. 226.  
Of the death of a Friend. Folio. 227.  
Of the absence of Friends. Folio. 228.  
Of grievous Ship wrack. Folio. 230.  
Of Burning. Eod.  
Of Great labour and Travail. Folio. 231.  
Of A painful journey. Folio. 232.  
Of One years Barrenness. Folio. 234.  
Of An evil and proud Bailiff. Folio. 235.  
Of Theft. Folio. 236.  
Of Robberies. Folio. 237.  
Of Coosynage and deceit. Eod.  
Of A straight and narrome dwelling. Folio. 238.  
Of A Prison. Folio. 239.  
Of Torments. Folio. 240.  
Of Unjust judgement. Folio. 241.  
Of banishment. Folio. 242.  
Of A man's country Besieged. Folio. 245.  
Of A man's country Destroyed. Folio. 246.  
Of the fear of losing in war. Folio. 247.  
Of A foolish and rash fellow in office. Folio. 248.  
Of an undiscreet and hasty marshal of the Field. Eod.  
Of unfortunate success in battle. Folio. 249.  
Of Civil war. Folio. 250.  
Of the disagreement of a wavering mind. Folio. 251.  
Of a doubtful State. Folio. 253.  
Of Wounds received. Eod.  
Of a king without a Son. Folio. 254  
Of a kingdom Lost. Folio. 255.  
Of Treason. Folio. 257.  
Of the loss of a Tyranny. Folio. 258.  
Of Castles lost. Folio. 260.  
Of old Age. Folio. 262.  
Of the Gout. Folio. 267.  
Of Scabs. Folio. 268.  
Of Watching. Folio. 269.  
Of the unquietness of Dreams Eod.  
Of Importunate renown. Folio. 270.  
Of Sorrow conceived for the evil manners of men. Folio. 272.  
Of Small griefs of sundry things. Folio. 273.  
Of an Earthquake. Folio. 279.  
Of the plague far and wide raging. Folio. 280.  
Of Sadness and misery. Eod.  
Of the Toothache. Folio. 284.  
Of pain in the Legs. Folio. 285.  
Of Blindness. Folio. 286.  
Of the loss of Hearing. Folio. 289.  
Of the loathsomeness of Life. Folio. 290.  
Of Heaviness of the body. Folio. 291.  
Of great dullness of wit. Eod.  
Of a slender and weak Memory Folio. 292.  
Of lack of Eloquence. Folio. 293.  
Of Loss of the tongue and speech. Folio. 294.  
Of want of Virtue. Folio. 296.  
Of Covetousness. Folio. 297.  
Of Envy and Malice. Eod.  
Of Wrath. Folio. 298.  
Of Gluttony. Folio. 299.  
Of sluggishness of the Mind. Eod.  
Of Le●cherie. Folio. 300  
Of Pride. Eod.  
Of Agues. Folio. 301.  
Of the 〈◊〉 e of the guts and Trance. Folio. 302.  
Of Sundry pains and griefs of the whole body. Folio. 303.  
Of Madness. Folio. 309.  
Of Poison. Folio. 310.  
Of the fear of death. Folio. 311.  
Of Voluntary murdering a man's own self. Folio. 315.  
Of Death. Folio. 319.  
Of Death before a man's time. Folio. 322.  
Of a violent Death. Folio. 324.  
Of a shameful Death. Folio. 326.  
Of a sudden Death. Folio. 327.  
Of one that is sick out of his own Country. Folio. 328.  
Of one that dieth out of his own Country. Eod.  
Of One that dieth in sin. Folio. 332.  
Of One dying, that is careful what shall become of his inheritance and children. Folio. 334.  
Of One dying, that is careful what his wife will do when he is dead. Folio. 335.  
Of One dying, that is careful what will become of his country after his decease. Folio. 336.  
Of One that at his death is careful of his fame and good report. Folio. 337.  
Of One that dieth without children. Folio. 338.  
Of One dying, that feareth to be thrown forth unburied. Folio. 340.   
FINIS.